A/N: Trigger warnings for mentions of suicide and self-harm as well as a suicide attempt. The song used in this chapter is Please Don't Leave Me by P!nk.

Chapter Ten:

Can't you tell that this is all just a contest?
The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please, don't leave me

"Blaine! Blaine!" The scream was ripped from Kurt's throat as he went careening around the block corner. The heels of his combat boots skidded on the thin sheet of ice that covered the pavement, and his cheeks were wet with snowflakes, but his eyes were fixed on the ambulance that had parked in front of the hospital entrance.

Kurt's chest constricted painfully as he came to a screeching halt behind the paramedics who were unloading the stretcher from the vehicle. He caught a glimpse of Blaine's skin, paper white and as pale as the snow falling from the sky. His curls were slick with sweat, his body flopping uselessly as the stretcher was wheeled through the doors. An IV was hooked up to his arm and both of his wrists were covered in already blood-stained cotton bandages, concealing the gaping gashes Kurt knew were there.

He couldn't hear the nurses shouting at him, or see Rachel frozen with tears streaming down her cheeks, or feel the sudden humid warmth of the waiting room. There was just Blaine. There was just Blaine and the bright red blood dripping onto the tile, leaking from his wrists.

"Sir, you must stay in the waiting room until further notice. Sir!" Kurt pushed past the nurse restraining him and watched as Blaine was carried out of sight. What if he died? What if they couldn't save him? It was all his fault.

"No, you don't understand," he replied, his voice raw with desperation. "I have to see him, please."

The nurse shook her head. "Sir, you must remain here until the patient is stabilized enough to receive visitors. Are you family?" Kurt's ears were ringing. He couldn't think straight. "Sir?"

He watched as a man with mousy brown hair and a blood stained t-shirt rocketed through the doors right behind Blaine. "Why does he get to go in?" he cried. "Why the fuck is he allowed in?" He was too loud, too vulgar, too scared.

Rachel's hand was on his arm, gently pulling him away from the nurse. "Kurt. Kurt, stop. He'll be okay, just stop shouting, please," she said softly. Kurt let her lead him to one of the sickly plastic chairs in the waiting room, where others sat with shaking hands and terrified expressions. The world spun around him, churning and blending the faces with their bloodshot eyes and Styrofoam cups of coffee. This was all just a nightmare.

The seconds transformed into minutes as the all too decorate Hawaii-themed clock on the far wall ticked away. Tick tock. You're the reason Blaine tried to kill himself. Tick tock. You've been here before, haven't you? Tick tock. If you had just stayed with him, this wouldn't have happened. Tick tock. Now you've destroyed two of your lovers. Tick tock. All your fault. Tick tock.

"Rachel?" It was him again, the man who had been allowed to stay with Blaine while Kurt had been forced to remain outside like a fool. He collapsed into the seat next to Rachel, raking his fingers through his hair and exhaling exhaustedly.

Rachel instantly reached for his hands and squeezed them reassuringly. "What happened? Is he going to be alright?"

"He's okay. He's uh…Well, he's stable. For now." He gave her a watery smile before his gaze settled on Kurt. Something in his baby blue eyes snapped as recognition fell over him. And it was then that Kurt knew who this mystery man was. "You. You're the one who did this to him."

"Christian." Kurt spat the word like an insult, gripping the cheap armrests as if to steady himself. "How fucking dare you."

The man in question nearly stumbled out of his seat, pain creasing his face as he brought his index finger and thumb to press at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut. "What the hell are you even doing here?"

"What the hell am I doing here? I'm trying to make sure Blaine is okay. At least I try, which is more than I can say for you. Where are you when he's out high off his ass and dancing at some strip club? Huh?" Kurt was blazing with anger as he lurched upward. It wasn't Christian's fault, he knew that much, but he was tired of blaming himself.

Christian raised an eyebrow, letting out a mocking, broken laugh. "Where am I? I'm right there trying to make sure that he's okay because I know that I can't control another fucking person's actions if they don't want to be helped. You obviously didn't get the memo that he didn't need you around."

Rachel was shaking her head furiously at them. "This isn't the time for this!"

"Blaine became your responsibility when you decided to move in with him. You watched him become what he is, you watched him hurt himself, and you didn't do a damn thing about it." Kurt jabbed an accusatory finger at him, stepping closer and practically feeling the anger emanating off of Christian.

"He was already like that when he showed up!" His hands were in the air, waving about as if Kurt were crazy. "You really think that I would sit around and watch someone do that to themselves?"

Kurt laughed cruelly. It was like every single drop of pain inside of him was being released now. He was yelling at Aaron for not being the person he needed, yelling at Blaine for doing this, yelling at himself for being so fucking stupid. "Yes, Christian, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you would do. Because while I was taking away everything he was using to hurt himself, you were at school and your supposed roommate slit both of his wrists and lay dying on the bathroom floor."

Christian's fist swung at him out of nowhere, catching him straight in the nose and sending Kurt sprawling to the floor. His head smacked against the tile and stars exploded in front of his eyes. Blood sprayed from his nostrils as he propped himself up on his elbow, and wiped the back of his hand across his face. Rachel had let out a horrified scream and some of the nurses behind the receptionist desk raced to aid him.

"Fuck," Christian whispered, eyes wide as he backed away from Kurt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Kurt climbed to his feet and followed a nurse to one of the medical rooms. He paused as he passed Christian, a sick metallic taste filling his mouth. "I hope that made you feel better."

"Well, Mr. Hummel, your nose isn't broken, but one of the blood vessels along the bridge burst and therefore caused that startling amount of blood. You'll have to be more careful next time. And if you and your friend start another fight in the lobby, we'll have to kick both of you out," the nurse informed him as she taped up his injury.

He's not my friend, Kurt thought bitterly. His entire face throbbed with every inhale, his nose feeling like a giant cotton ball. He wished he could lean forward and rip every hair of the nurse's bleach blonde mop off her prissy little head.

"Stay put while I go give the paperwork to the front desk, okay?" She merrily gathered up her clipboard and winked at Kurt as she shut the door behind her.

He ground his teeth together, frustrated. Fucking Christian. He should've been there to help Blaine. He should've stayed with him and fixed him. He should've held his damn tongue in the waiting room and saved them both the embarrassment.

Kurt hopped off the examination bed and paced back and forth in the tiny room. He could practically feel his life, every remaining shred of sanity dripping from his fingertips. Why did this matter so much to him? He hadn't seen Blaine in four years and then suddenly some freak appearance at a gay club had turned his perfect life around. In that moment, Kurt hated Blaine. He hated him for being so broken. He hated him for dragging Kurt down with him. He hated him for moving to New York and escaping his father but still being as damaged as that scared little seventeen year old boy.

But then Kurt remembered all that he had shared with his ex-boyfriend. Sweet summer kisses, heated nights between the sheets, intimate hand holding under the table, chick flicks and romcoms at two o'clock in the morning, the feeling of his ice cold toes beneath the blanket, his hazel green eyes filling with tears that he could always kiss away. And Kurt knew why he loved Blaine; why some part of him still loved him, and he knew that he had to fix him even if it meant losing everything else in his life.

He pried open the door and peered into the empty hallway. He had to find Blaine and make sure he was okay. He strode hastily down the corridor until he found an elevator. Two surgeons with cups of tea in their hands regarded him curiously when he asked where he could find the emergency rooms, but pointed to the third floor.

It smelled thickly of burnt flesh and open wounds, Kurt observed as the elevator doors peeled open with an anticlimactic creak. There was something different about this floor. No shiny red balloons or blooming flowers or get well notes tacked to various billboards. The walls were long, white and bare. The floors were all too clean. Only the faint beeping of a heart monitor sounded from a distant area.

The first door he tried was locked and he could hear muffled shouting from within—"we're losing him! We're losing him!" He backed away, choking as he struggled to breathe. It's not Blaine, it's not Blaine, he assured himself, but his heart still pounded deafeningly in his ears.

Blaine Anderson was in the seventh door on the left that Kurt tried. At first, he hardly recognized the small man who faded into the crisp white sheets, but then the familiar dark curls drew him in.

He sat down by the bed, eyes fixated on the machine that charted Blaine's heartbeat in scraggly, luminescent lines. He was still alive. A bag of clear liquid was pumping the fluids into the crook of his elbow and his wrists had been wrapped in fresh bandages.
Kurt reached out and took Blaine's hand in his. He traced over the swell of the bandages softly, willing some sort of mythological magic to burst from his fingertips and mend the gashes underneath.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine." Blaine's eyelashes fanned over the apples of his cheeks; so still and serene and beautiful. "I should've listened to you. I should've stayed with you so long ago. I'm so sorry."

He bent his head as tears spilled from his eyes and his sobs filled the pressing silence. It was all his fault. Not Christian's, or Aaron's, or Mr. Anderson's, but his. His very being ached with the weight of all he had done and he felt so tired of carrying it all by himself.

Kurt stood up and peeled back the sheets of Blaine's bed. He climbed next to his ex-boyfriend, gingerly moving him aside and resting his head on his chest. The rise and fall of his rib cage was comforting. He wasn't gone yet. He was alive.

Kurt closed his eyes, his tears tasting salty on his lips as he opened his mouth to sing. "I forgot to say out loud how beautiful you really are to me. I cannot be without, you're my perfect little punching bag. And I need you, I'm sorry. Baby, please don't leave me. Please don't leave me."