One minute he's walking across the street, gloved hands in his pockets, headphones tucked into the shell of his ear playing Judy Garland's “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. The next thing he knows he's landing with a cruel thud, the crack and pop of cartilage dislodging and bones splitting.

He wakes in a room with florescent white lights, the beep of monitors, the sterile drip of saline. He tries to breathe but he can't and the panic sets in, turning to desperation in seconds. And then there is Burt. He can see nothing but the older man's face, framed by the worn Hummel Tires and Lube hat he's been wearing since the day Blaine met him. “Calm down buddy. Calm down.” The sixteen year old choir boy in him obeys and the twenty-one year old man he is now trusts Burt Hummel would never do him harm. It's a struggle to tell his lungs to let a machine do the work but he does and nurses are rushing in.

Extubated, tentative sips of ice cold water from the pink pitcher on the nightstand. The first word out his mouth is Kurt. Always Kurt. Burt is there and so is Carole. Finn is nowhere to be found and most shockingly, Kurt isn't hovering over him, worry causing premature wrinkling on his furrowed brow.

“He went to shower and change, honey.” It's Carole who answers, perched on the arm of Burt's chair, her arm across his shoulder. “You've been out for six days. We called him. He's on his way back.” He nods, finding solace in the knowledge that Kurt is coming to him.

“Where's Finn?” and the look that flashes across Carole's face before she can contain it is pure pain. And then it's all flooding back. It's like losing him all over again and he pitches forward as much as he can in the back brace hes in. Sobbing, throat already raw. Finn's been dead for months, years now.

Jaywalking. Yellow cab. Pain. And it's nearly Christmas. He lives in New York, with Kurt and their dog Lucy. Kurt had fought Blaine for months before they'd walked past an adoption event on the street and came home with a puppy so tiny she still had to be fed with a bottle. He's finishing up his music education degree. Kurt is in an off-Broadway production of Thoroughly Modern Millie where he doubles as the costume manager.

Then there is Kurt. He's slumped against the door frame, cheeks pink, chest heaving, snowflakes melting gracefully in his still wet hair. His hand is over his heart, and the light catches on the silver band circling his left ring finger. Instinctively Blaine rubs his thumb over the spot where his own matching engagement ring should be but isn't.

Kurt just stares. He doesn't say anything. And then he's there leaning into the bed as though it's the only thing keeping him upright. “I…oh God…you…you're awake. I just, I wasn't sure you were going to wake up.” Kurt kisses him, hard on the mouth. In the background Blaine recognizes the sound of Carole and Burt shuffling out, mumbling something about coffee.

They pull apart, but Kurt leaves his hand on Blaine's face, palm molded delicately to Blaine's cheek, careful to avoid the oxygen tubes tucked over Blaine's ears. Tears are pressing at the rim of Kurt's eyes but the defiant look on his face is not unfamiliar. He's trying to keep them from falling. Be strong. Be brave. Be everything.

~~~~~

Seven weeks later, Blaine finds himself looking at the front door of their building from the unfamiliar perspective afforded him by his wheelchair. He can't help but say a silent prayer of thanks for the elevator just inside the lobby.

Upstairs in their apartment, Lucy rushes to meet them, peeing on the hardwood. She looks at Blaine as though he is back from the dead and he thinks maybe she's right. Shes as close to him as she can get, obviously frustrated by the chair and its ability to block her affection. The furniture has all been pushed against the wall to allow him room to move around. He feels like it should bother him but it doesn't. The rush of relief is palpable. Kurt is flitting around, making coffee, and opening drawers just to close them. He's flustered. “Maybe you should make decaf” Blaine quips. Kurt's laugh comes out in a loud blurt, followed by a series of uncalculated giggles. It feels like nothing has really changed.

Of course, he's wrong. They can only use the bottom half of the refrigerator because Blaine can't reach anything above it. Kurt goes back to work so there is a nurse that comes to check on him a couple times a day and Sam comes by to walk Lucy in the park every afternoon. Going to the bathroom becomes a twenty minute ordeal. He doesn't go back to school. Not yet at least. He's on medical leave until June when he'll reassess the situation and make some more permanent decisions.

He starts therapy. He will learn to walk again. He's not paralyzed but the reconstructed discs in his back mean he has to start all over. It's embarrassing and daunting. Weeks and weeks of therapy. For what? Ten steps. Ten glorious steps, all in one go. Stilted and clumsy, but in succession. He can't wipe the smile off his face, not even when he finds himself slapped in the face by a beautiful Michael Kors bag as he navigates the bustle of New York.

~~~~~

Seven months later, almost to the day and Sam's flying through the door to their apartment with Artie, and Cooper in tow. He's carrying a big white box, inside a baker's dozen of donuts in different shapes and colors. Blaine allows himself one before he showers and begins to dress. He can't help but wonder if Kurt is also adjusting his cuff links right now, standing in Rachel's bedroom.

June 13th. By the time he falls into bed tonight he will be a married man. The engagement ring that has long since been replaced will be joined by a thin wedding band. He'll have champagne and steak and maybe he'll even dance. By most of all, he will walk to Kurt.

Sam is yelling from the living room. The limo will be blocking traffic outside in less than ten minutes. He breathes. He's not nervous. Not really. It's Kurt. They've always been working towards this day. He reaches into his sock drawer. At the very bottom there is a small fabric square, three inches by three inches. Red and black plaid, clipped from one of Finn's shirts taken from the donate box when the Hudson-Hummels had cleaned out his bedroom. He takes it, thumbs sweeping reverently over the token, before he gingerly places it in pocket.

~~~~~

Kurt walks in first, flanked by Burt and Carole. Blaine watches him go and for the first time, Blaine feels like this might not be his best idea. Maybe walking all the way to Kurt, aided only by his questionably focused brother, in front of everyone they know and love, might be a little too much. Physically, he knows he can do it. He's been practicing for this moment for the past seven months. It just seems big right now, when everything is heavy and important.

Cooper is there, nudging him and offering his hand. Blaine takes it and shakily steps out of the wheelchair. Cooper lets go of him when he knows Blaine is steady. He adjusts his younger brother's lapels, avoiding the fragile lily pinned there, and straightens his tie. “Ready to go, Squirt?” he asks quietly and it's time.

He hadn't discussed this with Kurt. As he steps onto the aisle, Cooper next to him, just in case, he can see Kurt's confusion, his glee, and the slightest edge of indignation. Blaine knows he will be getting an earful about this later. He can't help but smile. Kurt is physically keeping himself rooted. He's usually so composed but Blaine can tell it's taking everything he has to keep himself from going to Blaine. He is letting Blaine come to him.

Cooper falls into his place amongst the groomsmen. And then Blaine's there with Kurt. Kurt who is smiling and crying. Kurt is kissing him and there is laughter from the group of people congregated because it's almost like they skipped to the end without doing the important bit in the middle. It's right. All of it. And he knows, they will always find each other.