AN: So this decided to pop itself in my head and not leave me alone until I wrote it. Unfortunately, I can't seem to keep myself away from Kurt-angst. I'm a sucker for stories in which he gets hurt.

But to be honest, this ended in a way I completely didn't plan.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

EDIT: I reread this on a whim and noticed a lot of mistakes. That's what I get for posting this at 2 in the morning I suppose. So here it is again, revised.

EDIT 2: I edited it again...*coughs* Not much different though, so if you already read it, you don't have to read it again. Not unless you want to. But why would you?

It was raining.

That was the first thing Kurt Hummel noticed upon waking up. He could feel the steady drips hitting the right side of his upturned face, sliding off to dampen the collar of his shirt. His head was resting on his shoulder in a position that he knew would result in a crick in his neck and his back was pressed against a familiar leather seat. It took him a moment to figure out he was in his car.

The second thing Kurt noticed was his name being called. It sounded strange and far away. After a minute, he realized that it was coming from his phone, which should be sitting in its dock on the console as usual.

There was just one thing.

He couldn't remember how he got here. Why was he in his car? Why was he sleeping in it? Who was he talking to? And why was it raining inside the car?

"Kurt! Please answer me!"

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at something brown, red, and wrinkly. Frowning, he blinked and took a closer look.

It was bark.

A tree. Why was he parked next to a tree? This close to a tree?

"Kurt? Wes, he's not answering!"

That voice – he knew it. How could he not remember the conversation he had been having with "Blaine?"

His voice was quieter than he had expected. For some reason his body didn't want to breathe properly.


He lifted his head and turned to look at the phone on his dashboard. He was halfway turned when a pressure on the right side of his chest stopped him. A groan escaped his lips as his head fell back against the headrest, turning automatically to face the tree again. This time he had a clearer view, and could see that the window had been broken, shards of glass embedded in the tree bark.

"Kurt, what happened? Are you alright?"

All Kurt could seem to concentrate on was that fact that it was precipitating inside his vehicle.

"It's raining, Blaine. Inside my car. Why?"

"Kurt, are you injured? You screamed all of a sudden, and then there was a crash – did you hit something?"

Kurt frowned, trying to remember what had happened before his memory disappeared. He recalled driving down the dark road, heading back to Lima after a late Warbler's rehearsal. Blaine had called to ask for help on a French paper. He had started singing "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi" which then began a discussion on Moulin Rouge when-

Suddenly, he realized why the tree was red.

It was blood. His blood.


Licking his lips, he tasted some of this blood – sharp and coppery – and winced.

"I – I think I hit a deer."

Yes. That was it. The deer had appeared out of nowhere, bounding across the road right in front of the car. He had tried swerving, but he could still see the doe's wide eyes stare at him in horror as his headlights bore down in it-

"Oh, shit." Another groan escaped his lips. He took a deep breath but was stopped by a sudden fit of coughing. It lasted only a few seconds, but during those few seconds, he could feel something move in his chest.

"Kurt, what is it? Are you alright? Can you move? Wes called nine-one-one. Talk to me, Kurt. Let me know you're still alive. David and I are on our way."

With a shuddering – smaller – breath, Kurt told him.

"There's something…Blaine, there's something in my chest."

A hesitation. Then, "What is it, Kurt?"

He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see what was piercing his skin and pressing horribly close to his lung. But some morbid curiosity caused him to glance down.

And that's when he lost it a bit.

"Oh, God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod-"

"KURT! Calm down, take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong!"

His voice, higher than normal, broke as Kurt replied.

"I can't take a deep breath, Blaine! Not when there's a fucking windshield wiper stuck in my chest!"

There was a long pause, and then a curse.

"Kurt, whatever you do, don't move. If that pierces your lung-"

"Trust me, Blaine. I think I know what will happen." A second coughing fit took hold of him. It was a struggle not to move his chest too much during it. He was left with a burning pain where the wiper was embedded in his muscle. And it had gotten harder to breathe. It was like there was a weight pressing against his chest, slowly crushing him.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"M-my head, I think. But I can't tell about anything else. Shit, Blaine, this hurts."

Another struggling breath.

"It's going to be okay, Kurt. Help is on its way."

Kurt nodded, forgetting that Blaine couldn't see him. He turned his head back and looked up through the branches. It was only just now he realized that one of the car's headlights was still on, throwing the tree awash in a strange abstraction of light and shadow. He watched the rain fall through the geometric pattern created by the sharp leaves, letting it fall on his face and clean off the blood that still flowed from the cut on his scalp. There was something strangely soothing about this, he thought, something serene – just sitting here, in the quiet darkness, with only the rain falling.

Funny. You'd think the rain would hurt my cut…but it doesn't.

"Kurt? Kurt!"

"Yes, Blaine?"

A sigh. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Stop talking."

Kurt frowned. "But it hurts to talk, Blaine."

"Then sing."


"I don't know. Just, please, do something so I know you're still alive. Please, Kurt. I just need to hear your voice. Right now, it's all I have."

Kurt reached up a hand and brushed away the stray tear that had escaped his eye. He inhaled and felt the invisible weight increase its pressure on his chest. So much burning – oh, God.

"Wh-what should I sing?"

"Anything, Kurt. Anything. Just sing."

Whispering, he replied, "It hurts to breathe, Blaine. I don't know if I can sing anything well."

"It doesn't have to be worthy of a standing ovation, Kurt. Just whisper the words. Please. Give me something to let me know you're still with me."

So he sang.

"A little fall of rain…can hardly hurt me now. You're here. That's all I need…to know."

A shuddering breath, as he struggled to expand his lungs with oxygen.

"Keep going, Kurt. We're almost there."

"A-and you…you w-will keep me s-safe. And-and you…will keep me…close."

The pressure was stronger now. The burning in his chest had swelled to a blaze. His vision was blurring, but that might have been the tears. Or the rain. Or both.

Except that the rain was slowing down. There weren't as many drops hitting his face now.

"And rain…" Blaine urged him to continue.

Kurt took another breath. "And rain…w-will make…the flowers…grow."

And then the pain was gone. No more burning. No more struggle.

Kurt Hummel took a final breath.

"The rain's stopped," he said softly.

Kurt Hummel smiled, and exhaled.


"Yeah, Kurt?"

Drip. Drip. Drip.


Drip. Drip. Drip.


Drip. Drip. Drip.


Drip. Drip.