…I have terrible writer's block for Witness. I have like, two pages tops written for the next chapter. It's very sad.
I don't remember when exactly I started writing this one, but it was probably between AVGC and the Superbowl episode. So, just… It takes place between AVGC and Silly Love Songs. Let's just say that. It is winter still, and I did alter it after BIOTA so that the Hudson-Hummels have, by this time, moved into their new house. However, I said screw it and Kurt is boarding at Dalton. Also, this fic wipes out all canon from SLS on.
I have about 27 pages in MS Word written already, so I'm thinking an update every 3 to 4 days.
Aaaaand I will probably be taking this in a Klaine direction, because they're so damn adorable. But it's definitely not the main focus.
Title: Blood and Bones
Author: You Are Airborne
Summary: "He dabs sweat off of his forehead with a small handkerchief he keeps in his pocket. 'I'm really, really fine.' But his words are slurring, just like they did earlier when he was just waking, and fuzzy spots are swimming in his vision." Sick!Kurt fic. Possible Klaine.
Rating: T (for many future swears)
Kurt hasn't been feeling well lately.
He sits on the edge of the bed in his room at Dalton, his body aching and fatigue flooding his limbs, and kicks off his shoes. The school day has been long and painful, and he has rehearsal in two hours, and he really doesn't want to go. But he already feels like the Warblers don't like him, like maybe they're looking for a reason to get rid of him, and he'll be damned if he's going to give them that reason.
He just needs a nice, refreshing, twenty-minute power nap and he'll be ready to go. He sighs and lays back on the bed, not bothering to even remove his tie, and falls asleep almost instantly.
An hour and forty minutes later, he is still deeply asleep, and his phone rings. It isn't until after the call has gone to voicemail and the phone begins to ring again that Kurt stirs. After a few hazy, confused moments, he manages to answer it before the call ends again.
"Hello?" His voice is slurred and syrupy, but he is still too tired to bring himself to care.
"Hey, Kurt. I left my Warblers music in your room last night and I don't have time to swing by and get it before rehearsal. Could you make sure you bring it?" asks Blaine in his gorgeous tenor into his ear.
Then it dawns on him that he has slept a completely undetermined amount of time and he has no idea how long he has to return himself to a presentable state before rehearsal.
"Uh… What time is it?" And his capacity for being concerned about how ineloquent he sounds is coming back a little bit, even though he still feels strangely muddled and heavy.
Blaine laughs quietly. "It's four-forty. Did you fall asleep?"
"Yes. I'll be at rehearsal with your folder. On time," he assures.
"Thank you." He sounds wonderfully genuine, and it makes Kurt smile even through the trepidation he's feeling. The extra-long nap hasn't helped; it has, in fact, made everything worse, and he really isn't sure how he's going to be able to deal with glee club tonight.
He reminds himself firmly that he has no choice and busies himself getting ready for rehearsal.
Kurt almost feels better when Blaine reaches for his folder and their fingers brush together, and Blaine is looking at him with the most charming smile. Almost. Unfortunately, even the intense, heady rush of attraction he feels isn't enough to counteract the general feeling of illness in his entire person.
About halfway into rehearsal, the simple choreography of "Rhythm of Love" and the controlled breathing that singing in general entails has him completely wiped out—he feels odd, gelatinous and foggy. He is determined not to show it (or at least not to pass out), but he is less aware of himself than normal and his best efforts are in vain.
"Kurt, are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He dabs sweat off of his forehead with a small handkerchief he keeps in his pocket. "I'm really, really fine." But his words are slurring, just like they did earlier when he was just waking, and fuzzy spots are swimming in his vision. A couple of the boys support him by the elbow and under his shoulders and drag him over to a chair. He leans forward over his knees exhaustedly, closing his eyes.
"Hey. What's going on?" Blaine asks, very close to his head, and puts a soothing hand on his back. Kurt sits up, keeping his eyes shut.
"Tired," he breathes. Then, as an afterthought, "I'm not going to pass out."
"Yes, really," he tries to say, but his words are unintelligible at this point, and his body just sort of tips forward as his consciousness begins to fade out.
Kurt is not feeling much better when his dad arrives an hour and forty-five minutes later, but at least he can stay conscious. His skin is clammy and grey and he's sitting in the common room with Blaine, holding a wet washcloth against his forehead.
"Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?" Burt asks, and Kurt responds with an exasperated noise.
"I'm perfectly fine, Dad," he says, trying to sound haughty as usual and failing miserably.
Sounding almost indignant, Blaine interjects, "You are not. You look like you're going to pass out again any second."
"Thank you for your input," Kurt growls, even though he knows his friend is right. He feels like he's going to pass out again any second.
"Let's get you home," says Burt gently, leaning over so he can help his son to his feet.
"I'm fine," Kurt protests weakly, otherwise accepting the assistance. He smiles softly at Blaine and waves, effectively thanking him for helping him, for staying with him after he woke up.
Blaine returns the favor with a silly grin.
I'm sorry that this chapter is so horrendously short. It was the best place to cut it off. Expect a new chapter in a couple of days!
Thanks so much for reading and please review!