Author's Note: I just want to clarify something about last chapter. The italicized part, where Kurt's dreaming about his father sending him away, is only a dream. That's not how it really went down, promise! I'll add the way Kurt got committed in a later chapter. Right now, I'm playing it by ear, so I'm hoping my muse sticks with me. Also, don't forget to vote on who you want Kurt to end up with: Karofsky, Puck, or Blaine. So far, Blaine's winning.

ALSO: I didn't do very much research on proceedings in mental hospitals. I'm not going to lie, Kurt's schedule, and the way the rooms are and whatnot is kind of based on a book I read. I wasn't sure how to type something like that into Google, so I just went with what the book said. As always, reviews inspire me. If there's something you want to see, let me know and I'll try to work it into the story.

Kurt learned that sexuality was fluid in a place like this. Straight, gay, bi, it didn't matter when you were stuck in a room with someone of the same sex and kept strictly away from anyone of the opposite gender, for the most part. If you were a straight guy, well...you got over that hangup fairly quickly unless you wanted to be celibate. Kurt learned quickly that he was a commodity: someone pretty, someone even a straight guy would find attractive. Even with his anorexia and the things that had happened to his appearance because of it, many of the guys still made passes at him. He refused, though he did jerk Blaine off once or twice just so he'd shut the hell up and go to sleep.

He didn't want to do something because he was desperate and isolated. As funny as it was, Blaine was the only thing keeping him sane in this place. He was on a strict diet, and before he was allowed to throw his trays away from meals, they were checked by an orderly. He took antidepressants in the morning, and a sleeping aid at night. He had group therapy three times a week and a private therapy session at least once a day. He was catty and distant with Dr. Bent, telling him to go to hell on more than one occasion.

His doctor creeped him out. Not because he was trying to probe into Kurt's life; that was to be expected. The guy was a shrink, after all. But Kurt didn't like the way Dr. Bent felt his ribs every time he came in...like he liked being able to feel the bones protruding from Kurt's body. It squicked him, but he didn't complain. He wanted to get better so he could go home. While the thought of leaving Blaine saddened him, they had already promised to write to each other, no matter who got out first.

There were some seriously disturbed people in the institution. One guy had killed someone and pled insanity. He stared blankly at everything and nothing, and it was fairly unsettling. One girl had been raped and gotten pregnant. But she'd stabbed herself in the stomach to kill the baby. Kurt was nowhere near as fucked up as some of these people.

"Kurt?" Blaine said tentatively, trying to pull the smaller boy out of his internal musings.

"Yeah?" he replied absently.

"Time for group."

Kurt sighed heavily before hauling himself off his bed where he'd been sitting cross-legged, reading a book. He trudged after Blaine, who brushed their hands together before grabbing Kurt's and twining their fingers together. Kurt had learned quickly that Blaine was a very tactile person. He liked to hug and touch and hold hands and kiss cheeks. Kurt, who liked personal space, had taken a while to get used to this. It showed how long he'd been there that he didn't say anything, just moved into the comfort. He'd learned by now that you took what you could get in a place that smelled of antiseptic and sadness.

Taking his usual seat beside Blaine, everyone else filtered in quietly. There was a new kid today, a big guy with bulging muscles who said his name was Jeff. He sat on Kurt's right, and he instinctively scooted closer to Blaine. There was something in Jeff's eyes that scared him. The presiding shrink called them all to order to start the session. "Welcome Jeff, everyone. He's just come, and we're going to help him share with us by sharing with him first," Dr. Fair said. "Now, who would like to begin? Let's start with something easy. How has everyone's day been?"

Blaine, who still had Kurt's left hand gripped in his right, raised his free hand.

"Yes, Blaine?" the doctor asked, smiling politely.

"I was going to try and find something to cut with yesterday," the dark-haired boy said honestly, eyes wide and looking at everyone. Mostly, when people volunteered in group they looked at the floor. Not Blaine; he wanted to stare everyone down. "But I decided not to."

"Why's that, Blaine?" Dr. Fair prompted, her pen in hand.

"I talked to Kurt instead," he said. Kurt blushed and ducked his head. He hated it when attention was brought to him in group. He didn't want to share. "And he talked me out of it. Said I'd be letting people down, letting myself down, if I did it again. He said it wasn't fair to hurt myself more if I already hurt. I guess he's right." Blaine shrugged, like this was no big deal, and at Dr. Fair's prompting, everyone clapped.

"That was very insightful of you, Kurt. Where did you come up with that?" And there it was. A shift in attention to him. He didn't like it, and he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I...I don't know. I just used logic. At least, it seemed logical to me," he finally answered, after a long silence. The doctor nodded slowly, scribbling something down in the mysterious manila folder all the doctors had. The rest of group passed in a blur for him, Blaine a comforting weight at his left, Jeff a forbidding one on his right.

"Come on, Kurt, let's go get lunch," Blaine said enthusiastically. Kurt discreetly tried pulling his hand away, but the bigger boy kept his grip tight. Kurt sighed. Blaine was a great friend to him, he really was. But sometimes, he was kind of overbearing.

"Sure," he said, forcing a smile. They left the room together, hand in hand, but Kurt turned back and saw Jeff's eyes on them. He hadn't said one word today, except to introduce himself. And he still kind of creeped Kurt out, though the countertenor couldn't really put his finger on why.