Okay. So. I'm going to say now that I'm trying to make this into a multi-chapter fic. However; any of those people who have read my attempted multi-chapter Merlin fics know that I'm pretty much shit at writing things that aren't one shots. Seriously.

But I'm planning on writing more now, so you can always favourite and see (=D), and there is actually a fairly good chance that even if I don't update it and/or finish it in like two years, those things will happen eventually.

Happy reading!

"Hey! Sorry I can't get to the phone right now, leave me a message and I'll call you back."

"So help me Blaine Anderson, if I get to your house to find that you've slept through our date, not Hell's fury or a woman's scorn will compare to what I am going to do to you," Kurt seethed as he took a left, checking his rear-view mirror. He disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

If he was being honest with himself, Kurt would admit that a part of him—a pretty big part, actually—was hoping that Blaine had in fact slept through the date, or forgotten it, or something of the sort. Because if that was the case, after the vehement apology that was sure to come and some small please-forgive-me treats, that was a situation Kurt could live with.

On the other hand, if something really bad had happened to Blaine...

Kurt bit his lip and pushed down harder on the accelerator.

Outside of the car, the sky was a dark, sinister-looking gray while a harsh wind whipped the browning leaves off of the trees. It hadn't started raining yet, but a storm was definitely in the foreseeable future, and Kurt hoped to make it to Blaine's house before the inevitable.

He also hoped, for reasons still best known to Blaine, that his boyfriend's parents were out when he got there. From the little Blaine had told him, his father was a real piece of work and his mother was barely better. They didn't exactly accept the fact that their son was gay. Kurt had tried and tried and tried to force Blaine to talk to him about it, but the efforts were always futile. As Blaine said, it was almost ridiculous how much that worried the taller boy. Almost. It would be more unreasonable if Kurt didn't know that victims of domestic abuse were a lot more hesitant over talking about their home life.

Kurt exhaled sharply. He needed to relax. Turning on the radio, he found a song he liked and began to sing, and soon enough he had forgotten all about his earlier worries and was nothing but excited to see his boyfriend again.

He pulled into the drive just as it began to rain, opening the car door and sprinting into the Anderson home barely before the slight drizzle turned into a full-on torrential down-pour. It was rather dark in the house; the only lights on were the kitchen and living room lights, and Kurt could just vaguely see a faint glow from the staircase. He frowned. It wasn't like Blaine to not have every single light they owned turned on on a day like this. He hated the dark.

"Blaine!" Kurt yelled. "I swear to god, Blaine, if I find you in your room sleeping..."

Kurt checked all the rooms downstairs first, just in case Blaine hadn't heard him when he'd called. He found, predictably, the first floor empty, and sighed as he walked up the stairs to wake his boyfriend up. He knew that he shouldn't be too hard on Blaine. It was only ten-thirty and the younger boy had just looked so tired the night before.

Blaine wasn't in his room, though. Kurt frowned at the empty sheets, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach and trying to eat away at his intestines.

"Blaine?" Kurt called softly, cursing the way his voice trembled. Blaine was probably fine, perfectly fine...

Kurt stopped at the bathroom door just about to call again when something on the floor in front of him caught his attention. He stared uncomprehendingly at the dark, thick red puddle that was ever-so-slowly seeping out over the bathroom threshold into the hallway, his fist still poised to knock. The red liquid—not blood, definitely not blood, notbloodnotbloodnotblood—reached the tips of his shoes and gradually began to pool around them.

Suddenly Kurt's heart was in his throat as he screamed his boyfriend's name and threw himself at the door while panic tried to make his lungs explode. The barrier gave way after only a few full-body slams and the pale boy was left to tumble to his knees in the expanding spill of deep ruby-coloured blood.

"Blaine, Blaine, oh god, Blaine , oh my god..." Kurt's hands fluttered uselessly over his already unconscious boyfriend's body, unsure of what to do because suddenly Kurt couldn't think rationally. The only thing going through his mind was, He's dead, he's dead, oh my god, he killed himself, he's dead.

Kurt finally placed one hand against Blaine's left shoulder while the other came to rest on the gash at Blaine's right wrist, the one that was bleeding the smaller boy dry little by little. Kurt wondered vaguely if he was going into shock as a shiver raced down his spine.

Blaine's arm jerked under the gentle pressure of his boyfriend's hand, startling the taller boy.

He was alive. Blaine was alive.

Kurt's brain was abruptly on autopilot as he removed the hand on Blaine's shoulder to pull his phone out of his pocket and dial 911. He quickly explained the situation and relayed their location before hanging up, turning his attention to the boy in front of him.

He put pressure on both wrists when he realised that they were both cut. The cuts were vertical down the vein and almost surgical in their precision, assuring maximum blood loss in minimum time. All hopes Kurt might have had of this being an accident vanished. Blaine knew what he was doing.

"Don't you die on me, Blaine," Kurt muttered fiercely, glaring at Blaine's pale face. He held onto the shred of anger that had coursed through him to keep himself from having a mental breakdown and screaming himself hoarse. "Don't you dare die on me."

The smaller boy didn't give any indication that he had heard; he hadn't moved again after the first time. A light sheen of sweat was visible on his brow and his skin was cool and an ashy colour, almost gray. Kurt willed the ambulance to arrive faster.

By the time the ambulance got there the adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Kurt was getting scared that he was going to shake apart. The tears were streaming steadily down his cheeks and blurring his vision; he could barely form coherent answers to the paramedics' questions. Then all of a sudden Blaine was gone, his limp form loaded onto a stretcher and into the back of the emergency vehicle and then off to the hospital, and Kurt was left alone in the middle of his boyfriend's blood, a shaking, weeping mess.

I need to call my dad, Kurt thought. And Cooper, and Sam... He picked his phone up off of the floor and wiped off the little crimson liquid that had seeped onto it before dialling his father's number.

"Hey, Kurt," Burt answered. He sounded so cheerful that when the younger boy opened his mouth to say something, all that came out was a sob. "Hey, hey," his dad said, alarmed. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Kurt, tell me what's going on."

"Blaine," Kurt sobbed. "He tried—he tried to—" He couldn't say it. He just couldn't. The reality of the situation was crashing down on him as he sat ruining his designer jeans in a puddle of Blaine's blood, trying to tell his father that his boyfriend had just attempted suicide.

"Just calm down, buddy. What did Blaine do?" Burt asked, sounding soothing and worried at the same time.

"He tried to—to kill himself," Kurt whimpered. "Oh God, there's so much blood. It's all over me and all over the floor and—and it was leaking out from under the bathroom doorway and if I hadn't seen it—God, if I hadn't seen it—"

"Kurt." This time Burt's voice was firmer. "Calm down. What hospital are they taking him to?"

Kurt told him the name of the hospital while attempting to take deep, steady breaths and get the tremors that were wracking his body to slow to a more manageable level.

"Kurt, I want you to stay at Blaine's house until I get there to bring you to the hospital," Burt ordered. "You're in no fit state to be driving. In the meantime I want you to call Cooper and anyone else you think should know, alright? Can you do that for me, buddy?"

Kurt nodded before realising that his father couldn't see that over the phone. "Yes," he croaked out.

"Good. Just sit tight, okay? I'll be there in a few."

"Okay," Kurt replied. He sat there for a minute listening to the dial tone and then decided that he should move from where he was still kneeling on the bathroom floor.

He sat on the toilet instead and everything felt kind of weird; he felt like he wasn't really attached to his own body, that his brain was a completely different entity than the rest of him. Now he definitely knew that he was going into shock. He wondered why the medics hadn't picked up on that, but then resolved that they were too busy making sure Blaine didn't die to give Kurt a shock blanket.

He called Cooper first and then Sam, his voice devoid of emotion as he told them one by one that Blaine had attempted suicide. It ws then that he noticed the note, stuck into the bottom part of the bathroom mirror frame. It had his name on it. He picked it up and turned it over, not surprised to find that Blaine had only written a few words. His boyfriend had never been one for the overly-dramatic; not like Kurt was.

I'm sorry. I love you so much. Please forgive me.

By the time Burt got there Kurt was once again a teary, blubbering mess.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered at the sight of the bathroom, before he gently helped Kurt up, out of the house, and into the car. It was still raining so they both got a little wet, and Burt wrapped a blanket around his son's shoulders before beginning to make his way to the hospital.

"I just don't know why," Kurt whimpered at one point. "Why, dad?"

Burt looked at him, sorrow in his eyes. "Sometimes people just get sad, Kurt. Sometimes there is no real reason."

"Do you think it has anything to do with his parents?"

"Maybe." Burt shook his head regretfully. "I wish I had pushed harder for him to stay at our place."

Kurt bit his lip as fresh tears began to course down his cheeks. He wished that he had, too. Then maybe this would have never happened. Maybe he and Blaine would be on their date right now, happy and laughing like they were supposed to be.

"Dad..." Kurt began, his voice wavering, "what if Blaine doesn't make it? Or what if—whatever this is—what if I can't fix it? What if he tries again? I can't lose him, dad, I just can't."

"Listen to me, Kurt," Burt said. "Blaine will be fine. He'll pull through this perfectly okay and we'll get him the help he needs, and just as long as he knows that we're all there for him and that we all love him, he'll be just fine."

Kurt nodded and turned to look back out of the window, praying to god that his dad was right.

So tell me what you think! Comments are seriously like my favourite drug. Seriously.