A/N: I woke up at 10 am with the idea for this fic in my head and it just wouldn't leave. I may have dreamed it. So I had no choice but to write it. It was definitely the earliest I've gotten out of bed by choice in about 5 years. So in this fic, Kurt and Blaine have never met, but they're both at McKinley. (I broke canon? Wow...) It's set during season 2, but it really doesn't make a difference. There's also a bit of magic/supernatural stuff, but it's not a world where that's normal.

WARNINGS! Theme of suicide, character death, homophobia and homophobic language. This is the darkest, angstiest thing I've ever written. PLEASE don't read if you might be triggered.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, obviously. Season 3 would never have ended that way if I had a say in anything.

February 3rd, 8:13 am

Today was the day. Blaine walked through the doors of McKinley High with a new confidence in his steps leading him straight toward the hallway where he knew Kurt Hummel's locker stood. Today was the day he was finally going to ask Kurt out, after months of pining after him from a distance. It wasn't that Blaine was unsure of his feelings, it was that Kurt was rather intimidating. He was a grade ahead of Blaine, taller than Blaine, more confident and outgoing than Blaine, not to mention he had the voice of an angel.

He liked to sit outside the choir room when Glee Club was going on, hoping for a chance to hear Kurt sing. It was worth listening to hours of Rachel Berry boss everyone around just for a few precious minutes of Kurt's voice. He had the most unique and beautiful voice Blaine had ever heard. It was high and strong, very feminine-sounding, but yet still masculine, in a way. And he somehow managed to convey all his emotions through his voice, unknowingly sharing all that he was with Blaine, who fell in love with Kurt more and more each time.

He had spent the night before giving himself multiple pep talks, working up the courage to finally talk to Kurt. He had exactly what he was going to say planned out in his head. There was no way he could screw this up. But as Blaine turned the corner to see Kurt at his locker, looking as gorgeous as ever, every word he had planned flew right out of his head. He felt his heart speed up and his hands started sweating. He couldn't do this. He'd make a fool of himself. Kurt would hate him. "Hey, there's always tomorrow," he told himself.

Blaine turned around just in time to see a couple of football players in their red letterman jackets pass by him. He shrunk into the corner, hoping they wouldn't notice him, but luck was clearly not on his side as he overheard one mutter to his friend "Hey look, it's the fag." Blaine closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable slushie to hit him, but it didn't come. Instead, the two continued down the hallway, headed for Kurt. As they passed him, one rammed his shoulder into Kurt, hard, shoving his face into the locker. Blaine winced as he saw Kurt hit his head, which was only made worse when the second jock slammed the locker door shut on him, bouncing off his shoulder.

Kurt sank to the floor, clutching his shoulder as the jocks walked off, high-fiving each other. He pulled his knees up into his chest, staring down at his feet. Blaine stood at the corner, battling with himself. Should he go offer his help? Kurt had no idea who he was. What if he realized Blaine had been watching him the whole time? What if he thought Blaine was a stalker?

Suddenly Kurt looked up, and turned to stare at Blaine as if he had felt someone was watching him. Blaine froze as Kurt's piercing blue eyes stared straight at him. There was something in those eyes that Blaine couldn't read. Embarrasment? Accusation, maybe? Panicked, Blaine turned the corner and ran off to class.

February 3rd, 8:13 am

Today was the day. Kurt sighed as he opened up his locker and stared at the pictures from Glee Club taped inside. Everyone looked so happy. He had a smile on his face himself. But no one noticed it was a lie. They called himself his friends, but nobody cared. No one cared that he was slammed into lockers, and tossed in dumpsters and had slushies thrown in his face ten times a day. No one cared that he couldn't walk down the hallway without first checking to make sure it was clear of red letterman jackets. No one cared that even when he managed to escape the physical torment, he was constantly bombarded with mutters of "faggot" and "go to hell". His only escape was Glee Club, but even there, nobody bothered to talk to him. They were all too absorbed in their own perfect little worlds, too concerned with petty troubles of boyfriends and homework to notice that Kurt came to school scared every day, and left it miserable. They wouldn't even give him a solo. Well, Kurt was sick of it. Clearly no one wanted him around, so he was going to do them all a favor. Because today was the day Kurt was going to die.

He had planned it all out the night before. It was simple stealing the sleeping pills from his dad's bathroom. He had gotten them months ago and only ever took two or three. They were hidden in the back; by the time he noticed they were missing, it would be too late. But first, Kurt would give everyone one last day to try and change his mind. One day for someone, anyone, to prove that they cared. If just one person showed a tiny bit of compassion, he wouldn't go through with it. That was the deal he made with himself. But it hadn't happened in the past two years of high school, so he doubted anything would be different today.

He stared at the pictures in his locker until his vision went blurry, then blinked and shook his head. It would all be over tonight, so what was the point of dwelling on his misery? He might as well enjoy his last day. But as he reached in to grab a textbook, he caught a flash of red coming up from his right side before his head slammed into the open locker, his forehead smashing against the top. Another sharp pain hit his shoulder as the locker door tried to slam shut on him. Kurt whipped around, grabbing his shoulder, which was throbbing painfully, and caught sight of two jocks in their letterman jackets walking off down the hall, laughing. Kurt sank to the floor, blinking hard to try and keep the tears from spilling out of his eyes. So much for enjoying his last day. Kurt stared at the floor, giving people a chance to notice him, or to ask if he was okay. At this point, he'd be grateful if someone so much as tripped over him. At least it would get a reaction out of someone. But everyone just passed by, going about their business as usual.

Suddenly, Kurt had an odd feeling that he was being watched. He looked up, and turned his head around, looking for the starer. At the end of the hall, he saw a short kid wearing an absolute disaster of an outfit, and far too much gel in his hair. And a bowtie? Seriously? Kurt couldn't bring himself to care that much though. Someone was actually looking at him. Someone noticed.

He stared at the boy, not even breathing, desperately hoping he would come over and say something. But the boy looked nervous, and before Kurt could do anything, he turned and ran away. Kurt deflated, and stared back down at his feet. He had no clue who that boy was, but he was his last hope. And the boy had failed him.

February 3rd, 3:26 pm

Kurt slowly walked down the stairs to his bedroom, dropping his backpack next to his desk, and opened one of the drawers. There, sitting among a neat arrangement of skin care products was a small orange bottle. He stared at it for a few minutes before walking into the bathroom and returning with a small cup of water. He was going through with this, so he might as well get it over with.

Kurt sat down on his bed and leaned back against the pillows. First he checked that the letter to his dad was on the nightstand where he had left it the night before. His dad was the one person who had always been there for him, although Kurt could never have told him about the bullying because of his heart problems. He just hoped his death didn't shock him too much. He wanted to make sure his dad was okay, and knew that he loved him and that this wasn't his fault.

Then he opened the bottle of pills and started swallowing them down, a few at a time. When the bottle was empty, he sat back and waited, taking a last good look at his bedroom. He could feel the pills kicking in as his vision started to go blurry. He thought back to when he was a little kid, singing with his mom, and having tea parties with his dad. He tried to picture his mom's face, but his head was getting really foggy.

Kurt slowly let his eyes close as his world went black.

February 3rd, 7:54 pm

Burt Hummel hated hospitals. Nothing good ever happened in a hospital, except for childbirth. And granted, even that probably wasn't as great for the mother. Hospitals were places of pain and misfortune. The lucky ones recovered. But Burt didn't have a great track record.

The last time he had paced this waiting room, it had been a car crash. There was a storm, a power line went down, and Elizabeth was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That time, he wasn't alone in the room; a seven-year old Kurt was with him, not knowing what was going on, but recognizing that Burt was distraught and asking over and over again where mommy was. And now that same little boy was somewhere behind those closed doors across the room, and Burt was left to pace and pray to a god he wasn't even sure existed that his boy would be okay.

Burt knew he would never forget the moment he walked into Kurt's room just a couple hours ago to find him unconscious on the bed. He thought at first that he was sleeping, but then he saw the empty pill bottle on the nightstand, and the way Kurt was far too still. By the time the ambulance arrived, Kurt's pulse was far too faint, and he wasn't breathing. Burt had never been more scared in his life than we was in that moment. He had faith in the paramedics though. They'd saved him when he had that heart attack just a few months ago, and that had been very serious. But it had been two and a half hours now, and Burt was terrified. He whipped around, as yet another doctor came into the waiting room, but she was coming for the couple in the corner. Their daughter was going to be fine. She had a concussion, nothing too serious. He watched their relief with a selfish jealousy, and sank down into a chair.

He'd spent the past two hours the same way. Sitting, standing, pacing occasionally, and jumping up, hopeful, every time a doctor walked through the door. But each time his hopes were dashed, and his fear grew. He just needed his little boy to be okay. He needed to see his face again, talk to him, so he could tell Kurt how much he was loved. He couldn't understand why this had happened, why his son would want to kill himself. He knew Kurt was having some trouble with bullies; he had tried talking to him about it, but Kurt had brushed him off. He had no idea it had been this bad. If he had, he would have tried harder. Would have sat his boy down and made damn well sure he knew how much he mattered. They could have discussed options. Could have talked to the principal, maybe looked at other schools. And when Kurt woke up, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure his boy was safe.

But for now, he was stuck sitting in a hard, plastic chair, desperate for news, and hating himself for not seeing the signs. After another ten minutes, the same doctor came back into the room. "Hummel?" she called.

Burt jumped up, and went over to her, pleading with his eyes. "I'm the father," he said. "How is he?"

"Mr. Hummel, would you follow me please?" She turned and walked back through the doors. Burt followed nervously. Where were they going? Maybe she was taking him to Kurt's room. "Right in here, please."

She opened the door to a small room with just a couple chairs and a small side table, and ushered him inside. Burt sat down, and waited for her to do the same before begging for information. "Please tell me he's okay."

"Mr. Hummel…" The woman sighed before continuing. "I'm sorry to tell you that your son passed away about fifteen minutes ago."

The doctor was still talking, but Burt didn't hear a word she said. There was rushing sound in his ears, and his pulse seemed far too loud as words of a drug overdose and cardiac arrest flew over his head. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. The world was ending, so why was she still talking? Shouldn't there be a tornado or an earthquake or something? This woman was far too calm for the catastrophic nature of the news she was paid to deliver.

His pulse was still beating too loud in his ears. He wished it would stop. It seemed unfair that he should get so many heartbeats when his son would never have another one.

The same two words kept repeating over and over again in his brain, impossible to comprehend, yet inescapably true.

"He's gone."

February 7th, 3:11 pm

Blaine slowly gathered his books from his locker, before shutting it gently despite his urge to slam the damn thing as hard as possible. Sighing, he picked up his backpack, and shoved through the crowd of students all on their way home. Some of the students were eerily quiet, afraid of breaking the somber mood that had followed them out of the auditorium, when the school had gathered to hold a memorial for Kurt. Others, however, who had never known Kurt, were just as cheerful as ever. Blaine resisted the urge to glare at every one of them as he passed. How dare they be happy when Kurt was gone?

Unfortunately, they weren't even the worst of it. The same jocks that had been tormenting Kurt for years were turning the situation into one big joke for their own amusement. Blaine had already run into the bathroom to vomit once today, after overhearing a conversation between a few of them.

"About time the homo went and offed himself, don't you think?" one had said.

"Yeah," another had replied. "Now maybe I can go to the bathroom without him sneaking in to peek at my junk."

"Good riddance."

Blaine wanted to punch all three of them in their bastard faces. How the hell did someone get to be that fucked up? Didn't they have even a shred of guilt? A boy was dead because of them, and all they could do was laugh about it. Blaine started to feel nauseous again thinking about it.

The news had first come out on Friday night. Blaine had been curious when Kurt was absent from school on Friday, but had simply assumed he was sick, or perhaps ditching. But the top story on the news that night had been about a teenager who had committed suicide. Blaine had been eating dinner with his parents at the time, and when Kurt's face showed up on the screen, Blaine had rushed into the bathroom and thrown up.

He spent the weekend holed up in his room, unable to sleep and refusing meals. He just kept replaying the last time he had seen Kurt in his head. That piercing stare, which Blaine recognized now as desperation, haunted his dreams every time he managed to close his eyes. Finally, he had given up and sat in the dark, hunched against the backboard, hating himself more and more every minute.

It was his fault Kurt was dead, just as much as the bullies. If only he hadn't been such a coward. If he had approached Kurt sooner, he might have been able to stop this. He could have befriended him, maybe even asked him out, given him a reason to keep on living. And on that last day, when Kurt had turned to him, vulnerable, he had run away. Kurt probably thought he was just there to laugh at him. Blaine hadn't helped the boy he loved when he had needed Blaine the most, and that had probably done just as much damage as the years of bullying.

Blaine told himself there was no way he could have known. But it did nothing to erase the fact that he'd had the opportunity to save Kurt Hummel's life. And he ran away.

February 8th, 11:23 am

School was closed on Tuesday for the funeral. All McKinley students were welcome, but few students outside Kurt's circle of friends bothered to show up. Most of the school decided to enjoy getting an extra day to sleep in.

Blaine stood in a parking lot across the street from the church, watching as mourners entered. He recognized some of the kids from Glee Club, and a few of Kurt's teachers. A bald man stood by the doors, welcoming the mourners, and accepting hugs from most. The man was rather large, but his grief made him seem smaller than he was. His eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles under them as if he hadn't slept in days because he was crying too hard. His shoulders were slumped, and he seemed to melt into each hug, as if he simply could not stand any longer. Blaine figured this must be Kurt's father.

As for himself, he was wearing a freshly pressed suit that had been worn so few times it could have passed for new. But as sharp as his outfit was, Blaine knew he looked a mess. He must have had circles under his eyes as bad as Kurt's father's. He shifted a bit on the pavement, mentally battling himself as to whether or not he should go in.

On one hand, Blaine had never met Kurt. They'd never spoken two words to each other, and most people would say he had no right to be at his funeral. On the other hand, Blaine knew Kurt better than most of his friends, and loved him as if they'd been dating for years. If he tried to explain that to anyone, they'd probably throw him out, calling him a stalker and a creep. But all students were welcome. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone…

Blaine shook his head. This wasn't helping him make a decision. It was now or never. Just then, the man at the doors went inside, closing the doors behind him. Blaine had missed his chance. He couldn't go in now. It would just draw attention to himself and lead to questions he couldn't answer.

He walked across the street and sat down on the church steps. The pastor's voice droned inside, and Blaine could only make out a few words. Something about a horrible tragedy and a life cut short. There was nothing in his words that described who Kurt had been at all. Blaine wondered if the man used the same words for every funeral, only changing the name of the deceased. He probably had a form on a computer somewhere, with little fill in the blank areas, like some morbid game of Mad Libs.

Music started up inside, and the notes drifted out to Blaine as the Glee Club began to sing. This was a little better. Music was one thing that Kurt had truly loved; he would have appreciated the tribute. But the singers called themselves his friends, yet they hadn't seen the signs. They hadn't even noticed his pain, much less tried to help him. Blaine closed his eyes as the grief tried to overwhelm him again. There was no point trying to dole out blame for this. It wouldn't bring Kurt back.

After a while, the sounds inside the church transformed into a soft buzzing as the service ended and the mourners started talking quietly. Blaine got up off the steps and walked off down the sidewalk before anyone could notice he had been there.

February 8th, 10:42 pm

Blaine dashed down the hallway, heading towards Kurt's locker. He wasn't sure why he was running, exactly, but he knew there was something he had to stop from happening. As he turned the corner, he could see he was too late. Two guys, 7 feet tall with bulging muscles and red jackets, had Kurt cornered at his locker. One had a tight grip on his shoulders, holding them against the lockers, while the other punched Kurt repeatedly in the stomach.

Blaine tried running towards him, but his feet wouldn't move. He tried to call out for help, but no sound escaped his throat. He could only watch in horror as the jock stopped punching Kurt and pulled a knife out of his pocket. Kurt's head slowly turned towards Blaine, staring at him, eyes filled with hatred, before the knife slammed through his chest.

Blaine sat up in bed, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. He pulled his blankets around him, shivering, and reached over to turn on the lamp next to his bed. The dream had been far too realistic, and when Blaine closed his eyes, he could see Kurt staring at him in utter loathing.

Blaine shook his head. It hadn't been his fault. Some part of him knew that, yet the dreams kept coming back. He needed to clear his head. Slowly, he got out of bed and crept to his bedroom door. The house was silent, except for a couple squeaks from the stairs as Blaine snuck down them and out the door. Once he was outside, he let himself breathe easier, taking a few deep breaths to erase the dream from his mind.

Before he knew what he was doing, Blaine's feet guided him down the street, toward the cemetery around the corner, where they had buried Kurt only hours before. He winced as the wrought-iron gate creaked loudly when he pushed it open. The graveyard was quiet and peaceful, the tombstones spread in nice, even rows, lit softly by the streetlight at the corner. Most people found cemeteries creepy, especially at night, but Blaine had no thoughts of ghosts or zombies tonight.

Most of the gravesites were old, and covered in grass, but a few still had a rectangle of dirt in front of them, where the shrubbery was only beginning to grow back. Only one, however, was totally fresh, and this was the one that drew Blaine's attention. He approached it slowly, and knelt down on the fresh dirt in front of the gravestone. It was simple, with only a few words etched on it in an elegant script.

Kurt Hummel
1994-2012
The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.

Blaine stared at the quote, wondering whose job it was to find a good phrase to put on the tombstone. Was there someone who sat around in the gravestone shop, looking up quotes based on the little they knew about a person? And for that matter, who goes looking for a job, and decides that making gravestones sounds like fun?

Whoever it was must have known about Kurt's love of music. It was certainly appropriate. Kurt's memory lingered in Blaine's mind just like the notes of a song that had just been played. But it didn't matter, because the song was over anyway. And unlike Blaine's iPod, he couldn't just set Kurt on repeat. He was gone. He wasn't coming back. He was lying under the earth beneath Blaine's knees, and nothing could change that.

Blaine blinked as the tears he'd been holding back all week threatened to spill over. He'd lived his whole life putting things off, thinking "there's always tomorrow", and pushing it to the back of his mind. Homework assignments, phone calls, e-mails to friends… He'd done the same to Kurt, meaning to talk to him every day, but then walking away each time. "There's always tomorrow."

But then, one day, there isn't.

The tears finally spilled free from Blaine's eyes, falling to the ground in front of him, and speckling the dirt with little damp spots. He curled up in a ball on the ground and sobbed, wishing there was something he could do to make things right. He'd wasted so many opportunities to tell Kurt how he felt, and now he was all out of chances.

Blaine looked up at the night sky as a tiny light zoomed across it. A shooting star. He had never been superstitious, but Blaine found himself desperately wishing on that star. "Please." He whispered. "I just want one more day. One more chance to tell him everything. To make things right."

Blaine lay there for hours, until his tears were all spent, not caring that it was freezing outside, or that he was lying on a patch of dirt. He kept a silent vigil over Kurt's grave into the early hours of the morning, protecting him from enemies that could no longer harm him, and wishing he was lying under the ground with the boy he loved.

6:45 am

So raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways…

Blaine groaned as he rolled over in bed and hit the snooze button on his alarm. He'd hardly gotten any sleep since he'd stayed out so late the night before.

Blaine sat up suddenly, and looked around his room, confused. How did he get back to bed? He didn't remember leaving the graveyard at all last night. He remembered getting really tired after a while, but refusing to leave… Had he fallen asleep there? Maybe his mom had woken up and found him missing and went to look for him. Yes, that had to be it. She must have found him in the cemetery and brought him home.

He rubbed his face and dragged himself out of bed, not looking forward to another day at school at all.

8:06 am

The school's atmosphere had gone back to normal overnight. Blaine wasn't too surprised; he knew most of the school would move on in no time. Kurt was old news, and everyone was back to worrying about homework and tests. He was just a bit shocked that it had happened so quickly, when everyone had been so somber two days ago. The day off must have helped with the change.

Still, Blaine was resentful. Everyone else could just move on with their lives, but he knew he would never be able to get over Kurt completely. Only now, he'd be mourning alone.

He walked up to his locker and stared at his schedule, thrown off for a moment. Was it a Wednesday or a Thursday? He turned to a girl at the locker next to him. "Excuse me, could you tell me what the date is?"

"Yeah, sure" she answered. "It's the third."

Blaine blinked. "No, it isn't. That was almost a week ago. It has to be the ninth or tenth by now…"

The girl stared at him as if he was crazy. "I don't know where you've been, but today is definitely February third." She gave him one last odd look before closing her locker and walking away.

Blaine's mind was reeling. February third was the day Kurt died. He would never forget that date, so why was that girl so adamant that it was today? He tapped another student on the shoulder as he was walking by. "Excuse me, do you know today's date?"

"Yeah, February third."

Blaine stared at him, then looked at his watch. 8:13 am. Deciding to prove to himself that he wasn't going crazy, he walked off down the hallway, headed towards Kurt's old locker. The locker would be open and filled with cards and flowers and stuff, just as it had been for the past six days. That would prove it.

But as Blaine turned the corner, he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before looking again to make sure what he was really seeing.

It was Kurt.

Blaine hid himself behind the corner as he sank to the ground, trying to take deep breaths, but not getting any air. This wasn't possible. Kurt was dead. He had killed himself. Blaine must be going crazy. But there was no denying what he had seen. Kurt was alive and well, and standing at his locker, just as he had been six days ago at this time.

An image of the shooting star from the night before popped into Blaine's mind, but he shook his head, dismissing that idea as utterly insane. Had he somehow traveled back in time? Or perhaps the last week had been nothing but a horrible nightmare.

Two jocks passed by Blaine just then, turning the corner and heading towards Kurt. He heard one mutter something about a fag, then heard a slamming sound as something hit the lockers. Blaine opened his eyes, staring at nothing.

This was it. He had gotten the second chance he had so desperately begged for. Blaine stood, slowly, and peeked around the corner. Kurt sat beneath his locker, clutching his shoulder and staring at the ground. Then he looked up, and Blaine saw those piercing blue eyes turn to him once more. This time, he recognized what he saw there as a cry for help.

Blaine walked down the hallway, slowly approaching the boy on the ground. He stood over him and held out a hand. Kurt looked up at him, eyes wide as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and slowly took Blaine's hand. Blaine helped him up. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Kurt looked away, directing his eyes at anything but Blaine's. "I'm fine," he answered, rather unconvincingly.

"I'm Blaine," the shorter boy introduced himself. It was his turn to stare at the ground as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Do you-" he started. "I mean… would you like to, maybe… get coffee sometime?"

Kurt took his time answering. He looked back at Blaine, examining his face, as if trying to detect some ulterior motive in this unexpected friendliness. Blaine grew more and more nervous under his scrutiny, but Kurt appeared to find nothing suspicious. Slowly, a small smile appeared on his face.

"I'd like that."