Blaine Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rockstarwarbler) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrelibre2012-08-25 09:07 pm
rockstarwarbler) wrote in etrelibre2012-08-25 09:07 pm
[CLOSED] "Some say love it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed."
Who: Blaine Hummel-Anderson, Noah Puckerman and eventually Mike Chang
Where: The Beach, further along from the main strip
Time of Day: Around 5pm
Open or Closed: Closed for now
It was the happiest day of Blaine's life.
Bar none. There wasn't a single time in his life he could remember ever feeling this ecstatic, and he couldn't stop smiling. His faced ached, because a smile had been stuck on his face ever since he woke up that morning and he had been bouncing off the walls ever since. Kurt Hummel was his husband, and there wasn't a thing that could make life more perfect, as far as Blaine was concerned. The wedding had been beautiful. Absolute perfection. Kurt wouldn't have settled for anything less. Walden in Aurora was the only venue Kurt would consider in Ohio, and it had been booked for over a year for their special day of August 8th. Kurt had been in his element arranging that wedding. He did it all, right down to designing their suits, the invitations, and made every single wedding favour himself. They had stayed the few days before the wedding at the Walden Inn, just relaxing together and enjoying everything about the fact they were about to get married. Kurt had it all planned like a military operation, so that late in the proceedings, there had been nothing left to do but chill and enjoy every single last moment of it.
Of course, they hadn't spent the night before their wedding together. Blaine shared a room with his Best Man, Puck, and Kurt shared another with Quinn, Mercedes, Santana, Tina, and Rachel... a sleepover reminiscent of their many back in high school with lots of giggling and squealing over the fact Kurt was finally going to marry Blaine, the love of his life, and things couldn't be more perfect. There had been lots of cuddles and happy tears, and teasing Kurt about his upcoming wedding night. It had probably been the best sleepover they ever had, and everyone went into the wedding day on cloud nine, more than ready to see their two favourite gay guys tie the knot. That morning, Kurt and Blaine got up extremely early and took the first flight out of Ohio to New York City. They legally got married at a quickie ceremony at City Hall, and were on the next plane back to Ohio for their family ceremony and reception in Ohio surrounded by family and friends. There was no other way they wanted to do it, and the timing of it all had gone off without a single hitch.
The entire day and into the evening was the epitome of wedding perfection. The grooms were so happily wrapped up in each other, and it was obvious that as they shared their first dance, no one else but each other existed in that room. But it had been Blaine's speech that had every single guest in the room in tears. He spoke about how Kurt changed his life, made him remember how to breathe and feel the warmth of the sun all over again when he was so sure he would spend the rest of his life hiding fearfully in dark corners trying to catch his breath in a world that always seemed so full of demons. That every morning he woke up with Kurt, he knew the world was a better place just because Kurt Hummel existed in it. That day, right there, was the start of their whole lives together and that he would continue to wake up every morning and thank any higher power that was listening for putting Kurt in his path that day on the spiral staircase at Dalton, and that no matter what happened, for better or for worse, they would fight it hand-in-hand together.
And now they were gathering out on the front lawn of the venue, waiting for the streth limos to arrive and drive them to the airport. They were staying at the hotel there, and would fly out for their honeymoon in Europe, staring with Paris, first thing in the morning. Kurt had just fabulously and dramatically thrown his bouquet into the sea of all his fag hags, and everyone was laughing when Rachel and Santana nearly got into a wrestling match trying to grab it, with Santana coming up trumps with a well placed nudge of Rachel ribs. It was every fag for herself at that moment. Blaine broke away from where he had been standing with Puck and the rest of his groomsmen (he had needed to gather a guy for every hag Kurt wanted for his bridesmaids) and raced up to Kurt. He wrapped his arms around his knew husband, his years of boxing training meaning it was an easy action, and spun him around with a grin. "I love you, Kurt Hummel-Anderson!" he declared loudly. Once they stopped spinning and he set Kurt back on his feet, he captured Kurt's lips in a deep and passionate kiss, right there in front of everyone. When they broke apart, they were laughing and Kurt had stumbled back a little, swept off his feet to shoot his dad and Carole a bright grin.
It all happened so quickly. Too quickly. No one could ever have seen it coming. No one could ever have predicted it. There was a screech of tyres on the drive a short distance away and three sharp gunshots echoed through the air in the wake. There was screams, and people tried to dive down in reflex of the horrible sudden noise. At first, no one even knew what happened. There was these horrible handful of seconds that seemed to tick by in stifled, silent slow motion before a sound more horrible than the gunshots themselves rang through the air.
Blaine's scream.
It was terrified, it was pleading, and it was followed by an awful begging wail of Kurt's name. He dropped down to his knees on the grass, his arms viced around his new husband who crumped in a broken mess against him. Kurt and Blaine's matching pearlescent suits were splattered and soaked in bright red blood. Kurt was unconscious, head slumped against Blaine's chest as Blaine clawed at Kurt's waistcoat trying to get it off him as he screamed and begged at Kurt to wake up. At least, that was how it started. It went from feeling like it was in slow motion to feeling like the fast-forward button had been hit. Someone was shouting to check Kurt's pulse and call 911, and Burt fell to his knees beside his bleeding son and his blood-soaked son-in-law to check for Kurt's pulse and breathing. People were screaming around them, and whoever had done this had peeled out of the parking lot as soon as they had entered it.
There was no pulse, there was no breath. There was no hope of the paramedics getting there for at least a few minutes. "NO! KURT! NO, DON'T YOU DIE! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME! WAKE UP, KURT! PLEASE, PLEASE, BABY! PLEASE WAKE UP! KURT!" Blaine screamed, the begging getting more loud and through his choked up panic as he shook Kurt in his arms. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as Burt tried to battle Kurt's broken form from Blaine's arms but Blaine had a vice-like hold around Kurt's slender and bleeding body as he horrifically through his distressed screams and pleading.
"He's gone... he's gone," was all Carole could get out after trying to resuscitate Kurt in Blaine's arms the best should could without response.
There was a crushed and distraught cry from her husband, who knelt there gaping at his son's body in horror. But all Blaine could do was was shake his head, gripping onto Kurt even tighter, with a grip that actually fractured one of Kurt's ribs, and over and over again, begged Kurt not to die and not leave him, to wake up, to stop scaring him and stop joking. Blaine's hands and arms were soaked and smeared in Kurt's blood and his wedding suit was slicked up against his body from it.
And then he felt forward heavily. His blood sodden hands falling into hot sand that his elbows soon hit too when his arms went from being engulfed with his husband to emptiness. A horrible, sickening bolt of fear shot through Blaine and he screamed in terror, looking around to try and see who taken Kurt away from him. Where was Burt? Carole? Puck? What had they done with Kurt?! "KURT! KURT! SOMEBODY HELP ME PLEASE! HE NEEDS AN AMBULANCE! PLEASE! HE'S HURT! KURT! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" he screamed, his terrified shouts ringing out across the beach to be heard as far as the resort and beyond.
Where: The Beach, further along from the main strip
Time of Day: Around 5pm
Open or Closed: Closed for now
It was the happiest day of Blaine's life.
Bar none. There wasn't a single time in his life he could remember ever feeling this ecstatic, and he couldn't stop smiling. His faced ached, because a smile had been stuck on his face ever since he woke up that morning and he had been bouncing off the walls ever since. Kurt Hummel was his husband, and there wasn't a thing that could make life more perfect, as far as Blaine was concerned. The wedding had been beautiful. Absolute perfection. Kurt wouldn't have settled for anything less. Walden in Aurora was the only venue Kurt would consider in Ohio, and it had been booked for over a year for their special day of August 8th. Kurt had been in his element arranging that wedding. He did it all, right down to designing their suits, the invitations, and made every single wedding favour himself. They had stayed the few days before the wedding at the Walden Inn, just relaxing together and enjoying everything about the fact they were about to get married. Kurt had it all planned like a military operation, so that late in the proceedings, there had been nothing left to do but chill and enjoy every single last moment of it.
Of course, they hadn't spent the night before their wedding together. Blaine shared a room with his Best Man, Puck, and Kurt shared another with Quinn, Mercedes, Santana, Tina, and Rachel... a sleepover reminiscent of their many back in high school with lots of giggling and squealing over the fact Kurt was finally going to marry Blaine, the love of his life, and things couldn't be more perfect. There had been lots of cuddles and happy tears, and teasing Kurt about his upcoming wedding night. It had probably been the best sleepover they ever had, and everyone went into the wedding day on cloud nine, more than ready to see their two favourite gay guys tie the knot. That morning, Kurt and Blaine got up extremely early and took the first flight out of Ohio to New York City. They legally got married at a quickie ceremony at City Hall, and were on the next plane back to Ohio for their family ceremony and reception in Ohio surrounded by family and friends. There was no other way they wanted to do it, and the timing of it all had gone off without a single hitch.
The entire day and into the evening was the epitome of wedding perfection. The grooms were so happily wrapped up in each other, and it was obvious that as they shared their first dance, no one else but each other existed in that room. But it had been Blaine's speech that had every single guest in the room in tears. He spoke about how Kurt changed his life, made him remember how to breathe and feel the warmth of the sun all over again when he was so sure he would spend the rest of his life hiding fearfully in dark corners trying to catch his breath in a world that always seemed so full of demons. That every morning he woke up with Kurt, he knew the world was a better place just because Kurt Hummel existed in it. That day, right there, was the start of their whole lives together and that he would continue to wake up every morning and thank any higher power that was listening for putting Kurt in his path that day on the spiral staircase at Dalton, and that no matter what happened, for better or for worse, they would fight it hand-in-hand together.
And now they were gathering out on the front lawn of the venue, waiting for the streth limos to arrive and drive them to the airport. They were staying at the hotel there, and would fly out for their honeymoon in Europe, staring with Paris, first thing in the morning. Kurt had just fabulously and dramatically thrown his bouquet into the sea of all his fag hags, and everyone was laughing when Rachel and Santana nearly got into a wrestling match trying to grab it, with Santana coming up trumps with a well placed nudge of Rachel ribs. It was every fag for herself at that moment. Blaine broke away from where he had been standing with Puck and the rest of his groomsmen (he had needed to gather a guy for every hag Kurt wanted for his bridesmaids) and raced up to Kurt. He wrapped his arms around his knew husband, his years of boxing training meaning it was an easy action, and spun him around with a grin. "I love you, Kurt Hummel-Anderson!" he declared loudly. Once they stopped spinning and he set Kurt back on his feet, he captured Kurt's lips in a deep and passionate kiss, right there in front of everyone. When they broke apart, they were laughing and Kurt had stumbled back a little, swept off his feet to shoot his dad and Carole a bright grin.
It all happened so quickly. Too quickly. No one could ever have seen it coming. No one could ever have predicted it. There was a screech of tyres on the drive a short distance away and three sharp gunshots echoed through the air in the wake. There was screams, and people tried to dive down in reflex of the horrible sudden noise. At first, no one even knew what happened. There was these horrible handful of seconds that seemed to tick by in stifled, silent slow motion before a sound more horrible than the gunshots themselves rang through the air.
Blaine's scream.
It was terrified, it was pleading, and it was followed by an awful begging wail of Kurt's name. He dropped down to his knees on the grass, his arms viced around his new husband who crumped in a broken mess against him. Kurt and Blaine's matching pearlescent suits were splattered and soaked in bright red blood. Kurt was unconscious, head slumped against Blaine's chest as Blaine clawed at Kurt's waistcoat trying to get it off him as he screamed and begged at Kurt to wake up. At least, that was how it started. It went from feeling like it was in slow motion to feeling like the fast-forward button had been hit. Someone was shouting to check Kurt's pulse and call 911, and Burt fell to his knees beside his bleeding son and his blood-soaked son-in-law to check for Kurt's pulse and breathing. People were screaming around them, and whoever had done this had peeled out of the parking lot as soon as they had entered it.
There was no pulse, there was no breath. There was no hope of the paramedics getting there for at least a few minutes. "NO! KURT! NO, DON'T YOU DIE! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME! WAKE UP, KURT! PLEASE, PLEASE, BABY! PLEASE WAKE UP! KURT!" Blaine screamed, the begging getting more loud and through his choked up panic as he shook Kurt in his arms. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as Burt tried to battle Kurt's broken form from Blaine's arms but Blaine had a vice-like hold around Kurt's slender and bleeding body as he horrifically through his distressed screams and pleading.
"He's gone... he's gone," was all Carole could get out after trying to resuscitate Kurt in Blaine's arms the best should could without response.
There was a crushed and distraught cry from her husband, who knelt there gaping at his son's body in horror. But all Blaine could do was was shake his head, gripping onto Kurt even tighter, with a grip that actually fractured one of Kurt's ribs, and over and over again, begged Kurt not to die and not leave him, to wake up, to stop scaring him and stop joking. Blaine's hands and arms were soaked and smeared in Kurt's blood and his wedding suit was slicked up against his body from it.
And then he felt forward heavily. His blood sodden hands falling into hot sand that his elbows soon hit too when his arms went from being engulfed with his husband to emptiness. A horrible, sickening bolt of fear shot through Blaine and he screamed in terror, looking around to try and see who taken Kurt away from him. Where was Burt? Carole? Puck? What had they done with Kurt?! "KURT! KURT! SOMEBODY HELP ME PLEASE! HE NEEDS AN AMBULANCE! PLEASE! HE'S HURT! KURT! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" he screamed, his terrified shouts ringing out across the beach to be heard as far as the resort and beyond.
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If not for work, Puck would probably still have been in bed with the curtains drawn, but, for all the laziness of his youth, Puck was dedicated to his job here. And it was that dedication that allowed him to force his way through the day, getting ready, chilling for a little while, and now, walking from the resort to get something to eat. He was trying to decide just exactly what he was going to eat when he heard a voice off in the distance. Shit, that had to be coming from the beach, and...
It couldn't be. He was hearing things... He was convincing himself of something that wasn't true. Wishful fucking thinking was all it could possibly be. Blaine was gone. He was dead, and he wasn't fucking coming here.
But as he moved a little closer, he heard the name Kurt being cried out in what sounded like utter agony, and though half of him was convinced he was absolutely losing it, the other half just had to find out for sure. He took off at a full sprint toward the beach, not even noticing as his work shoes filled up with sand while he ran. Fuck...
If he was hearing things, clearly, he had to be seeing things, too. Because that was an unmistakable sight. Part of a picture he'd had burned into his mind for years now. His best friend in a designer suit soaked through with his husband's blood. There was no mistaking it, and either Puck was stark raving mad, or that was really Blaine.
He was going to hope like he he wasn't about to have one of those movie moments where Blaine turned out to be a mirage, and he sprinted at a full run toward his best friend. "Blaine!" he yelled. "BLAINE! I'm coming!" And before he even knew it, he was falling to his knees on the beach in front of Blaine and bawling his eyes out. "Fuck... you're here..." he gasped between sobs. "You came... You came. It's... you're really here."
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"GET THE AMBULANCE! SHUT UP AND GET THE AMBULANCE! HE'S HURT! HE NEEDS HELPS!" he screamed right in Puck's face and then was trying to push him out of the way to get back to Kurt. "Oh my god, Kurt! KURT! You need to help him! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP HIM!" He was still trying to shove Puck out of the way and his hand was clawing at the sand blindly to try and find out where Kurt was. There wasn't a single rational thought in his head right now. He was an absolute mess and his body was betraying him. Nothing was working how it should and it felt like he was drowning in a vortex of horrible sounds and screams re-playing in his head, and he could feel the warmth and thick stickiness of Kurt's blood saturating his hands and torso, causing the sand to stick to him and scrape into his skin.
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Fuck.
"Blaine, listen to me," Puck said, his voice firm, but not without the serious undercurrent of the seemingly age-old bromance between the two of them. "Buddy, I know this is really hard for you to understand, but Kurt's... we lost Kurt where you just were. We lost him, Blaine. But he's... He didn't just die, okay? This... You're on an island, B... It's called Etre Libre, and people come here when they need an escape from reality. Some people come here right as they die. And Kurt... Kurt's here, B. Here, where we are, Kurt's okay. I need you to breathe, and I need you to trust me on this. I have never lied to you before, and I'm not lying now. You're here now, B. It's going to be okay, I swear." He knew this wouldn't make any sense to Blaine. It never did to new arrivals, and even less son, to Blaine, who'd quite literally just had the happiest moment of his life turn into the moment that everything he loved was ripped away from him. "Come on," he coaxed gently. "We have to get you somewhere and clean you up... I promise I'll take you straight to Kurt as soon as we do, but he can't see you like this."
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And where was Kurt? Kurt was right there and Puck had taking him away! "DON'T MOVE HIM! HE NEEDS HELP! HE'S HURT! WHY AREN'T YOU HELPING ME?! WHY AREN'T YOU GETTING HIM HELP?! SOMEONE HURT HIM! WHERE IS-- KURT! KURT? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HIM?! I WANT TO GO IN THE AMBULANCE WITH HIM! THEY HURT HIM! HE'S BLEEDING! GIVE HIM FUCKING BACK TO ME! HE'S MY HUSBAND! YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!" Blaine's screams escalated once again and the strength he used to try and forced Puck out of his way would probably leave bruises, even on Puck who was well-built and muscular.
But getting Puck shoved to the side, Blaine was met with emptiness. Kurt wasn't there. Kurt was gone. He was just there, but he was gone. He wasn't behind Puck. "NO... NO! LET ME GO WITH HIM! HE'S MY HUSBAND! HE NEEDS ME!" he screamed, right before the shock and terror twisted up in him and all he managed to do was give a choked up retch and threw up all over his knees and the blood-stained sand in front of him.
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It didn't take long for him to hear what was being shouted. As soon as he heard the screams of Kurt's name, Mike took off at top speed, his dancers agility helping him get down to the beach in less than a minute. If something had happened to Kurt or - God forbid - Kurt did something to himself after that breakdown the night before, no one would forgive themselves. But as soon as Mike reached the beach, he could see in the distance that Puck was crouched over someone. Was it Kurt? Was Kurt hurt? He bolted up the beach, and as soon as he was close enough, he knew what it was.
Blaine. Blaine had finally come, but this wasn't good at all. Blaine was the one screaming hysterically and Mike recognised his appearance. The wedding suit, all the blood. Blaine had just been plucked from Kurt's death and dumped here horrifically on the beach. "Fuck," Mike cursed through a gasp as soon as he got to Puck's side. He knew Puck would be freaking the fuck out, and probably trying his best not to, but there was no way he would be coping with this. "Puck, dude, we need to get him inside. We'll get him inside to clean him up, but we need to get him off the beach. Okay? Listen to me, dude. You can't reason with him, he just watched Kurt die. There's no point even trying," Mike coaxed, gripping Puck's shoulder to try and help him stay calm.
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Thank fuck that Mike showed up when he did, because Puck was teetering quite close to the edge of losing it himself. He couldn't lose it... Blaine fucking needed him, and he would do whatever it took to help his best friend, even if that meant physically carrying him back to their room.
"Blaine... Listen, buddy, I'm going to carry you to my place and get you some help, okay? I swear, I'm going to help you and I'm going to get you to where Kurt is." He wasn't sure if Blaine was catching any of that, and he got his answer as Blaine screamed at him, then managed to be sick all over himself.
It didn't matter to Puck. Sick or not sick, Blaine needed to get back to the resort and Puck was going to get him there, come hell or high water. Crouching next to Blaine, Puck carefully lifted the tiny body of his best friend into him arms, slowly moving toward the resort and hoping like hell that Blaine didn't fight him on this.
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Kurt was gone...
Gone.
Then it was like his wedding was replaying over again in his mind, but at such a rapid pace, his head was spinning. He barely even noticed when Puck scooped him up off the sand and they were moving. Blaine's and head just slumped brokenly against Puck, and there was something inside trying to fight through the sheer and utter shock and terror that was strangling him, but it had a hold of him and wasn't letting go. There was another broken sob of, "Kurt--" that he got out before he was retching again and then it was suddenly impossible for him to breath. There were some choked gasps for air, but it was like the pain in his heart had sliced off access to breath and he just... couldn't breathe.
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He did a bit more quick thinking, seeing just from the look on his face that Puck was barely keeping it together himself. He was holding it together for Blaine, and Blaine only, but now Blaine seemed to be having problems breathing. This wasn't good. "Shit, dude, I'm calling one of the doctors to see him. Even if it's just to check and make sure he's okay. The hospital is too far, I'll get them here. They might need to knock him out, dude. They did that back when it happened, you know? You told me that." Blaine had been sedated for days in the wake of Kurt's death because he had broken down into unreachable hysterics, just like he was doing now. Puck had told Mike that one night, late at night when he was miserable and missing Blaine. He told Mike the whole story of what he knew, and Mike had been stunned having come here from right after his father cut him off after the West Side Story disaster. Puck had said they thought it was Blaine's first emotional break down, and he never really recovered from it. "The doctors here are great. They might be able to get to him sooner, dude, just like they did with Kurt. I'm calling them now."
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Puck's dark eyes shifted to Mike's face, grateful that one of them, at least, was keeping it together. Mike was the calm voice of reason that Puck needed to keep from entirely panicking himself. "Yeah. Yeah, a doctor," Puck agreed, though his words were just as disjoint as his thoughts. Fuck, this was awful. Blaine was covered in Kurt's blood and his own sick, and Puck was getting quite a bit of that, too, but at the moment, he didn't even care. Everything in his heart and mind was focused entirely on making sure that Blaine got whatever he needed to be okay. In a low and soothing tone, Puck murmured, "Keep breathing, Blainers... Stay with me, buddy. I've got you."
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It was almost the end of the shift when he got paged to the Bungalows to attend to a new arrival. Not a lot of info came through on the initial call from the Med Centre's receptionist. Chris just grabbed his medical case and jumped in the Med jeep to get there as quickly as he could. It was Bungalow #10, and the door was answered by Mike, who Chris knew from the strip club. Chris had been around long enough and a doctor on the island long enough to be familiar with a lot of the long-termers. "What's up? Who have we got that needs help?" he asked.
(Tag order, Mike, Puck, Chris for the moment?)
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"Dude," Mike began anxiously, looking over his shoulder at where Puck was knelt by the sofa Blaine was lying on and holding a bucket close just in case. Blaine was still struggling to breathe properly. "This is Kurt's husband. He just arrived. No doubt about it, he came from when Kurt was shot. He's got blood all over him, he was screaming hysterically for someone to help Kurt. He's a mess, dude. He keeps throwing up and he can't breathe properly. You can help him, right? You gotta, know though... back home, we just learnt that he did himself in five years after Kurt's death. He had a psychological breakdown and never got over it. Our friend, Mercedes, has only been here about a week. She told us about it."
(FTW!)
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The fact was, Puck was still reeling. He'd been so sure that Blaine would never come here now, and yet, here he was, broken all to pieces mentally and emotionally, but here. And whatever it took to protect him and help him and keep him here? Puck would find a way to do it. "Just stay with me, Blaine..." he whispered. "This doctor's gonna help you, okay? He's a good doctor. One of the best. It's all going to be okay."
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He went over to the sofa and crouched down beside Puck in front of Blaine. Jeez, the poor kid really was a mess. Blood everywhere, and it was ironic for Chris, considering it was Kurt's life blood. AB- type too, and Kurt had become a regular donor since arriving on the island because his type was so rare. The vomiting wasn't a surprise. That was a common response to shock when a brain tried to force a body to release some of the coiled tension inside of it. "Mike, can you grab me some towels, maybe a facecloth and a bowl of warm water?"
"Hey, buddy," Chris greeted Blaine calmly as he unlatched his med case and flipped it open. First thing he did was take out a silver shock blanket and wrapped it around Blaine's shoulders, tucking it in as much as he could to introduce some warmth. Blaine was trembling all over, like he was chilled to the bone, and he probably was. Next to come out was a small portable oxygen cylinder with a mask. "My name's Chris. I'm a doctor. I'm going to help you try and get some air back into you, okay? Listen to me, okay, matey? Kurt's going to be okay. I just saw him and they're working on him. We just need to keep you here so he doesn't catch any nasty infections. But Puck and Mike are here. Kurt's in good hands." When Mike was back, Chris cleaned Blaine's face up to get the oxygen masked onto him and notched it right up. "Puck, do you want to start the clean up job for me? Cheers, dude."
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But it also flagged Mike to not offer to run and get Kurt. He nearly did, in a panic, thinking it would be the best thing for Blaine when it would actually probably just make Blaine even worse. It was a process, and this was why Chris had the medical degree and Mike was a pole dancer. He sat down beside Blaine and started to help Puck clean Blaine up of the blood and vomit. All it did, though, was make Mike's stomach churn with an anxious nausea of his own when he saw the bowl of warm water turn pink with Kurt's blood after Puck started to clean up Blaine's hands with a damp towel.
"What are you going to do with him, dude? What are you going to give him? You can help him, right?" he asked Chris fretfully and then glanced at Puck. Puck was losing it. He was barely holding onto his composure here seeing Blaine like this.
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Cleaning his friends hands up from all the blood and sand, Puck felt sick to his stomach, too. It was kind of a circle of people feeling sick, and and being in shock at different and varying levels. There was so fucking much blood everywhere. Blaine's whole front side was more or less soaked in it, and the more Puck cleaned, the more blood it seemed like he found, and he was starting to really fucking freak out. He knew rationally that it wasn't Blaine's blood, but Kurt's. But that didn't change the heartwrenching, sickening feel of seeing your best friend in the entire world soaked through in blood.
He fell into a sort of numb silence as he cleaned Blaine up. There was a conversation going on between Mike and Chris, but the fact of the matter was that Puck wasn't even sure what they were saying. He was almost obsessively focused on cleaning Blaine up, because that was the one fucking thing he could do.
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"Hey, hey, hey. Easy there. You're going to choke yourself. Just a little longer, and I promise, we'll take you straight to him." And then Blaine was yelling again, and the mask was torn off roughly, and Chris was being told to go fuck himself for stopping him getting to Kurt. As much as he hated to do it, his pushed up and restrained Blaine against the sofa with his shoulder. He uncapped the needle with his teeth and injected it into Blaine's bicep. It was quick and Blaine didn't even realise what was happening, though he was unconscious in less than a minute.
"Okay, now we get down to business," Chris mumbled with a sigh as he put the mask back over Blaine's mouth and nose to secure it in place. "That's going to keep him out for about twelve hours. I'm going to come back in about ten and top him up for another twelve. I'll put him on some IV fluids in the meantime, and I want you to leave him on the oxygen for about an hour. It's best to just get him into bed to sleep this off. He's in shock, there's going to be no rational reasoning whatsoever. Putting a living and breathing Kurt in front of him could just spark a psychological breakdown. Let him him sleep and rest. You guys know them way better than I do. You can figure out how best to go about this. I don't know whether you want to bring Kurt here ASAP, or if you want to just wait until Blaine sleeps this off to see how he is after it and try to fill him in a little on the workings of the island before you explain that Kurt isn't actually dead," he explained and wrapped the cuff of his mini sphyg machine around Blaine's arm to check his blood pressure.
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And then Chris was throwing the horrible ball into their court to indicate they needed to figure this shit out. He was just here to give Blaine medical treatment, not advise on how to deal with their friends' welfare. Rest and fluids seemed like a good idea. Sort of like a hangover treatment, and this was probably like a hangover, only from being an emotional wreck and not a drunk one. All this was going through Mike's head as he watched Chris continue to examine Blaine.
He went back to helping Puck clean him up after he had jumped out of the way with Blaine fighting against them. That was when Mike realised Blaine wasn't just covered in blood and vomit, he had also wet himself. Probably in the deathly shock of either hearing Kurt was dying or landing on the island. He didn't know if anyone else noticed, and he felt epically bad on Blaine's behalf. The poor guy. Was it any wonder he never managed to cope back in the real world in the aftermath of this? "W-We should change his clothes. I'll get something of mine he can wear." A little more time passed as Chris finished examining Blaine and diagnosed severe shock and anxiety. Ideally, he wanted to admit Blaine to hospital, but he agreed that here with Puck and Blaine would be best for now. He would keep checking back regularly, and after hooking Blaine up to the portable IV line and giving him an injection of a high dose of Valium, he left and told the guys to call ASAP if anything changed.
"Dude, take him to your room so we can get him changed. We'll just... look away as much as we can and never tell Kurt we saw his dick," he said shakily to Puck now Chris had left.
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When Blaine freaked out and tried to fight Chris, Puck had immediately tried to hold Blaine back, but before he'd even had a chance to get off the floor, the doctor was restraining Blaine, and Puck let an irrational, pained cry of, "Don't hurt him!" out before he'd even thought about it. Blaine honestly was in so much shock it was doubtful that he even felt it, but Puck had always slotted himself automatically into doing whatever it took to protect and care for Blaine, and even after all these years, that fact still remained. He managed to keep himself from trying to push Chris off Blaine, because deep down, Puck did know that this was necessary. Blaine needed a chance to sleep off the shock and terror that was coursing through his veins right now, no matter what that took.
And once Chris was gone, Puck was gently carrying Blaine into his room, cutting through to the en suite so that he could peel Blaine out of the clothing that was covered in Kurt's blood, and Blaine's vomit and urine where it would be easy to dispose of. He nursed Blaine's sleeping form, all but dead weight, close to him, getting Mike to help him get the clothes off. Fuck, but this was hard to do, especially when Puck could barely see through the tears in his eyes. Once Blaine was undressed and cleaned up, as much as was possible at least, Puck carried him into the bedroom and gently laid him in the bed while Mike brought in some of his pajamas. Puck's stuff would be nearly twice Blaine's size, and Mike's things were far closer, if still very long. The pair of them dressed Blaine as well as they could before Puck tucked the blanket around his best friend's sleeping form. "I'm sorry..." he said softly to Blaine. "I'm sorry we don't have any Buzz PJs, dude. I know they're your favorite."
Maybe it was a stupid thing to say, and in the grand scheme, Blaine really wasn't going to be concerned with his pajamas, but Puck knew that the world owed Blaine about a million apologies, and if nothing else, he could start with that.
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He set the bag down beside Puck and opened it up to see what Blaine had drawn with him. First thing he pulled out was the little stuffed Labrador Kurt had given Blaine in senior year. It was affectionately referred to as Margaret Thatcher dog, but Blaine had called it Dalton and now had a little bowtie of its own with bones on it. Mike gave a small, sad sigh as he gave the toy a soft squeeze and handed it to Puck for Blaine. An old, antique pocket watch was next, which must have been the one Blaine had the day Kurt met him. Mike remembered Kurt going on about how classy and hot it had been. "Dude," he said with a small laugh and tugged Blaine's infamous and well-loved pyjamas from the bag and tossed them at Puck too.
Next to come out was an item they all knew. Kurt's LIKES BOYS t-shirt. Fucking hell, how had Kurt survived two years without Blaine? It suddenly seemed like the most surreal occurrence to have happened. They were meant to be together. Two out of five of Blaine's items were already Kurt related. The final thing was a scrapbook and Mike sat down on the bed too to open it up, and he found it was a homage to Kurt and Blaine's entire relationship right up to their wedding way and starting with a picture of the spiral staircase at Dalton. There was numerous photos in there of the couple, little piece of memorabilia from their time together, even some pages of letters they wrote to each other during their brief break-up. Mike started to tear up, so he just close the book over and put it aside, glad that was one thing Blaine had brought with him. he gave Puck a companionable pat on the back. "You doing okay, dude?"
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When Mike returned with the bag of Blaine's things, Puck looked at them numbly. But even he had to crack a smile when the Buzz jammies made their appearance. Puck had never understood how those fucking PJs lasted through all the years and washes they went through. But they had still been around when Puck showed up on the island, against all odds. "Well... That fixes that problem," he managed, his hand squeezing Blaine's arm before he shifted it to tuck Dalton into the crook of Blaine's elbow.
From where he was sitting, Puck could see the scrapbook as Mike went through it, but it only took a second or two of that before he had to look away to keep from sobbing like a baby. With a hard swallow against the lump in his throat, he looked at Mike. "N... No, man. I'm not... Not okay at all. I saw this once in my life before... I never wanted to go through it again. I wanted him here, man... Of course I did, but not like this. Not... Not like this at all." Puck wondered in that moment whether he'd been selfish in wanting Blaine to come here. But then, on the other hand, back in the real world, he was going to die... Maybe here, at least, that wouldn't happen. Maybe he'd be okay. Maybe when he and Kurt found each other, both still alive, and safe, if broken, they'd find their way through it all. "I'm scared for him, Mike."
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He was just folding Blaine's bag closed again when he realised here was something else inside. "We need to try and figure out the logistics though, dude. Personally, I would give nothing more than to run up the beach right now and get Kurt from his bungalow to bring him here. But I think that's going to short-circuit Blaine's brain even more. If we wait until he rests and he at least physically calms down, I think he'll be better off. The first thing he'll probably do when he wakes up is ask for Kurt. That's how we can begin to explain to him that Kurt is okay and maybe get a little of the island functioning into his head."
He took the last item out of the bag and held it up. "Dude, it's a McKinley letterman jacket. Blaine never had a letterman," he said with a frown and then realised it was about three sizes too big for Blaine. He turned it over and there was a makeshift patch of fabric sewn loosely to the back with 'BLAINE'S BEST MAN' written in Sharpee on it and then in smaller letters like it was added later underneath 'AND BFF'. With a blink, Mike held it up for Puck to see. "Dude, he brought your letterman jacket..."
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"Chris is gonna keep him out for a day, right?" Puck asked. "Isn't that what he said? So when he comes to, he'll at least have rested somewhat, and slept the physical shock thing off?" He pondered Mike's idea silently for a moment before he gave a nod of agreement. "That's probably the best we can do. It's gonna be hard for him to swallow either way, but at least if he's not in mid-panic, we might be able to get through to him."
Puck watched in confusion as Mike pulled out the jacket, and as he turned it so they could see the back, Puck just stared in shocked silence for a moment. Blaine had taken it upon himself to "decorate" Puck's jacket the night of his bachelor party. They'd had drinks, and spent hours shooting the shit and just hanging out and enjoying being together, the whole group of guys, while Puck proudly wore the jacket, complete with the patch on the back. At least until Blaine had gotten cold, and given Puck The Infamous Blainers Eyes, thereby commandeering said jacket for the rest of the night. Reaching out carefully, Puck let his fingers wrap around the fabric, the familiar heaviness of it comforting in his hand... Until he completely lost control and broke down in sobs that literally shook his whole body.
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Then Puck was breaking down. Devastatingly so, and Mike wasn't shocked by it at all. He just put his arm around his old friend and patted his back comfortingly, knowing Puck had witnessed right directly in front of him Kurt being murdered and dying. Knowing how much it would have destroyed his best friend. Even if Kurt and Blaine were both here not and had a fresh start, it still didn't immediately erase the trauma and pain everyone had gone through with it. They had to deal with that too. "We'll take good care of him, dude. The best we can. You can protect him all over again here now, and we'll make sure he has whatever he needs to get through this. Then, as soon as he can, we can get Kurt to him. Just think on that, dude... how much it's going to blow Kurt away to have Blaine here with him. It will just be like old times, yeah?"
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Puck was crying so hard it was like he couldn't catch his breath. It hurt so much seeing Blaine like this all over... Reliving this part of his life that he'd just as soon have forgotten. Fuck he wanted so much to go back to before... Before Kurt was dead in the real world. Before Blaine was dead. Before any of these horrible things had happened, and even as Mike tried to reassure him, Puck just sobbed harder. His arms wrapped around the jacket in lieu of being able to wrap them around Blaine, and he held onto it for dear life. All he could offer Mike was a very weak nod. He had to hold onto hope that, when Blaine and Kurt saw each other again, things might just be okay again. But even that wasn't helping him with the sensation of sheer aching agony in knowing what Blaine had just seen.