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fic: refresh my broken mind. (kurt/blaine)
icedintheveins

Title: Refresh My Broken Mind
Paring: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8,081
Warnings!: attempted suicide and self-harm
Summary: Kurt finds a note from Blaine left on the coffee table. It's in that moment when their lives change forever.

Blaine thinks it's kind of strange, just going with this stranger, even though they apparently know each other.

But in the end, Kurt is all he has.

 

A/N: So, I kind of have this thing for writing suicidal/depressed!Blaine.  And this fic in particular holds a special place in my heart.  Those panicked feelings Kurt experiences at the beginning - well, let's just say I know all about those.




but i will hold on hope
and i won't let you choke
on the noose around your neck

and i'll find strength in pain
and i will change my ways
i'll know my name as it's called again


the cave; mumford & sons

.

.

Kurt is the first to see the note.

Blaine had slept over the night before, quiet and unlike himself, his usual upbeat personality forced and fake. They'd slept, snuggled closely, Blaine's body pressed gently against his. And it had taken everything in him not to wrap his arms around Blaine's waist.

And as Blaine fell asleep, he'd stayed awake, eyebrows creasing as he looked over his boyfriend, trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong, that Blaine hadn't been changing, but of course it isn't enough.

Kurt wakes up in the morning to find that the space next to him is empty. He reaches his arms out, feeling through the covers, but it's no use- Blaine is still gone.

He throws the covers off of himself, jumping up from his bed and squinting against the pale morning sunlight. It's only seven am, and the fact that Blaine has disappeared so early terrifies him.

Carefully, he tip-toes downstairs, straining his ears, feeling for any sign of his boyfriend.

Instead, he enters the living room to find a folded piece of paper on the coffee table.

He picks it up with trembling hands, his heart pounding against the inside of his throat. The letters are printed across the paper in a hurried scrawl, and a few places the ink has run, the paper crumpled where tears had fallen. He feels light-headed and sick as he reads, his mind and body going into panic mode.

Burt, Carole, Finn, and Kurt-

I just want to thank you for taking me into your family when mine couldn't accept me. I want to thank you for your hospitality and support- it was more than I could ever ask for. But I don't deserve any of it.

And Kurt- I just want to let you know I love you. I love you more than you will ever know. Meeting and getting to know was the best part of my life. You made me feel worth something. But I just can't do this anymore. I can't handle the humiliation, the ridicule- the pain is too much to bear. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But you'll move on and you deserve so much better than me. You're beautiful and brave and you'll go places. And you deserve someone who can make you happy, who'll be happy with you and who won't be so absorbed with themselves like I am.

Once again, I'm so sorry. I just hope you understand.

This is goodbye.

Love always,
Blaine


Tears fall fast and thick, but Kurt is determined to hold onto everything 'til he's sure it's gone.

Clutching the note in his fist, he sprints upstairs, wrenching open Finn's door as he bolts into the room.

"Finn," he gasps, shaking his brother roughly.

Finn groans, squinting his eyes open. "What?" he asks annoyed and then he sees Kurt's pale face, streaked with tears and he sits bolt upright, eyes wide open. "Kurt, what is it?"

"It's Blaine," Kurt says, sniffling. "He's going to kill himself."

.

.


"Concentrate, Kurt," Finn says as they run from the house. He tugs a sweatshirt around himself awkwardly as Kurt hops along behind him, desperately trying to slide his sneakers on. "Where would he be? Is there any place you can think of? Has he been hinting on anything?"

"I – I don't know," Kurt stutters as he stumbles into the passenger seat of Finn's car.

"Nothing?" Finn asks, looking out the back windshield and backing out of the driveway.

Kurt racks his panicking mind, thinking of the late-night conversation they'd had last night- Blaine expressing his relief and excitement that while it was his turn to stay there, his father would be away this weekend, and how he didn't tell his mother because he couldn't stand being around either of them at this point.

"Um . . his- his father's house," Kurt spits out. "His father's gone this weekend. He kept talking about how the house would be empty."

Finn nods, pressing down on the gas pedal.

Reaching into his pocket, Kurt struggles to pull out his cell phone, hitting the number one speed dial. It rings once, twice, . . seven times and then goes to voicemail. Kurt tries again, and again, and again.

"Blaine," he says anxiously as he gets voicemail for the fifth time. "Blaine, please don't do this. I love you. You don't have to do this."

Kurt stifles sobs as he hangs up his phone and Finn speeds through the streets, trying to keep everything together. He quickly sends a text message:

Please, Blaine. You have so much to live for.

He vaguely wonders if Blaine even has his phone with him. He should've checked before he left the house. Finn sees his eyes holding back tears and gives his knee a comforting pat.

"We'll get there and stop him," he assures and Kurt doesn't argue, because even though he has no idea when that note was written, and he could be dead by now- he wants to hang on to that last hope.

It only takes around five more minutes of maneuvering through the neighborhoods until they reach Blaine's house, seemingly empty, dark and desolate.

Kurt leaps from the car before Finn is even fully parked, racing to the front door. He yanks on the knob, but it doesn't move; it's locked. He bangs his fist against the door, screaming, "Blaine! Blaine!'

But there's no answer.

He fights the oncoming sobs as he curses loudly, searching the porch for a key.

"Kurt!" Finn shouts, and Kurt turns. He's holding his palm out, the key Blaine had given Kurt in his hands. "Stay calm."

With shaking fingers, he shoves the key in the lock, throwing open the door. Inside, the house is dark, only sunlight peering through the blinded windows.

"Blaine?" he calls out desperately. "Blaine? Blaine?"  His voice cracks and he runs forward, searching the ground floor first.

"Kurt, go upstairs!" Finn yells. "I've got everything covered down here!"

Kurt nods at him, swallowing hard and runs upstairs, taking the steps three at time. He heads immediately for the bathroom, but the bathtub is dry, the sink clean, the medicine cabinet untouched. His heart starts to race faster, thinking that maybe Blaine didn't come back here after all.

He proceeds anxiously to Blaine's bedroom, which is in turn empty. He checks the closet, feels around the bed, looks in all the corners, but it isn't until he looks out the window that he finally finds him.

His heart nearly explodes as he sprints down the stairs, his lungs burning, his stomach clenching, his head spinning. He races through the front hallway, onto the living room and out the backdoor, hearing Finn shout, "Whoa! Kurt- where are you going?"

He tears through backyard until he reaches the tree, falling to his knees.

.

.


Blaine lies on the ground, his body crumpled and a frayed rope hanging around his neck. Above him, a branch in the tree is snapped, hanging awkwardly. Kurt pleads with all his might as he bends over the boy, his fingers finding his wrist, and there, he feels two small beats, and then two more, and so on. He breathes a sigh of relief, falling over Blaine's chest and sobbing, his body moving with the rise and fall of Blaine's chest.

As he tries to get control of himself, Kurt feels a hand press against his back.

"Kurt- come on- we need to get him to the hospital." It's Finn's voice, worried and anxious. "Something's wrong- just- just look."

Kurt lifts his head, looking at Blaine's face- which is a startling white.

"Shit," he hisses and his fingers fly to the noose. "Finn- Finn, go find a scissors or something- it's nearly choking him still."

Finn dashes into the house, and Kurt leans over Blaine further, tugging at the rope gently. He plants a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Oh, God, baby," he breathes. "I thought I lost you."

Finn returns in less than a minute, handing Kurt a pair of kitchen scissors and kneeling down beside his brother. Kurt shoves the blade under the rope as carefully as he can, tugging upward until it breaks, revealing a ring of ragged, bleeding skin across Blaine's neck.

Kurt lets out a shuddering breath before sticking his hands under Blaine's armpits and knees and pulling him into his arms. He staggers to his knees, and Finn grabs his shoulder.

"Do you want me to carry him?" he asks.

"No, no," Kurt protests. "It's fine- I've got him. Just . . go start the car."

Finn rushes ahead with the slightest of hesitation, Kurt following behind, tears of mingled joy and sadness rushing from his eyelids as he carries Blaine along. When he reaches the car, he as gently as possible places Blaine in the backseat, scooting in beside him. As soon the door shuts, Finn presses down on the gas pedal, and Kurt clutches tightly to Blaine as the car speeds along the highway to the hospital.

.

.


The drive to the hospital is probably one of the most emotional experiences he's had since his mother died. As they round corners sharply and fly past others around them, he holds Blaine closely to him. He sobs loudly with a mixture of relief and pain. His heart beats fiercely, his longs burning.

And he simply allows himself to feel. Allows himself to feel Blaine's warm body against his, the rise and fall of Blaine's chest as he breathes, and the slow pulse of Blaine's heartbeat.

In all honesty, he'd had a strong feeling that he'd be too late. He thought that by the time they reached his boyfriend's house, he'd be dead. But now to know that he was alive- it was more than his emotional wreck of a self could bear. He's relieved beyond belief, but it's going to be a huge struggle to get back into the swing of things.

Blaine gives the slightest of twitches, and Kurt looks down at him, cradling his frail body carefully. A feeling of unease settles in Kurt's stomach as his eyes scan over the bruised and bleeding skin of Blaine's neck and the pale, ghostly complexion of his face. His sobs have ceased, but tears still roll down his cheek.

He can hardly believe the loneliness and hopelessness and pain Blaine must've felt. How bad it must have progressed until he could no longer stand it. It breaks Kurt's heart into a million pieces. He feels like he hasn't done his job well enough. He feels like he hasn't been watching out for Blaine, like he hasn't shown Blaine how much he's loved, like he's let down Blaine in the most horrible way.

"Kurt?"

He's jolted from his cacophony of thoughts. Finn is sliding the car in front of the front doors of Lima Memorial Hospital.

"Can you get him inside by yourself?" Finn asks. "I'll only be a minute or so while I park the car."

Kurt nods, trying to shake the tears and emotions from himself. He can't afford to be a wreck right now; Blaine needs him. He kicks open the car door, pulling Blaine slowly after him. As gently as he can, he pulls Blaine into his arms once again, and giving Finn a last sad glance, he walks forward into the hospital, pushing painful memories back.

As he enters, the receptionist looks up, and look of surprise overtakes her expression.

"Oh! Can- can someone get a wheelchair?" she calls back towards the hallway behind the desk.

People turn their heads, staring in shock and horror, covering their mouths, and then looking away. A few more receptionists stand up, moving around behind the desks and coming to help Kurt settle Blaine into the wheelchair that's being brought out. He slumps into it, still unconscious, his head lolling to the side.

"We better get him to Urgent Care," the first receptionist says. "What happened?"

Kurt swallows hard before answering, his eyes tingling. "He um . . he- he tried to hang himself."

She pales, her eyes going wide, and doesn't reply, but continues to lead Kurt down the hall. She stops a few more doors down, knocking on it before pushing it open and turning on the lights.

"Just hang in there," she instructs. "A doctor will be in here as soon as possible."

Setting Blaine next to one of the other chairs, he takes a seat and hunches over, putting his head in his hands. He sits there silently until the door opens again and a tall, middle-aged man steps in the room.

"Hello," he says. "I'm Doctor Carlson."

"Hi – hi," Kurt stutters. "Um.. Kurt Hummel."

Dr. Carlson steps past him, pulling his clipboard up. "And our patient?"

"Blaine- Blaine Anderson."

"And he attempted to hang himself?" Dr. Carlson asks.

Kurt nods, pressing his lips together.

Carlson scribbles a few words down before pulling on some rubber gloves, and bending down next to Blaine. He feels his pulse, putting his ear close to Blaine's chest. He pulls away and then carefully prods at Blaine's neck, examining the cuts and bruising.

"How long has he been unconscious?" he asks Kurt.

"Since I found him," Kurt replies.

"Alright," Carlson sighs. He stands up and peeks his head out the door. "Hey – hey, Amy? Will you call down and set up a room for this boy? He's going to need to stay here awhile."

.

.


"I'm sorry it took me so long – I got lost," Finn says as he reaches Kurt. He sits down next to him, looking around at their surroundings before continuing. "How is he?"

"I don't know," Kurt whispers. "I've been waiting out here for a half hour while they do all these tests and scans. I don't even know what they're looking for. They – they just took him from me." His voice cracks, and a sob escapes him.

A strong arm wraps itself around Kurt's shoulders and he leans into his brother, closing his eyes.

"Well, at least he's alive, Kurt," Finn says quietly. "We did it. We saved him. And all we can do is hope for the best."

.

.


It's an agonizing eternity later when a nurse exits the hospital room, heading for them. Kurt jumps from his seat, his hands folded together in front of his chest. Finn stands up next to him, resting a hand on his back.

"Can I see him?" he blurts.

"Eh – yes," the nurse says. "Come right this way."

She leads him into the room, and he follows, shaking like a leaf.

Blaine lies in the bed, his neck bandaged, an IV stuck in his hand. His face is paler than ever, his eyelids dark, his sweaty curls sticking to his forehead. Kurt hurries forward, reaching out for Blaine's free hand. He brings his lips to Blaine's fingers, closing his eyes as the tears threaten to cascade.

"What – what's the damage?" he hears Finn ask behind him.

"Nothing too terrible," Dr. Carlson replies. "A sprained ankle from the fall, and a severe concussion with some minor head trauma. He should recover fully."

Kurt breathes a sigh of relief, and his legs shake underneath him, threatening to drop his weight. Finn's right behind him as he clutches to the side of Blaine's bed to steady himself.

"Whoa – careful, there Kurt," Finn warns, grabbing him under the armpits. "Take it easy."

"But he's – he's going to be okay . . he's okay," Kurt splutters, turning and burying his face in Finn's shoulder.

Finn rubs his back, holding him tight.

.

.


It's late in the afternoon, and Kurt sits at Blaine's bedside, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. His hand rests on Blaine's bed, curled up next to Blaine's limp fingers as he sleeps, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Finn enters the room, their parents right behind him.

As Burt questions Finn, Carole moves over to smooth Kurt's hair, brushing back the bangs from his face.

"So what exactly happened?" Burt asks, stepping over to Carole, Kurt, and Blaine.

"Blaine left a suicide note on our coffee table," Finn starts bluntly. "Kurt woke me up and we drove to his house. We looked around, and uh.. we found him in the backyard." He sighs, his gaze moving to the injured boy. "It looked like he tried to hang himself, and it didn't work. He was crumpled on the ground – alive. "

Carole's hand involuntarily flies up to her mouth, and Burt raises his eyebrows, shocked.

"Oh my God," Carole breathes. "What that must have done to Kurt." She turns back to him, cupping his face in her palm.

"Is he going to, uh, be okay?" Burt asks, and everyone knows that he's thinking of Mae and how Kurt doesn't need someone else in his life gone.

"He's going to be fine," Finn assures, but later, everyone won't be so certain.

.

.


Kurt awakes some time early the next morning, completely unaware of his surroundings. He pushes himself up in his chair, realizing that he's now in a recliner, a blanket draped over him. Bleary-eyed, he looks around the room, spotting his dad in the plastic chair.

All he can hear is the low hum of the monitors and the soft breathing of his father and boyfriend. It's still dark outside, no sign of the sun yet. The clock reads four-seventeen in the morning, and Kurt lets out a sigh, falling back into his chair.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, and it's lit up with about fifty messages, all asking what happened, if he's okay, how Blaine's doing. He doesn't have the energy or heart to reply right now, and he plans on sending a forwarded text to everyone later.

He sighs again, curling up onto his side, his gaze going to Blaine.

He's as still as he was hours ago, lying on his back with his hands resting at his sides. His head is turned to the side, revealing the swollen and bleeding skin. Kurt's heart twists inside his chest, and his fingers twitch, wishing to reach out and comfort him.

As he stares, Blaine's head gives a little twitch. Kurt freezes, watching him carefully, and a small groan escapes his lips. His eyelids flutter and Kurt jumps up from his chair, rushing over to him.

"Blaine?" he whispers.

He opens his eyes fully, then squints, staring up at Kurt in confusion. "What – what happened?" he croaks. "Where am I?"

"You don't remember?" Kurt asks.

"No," Blaine replies. "And who are you? Who's Blaine?"

Kurt feels his mouth slowly drop open, his limbs turning numb.

"Dad?" he says loudly, his voice shaking.

.

.


Dr. Carlson turns to Kurt, looking over the papers and diagrams in his hands.

"Amnesia," he says, but Kurt already knows. All he wants is to know that Blaine will remember, that the past months haven't been a complete waste. "Set on by the head trauma."

"Will – will it go away?" Kurt asks anxiously.

"It's hard to say," Carlson sighs. "It should, but even though his head trauma didn't cause a huge amount of brain damage, it was still pretty bad." He looks to Kurt and sees his heartbroken expression. "Hopefully it will. We'll just have to try our bests to bring it back."

.

.


Kurt returns to Blaine's hospital room, nothing short of awkward. He's so unsure as to how to approach him, how to explain, how to tell him that they love each other, how to inform of how and why he ended up here.

Blaine looks over to him as he enter, wincing as the movement hurts his neck.

"Hi," Kurt says cautiously. He tugs at his sleeve, feeling oddly warm.

"Hey," Blaine says. "Um.. sorry, but – who are you again?"

"Kurt," he says. "Kurt Hummel."

"And I'm Blaine?"

Kurt nods. "Blaine Anderson."

"And . . how do you know me?" Blaine asks.

Kurt feels more like crying, but he answers instead. "We – uh . . we're boyfriends."

"Boyfriends, huh?" Blaine muses.

"Do you remember . . . ?" Kurt starts awkwardly.

"I still know I'm gay," Blaine says quietly, eyes looking down at his sheets. "It's everything else I can't remember. School, family, friends - it's just all a mixed-up blank."

Kurt simply stands there, wondering if he'll ever have the strength to tell Blaine the truth. To tell him about Dalton and why he ever went there. To tell him about his family and why his father hates him. To tell him about the depression and why he ended up in the hospital.

.

.


Kurt sits in his room, curled in ball and hugging his knees to his chest. His iPod is playing softly from the top of his vanity, in the very background of his mingled thoughts.

He can't wrap his head around his situation.

Blaine's alive – and that let alone, is a miracle. Now the obstacle they face is discovering and dealing with the truth. It's so difficult to see Blaine even more naïve and hopeful than he was before, only to be crushed by reality and his overbearing depression all over again.

He doesn't know how to get his memory back without revealing all the bad things. Of course, Blaine will have to deal with all that later anyway, but Kurt wants to do it in a gentle manner, rather than all at once in a jumbled mess.

And more than that – in the selfish part of him, it hurts that Blaine doesn't remember him. It hurts that Blaine doesn't remember their relationship, the memories they shared, the fact that they love each other. It hurts more than he's comfortable to admit, wrenching his heart.

"Kurt?" Finn knocks once on the door before pushing it open carefully.

"Yes?" Kurt asks tiredly.

"Uh . . someone's here to see you," Finn says. "Come on – she's downstairs."

Kurt sighs as he pushes himself off of his bed, following Finn. He expects it to be Mercedes or Rachel – one of the girls from glee club. However, he does not expect Clara Anderson to be standing in their living room, her eyes red and puffy.

"Hello?" he asks uncertainly.

She looks at him for a moment, offering a small smile.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't normally look like this. I've just been to visit Blaine . . doesn't even remember me," she whispers quietly.

"Yeah," Kurt says softly. "He didn't recognize me either."

It's silent for a moment, and then suddenly, Clara is pulling Kurt into a bone-crushing hug. After a second, he hugs back, holding her tightly.

Because she knows how he feels. She knows how broken his heart is, how devastated he feels, how much he just wishes he could make everything right for Blaine. And she would do anything in the world for him, just as he would.

"I just wanted to thank you," she whispers. "I want to thank you so much for saving my son. There's no way I'll ever be able to repay you."

Kurt looks up at her.

"Just help him," he whispers back. "That's how. This isn't going to be an easy ride, and he needs to know that he has at least one parent supporting him."

Clara nods, tears falling fast down her cheeks.

.

.


A row of lockers. Tall and blue, they race past his line of vision, faster and faster until they slow to a stop. They move until one is directly in front of him, and then they lurch forward.

It takes a second for him to realize that his face is smashed against the cool metal. A sharp pain goes through his body, and then everything's gone.


.

.


Blaine sits slouched in his bed, staring down at his lap nervously. Kurt is perched in the chair beside him, reading in the ear-splitting silence.

Kurt doesn't know he's awake, and Blaine takes the opportunity to look him over. He sees the pale complexion of Kurt's skin, the bags under his dull eyes, the frown of his lips, and he knows that this is all his fault. He racks his aching brain, trying to remember anything about this beautiful boy, but he can't.

"Kurt?" he asks quietly.

He turns, slightly startled. "Yes, Blaine?"

Blaine looks into his tired eyes. "Will – will you tell me more about myself?" he asks anxiously. "And – and us?"

Kurt sighs, turning his body around in the chair, his legs hanging over the arm. "What do you want to know?"

"Well," Blaine starts. "I'm not really sure."

Kurt waits patiently, his gaze traveling over Blaine's troubled expression.

"Just – what am I like?" Blaine asks.

"You want to know what you're like?" Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow.

Blaine nods.

"Well," Kurt says, standing up from his seat. "For one, you are a very kind, caring, and loving person." He lowers himself onto the bed next to Blaine and reaches out, gripping Blaine's fingers in his own. "You're giving and determined and passionate in everything you do – especially performing."

Blaine's eyebrows furrow together. "Performing?"

"You're an incredibly gifted performer, Blaine," Kurt says softly. "Your voice is so pure, so honest. And it – it gives me goosebumps every time I hear it."

"I sing?" Blaine asks, his voice filled with wonder and disbelief.

"Phenomenally," Kurt replies.

An uncomfortable blush creeps up Blaine's neck and he turns the attention away from himself for a moment. "Do you sing?" Blaine asks, but he thinks he already knows the answer.

"I do," Kurt confirms. "Did you know that?"

"Sort of," Blaine replies. It's silent for an awkward few seconds, before Blaine speaks up again, curiosity getting the better of him. "What else?" he asks. "What about us? How long have we been together?"

A small smirk forms on Kurt's lip and he intertwines their fingers. "Just over six months," he says quietly.

Blaine's eyes widen a bit. "Wow," he says. "That's a long time."

Kurt gives a little half-laugh. "Yeah," he agrees.

"I can't believe I don't remember," Blaine breathes.

Kurt is still smiling. "You didn't even recognize me," he points out. "And you don't remember much else, do you?"

Blaine shakes his head, staring down again with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Kurt?" he asks, his voice soft, his tone vulnerable. "Did – did you love me?"

Kurt's smile grows wide again. "Yes," he replies. "I still do. I always will."

Blaine nods, grinning a little. "And did I love you?"

"You tell me," Kurt says, and he leans in, pressing his lips to Blaine's. It's gentle and soft and yet, full of sparks.

Blaine kisses back, clutching to Kurt carefully. It feels the slightest bit familiar to have his body against Kurt's and both of them know that they'd wished for this to jog Blaine's memory, but it doesn't.

He still doesn't remember Kurt, or the times they shared, or the love they felt. But he guesses it all must have been wonderful.

Kurt pulls away. "Well?" he asks.

Blaine smiles excitedly. It's more of guess than an assurance when he says, "I love you."

.

.


He's outside, feet pounding the pavement as he rounds a corner around a building, tearing through the parking lot. He can't get enough air and his burning lungs and a struggled cough leaves his mouth.

Larger footsteps sound behind him and his heart races even faster, but he's not moving quick enough. Something grabs his neck from behind and he falls to the ground, putting out his hands to protect himself.

Before everything goes black again, he can make out one single word:  "
Fag."

.

.


"Do you recognize any of these people?"

It's late into the night and the two of them lay snuggled in Blaine's hospital bed. Kurt holds a picture taken right before the annual back-to-school assembly, where the glee club, now joined by Blaine is prepared to go onstage. They're all huddled around behind the curtains, smiling and goofing off. Blaine has his arms around Kurt and Rachel, grinning like a five-year-old boy.

Blaine reaches out, taking the photograph from Kurt's hand and stares at, searching for a name a face, something.

But there's nothing.

"Just you," Blaine says softly. "Only because I know you now."

Kurt nods, trying to hide the sadness in his expression.

He looks closer, and sees a tall, gangly guy wrestling playfully with a dude with a Mohawk.

"Wait – he looks familiar," Blaine says. "He's been in here a couple of times."

Kurt nods, grinning. "He's my brother – well, stepbrother. You two get along really well."

Blaine sighs, looking over the rest of the kids. There's a guy in wheelchair, being pushed around by another guy with white-blond hair. Behind them is an Asian couple, making kissy faces at each other. Two girls – one a beautiful Latino, the other slim and blond - stand in a corner, arms around each other's waists.

"Who are they?" Blaine asks.

"Our school's glee club," Kurt replies. "See the girls next to us?" He points to the one Blaine's got his arm wrapped around – with dark, wavy hair and rather prominent nose – and the other who stands next to Kurt – dark-skinned, with glossy hair. "The girl next to you is Rachel," Kurt says. "She's a bit of a diva and gets every other solo. Her future definitely involves Broadway." He breaks off, laughing a little. "Now the other, Mercedes – she's also a diva, but in her own way. She doesn't need others to tell her she shines."

Blaine smiles, looking down at all the people, so happy and carefree, wishing he could remember that moment. Wishing he could remember life outside of this sterilized hospital room, trying to remember anything but the bitter memories that seem so close to the surface.

.

.


"The world doesn't need you. In fact, it'd be a much better place without disgusting faggots like you ruining it. So why don't you go along now and commit suicide?"

A flash, and he's on the ground, something warm, wet, and sticky running down the back of his head.

Now he's standing on his feet, breathing harshly, eyes narrowed at the dark silhouettes, his heart pounding with rage, spreading anger pulsing through his veins.

"Because I'm proud of who I am."

Hisses and grunts meet his ears, the people stepping closer. They laugh, cruel and loud. One of the men reaches up, gripping his hair, his breath hot on his face.

"Proud? This is why sick people like you need to die."

Another flash and he's back on the ground, his eyes streaming, his lungs fighting for breath. He feels a sharp kick hit his ribs, his back, his head, and everything starts to fade. His shirt is stripped open and he feels something smooth and waxy being spread across his chest.

.

.


"The world doesn't need you. In fact, it'd be a much better place without disgusting faggots like you ruining it. So why don't you go along now and commit suicide?"

And this is when Blaine knows that these images are no longer just dreams.

.

.


It's been exactly six days since Kurt first found the note and proceeded to discover Blaine tangled in that frayed noose. It feels like it's been much longer than that.

Today, Kurt had taken school off, preferring to spend his time with Blaine, rather than being pelted with questions and people trying to comfort him over and over and over again. He doesn't need sympathy; Blaine however, does.

He won't be in the hospital much longer, just until his severe concussion heals, and the resulting head trauma improves. Kurt wonders if that will help his memory at all, but guesses that it won't.

Kurt sits in the recliner next to Blaine's bed, legs criss-crossed with his textbook resting in his lap. He's attempting to do his makeup work, but his mind keeps wandering. As he scribbles a sentence of AP Chemistry notes down, a noise of distress comes from next to him.

He looks over to see Blaine twitching and struggling in his sleep. His face is contorted with frustration, grunts and gasps escaping his lips. Sweat beads his face, making his curls stick to his skin.

Kurt jumps up from his seat, leaning over Blaine and giving his shoulders a gentle shake. "Blaine," he says sharply. "Blaine!"

His eyes snap open, and he calms, breathing hard. He stares up at Kurt for a long moment before his lip quivers and tears leak down his cheeks.

Kurt sits carefully at the edge of the bed, gently wrapping his arms around Blaine. Blaine clutches back, his breath shaky.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asks softly.

Blaine stifles a sob before he answers, "I remember."

.

.


Blaine sits in Kurt's lap, resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. Kurt rubs soothing circles into his back, trying to calm his sobs.

"Sweetheart," Kurt starts softly. "I can't help you if you won't tell me."

Blaine pulls upward slightly, heaving a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he sighs. "I – I just – I remember the depression. I remember being bullied somewhat. I – I can see the guys – the blood. It's- it's blurred and confusing, but it's there, and it's overwhelming."

He turns again, putting his face in Kurt's chest.

Kurt sighs deeply, closing his eyes as he gives Blaine a gentle squeeze. "And that's it?" he asks.

Blaine nods into his shoulder. "I remember middle school and my first high school and – and coming out. I can see the bullies. I can see them beating me. Just small flashes of stuff, but it's all coming back." He breaks off, a shuddering breath escaping his lips.

Kurt reaches up, placing his fingers in Blaine's curly locks and cradling him closely.

"Why?" Blaine asks brokenly. "Out of everything, why did I have to remember this feeling?"

.

.


Today, Blaine is admitted out of the hospital.

Things are still kind of iffy with his mother, so the Hudson-Hummel's are taking him home. Dr. Carlson dismisses him with an order to check back each week for the next month, and to take things easy for awhile. His neck is still sore and raw, wrapped in bandages, and he's unsteady on his feet.

But Kurt wraps his arms Blaine's waist leading him back into the world.

.

.


Blaine thinks it's kind of strange, just going with this stranger, even though they apparently know each other.

But in the end, Kurt is all he has.

.

.


He's sitting in a bedroom – no, a dorm room. The place seems to ring a bell, but he's not sure if he's ever been there. He sits on the be with it's navy and red colored covers, hunched over.

In his fingers he holds a picture.

A young couple at a table sit, arms around each other, smiling at the camera. The woman is beautiful, with dark, curly hair and beautiful green eyes. The man next to her thick, brunette hair, and his eyes are a dark shade of brown.

They look so happy, so carefree, and a horrible ache stabs his chest as he thinks, "I've ruined everything."

.

.


It's raining; thick, wet drops beating against the foggy window. Blaine stares outside, gaze lost in the gray, milky sky. He's under the warmth and security of Kurt's blankets, snuggled in his bed, but for some nagging reason, he still doesn't feel safe.

His heart aches with the only emotion that seems so familiar to him: sadness. He blinks long and hard, urging the tears backward.

He's falling backwards down the mountain of progress he's made, and he's trying desperately to stay up.

"Kurt?" he whispers.

The boy moans slightly from next to him, halfway to sleep. "Yes?" he asks.

"I – I need to ask you something." The tone of Blaine's voice instantly awakens Kurt. He sounds so scared, so lost, and it rips at Kurt's heart.

"What is it?" he asks, sitting up. He lays a hand on Blaine's shoulder, letting him know that he's there.

"And promise you'll answer honestly," Blaine says.

Kurt nods. "I – I promise."

Blaine takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight again.

"Why was I in the hospital?"

Kurt is silent, his heart racing. He knew this moment would come, but he's not ready. Blaine's not ready – not in his present condition.

"Kurt," Blaine urges, on the verge of a breakdown.

"Umm . . " Kurt starts. "Well . . you tried to hang yourself."

Blaine jerks his head, letting out a noise mingled anger and frustration and sadness. "It's no wonder," he says through gritted teeth. His body begins to shake with suppressed sobs.

Kurt, swallowing hard, cautiously wraps his arms around Blaine.

"Sshh – shhh – shh," he murmurs. "Blaine, just calm down."

"I can't," Blaine sobs. "Why couldn't I forget forever? Why did I have to remember?" He wrenches himself from Kurt's grip, leaping from the bed. "And why did it have to be this?" He aims a hard kick at his suitcase, grunting.

Breathing hard, he stands there, fists clenched. His knees buckle within seconds, and he collapses to the ground.

Kurt catches him before he hits the floor, his heart leaping to his throat.

Everything seems to be so much worse.

.

.


"You have to take it easy," Kurt huffs, brushing the damp curls from Blaine's forehead. "And you have to stop dwelling on all the horrible things from the past."

Blaine sighs, turning his head. "How? How can I do that when that's all I remember? I – I can't remember anything good – and, and it's like a curse. All I see when I close my eyes, when I try to remember is the beating, the name-calling, the depression, the cutting. I – I can't go through all of this again, Kurt," he whispers, shaking his head.

"Blaine . . "

"E – Even though I don't remember anyone, I feel – I feel like I'm letting everyone down," he chokes out.

"Blaine, listen to me," Kurt says softly. "There's a reason that branch broke. There's a reason you lived, and you can't waste this second chance. You're too important."

"I'm trying," Blaine whispers. "I am. But all I see is the bad in life." Tears drip down his cheeks and Kurt wipes.

"Then I think you're going to need some help remembering."

.

.


There's a gentle knock on the bedroom door.

Blaine looks up from his spot on top of the covers. He's finally clean and showered, dressed in sweatpants and a Dalton Warblers (whatever that is) T-shirt. Glasses rest across the bridge of his nose and his hair is wild and curly.

Kurt steps into the room, followed by the two girls Blaine recognizes from the glee club picture.

"Hi, Blaine," they say sweetly, standing around awkwardly.

"Hi . . " he looks to the girl dressed in polka-dot sweater under her peacoat. "Rachel?"

She nods, smiling.

He looks to the other as Kurt sits down beside him, lost for words.

She smiles too, introducing herself, "Mercedes."

"Right," Blaine says. "I'm sorry – Amnesia kind of sucks."

The two girls laugh slightly, moving closer to him.

"We just wanted to come and see how you're doing," Rachel says, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

The four of them get into conversations, but as things turn into memories, and the other three laugh, Blaine simply sits there, wondering what they're talking about and if he was there.

Things get awkward, and it's a little over two hours when the girls finally leave and Blaine is feeling useless and burdening once again.

.

.


After the next coming weekend, Blaine goes back to school, stopping by the office to grab another copy of his schedule. Things are obviously different about him, not obnoxious things, but sometimes, the less noticeable things say the most.

The biggest thing people can see is the skin around his neck. He's taken the bandages off, and it's scabbed, red, and irritated, yellow bruises blotching around it.

He holds himself differently as well, slouching and suspicious as he walks the halls, aware of the whispering and darting eyes. The only difference than before is everyone now talks about him with pity, rather than disgust.

Kurt holds his hand tightly as they walk through the halls, guiding him around. It's strange to be in a place where everyone seems to know him, everyone has heard of what happened, and yet, Blaine doesn't know a thing himself.

He struggles through his classes, trying desperately to get back in the swing of things, but it's just too hard with his memories gone and the other students staring at him and the teachers acting like they care.

The only break he gets is when glee club rolls around.

He steps into the room, Kurt's fingers intertwined with his and everyone turns, smiling when they see his face.

A chorus of cheerful "Blaine!"s goes around the room, and a few of the members rush over to hug him.

"It's good to see you back, Blaine," Schue says when he's finally released, and gives him a gentle pat on the back.

Blaine nods, smiling, but he can't see he agrees.

.

.


Blaine has shut himself away in Kurt's room for the night, attempting to get through his pile of homework. His phone buzzes constantly, various names he can't keep track of flashing across the screen. The most recent ones read: Rachel, Sam, Mercedes, Artie, Mike. He's gotten Rachel and Mercedes down, but he's not sure on Mike and he keeps mixing up Sam and Artie.

Buzz. Buzz.

Blaine sighs and grabs his BlackBerry from the bedside table. He presses down on the power button angrily, shutting it off, and then chucks it at the ground.

He can't handle this anymore.

.

.


Blaine's exhausted, and thankfully, it's Friday. This week has been extremely stressful, and all he wants is to sleep. (And possibly never wake up).

He lies to Carole when she comes up to tell him dinner's ready, saying that he feels sick and wishes to sleep. She nods, looking a bit anxious, and Kurt follows her example.

He tells Blaine that he'll be back up soon and gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek before going downstairs to join his family in the kitchen. As soon as the door shuts, Blaine collapses into the bed, sobs racking his body.

Kurt comes back up later to find him asleep, tear stains on his cheeks.

.

.


He's in the bathroom, sitting on the ground and leaning his back against the wall. A pair of scissors is clenched in his right hand, and taking a deep breath, he shoves the blade into the skin of his left wrist. Blood beads there and he presses harder until it starts to flow.

Sobs rack his body and he quickly shoves his arm under the running bathwater, watching as it turns pink, running down the drain.


.

.


As Blaine continues to sleep through the night, Kurt sits by the window, thoughts whirling around in his mind. He knows that Blaine is suffering, he knows that now, especially with this ability to only remember the darker parts of his life, that his depression is spiraling right back out of control.

He needs to do something.

Soon.

He racks his brain, trying to get to the root of all this. Back before Blaine lost his memory. Back before he landed himself in the hospital. Back before he tried to kill himself.

The problem seems to be all too entirely complicated, more than a just one simple factor causing all this trouble in Blaine's life, but after hours of thought, Kurt is able to pinpoint one thing that seems to link the others together.

Now all he needs is her help.

.

.


Sunlight, such an odd sensation to feel again, shines on Blaine's face as he wakes the next day. The clock on the bedside table reads twelve-seventeen, and he groans as he forces himself up, rubbing his eyes. He pulls the covers off of himself and hangs his legs over the side of his bed.

The door to Kurt's bedroom creaks open, and Blaine looks up tiredly as he boyfriend enters the room, smiling and full of energy. His bubbling attitude seeps into Blaine, and for the first time in the last few days, a small sincere smile forms on his lips.

"I need you to get ready as soon as possible," Kurt instructs, and Blaine fights everything in him telling him to object.

"For what?" he asks.

Kurt's grin turns mischievous and his says slyly, "You'll see."

Blaine stands up slowly, and Kurt steps over to plant a kiss on his forehead.

That small touch of affection is enough to get him through the morning, and an hour later he's in the passenger's seat of Kurt's car, his hands folded nervously in his lap as he stares out the window, wondering where his boyfriend is taking him.

.

.


They're at a park, and Blaine feels this sense of déjà vu. If he didn't have amnesia, the place would probably be more than familiar to him, and he feels bit more comfortable here in this peacefulness.

He and Kurt walk around on the sidewalk for awhile, talking and holding hands. Blaine asks questions, and Kurt answers, trying to put something back in Blaine's brain.

They sit on the swings, pushing themselves slowly back and forth, staying close to the ground. Kurt continually checks his watch, looking out over the equipment, the paths, and the parking lot, searching for something.

Blaine never asks what it is, and frankly, he doesn't have the heart to care.

However, he's proven wrong when Kurt says his name softly and he looks up to find a woman running toward them.

.

.


"Mom?" he asks disbelievingly.

"You remember?" she asks.

"Yeah," Blaine says. "You came into my hospital room . . and – and two weekends ago I was at your house."  His voice cracks.  "We watched a lame chick flick I didn't like, but I didn't say anything because I was too upset to care."

"Blaine," his mother says, her lips quivering.

He jumps up, propelling himself into his mother's arms. She holds him tightly rocking back and forth as she sobs, murmuring his name over and over, with a few "I love you"s thrown in there.

It seems like a lifetime later when his mother pulls back slightly, cupping his face gently in her hands. "Blaine," she whispers a last time, strong and emotional. "Blaine, I am so sorry."

"Mom, you don't – "

"Yes, Blaine. I do," she says sternly. "I have been the worst mother these past few years. I didn't know how to deal with the divorce. I didn't know how to deal with your depression. I didn't know how to deal with anything. And instead of figuring out how, I took everything out on you, and I blamed you." She takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Mothers don't do those things." She kisses his forehead.

"I filed a full custody report," Clara says softly, and Blaine's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his jaw dropping.

"Are you serious?" Blaine asks disbelievingly.

She nods. "Blaine," she whispers seriously. "I will never let your father touch you again. Never. You don't deserve any of the horrible things that have happened to you, and you can't know how sorry and regretful I feel that I didn't step in. I allowed things to get so bad that you felt the need to take your life. That hurts me more than you can imagine."

Blaine hangs his head, his eyes burning. Clara wraps her arms around him, pulling him close.

"I love you," she breathes.

"I love you too," Blaine gasps.

.

.


Blaine looks around his room, the things from his father's house taken and brought here. He smiles, sitting down at his desk.

Kurt sits cross-legged on his bed, grinning.

"So . . " he says. "Do you – do you remember everything?"

Blaine nods. "Most of it."

It's silent for a moment, and then Blaine stands up, crossing the room. He sits down next to Kurt, hugging him fiercely. He kisses Kurt's ear, murmuring, "Thank you. And I'm not lying when I say,

if I didn't have you, I wouldn't be alive."

Wow. Such heavy stuff, but I love how it ended. The way Blaine said that - if he didn't have Kurt, he wouldn't be alive. There is so many meanings in that sentence. Beautifully written.

Ohmygod, I'm kind of speechless right now. Umm.. I love your stuff, and I may be fangirling as I type this.

Thank you. Thank you so much.

I'm glad you like my stuff, too! :D

And again, really good job. Now that I've walked away from the story and don't feel like bringing myself harm, I really, really like it. (That's not a bad thing! I really felt what Blaine was going through, so good writing in that part! :D )

Oh, gosh. Well, I'm so happy you liked it. :D I don't quite know what else to say, so honestly, thank you!

That was beautiful. So heavy, and so real. All I could keep thinking to myself to pull me through was that, eventually, he would have to start remembering the happy memories. There was also such wonderful imagery. Amazing job!

Awww, thank you! Especially about the imagery- that's always something I try to work hard on.

This was absolutely gorgeous. Seriously. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, I'm usually too lazy to read long fics or I'll simply skim over them, but this was just phenomenal, I am pretty sure I stopped blinking for a while. <3

Awww, thank you so much!
It's great to hear that considering it's a story close to my heart. (:

It was pretty close to home for me too, but it was seriously incredible. You should be extremely proud of this. <33

Well, I'm glad you can relate - though I'm sorry you've had to experience it.

Thank you again - honestly. (:

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