Anonymous said: Santana and Badboy!Kurt’s shenanigans get them in the hospital where Doctor!Blaine is attending.
Changed the prompt a bit due to poor reading comprehension, warning for some slight medical squick.
5,800 words. R.
The emergency room is a disappointment. No one is there with a severed limb or a chest impalement or even due to a multi-victim helicopter crash; just a woman with a fussy baby and older lady with a hacking cough and a guy who looks waxy and pale and keeps nodding off; tipping over in his chair only to snap back to consciousness and sit mostly upright again.
He and Santana have made a game out of it.
“Five head nods,” Santana says, in the hard plastic chair across from his, her heeled leather boots propped at the edge of his chair so he can rest his ankle on her knees.
Kurt twists his lips, watches the guy’s eyelids slip closed again. “Seven.”
They wait and wait and watch. His head flops forward. One… Two… Three… Four… “Come on,” Kurt says, “You bastard, come on!”
Five. His eyes snap open and he gasps and flails and sits up. Kurt mutters under his breath and Santana cackles and smacks his foot.
“Ouch Santana, Jesus!”
Santana rolls her eyes and says, “You just twisted it, you big baby.” But she pets at his swollen, bruised ankle anyway.