Title: Tired Eyes
Author: Claddagh Ring

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

AN: post-choke

"Rach-."

"Don't," she rasped, her voice still raw from her last note. "Blaine, don't. Please."

"Kurt says you haven't slept," he whispered with concern, taking a step towards her. She just stepped away from him, her hand held up as if to ward him off; he paused for only a second before he moved towards her again until he was close enough to take her upraised hand and lower it into his own, lacing his fingers through hers. For comfort, solidarity, just to have something substantial to hold onto, however literal it was at the moment.

"I can't sleep," was her choked response. "If I sleep then it means that day is really over, that there's no going back and I blew it. Everything I ever wanted, just gone and it's all my fault. It'll just be gone Blaine, and it can't be. It can't be over, okay?"

"It's not gone, Rach," Blaine tried to put every ounce of encouragement into his words, but she just shook her head in disbelief, clinging tighter to his hand as she wiped a few tears away from her cheeks.

"I don't want to talk about it," she muttered sadly, staring at her feet. "I can't."

She swayed on her feet and before she could fall or walk away or disappear, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She stiffened only for a moment before her own arms fell to his waist, her grip fierce as she buried her face into his sweater. She sniffled, and his heart constricted for her, and he wished he could do something to take her heartbreak away. "Let me take you home," he whispered.

"It's not even fourth period," she tried to argue, but he just picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it when he came into the auditorium and led her down the stairs, through the halls until they found the back exit. They circled around the gym, hands still intertwined, until they were in Rachel's car. The drive to her house was silent, even the radio was turned off and she made no move to turn it back on.

Once at Rachel's, she seemed to automatically gravitate down to the basement, her Oscar room, and one brief look around told him that this was where she had spent most of the past two days. Crumpled up tissues surrounded empty boxes while pillows and blankets were strewn across the clearly slept on couch. A small television had been set up on a bar stool surrounded by empty DVD cases, mostly musicals and the discs were scattered around the room as if someone had thrown them in a fit of rage, or despair.

She started to offer him a drink, but he shook his head, curling his hand around hers once more. They moved to the couch as his quiet insistence; she tucked her legs underneath her as she settled against his shoulder. His hand moved through her hair, caressing the long tresses and she seemed to find that somewhat soothing as she eventually stopped crying. Her breathing slowly, but surely, became deep and even and when he finally dared to move enough to check, he found her fast asleep. He knew from experience – he'd spent enough time around her – to know that she would probably sleep for hours if he didn't wake her but this was the first time he'd seen her at rest since her audition and he'd rather cut himself with a rusty knife than take this peace away from her. The world would still be there for her to face when she woke up, but it could honestly wait for an eternity if she wanted to sleep that long. He'd make sure it would.

as always: I write, you read, you review, I'll write more... it might even be a prompt next time.