The lights dimmed, and the final notes of 'Cough Syrup' echoed out through the cavernous auditorium. Following it was a brief moment of silence, laden with some forewarning that Kurt couldn't quite catch in time. Then, as quickly as the thought had popped into Kurt's head, Blaine fell to the ground, shaking from head to toe with spine-racking sobs.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Kurt jumped up onto the stage and ran to Blaine's side, reaching out and grabbing his boyfriend's hand. It was as if an electric shock had been sent between the two, because Blaine yelped and cowered away, murmuring illogical phrases under his breath. Kurt could feel the hot tears already beginning to slip from his eyes as he watched Blaine in his most helpless state. What was happening? What was going on? The realization hit him in an instant, dousing him like ice water: He's having flashbacks, Kurt thought.

Blaine quickly dashed his way through the senior wing, trying to be as discreet as possible as he attempted to make his way to the cafeteria unscathed. It was bad enough to be a freshman amongst a sea of seniors. Being a gay, 14 year-old boy along with it, he was in for a death sentence. Just as the sanctum view of the cafeteria doors came in sight, he heard the quiet, menacing footsteps behind him. He tried to pick up his pace, but it was too late. Spun around, he barely had a second to let out a cry of help as warm, aged milk was flung into his face, and heard a "Lunch is served, homo!" as the footsteps and laughter clattered away.

"Blaine, Blaine, sweetie, you need to listen to me," Kurt pleaded, his voice wavering. "You're not there anymore. You're having a flashback. Dammit Blaine," he cried, "Please listen to me. It's not real. You're not at Westerville anymore. You're with me, Kurt. Your boyfriend. And we're at McKinley, and we're safe, and no one can touc-"

Blaine had just arrived home, the rotten smell of spoiled milk clouding his mind. Slamming his bedroom door shut, he slid down against it, eyes rolling back in his head as the tears began to pour. Blindly, he made his way over to his bathroom, scattering shampoo and hair gel bottles aside as he sought after what he was looking for. Enclosing his fist around the razor, he turned around, locked the door, and no noises emitted from the room except for some strangled gasps here and there.

"Blaine, listen to me! Please, you're better than this!" Kurt cried, shaking his love's shoulders in an attempt to rattle out the demons of his past.

The screaming match occurring between Mr. and Mrs. Anderson could be heard two floors up, where Blaine sat on his floor, clawing at his face and pleading to any deity imaginable for the fighting to stop.

"Those feelings he has cannot be real, Sophia!" his dad shouted, slamming his fist on the kitchen countertop. "He has a disease!"

"Robert, he's your son! How can you say that about him!" she retorted, tears of anger and frustration welling up in her eyes. "He's still the same kid he was two minutes before he told us!"

Blaine lashed out, unable to control himself any longer. Fishing through his desk, he pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, documenting his final thoughts. Searching his closet, he procured an old fishing line (one of his father's many attempts at producing a manlier son, he thought bitterly). Standing on his desk chair, he prepared himself for the final plunge, when Cooper burst in the room.

Blaine finally flung himself into Kurt's arms, at last recognizing the sound of the other's voice. "Ku-Ku-Kurt," he sobbed, fisting his hands into the fabric of his boyfriend's shirt, "pl-please sav-save me."

Kurt tugged him tight to his chest, kissing every surface of Blaine he could reach. Over his boyfriend's heart-wrenching sobs, he said, "I'll save you honey, I promise. I'm never, ever saying goodbye to you."