Okay, so to start off I wan to say that this story is a series of unrelated but still sometimes related stories with some of my favorite characters, Kurt, Blaine, Burt, Wes, David and the occasional gleek will probably show up. I'd also want to send a major thanks to DJ-DizzyD my amazing beta! If you havent read her crazy good stories you should check them out! Anyways, onward and upwards! Here's the first chapter...

Chapter 1 -When Courage Backfired-

What if Blaine's encouragement of courage only led to disaster? Kurt confronts Karofsky again but then this time two of his football friends are with him.

This was a very, very bad plan, Kurt decided a few moments too late.

Calling this disaster a plan would be a mistake as that would imply that he had thought about his actions before doing them, and in fact, he hadn't. Because if he had given it just a second of thought he would have known that it was a bad plan.

A very bad plan indeed.

If he were to go back and actually plan something to this magnitude, it would not have involved him being cornered in the back of the school by half the hockey team an hour after classes had let out. It would definitely not have begun with his face being introduced to "The Fury," the extremelycreative nickname for Karofsky's fists.

Kurt had been walking the halls of William McKinley, having spent some time in the auditorium after school to blow off some steam and to practice a few songs. No matter how well he insulated his basement, the acoustics would never be as nice as the school's auditorium. He was headed for the back parking lot where he had taken to parking lately as the dumpster dives which had slacked after Puck had joined Glee renewed in ernest, happening almost twice a day. There were indeed dumpsters out back, but only the druggies, burn outs, and skaters, hung out in the back. The jocks usually hunted for prey in the front.

So really, it was only his luck that as he turned the corner he ran, quiet literally, into one of the guys who made his life a living hell.

"Watch it fag!" Azimio growled, pushing the boy to the floor. And then he proceeded to make a show of wiping his hands across his letterman jacket as if touching Kurt had left some sort of disgusting, gay residue on his hands.

Scrambling up from his position on the dirty (don't think what kind of disgusting mess the floor is) hall floor, Kurt swept back his bangs, remembered Blaine's text (courage) and snapped, "Oh right, gotta be careful not to catch the gay, huh? Better go scrub those hands in acid while you're at it to be precautious! Don't want anyone of you to catch the fag cooties!"

Here he made his fatal mistake.

The small boy shot a glare to Karofsky with his final words. He watched silently as the bigger boy's face turned red and his hands clenched and unclenched before one of them gripped the lapel of Kurt's gray jacket. "What did you say, fairy?"

Pulling back from the strench of his breath, his button nose crinkling in disgust, Kurt replied, "Watch out, Dave, you might not want to touch me for this long. I heard that 'the gay' is quite contagious these days, especially for guys like you."

How he went from being held in the middle of the hall to being slammed, harshly, against the metal lockers was not something that registered in Kurt's mind as it was too busy screaming in pain.

Blinking away the black dots, he wasn't aware of Karofsky's hand sliding from the lapel of Kurt's jacket to his neck until his air ways were being compressed. He was then fully aware of the tight knit circle that surrounded them as the jock's friends cheered him on.

"Don't you dare say another fucking word, faggot!" The hand not clutching his neck flew forward and made contact with Kurt's face. Immediately, the dull, aching pain in Kurt's head intensified.

Sputtering, he struggled with the hand wrapped around his throat, trying to free himself. He wasn't focused on the jeers and cheers of the other boys as they egged on Karofsky, but instead on digging his nails into the large hand. The only thing on his mind was freedom.

With a hiss of pain, the larger boy let him go and Kurt dropped unceremoniously to the base of the lockers. In a daze, coughing, trying to regulate his breathing, he would never know how and why the hockey players decided to drag him through the last stretch of the hallway and out into the parking lot.

He did know, however, that whatever happened to him next would be a team effort.

He had no idea who threw the first punch once they were all out in the open air, but he knew that it went straight to his stomach, causing him to double over, clutching his gut to shield it from further abuse. He also knew that Jordan, a boy that usually refrained from harassing him in the past, had yanked him into an upright position and sent a powerful right hook to his left temple.

From that point forward, things were a blur.

His vision blurred and he began to drift into a lesser state on consciousness as fists and feet made heavy impact with every inch of his body, as the once crystal clear slurs tainting his ears began to sound increasingly muffled.

The Neanderthals left behind a broken boy once they had had their fill.

The police report would later state that a 911 call was logged at 8:41 P.M. from one Mr. Jefforry Dales, a custodian employed at the school. He had found the teen boy lying in the second dumpster to the left when he had been taking out the trash. Mr. Dales stated that he had been convinced that the kid was dead. "There was so much blood. The kid's lucky to be alive."

Hospital records reported that one Kurt Elijah Hummel had sustained a severe concussion with a fracture to the back of head, a broken right wrist (documented as self defense injury), 6 fractured ribs, a nicked right lung, a dislocated shoulder, a broken collar bone, and contusions to his kidneys and liver. That official report did not account for the severe contusions on his torso and neck and the lacerations to his face. Kurt had lost almost 2 pints of blood, the bleeding a result of the wound at the base of his head and the three horizontal lacerations along the fracture to his skull. On his torso, a single rib penetrated his skin. A bone also stuck out from his left wrist.

All in all, it took two surgeries, four blood transfusions, and countless stitches, pins and plaster to put humpty dumpty back together again.

Awareness came slowly, like trying to swim through a tar pit.

Consciousness came as his senses responded to the world around him.

He was awake. That much Kurt knew to be true. He knew that there was pain but that it had been surpassed. He also knew that his mouth tasted like cotton balls. Really, it felt like someone had filled his mouth with those stupid, fluffy cotton balls except that his mouth also tasted salty.

So, this was definitely not a repeat of the morning after the April Rhodes incident. Kurt could only wish that he was only dealing with a hangover. Focusing on the salty taste, he realized that it was blood. This wasn't the first time he had traces of blood in his mouth. Two months ago, one of the baseball players had spilt his lip with a "successful" locker shove in which his mouth had made contact with the locker vent. He also doubted this would be the last time he woke with that particular taste.

Next came the sense of touch. He was on a hard bed and the thin sheet covering his body was itchy. He definitely wasn't at home, waking up after passing out on his Dad's bed. There was no way that his Dad's sheets could be this thin and coarse after a few weeks' use since he had just bought them after his father's return from the hospital. There was a spot of warmth in this cold, cold bed. The source was his left unidentified person was holding his hand, tightly too. It was someone with smooth but slightly calloused hands, so that ruled out his dad as his had a different feeling, rough and so much larger then his own. These hands were around the same size as his own. Still, Kurt's mind was fuzzy and slow moving. He could not identify where he was and what was happening.

The smell. It smelled too clean in this place. It was as if someone had scrubbed every surface and every object with bleach. The sterile stench stung his nose. It reminded him of Ms. Pillsbury's office.

The sounds around him came in measured bits and pieces. First he could hear the loud, freight train snores emitting from somewhere to his far left. Only one man made those kinds of noises in his sleep, and after nine years of being around that sound, Kurt was finally able to identify the source. Dad. He sounded a little ways away, not right next to him so it confirmed his belief that it wasn't his dad grasping his hand like he was suddenly going to vanish into tiny little particles.

Then came this constant beeping that distracted him for a few moments. It was terribly annoying and hammered at his patience with each beep. Finally he could hear this murmuring coming from who he supposed held his hand. No words could be made out but the tone was whispered and filled with what he assumed was the final sense, sight, could reveal where he was, the exhaustion grasped at his mind, which was floating on the sea of consciousness, and pulled him down to the black depths of unconsciousness.

The next time awareness swept over him, he didn't wake gradually but rather was dumped abruptly into the land of the living.

The beeping was there and driving the need for him to get up (shut the hell up, stupid thing!) and stop that damn noise. Cracking open heavy laden eyelids, Kurt Elijah Hummel woke up five days after the brutal attack. Again the warmth in his left hand was comforting, and his eyes began to focus and roam around the off white room he was set in. They then latched on the first thing of color, the boy holding his hand.

Blaine?

What was he doing here? Why was he hunched over, clutching his hand all the while looking terribly (but wholly endearing) unkempt with disheveled curly locks and a wrinkled shirt under a bulky grandma-knitted sweater. Blaine looked tried, dark circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes.

Why was Blaine here? Where was…

Dad.

Burt was seated by the tiny window in the left side of the room, reclined back, his head fallen at an off angle. The much quieter snores indicated that his father was indeed sleeping. Now calmed by the fact that his dad was there, Kurt began to asses himself, but found that he was wonderfully numb. With a quicker mind, sharper than it had been days prior, he could quickly figure out that he was in the (oh so wonderful, super awesome) hospital. He really wished that stupid beeping noise would stop. It was becoming the bane of his existence.

Blaine lifted his head, and went to run his eyes over Kurt's face, something he had been doing annually over the past five days. Taking in the (just sleeping, he's just sleeping, not dy—, he couldn't think it) sleeping face, reassuring himself that he was still there, still breathing had become a strenuous routine. Blaine kept reminding himself that the bruises would fade, the bones would mend, and Kurt would heal. As his eyes went to run the now familiar pattern, he was stunned to notice that there were blue/green eyes (ones that had captured him from day one and he was fearful he would never see again) were starring back at him.

"Kurt? Oh god, Kurt!" Blaine shot up, his grip on the boy's hand tightened. His hazel eyes were wide with surprise and unknowingly a weight felt like it was lifted off his back. Relief.

Kurt tried to reply with the boy's name but no sound emitted, he tried to smile back instead but miserably failed. A sudden feeling of fatigue over swept him, and his eyes lids fluttered shut.

Seeing this, Blaine leaned forward, the warmth from Kurt's left hand vanished (sad over the loss of heat and comfort) but was (so, so) relieved when it transferred to his face, his right cheek, as Blaine tried to keep him awake.

"Kurt? Kurt!" a panicked voice called out to him."Kurt, don't fall back asleep, please wake back up! Please, please pleasepleaseplease..." Panicking, no, no, Kurt could not fall back asleep! (What if he… didn't wake up again?)

Blaine's loud, panicked voice brought Burt back to the land of the conscience with a start. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, only to see Blaine leaning over his son.

His heart stuttered to a stop and dropped into his stomach.

(No, oh no, please Mollie, don't take him just yet!)

"Blaine?" Burt approached the bed, expecting that at any moment that the doctors to rush in and in a fury of action, try and save his son, but what he found could never compare. Kurt was awake. He rushed the bed and engulfed his son in a tight bear hug.

"Oh Kurt, oh thank you Mollie, you're awake." More mumbles of incoherent messages of thanks and love resulted next. The loud noises coming from the room attracted the nurses and doctor as they flooded the room checking over the now conscious patient.

When the exhausting chaos cleared, Kurt's bedside visitor was no where to be seen, gone from the hetic room. Kurt tried to focus on his father and share his happiness that he was awake and not on the fact that he saddened by Blaine's disappearing act.

Because he wasn't.

(He couldn't even lie convincingly to himself.)

The weeks that followed were ones of scattered memories and sluggish hours.

His body still recovering, Kurt has taken to waking at odd times of the day for a few minutes and passing back out again. But every time he woke, his dad was there and usually a new guest. First it was Carole, then it was Carole and Finn, then Mercedes around midday. One time it was all the gleeks, and another time Mr. Shue was there. But never the one boy who was the object of his questions.

A week after the day he had woken, Kurt had found himself awake, in what seemed to be late at night as the lights were dimmed and his father's snores had reached the height of their volume. (No amount of threats of nasty, healthy, tasteless found could detour him staying in the hospital at all hours of the day, every day.) Stifling a sigh, Kurt tried not to fidget as it just aggravated his injuries.

Hospitals (apart from the death, waiting, and depressing settings) were boring. Staring up at the ceiling, Kurt let his eye lids fall, knowing from past experiences that sleep would come eventually. Until then, he entertained himself by picturing all the outfits he could wear in this new winter season.

But by the time smart causal outfit number four had been thought up, the door opened almost noiselessly. Certain that it was a nurse checking up on him, Kurt kept his eyes close and his breath deep, hoping if they though he was asleep they'll leave faster. But the sound that the soles of the shoes made on the laminated floor was not one worn by the nurses and doctors and when someone took his hand, he knew quite suddenly who this late night visitor was.

A chair scraped across the floor and the older boy lowered himself into the uncomfortable arm chair.

It was quiet for along time as Kurt feigned sleep, until Blaine was suddenly talking, "Oh Kurt, I'm so very sorry. So very sorry. If only I hadn't, if only I didn't step in and try to help. With my stupid ideological words. They just messed everything up… I mucked everything up."

Not able to bare this anymore Kurt ceased his so called sleep and opened his eyes. "Hey Blaine," he said softly, his voice sore and raspy from the injuries.

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, leaning back in surprise, "Sorry! I'm… I'll… just g-"

As Blaine went to stand Kurt squeezed his hand, "No, please don't go Blaine, please." He added the extra please when he saw Blaine almost rise out of his seat.

"Why? How can you stand to sit here with me after everything I caused you? I don't know how you're… not disgusted with me. How can you not lay the blame solely at my feet?" The last portion of the sentence was whispered as Blaine's voice cracked. His hazel eyes were staring at their grasped hands and his face was stricken with grief.

Kurt could almost smile at the boy's idiocy. "I don't know how you think that I'd be upset with you. In fact, I don't see how any of this is your fault."

Blaine's forehead crinkled, "You don't? How could you not? If I hadn't encouraged you to stand up the bullies, if I hadn't texted you those stupid ideological words, then you wouldn't be in here right now!"

Kurt shook his head, "No. Those texts helped Blaine. Some days, they were the only thing that made me smile. And Karofsky and his gang would have done what they had with or without your texts, sooner or later."

Blaine shook his head, "I don't believe that. Before me it was just the dumpster and slushies and shoves, and not that those things aren't horrible but, now since me… you were attacked Kurt. They... if that guy hadn't have found y-you… you would have died!" The boy wasn't embarrassed that his voice broke as he finished. He didn't care how emotional he was getting.

Kurt had almost died.

Blaine, no matter what Kurt said, believed that it was his fault.

The boy in question struggled to sit up, his entire chest protesting in a fiery rage, but he sat up despite that and the onslaught of dizziness. Blaine opened his mouth but found a cold hand covering it. Kurt's narrowered eyes were green in anger and he spoke in a harsh voice, "Blaine, shut up. You have no part in this. None. Except for making my life bearable these last few weeks. So stop blaming yourself this instant. I do not blame you. I doubt my dad blames you. No one blames you. It was those Neanderthals. All of this is on them. So please, for me Blaine, stop feeling guilty."

After the outburst it was quiet. Blaine stared at the boy, his eyes wide. Kurt gasped for breath, worn out by his little speech. The two stayed perfectly still as Blaine's mind furiously thought, a torrential downpour of emotions filling his mind. His hand went up to grab Kurt's which still covered his mouth. The other boy blushed as he realized he had left his hand on his lips.

Blaine lowered the limb but didn't release his hand. "I don't think I can." Blaine confessed, but before Kurt could butt in he continued, "I will try, but this weight of guilt can't just go away like that," he snapped his fingers, "but for your sake, I'll try."

Kurt cracked a smile and squeezed Blaine's hand, "Okay, I guess that will do. For now." He smirked, "Don't think I'm letting this go though."

Blaine chuckled, "I wouldn't have it any other way," he stood up, "Now lay back down before the doctors and nurses come in and see you up and rip me a new one for getting you worked up."

With an arm wrapped around Kurt's petite shoulders he lowered him down slowly, pretending he didn't hear Kurt's quiet whimpers as to not hurt his pride. Once Kurt was comfortable and Blaine was seated, the quiet atmosphere of the room returned and soon the patient's eyes began to drop in fatigue.

Seeing how Kurt fought sleep, Blaine whispered, "Go to sleep Kurt,"

"Stay," Kurt mumbled, eyes glazed and head rolling.

"I'll stay," Blaine agreed and he watched the younger teen fall into a peaceful sleep, "I'll stay as long as you'll have me here."

...So please review! And just to let you know, they're all not angst, some are cute and fluff and friendship and then it kind of circles back to angst. Anyways, thanks for reading! -brezy