Just a short, sad Rane drabble I wrote in one of my free periods at school. Constructive criticism is appreciated, so please review! :)

Reed and Shane, as well as the entirety of Dalton, belong to CP Coulter.
Blaine Anderson and Glee belong to Ryan Murphy/FOX.

Shane seemed to materialise at the doorway. The white linoleum floor squeaked under his feet as he ran to his brother, who was seated and waiting in silence.

"What happened? Where is he? Is he okay? Will he live? Is he even alive?" Shane spoke with all the urgency he could, as though the world would end if he were slower. He trembled with every word. "I need to see him!"

"Calm down, Shane," Blaine rested his hands firmly on his brother's shoulders, pulling him down to sit beside him. "He's okay. He's alive. But there are... complications."

Shane could nothing but stare. "Like what? I mean, what could have happened for there to be complications aside from general injury?"

"Well, uh..." Blaine swallowed, "he fell down the grand staircase. You know. The one made of marble." He had to stop his own hands from shaking as he continued quietly, "He, um—well, on the way down, his, uh, leg got caught in the rail... twisted it all the way ar—"

"Stop. I can't..." Shane started. Tears already began to well in his eyes as he gazed down the pristine hallway. "J-just take me to see him. Please."

Silence.

Then, reluctantly, Blaine stood, Shane following suit. The walk down the hall to room 107 seemed to take an eternity. Trolleys of equipment were pushed past by nurses, a phone rang somewhere at reception, and sickly residents coughed and groaned from every room, but Shane barely noticed it. He was numb, and everything seemed to move in slow-motion.

105...

106...

107.

"Shane, let me warn you," Blaine sighed, "You aren't going to like what you see."

"I don't care. I need to be here for him."

His brother patted a hand on Shane's shoulder sympathetically. "I'll be right outside, okay?" Shane nodded once and quietly stepped into the room.

On the bed lay a tangled heap of bandages and strawberry curls – Reed. A heart monitor beeped slowly and steadily beside him, below the IV drip. His eyes were closed, and it barely looked like he was breathing. His right leg was raised, his left arm in a sling. Both were heavily bandaged and slightly bloodied. Reed's face was also badly bruised – he sported a black eye and a swollen jaw. Shane had to clap a hand over his own mouth and choke back a sob as the tears fell unwillingly, sliding down his cheeks. He could taste the salt. He cast his bleary eyes upward to a sign above the bed, which read:

Van Kamp, Reed.
Admitted 17th May 2:37 P.M.
Comatose.