*hiding from ALEX RIDE's rabid invisible ninja attack cow* It is truly unforgivable how long this has taken me to update.

Thanks to everyone who's been encouraging me with this story and has been so patient (or impatient enough to send carnivorous bovines after me to get me motivated). Special thanks to my beloved twin MUSICALSARELIFE for some good advice on this particular chapter and the one after it.

Let's see how Blaine's day went, shall we?

DISCLAIMER: Oh no, I totally have legal claims to Glee. I'm currently writing the scenes between Blaine and his sister (played by my incredibly talented twin) and all my stories are actually deleted scenes that will be released with the DVD's. (Note my blatant use of sarcasm)

Blaine made his way to his dorm late that afternoon. Wes had stayed behind with David and Thad for the post-rehearsal council meeting so he had the room to himself. He placed his bag in his desk chair, stepped out of his shoes, and removed his blazer, hanging it up in his closet, before heading towards his bed

Letting his legs give out, his muscles go slack, tension leaving his entire body as he collapsed onto the mattress, Blaine raked his fingers through his hair (he didn't even have the energy to care about the gel) than ran his hands down his face, the heels pressing hard into his eyes until white spots started appearing behind his lids.

Yanking the pillow from underneath his head, Blaine grasped either end, folded it around his face, and screamed for about three minutes straight.

"Longest day of his life" didn't even begin to cover it.

He and Kurt hadn't talked at all. He had tried to catch the countertenor at breakfast, had tried to walk him to his first period class, had tried to meet up with him after it was over, but each time, Kurt slipped away. When the pale boy chose someone else for his partner in their second period, Blaine stopped trying. Kurt obviously wanted space and he was going to respect that.

It still felt like a knife twisting in his gut when Kurt sat in the very back corner of Warbler's practice. They usually sat together on the loveseat closest to the Council's table. Blaine, as lead soloist, was never seated for long but it was always nice to start off each meeting with Kurt by his side. In fact, since he refused to sit on the loveseat alone (it was their space, not Blaine's), he felt very lost. He ended up standing at the back wall where he could sneak looks at Kurt from the corner of his eyes.

He hadn't been able to warn the other boy about 'Animal' being cut but it appeared someone else had because when the announcement was made, Kurt just stared at his knees as if he hadn't heard (Blaine's internal Wevid decided to speak up just then, informing him that this had nothing to do with 'Animal, that Kurt had been spending a lot of Warbler meetings staring at his knees lately and Blaine simply hadn't noticed. Blaine quickly told them to shut up).

Lying in his bed, Blaine felt absolutely sick and his head hurt and he wanted to blame it on a lack of coffee (he had developed quite the addiction over the past couple of months) since he had come here straight after Warblers practice instead of going to the Lima Bean. But he knew it wasn't caffeine withdrawal he was suffering from.

He wondered if Kurt was lying in his own bed with a similar ache. Was it wrong to hope so? To hope that this separation was hitting Kurt as hard as it hit Blaine? He just wanted the assurance that he still meant as much to Kurt as Kurt meant to him.

Regardless, Blaine doesn't know what to do to ease either of their pains.

He's really only sure of one thing right now.

David Thompson was the spawn of Satan.

Four classes. They only had four classes together. How had David made this day stretch into a lifetime and a half in just four freaking classes?

Blaine released a harsh sigh, releasing his death grip on the pillow but not bothering to remove it from his face.

He knew exactly how.

Three words.

Kurt. Elizabeth. Hummel.

That was why Blaine had almost melted his lab table. Twice.

David had decided that Chemistry class was an excellent time in life to become clumsy. Blaine had lost count of the number of times David had dropped his pencil or accidentally nudged a (thankfully) non-breakable component of the experiment onto the floor. And yet, despite dropping everything he touched, David's hands were always full. This left it up to his lab partner to constantly bend over to retrieve the fallen objects: a lab partner by the name of Kurt. A lab partner whose table happened to be directly in front of Blaine's.

Blaine really should tell David that he did not need any help realizing how fantastic Dalton slacks looked when Kurt bent over like that.

Nor was he interested in David's theory that you could say anything in French and make it sound dirty. Further more, he did not wish to aid in testing this theory by listening to Kurt string together random words and see if they all made Blaine tremble like that (Blaine's pretty sure he doesn't want to know what "Légumes frits" means because there is no way Kurt's accent is that good. That… that just wouldn't be fair).

No, David. Blaine does not want to partake in a dramatic reading with Kurt. Especially not over this particularly steamy bit of their novel from English class (where was the boring text that put teenagers to sleep? What Blaine wouldn't give for some outdated literature by a dead white Englishmen. Stupid teachers. Stop trying to make this relatable.)

Also, Blaine would like to make something very clear to his fellow classmates.

Stop. Helping. David.

He's doing quite well on his own (if his goal is to drive Blaine to the brink of his very sanity, he is doing a damn good job). But apparently their Home Economics class, which consisted of all Warblers (Wes's idea to strengthen their team morale), disagreed.

If Blaine heard the phrase "here Kurt, taste this" one more time, he was going to put someone's (possibly his own) head through a wall.

Then came Warbler's practice. Blaine shuddered thinking about it.

The small part of his brain that could be objective about this whole thing had to admit that David was quite possibly a physics genius (the rest of him that was looking for any reason to hate a certain Mr. Thompson decided to harp on the fact that the boy seemed to love clichés).

David had somehow choreographed a routine that spun out of control and had Warblers crashing into each other, ending in a giant pile on the floor, a grumbling tangle of limbs.

Blaine ended up trapped beneath Wes, Thad, and Jeff.

Sufficiently pinned by the weight of three fellow Warblers, Blaine could hardly even shift his weight, let alone move. The situation was incredibly uncomfortable and awkward in its own right. But David's torture didn't end there, considering the position Blaine had landed in.

What was this position, you ask?

On top of Kurt, of course.

With, literally, thismuch space between them.

There was no way this was an accident. Only David could craft this moment.

Because of David (who had been cackling like a super villain through the whole ordeal), Blaine spent the better part of five minutes trying to ignore Kurt's hands bracing his shoulders or the fact that every bit of the countertenor from the collarbone down was pressed tightly against Blaine.

This was no easy task, especially when he could feel Kurt's chest rise and fall at a stuttering pace, his warm breath wafting over Blaine's face, breath that still smelled of that cherry candy (and that brought back a whole host of thoughts Blaine really could not afford right now), and Kurt was shifting underneath him, each miniscule movement meaning some part of the porcelain boy pushed against Blaine, a knee nudging his thigh, a calf sliding along his own, a taut stomach rising to meet Blaine's tummy (which was fluttering in a pleasantly uncomfortable way) when Kurt's back arched slightly as the boy tried to find a more comfortable way to lay on the floor at the bottom of that nightmare of a dog pile and his fingers tightening around Blaine's shoulders as he does this and after Kurt's back was flat again, Blaine was drawn into those bright eyes which were a vibrant jade green right then, the lights from above shining in them, shimmering and Blaine felt like he was watching a thousand thoughts flying through the boy's mind and he would have given anything to catch just one.

Blaine remembered learning forward, trying to discern just what those eyes were trying to tell him, his nose brushing against Kurt's just as…

Just as Thad finally got himself into an upright position.

Blaine shot to his feet, gulping down lung-fulls of air, only then aware that he hadn't been breathing properly.

Swallowing thickly, pulling himself together, Blaine turned to offer Kurt a hand only to find the countertenor already up and dusting himself off, determinedly avoiding eye contact with Blaine.

With everyone sore and grumbling, the council dismissed the group before anyone else could be hurt. The Warblers (minus the council) limped out of practice, over-exaggerating the pain in their movements so as to prolong their exit and give them a longer amount of time to glare at David.

Kurt shot out of practice like the room was on fire.

And that brings us back to Blaine in his dorm room, face buried in his pillow, trying to turn it into a time machine so that it could take him to before today, before this past weekend, before 'Animal', before things started getting so difficult between him and Kurt, to just before because he is really sick of dealing with after.

His plans to invent time travel were interrupted by a familiar buzzing coming from his pocket (it was pretty indicative of how low he was feeling when he didn't even consider hoping that it was Kurt), so Blaine yanked his phone free with a frustrated groan.

Hey Blainers! – David

Blaine could not begin to describe how not in the mood he was for this conversation.

What? – B

And Blaine growls angrily as he reads the response he gets because he can hear David's smug chuckle.

Now, now Blainey. There's no need to be snippy. ;) – David

What do you want David? – B

Hmph. Someone's not very friendly today. I just wanted to ask you something. – David

Blaine's fingers were already savagely typing out a demand for David to just spit it out already when he gets a second text.

I'll be quick. I'm sure you're busy. After all, that hair doesn't gel itself. ;) But, do you have, say… 4 Minutes? – David

Blaine's blood runs cold.

No… There's no way.

What's this all about? – B

I was just thinking about how lucky us straight boys are that Kurt's gay. If he batted for the other team, there'd be no Single Ladies left for the rest of us. Would there? ;) – David

Oh god, no.

What are you playing at David! – B

And goddamn it, he can still hear that smug bastard laughing.

Easy there Blaine, don't Push It. – David

Blaine types out two threats to David's life, one plea for mercy, and a few expletives before finally settling on a question.

How? – B

Computers come with this amazing little button called "Clear Browser History". For future reference, you might want to make liberal use of this handy little invention. – David

Damn him. Damn him to the fiery pits of hell where carnivorous dogs will tear him limb from limb and eat his innards for the rest of eternity while he is forced to listen to listen to a professor on mathematics who is simultaneously monotonous and has the vocal pitch of nails on a chalkboard!

Blaine? You still there? Or did Kurt's ass in that unitard fully melt your brain? – David

Name your price. – B

* gasp * Blaine, you wound me! Don't you trust me as your friend to keep your little secret? – David

I wouldn't trust you to watch my goldfish for a week. – B

That hurts Blaine. That. Really. Hurts. – David

Stop beating around the bush. – B

For once, David listened.

Watch one more video. – David

Blaine's jaw dropped, along with his phone, which bounced on the mattress, the message still shining up at Blaine, letting him know that he hadn't imagined it.

WHAT? ? ? ! ! !– B

Just one more. I e-mailed you the link. Please? – David

Blaine stared hard at his phone. With that last word, something had shifted in this conversation and he could feel his anger dissipating. Suddenly, this had become serious.

What's so important about this video, David? – B

Just watch it Blaine. If I know your relationship with Kurt like I think I do, you'll see it too. Please watch it? It's what's best for Kurt. – David

Blaine's fingers hesitate over the keyboard on his phone, wanting to explain to David that watching videos in order to do what's best for Kurt often backfired. He wants to ask what exactly it is about this video that's so important. He wants to ask but doesn't.

David had been staring at Kurt that morning, looking pensive and worried. Was something wrong with Kurt? Something that David saw but that Blaine was overlooking? What wasn't he seeing? What was it that had David so scared?

That's what determines Blaine's next course of action. Just as easily as he could hear David's teasing snickers, he can now hear this new tone in the text.

David's scared.

David's scared for Kurt.

David's scared for Kurt and he's turning to Blaine.

I'll take a look at it. – B

Blaine discards his phone on the bed and heads for his laptop at the desk, powering it up and opening his e-mail. Sure enough, there was a new message from David containing a link.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine clicks it before he can loose his nerve.

Pink Houses – John Mellencamp
Featuring: Kurt Hummel

Blaine stared at the title for a good five minutes, waiting for it to somehow make sense.

Kurt.

Doing Mellencamp.

Kurt Hummel?

Mellencamp?

With a sickening sense of déjà vu, Blaine read the video's description.

Mr. Schuester's assignment this week was to sing a song that fit your voice. Kurt sang this.
…
We don't get it either.

Well, that didn't clear up anything (honestly, these descriptions had started off being so helpful). With a heavy sigh, trying to steel himself for whatever he was about to see (there's no way this was another way for David to torment him, right? Right?), and pressed play.

In the New Directions choir room, Kurt entered.

Blaine immediately hit the pause button, staring bug eyed at Kurt.

Dear god, what was he wearing?

Blaine's jaw worked fruitlessly as he searched for words but none could do his shock justice.

Kurt stood in front of the piano, facing the camera, waiting as Mr. Schuester moved off-screen. He stood for a moment, center shot, dressed in a nondescript gray sweatshirt and a puffy vest, baggy brown corduroys hanging low on his hips but doing nothing to accentuate them. On top of his head, ruining the chance for any style to his chestnut hair was a trucker hat. He turned towards the band, which looked uncomfortable with this stranger asking them to play.
"Gentlemen."
Kurt's voice was rough, low, and so, so forced.

There was almost something cute about Kurt's clothes in the way that it was akin to a four-year-old slipping on his daddy's shoes and trying to walk around in them. It certainly looked like he had raided Burt's closet for this outfit. The hat certainly didn't belong to Kurt.

But, "almost" was the key word here.

In all honesty, this ensemble pissed Blaine off.

"There's a black man
With a black hat
Living in a black neighborhood"

This wasn't Kurt. None of it.

"He's got an interstate
Running through his front yard
You know he thinks that he's
Got it so good"

What was with that voice?

It wasn't the fact that it was so low. Kurt had a great range and could in fact go deeper if he so chose.

But it wasn't Kurt's real voice. He was forcing it. Blaine could see the effort, could see the pale boy concentrating on keeping his voice at that register. This is straining and singing has always been so natural to Kurt before this. He shouldn't have to try this hard.

"And there's a woman
In the kitchen
Cleaning up the evening slop
And he looks at her and says
Hey darling
I can remember when you could
Stop a clock"

Kurt didn't believe a word he was saying. It didn't mean a thing to him. He was singing someone else's song.

"Oh
But ain't that America
For you and me
Ain't that America
Something to see
Ain't that America
Home of the free
Yeah
Little pink houses
For you and me"

Blaine wasn't sure how much more of this he could stomach.

It was just so… wrong.

Kurt's face was frozen in an indifferent blank look but his eyes searched his audience, shifting from face to face, gauging their reactions, trying to find a certain one and being crushed each time he didn't find it. The unsatisfied hunger in his eyes showed that he was searching for approval.

Where was Kurt? The description said this video featured Kurt Hummel.

Blaine doesn't know who this guy is, but it is definitely not Kurt.

Kurt suddenly throws his head back, his voice lower than ever. He throws everything he has into this last bit, as if it will make the performance more believable.
"Oh! Baby!
For you and me."
Hesitant clapping sounds off-screen. It's not applause, just a knee-jerk reaction to the end of something that no one can really name as if the audience hopes their small act of normalcy will somehow restore order.

Blaine stares at his computer for the longest time, not even aware that it has gone black from lack of activity.

What happened? How could Kurt lose himself like that?

Because that was more than changing his persona. Blaine had just been forced to watch Kurt slowly die. It terrified him.

Why had David wanted him to watch that?

If I know your relationship with Kurt like I think I do, you'll see it too.

Blaine feels lower than dirt because he sees it, but he doesn't see what it has to do with Kurt as of now.

This video was more than a year old. Whatever had made Kurt do this to himself was in the past because Kurt wasn't acting like that anymore. And, judging by all the other videos Blaine has seen of the pale boy, it was a brief moment of insecurity. There were no other performances like this one.

So what is he supposed to be seeing?

Oblivious hobbit. This has nothing to do with 'Animal. All Kurt does nowadays is stare at the floor. He hasn't spoken up in a meeting since February. Why does this surprise you? When was the last time you heard his voice in this room? He hasn't auditioned for anything since before Christmas break. He doesn't even fight for a position in the front during the dances anymore. He doesn't fight for anything. Haven't you noticed?

Shit.

Blaine stands, paces his room, kicks his bed and paces some more.

Oh shit!

He gets it now. And it's scaring the hell out of him.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

David sent this to Blaine because he's seeing the Kurt in that video walking around Dalton.

The Kurt Blaine knows and loves (the one they all love, Blaine corrects himself) is fading away. Instead of turning into Burt, he's turning into the Dalton Academy poster boy. He's losing everything that makes him special, the makes him wonderful, that makes him amazing, that makes him Kurt.

He's dying.

And Blaine hasn't noticed.

Blaine, who has spent three days feeling sorry for himself about losing Kurt because the countertenor apparently means oh so much to Blaine and he didn't see it.

What if David hadn't said anything? What if no one else saw it? What if Kurt stayed under the radar, just like in McKinley, and no one saw this? What if Blaine didn't notice until it was too late and Kurt, his Kurt, was gone?

Blaine stops abruptly and sucks in a deep breath, his jaw tightening with a decision.

The pity party is over. Because this isn't about him anymore. This isn't about a crumbling friendship. This isn't about singing competitions.

This is about Kurt.

He reaches for his phone and dials a number, quick and desperate while trying to convince himself that he's determined.

He's said it before and he'll say it again.

Blaine Anderson would do anything for Kurt.

Phone stapled to his ear, he listens to it ring.

Blaine knows this is a stab in the dark, knows he's grasping at straws.

Ringing.

But this just got so much bigger than him and whatever minor problems he thought he'd been helping Kurt fix (had it really changed from learning how to be sexy to this?).

Ringing.

And it's absolutely crazy to just leap in like this considering how much trouble doing so has gotten him into recently but he can't let this go on. He has to put a stop to Kurt's suffering, no matter the cost.

Ringing.

He will not rest until he finds out what is hurting his best friend. And when he does, he will annihilate whatever has brought such harm to his Kurt. Because that's what friends do (Shut up Wevid!). He'll do whatever it takes.

Click.

"Um… Hello?"

Which means, as unlikely as it is that this call will be helpful, he has to try.

"Finn?"

*sings*
"Cliff
Hanger
Hanging from a cliff
And that's why he's called Cliff Hanger!"

Any reviewers want to toss him a rope?