A/N: Well, Blaine (kurtsontop) and I suffered from writer's block a bit this week, so we apologize for the late posting. We'll try and keep it to Sundays from now on out. A huge thank you to everyone who continues to read and review! Trigger warnings for mentions of drugs, self-harm and suicide attempts. The song featured in this chapter is Turning Tables by Adele. Everyone remember to pop on by my lovely co-author's account to read Blaine's POV in Stained Glass.


Chapter Eleven:

Under haunted skies I see
Where love is lost, your ghost is found
I've braved a hundred storms to leave you
As hard as you try, no, I will never be knocked down

It was below zero out on the frost-bitten streets of New York City, and the billowing storm of snowflakes blew so thickly that you could barely see three feet in front of you. Kurt's perfectly gelled hair was frozen, and his fingers were so swollen they looked like sausages, but he pushed on through the deserted and ice-slicked sidewalks.

Kurt had been roaming the roads for hours. After being ushered out of Blaine's room by scowling nurses and seeing Rachel and Christian huddled up in the waiting room together, he had propelled himself outside in the blizzard, seeking the solutions to everything that had simultaneously tumbled off the tracks in his life.

First there was Aaron. He had made it pretty clear that Kurt had royally fucked up their entire relationship. Everything that Kurt owned was still stuck back in that stupid apartment they shared. He wondered vaguely if Aaron would toss his belongings out on the street or if he would consider leaving the apartment to Kurt and moving out altogether. Some part of him still loved Aaron. He loved the security and his trepidation and the ways he was nothing like Blaine.

And then there was the fact that Kurt hadn't shown up to school, the diner or in a week. He'd abandoned all of his responsibilities, all of his commitments and dedications, because he'd been so damn obsessed with seeing Blaine. He'd ignored all of Isabelle's calls, and was fairly certain she was beyond angry with him. There was no doubt in his mind that Frank had fired him, considering the amount of times he'd harassed Rachel and Santana the few times they'd shown up on time. As for all of his teachers at NYADA, they'd emailed him the several hundred assignments he'd need to make up if he had any hopes of passing the semester at the end of December.

The torturous cold was far more welcoming than the warmth of the hospital. There, he had felt endlessly suffocated by thoughts of what Blaine had done. With the swirling snowflakes blinding him and the chill seeping through his thin layers, Kurt found himself momentarily distracted. God, how had he gotten himself into this suffocating spider web of problems?

He knew he had to go back to the hospital eventually. He couldn't just leave Blaine alone in the hospital. What if he woke up? Kurt had to be there to comfort him, to help if he tried to do it again. The very thought of seeing Christian again made Kurt's skin crawl. That was the man who had lived with Blaine, been his best friend, and yet had been unable to stop him. His nose still ached despite the numbing sensation that had long ago graced over his face.

He pushed forward into the wind, biting his lip and cringing as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to be blown away; to melt into the ground like one of the precious snowflakes and drip down into the sewers where it was clear he belonged.

"Do you want to build a snowman?"
Kurt looked up from his position on the couch. He was tucked under several blankets and was clutching a mug of hot cocoa between his hands. "Are you kidding me, Blaine? It's like, negative forty degrees outside. We'd freeze."

Blaine chuckled, crossing over and plopping down beside his boyfriend with a puppy-like excitement shimmering in his hazel eyes. "It's not that cold, Kurt. Come on. Please? We don't get snow days very often. Don't you want to take advantage of it?"

"I am taking advantage of it," Kurt replied smoothly, motioning to When Harry Met Sally playing on the television screen. "I'm sorry that freezing my ass off isn't my ideal snow day activity."

Blaine pouted. "It won't be too cold if you bundle up."

Kurt turned back to the T.V., shaking his head with a smirk playing on his lips. "No."

"Building a snowman will be fun. We can dress him up in one of my bowties."

"Nope."

"I'll rub your feet for a week everyday after school if you come outside with me."

"Tempting."

Blaine grinned widely, leaning in to block Kurt's view of the movie. "I'll let you name him Taylor Lautner."

Kurt wrinkled his nose, stifling a laugh at Blaine's eagerness. "Fine. But I expect a brand new pot of hot chocolate with peppermint whipped cream when we get back inside."

Blaine let out a happy squeal and kissed the tip of Kurt's nose. "I love you."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I love you too."

Kurt darted underneath a roof of one of the street-side boutiques when he felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. The device was damp from the snow that had melted on his slacks, but he quickly dried it on his sleeve and flipped it open to answer it.

"Santana?"

"Kurt? Where are you? Are you okay? Please tell me you're not outside in this god awful weather right now."

Kurt clamped a palm over his other ear in an effort to hear her over the thunderous whistling of the snowstorm. "I'm fine," he said.
She paused. "Oh, really? Because you don't sound fine, you actually sound like you're stuck in the middle of this fucking blizzard, gay fairy princess."

"Santana, I'm not in the mood," he snapped bitterly. His fingers were beginning to cramp up around his phone.

"Frankly, I don't give a shit what you are or are not in the mood for. You need to get your prissy ass back to the hospital stat because Berry and her boy toy are having mental breakdowns and I don't know how much longer I can put up with the lovebirds before I bring out Auntie Snix."

Kurt sighed, the exhalation resulting in a puff of white mist. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he replied before hanging up. His very being ached for all the trauma he knew he was putting Santana and Rachel through, but he just needed time to sort everything out without his two best friends questioning his every decision.

It took Kurt approximately twenty-one minutes to find his way back to the hospital. There was a strange serenity about New York being so empty. It was like the snowfall had swept away every pedestrian and cleared away all of Kurt's doubts with them. As he stepped into the familiar hospital waiting room, he knew what he had to do.

Rachel threw her arms around his neck upon seeing him, exhaling with relief against his throat. "You're okay," she cried.

A smile flitted across his lips as he gently pulled away from her. "I'm okay," he repeated. "Has Blaine woken up? Do you know?"

Santana stood up from her chair, threading her fingers through her long, ebony hair. "The receptionist refuses to tell us anything—" she glanced pointedly at the timid woman behind the front desk, "—but I think he's still unconscious."

"Come sit with us. You look practically frozen solid." Rachel tugged at his arm.

Christian was avoiding Kurt's gaze at all cost and Kurt wasn't too keen on revisiting their arguments with him. "I'm going to go see Blaine."

"You can't," Rachel protested. "They won't let anyone into the I.C.U."

"I made it in before. I can make it in again. I have to see him."

Santana shook her head almost proudly as he made his way towards the elevator. "That's my boy."

Blaine was in the same position as he had been when Kurt had last seen him. His curls glistened in the artificial light, his left arm extended over the pillow where Kurt had nestled into his side, various tubes inserted into his wrists and pumping clear liquid into his veins. He looked so peaceful and beautiful, Kurt wished he could savor this moment forever.

There was a deafening bang as the door crashed open. "You did this."

Kurt barely moved from his sunken position in the armchair, gaze still fixated on Blaine's motionless form. Christian had returned to taunt him again. "Haven't we already settled this or was that punch not enough?" he spat before turning to face the intruder. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized the man at the door. The chiseled features, the swoop of dark hair, the gorgeous eyes now glinting with a foreign ferocity. "Cooper."

"You did this to him, didn't you?" Cooper inched around the perimeter of the room, purposefully keeping far away from Kurt like he was some sort of despicable insect he had found in his bathroom.

"Cooper, n-no, no I didn't do anything," he croaked. His hands shook from where they clenched the plastic armrests of the chair. "He—Blaine did this to himself. I tried to stop it, Cooper, I tried so hard, but—"

"You didn't fucking try hard enough, Kurt," Cooper growled, glaring icily at him as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Blaine's head. "I know that you left him. I know what happened. I know because he called me that night and went on and on while he fucking cried his eyes out because you left him, Kurt. You left him alone with our bastard of a father. You were the reason that I didn't have to come back. Because I really thought for sure that because he found you, he would be okay for awhile." He laughed bitterly. "Looks like I was wrong, huh?"

Kurt shook his head, Cooper's words ringing in his ears like a siren. "I thought he would be okay. I thought…that that was how Blaine was. He bounces back. I didn't think it would turn out like this. I didn't know. I'm so sorry, Cooper. If I could turn back time and fix it, I would," he whispered. The beeping of the monitor beside Blaine's bed ticked like a metronome. "But I can't."

"You're right. You can't. You fucked up and atleast you know that you can't fix it. Which is almost surprising in itself because you've always been so fucking hardheaded." Cooper crossed over to Kurt, towering over him with his arms curled around his chest menacingly.

"Where were you?" Kurt asked. "Where were you when Blaine was shooting himself up with drugs and dancing around town with every available gay man and drinking away all of his problems until his memory dissolved? I didn't know he was here and you did. What's your excuse?"

"Because I thought he was okay, Kurt! I have called him once a week for the past four years of my life to make sure that he's been okay and he's always sounded fine. Always gone on about how great life in New York was. There was nobody to call me and tell me that he was hurting behind the scenes. Because I, like you, thought he might bounce back!" He was pacing back and forth, waving his arms animatedly. "And why the fuck didn't you call me when he was put in here? Why did I have to hear it from his roommate who I didn't even know existed?"

"No. No," Kurt snarled, climbing to his feet. "You do not get to push this all on me. I'm sorry that you were the last thing on my mind while I was trying to save my ex-boyfriend. I'm sorry that I forgot to ring you up all cheerily and tell you that your little brother is a drug-addicted whore. Now, wouldn't that be a merry conversation between old friends? Oh, hi Cooper, so I just met your brother at the local gay club but he was so drunk off his ass that he didn't remember me. And did I mention that I also found him sleeping in his freezing English classroom? Don't forget about the fact that he cuts himself. It was so great catching up with you!" Kurt hissed.

"Yes, I did expect you to have done that! If he wasn't going to tell me everything than maybe you should have been fucking smart enough to do it yourself! But no, it all has to be about you. You have to go around and try and fix everyone even when you can't," Cooper snarled, leaning over Kurt slightly. "He's my fucking brother."

Kurt threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "He was my fucking boyfriend! I was the one who was in love with him, I was the one who held him when he cried and kissed away his tears, I was the one who gave a shit about him when he came to me with a black eye. Cooper, you fucking left him alone with that monster. I tried to get him to go for help, I tried to tell others, but he was so damn prideful that he wouldn't let me. I had to leave him because he was drowning himself and every second with him was killing me." He sat back down, defeated. "It's still killing me."

"But you weren't there to kiss away his tears when he really needed you. He broke his wrist, did you know that? The day you broke up with him he went home crying and Dad saw him and dragged him to the kitchen and beat the fucking shit out of him. I flew home and took Blaine to the hospital myself. He knew I had to go. He told me I shouldn't stay behind to look after him, that I shouldn't sacrifice my life for him. And he said he hated you. He hated you so much because you just left him there feeling so fucking useless and alone and he hated you for it!" Cooper's voice was growing with every passing moment, his fingers twisting into his perfect coif.

"I can't change what I did, Cooper and I'll regret that day for the rest of my life. I tried to save him then and I'm still trying to save him now. Don't you see that, Cooper? Don't you see that I care?" Kurt's voice cracked and he lowered his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry that I didn't try harder back then."

"You're trying to put a bandaid on a bullet wound, Kurt."

"Maybe I am. You know what? I can't save everybody and maybe I can't save anybody, but I can't stop trying. I won't give up on him, Cooper, not even if he sucks every damn shred of life out of me. I love Blaine and I know that everything is my fault, but that's exactly the reason why I can't leave him again," he exclaimed, thick tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Just…don't let him down again," Cooper said. There was something in those baby blue eyes of his. Forgiveness? Pity? Desperation? Before Kurt could figure it out, Cooper was out the door with the lock clicking shut behind him.

Kurt wiped his face on the back of his hand and reached across the expanse of the bed for Blaine. His fingers tightened around the curly-haired man's and he dropped his head down onto the mattress. "Every word of that was true, you know," Kurt murmured. "Every word."