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They end up on opposite sides of the room when the gun goes off.
It’s all a blur, the panic look on Mr. Shue’s face, the screams echoing down the hallway. Adrenaline pluses through Blaine’s body, his first thought is block the doors, but the piano’s too heavy for him to move on his own. His second thought is Artie, trapped in the confines of his chair, and he moves on instinct.
He ends up back to the piano, facing the back wall, he can’t see Sam from there but at least he’s in the room. Not like Tina, who’d had to run to her car to get her Chem homework, oh god, he didn’t know he couldn’t know-
Aching pulses of fear shot through Blaine, every sound an echo, every clatter another shot.
“Are we even sure those are gunshots?” he asks, after a moment, only to get shut down. Fear pulses through him again, news articles and public safety announcements flashing through his brain. Stay quiet, stay hidden.
His limbs start shaking, and he clamps them tight, but he can feel Sam’s eyes on him from across the room. Phones come out, and people are reaching out, and Blaine fumbles with his own. Who does he reach out to? His mom? Getting a text like that would terrify her, but he could tell her he loved her. She knew that, right? Kurt? What did he have to say to Kurt right now? I’m glad we saved our friendship, thank you for still being part of my life?
No.
Eyes flitting around the room, Blaine tries not to let himself focus on Sam. He tries not to envy Marley, wrapped up tight in Jake’s embrace. That’s not what he has with Sam, that’s never been what they have, but he aches for it now, he aches for the security of it.
Footsteps slam down the hallway, and then someone’s pulling at the door and Blaine’s heart jumps into his throat. Fear like he’s never experienced, not at the mercy of pummeling fists or screaming in pain on the pavement of a parking lot, chills his blood. He bites his lip not to whimper and prays, prays to a God he has no faith in, prays the simple wish please let it be okay.
Sobbing starts, one of the girls giving in to that same fear, and Blaine wants to reach out in comfort, but the silencing hush still rings in his hears, the fear of making things worse.
Then the teachers are hissing a warning, and Blaine turns to see Sam crossing the open floor of the classroom. Irrationally, instinctively, his first reaction is heightened terror, a heart jolting pulse of not him, I can’t lose him, anyone but him.
Guilt should follow that, but it doesn’t. Sam’s at his side, warm wide palm sliding across his arm to wrap it in solid warmth, and Blaine nearly starts crying for it. The school is over run with silence, the persistent ticking of the metronome a loud, steady reminder of the lack of voices, of sounds of life.
“Brittany’s not here,” Sam whispers, and Blaine feels a twinge of sympathy for the worry in Sam’s voice. Sam’s gotten close to Brit this year, Blaine knows, in the same way he’d gotten close to Tina. Tina, who isn’t here.
“Tina’s not either,” he whispers back, as quietly as he can.
Sam’s hand contracts around his bicep, and Blaine can’t stop himself anymore, leaning into the warm solidity of Sam’s body next to him. Ridiculously, he thinks back to the last time he felt Sam close, the previous night. They’d watched a movie, back to chest, Sam’s arms around him, kissed until their lips were numb and Sam had to go home. He’d lamented that they couldn’t get off together at the time, because his mom was home, and now he was struck with the guilt of it, that he’d resented her for it. But he couldn’t regret it completely, could never regret his stolen moments with Sam.
He should text his mom, tell her he loves her, that he’d always appreciated her quiet support. To tell Dad he hopes he made him proud. To tell Cooper he’s glad they’re friends again.
Frantic whispers start on the other side of the room, he can hear the hysteria building in Marley and he wants to comfort her, but he doesn’t have the words. His brain is stuck on a loop, cycling between desperate fear, longing for his mother, the old fading ache for Kurt, and the instinct to cling on to Sam with everything he’s got.
Sam.
The only one of the 3 most important people in his life he has immediate access to.
“Sam,” He chokes out, as Marley starts crying in earnest.
Sam’s wide palm slips off his arm, and he panics for a minute, ready to reach out and grab him if he tries to get up and leave. But then Sam’s arm settles around his shoulders, holding him close, and he leans into it.
Silence, interrupted only by the steady beat of the metronome, reigns and Blaine tries to focus on breathing, on matching his intake of breath to Sam’s at his side. Then there’s a beeping, and Artie’s camera is in his face.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, Sam’s arm tightening around his shoulders.
The camera makes it’s way around the group, everyone saying goodbyes, and then it’s back in Blaine’s face and he panics. He doesn’t know what to say, not to his parents who raised him and loved him and did the best they could for him at every turn, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. Not to Kurt, who was still his best friend and who he promised never to say goodbye to, not even now when they’ve both had other people in their lives. Not to Sam, who was still holding Blaine close like he was afraid he might slip away.
Choking on all the words he couldn’t voice, Blaine just turned away from the camera, tucking his face into the warm familiar hollow of Sam’s neck. He smelled like sweat and boy there, and if Blaine pretended hard enough, maybe he could convince himself they were in his living room, Blaine curled up against Sam while he played video games.
“Turn it off, please turn it off,” he hisses into the crook of Sam’s neck, then Sam is shifting next to him, reaching forward to pull camera out of Artie’s hand and shut it down. It means Blaine slips out from his embrace, but he appreciates it anyway, he can’t deal with the concept of goodbye, he can’t.
Sam sinks back down next to him, pressed side to side, and the silence descends again. Mr. Shue must have left at some point during the camera debacle, because there’s a soft knock on the door and he’s coming in with Brittany and girl Blaine knows from the cheerios, a freshman girl he once passed a water bottle to at practice, and a boy Blaine’s never seen before.
The solid warmth of Sam leaves his side then, to get up to hug Brittany, and Blaine can’t blame him for it. If it were Tina he’d be hugging her, doing everything he could to keep her safe, instinctively wanting to keep her close. But he feels Sam’s absence like a missing limb and curls in on himself more, arms around his knees, tucked in small, doing everything in his power to choke back a sob.
The all-clear comes right after that. It doesn’t sink in right away, even when the lights come up and Mr. Shue breathes a sigh of relief. Blaine stays frozen on the floor, watching his classmate, his friends, his family, stand up around him. Sam hugs Mr. Shue from behind and Blaine just watches, helpless. He can feel it, everything he suppressed bubbling up inside him, and he can’t stand until Sam comes back to him.
Then he’s being pulled up, up and into a crushing, familiar embrace and he loses it, clinging to Sam like that might make the world stop spinning. Words push at his lips, words he hasn’t said to Sam, isn’t sure about and doesn’t know how to define for him, but he’s achingly unstable and Sam feels like solidity. He’s so grateful, for the months they’ve spent together, what they’ve share together, what they have together, and he needs to say, needs to make sure Sam knows-
“Sam, I,” he starts, then chokes on the words, but Sam just rocks him a bit, gentle back and forth.
“I know,” he says simply. “Me too.”
Then the sobs come, pouring out of him onto Sam’s shoulder, and Sam just holds him, clings back and makes him safe.
Somehow they get pulled into a group hug, but he can’t make himself separate completely, the gossamer fine connection between them too precious to let go. He can tell somehow, that something’s changed, something’s different. Everything’s different, but the way Sam’s looking at him, holding on to him in a way that’s never been them before, there’s something new. Or maybe just something manifested.
He honestly doesn’t have the energy to think about it. The fear and adrenaline are draining now, and all he can feel is a bone-deep tiredness. He shoots off a quick text message to Kurt, a perfunctory explanation and a promise to talk later, then pulls away from the group to call his mother.
Hearing her voice is wonderful, and he wants to wrap himself up in her embrace, in a way he hasn’t since he was a child. Sam stays by his side while he’s on the phone, solid steady presence, and Blaine lets his head tip onto Sam’s shoulder.
Everything passes in a blur after that. They’re all searched and sent home, as quickly as possible. He does manage to find Tina, hugs her and holds her tight, and takes a moment to be grateful, to smell her hair and treasure having her in his life.
He parts from Sam only reluctantly, the thread stretching between them still fragile and unsteady, but he honestly needs space. He can’t think about this feeling he can’t ignore anymore, can’t think about what it means for the future because it will only mean more fear. The voice in the back of his mind that insists he doesn’t deserve love is quieter these days, but he’s not sure he can shut if off completely. He tries not to think about it, about love, as he parts from Sam. It’s so much easier to get swept up in his family and being together.
Oddly, he can’t settle the turmoil inside him until he calls Kurt, many hours later, slipping away from his parents long enough to make the call he promised.
“Sam held me,” he admits to Kurt, curled up on the porch swing outside his house. “I was so scared and he held me. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“You would have survived,” Kurt reassured, in the fully confident way that Blaine could never help but believe. “That’s what you always do. You survive, Blaine. But I’m glad you had him.”
“Yeah,” he whispered in response, and for a minute he wished it was easier to talk to Kurt about this. Kurt who he still loved, but differently, Kurt who would always be in his life.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Kurt asked softly, and there was no hurt in his voice, just a slight trace of sadness. Blaine understood the feeling, felt it himself whenever Kurt talked about his own relationship, twinges of regret mixed with happiness for his best friend.
“I can’t be,” He choked back, more tears coming to his eyes. “I can’t be, he’s staying here and I’m going to New York and I can’t. I’m terrible at distance, I can’t let this-”
“Blaine,” Kurt cut him off, and his voice was patient, so much more patient than Blaine deserved, talking to him about another boy. “Didn’t today convince you that life’s too short to cut yourself off from love?”
And he was right, of course. It really, really was.