A/N: Here, take a loooong (for me) chapter. ;) I want to thank you all heartily for following and favoriting and alerting. It means a whole lot to me. (I saw that even themuse19 started following and I had a bit of a fangirl moment because her fic Model Behavior is one of my most favorites, and I sincerely hope she doesn't mind me plugging it here...)

Anyhow, this chapter kind of got out of hand, and it moves our Kurt and Blaine along a lot faster than I thought it would, but I hope it works... let me know what you think?

Also, TRIGGER WARNING for some self-harm. Please, please heed this warning. I care deeply about all of you and I do know how triggering some stuff can be so- please, just, take care of yourself?

I don't own Glee or the song used in this chapter.

Without further ado, please enjoy. :)

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The rest of the day went by in a blur, which Blaine was grateful for. Nobody spoke to him so he didn't have to face not speaking to anyone, and soon he was shifting books around in his locker before grabbing the few he needed for homework, shoving them in his satchel, and leaving the school for home.

Blaine had always expected he would be driving himself to school by his junior year, and for the first half of the school year, he had. But after the... incident... his parents had requested that he not, his mother fearing that it would strain his injured shoulder (though he had assured her time and again that it was FINE) and his father because he always went along with what his mother said.

And there was no way Blaine was subjecting himself to a thirty minute bus ride with other noisy, rude high schoolers when he could take a nice peaceful walk by himself and be home within fifteen.

So he walked. His house was only a few blocks away from the school, and there was a nice looking coffee shop in between the two, and the public library. And this particular day was especially beautiful, spring really had sprung, and he shed his jacket about a block away from the school, unbuttoning the cuffs of his Oxford, rolling up his sleeves. He glanced at the thin, faint scars on his wrists, fighting down the bile that rose in his throat because of them, the reminders of darker days, the familiar feelings of helplessness and despair, guilt and hopelessness. He hadn't cut in two weeks now, and he was hoping he never would again.

Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Blaine straightened his bag over the other and reached into his pocket to pull out his iPod. He had just settled the buds in his ears, flicking to a Katy Perry song, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a large black car driving slowly beside him.

Startled and stumbling to a stop, Blaine yanked the earbuds out and backed towards the side of the sidewalk, away from the car. The car braked and the window on the passenger side rolled down. Nervous, Blaine took a step forward, fiddling with the earbuds in his hand. Kurt was leaning across the center console of the Navigator, eyes wide.

"I am so sorry!" Kurt called. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Blaine smiled, stepping up to the window and shaking his head as if to wave off Kurt's worries. His arm came up to rest on the window.

"I was just going to ask if you wanted a ride home, is all," Kurt continued, and Blaine pretended not to notice the way he wiped his hand off on his jeans before gripping the steering wheel again. "If you're walking, I'm guessing you don't live far, so it's probably on my way. I can give you a lift."

Biting his lip, Blaine thought it over. Kurt seemed nice, he did, but Blaine wasn't really comfortable around anyone lately, not even his parents. And a car was such a confined space, what if something happened? How would he escape? Who would help him?

Kurt must've seen the fear on his face, because after a pause, he continued. "I mean, you don't have to, of course. I'm not going to make you get in the car, Blaine." Here he looked pointedly at the curly-haired boy, as if to assure him. "It was an offer, is all, one that still stands."

And Blaine didn't want to let him down, and he found himself nodding, and then Kurt smiled and unlocked the car and next thing Blaine new, he was seated in the Navigator just inches away from Kurt, his bag and jacket on his lap and a seatbelt around his waist.

Kurt grinned at him before his gaze flicked down to the gear shift, and, coincidentally, Blaine's arm, which was laying on top of his jacket. Eyebrows furrowing, Kurt slowly moved his hand to cover Blaine's, and suddenly a cold, hard feeling of dread rushed through Blaine's veins, crashed into his stomach like stormy waves on a shore. He had forgotten to roll his sleeves down.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered, bringing his other hand to grip Blaine's as well, turning it over for a clearer look at the faint red marks. He brushed a thumb over one and bit his lip when the other boy's breathing hitched, an involuntary shudder coursing through his body. Blaine wanted to move his hand, to cover up the scars, but at the same time he didn't. He had just met Kurt, yes, but already he trusted the boy so much more than he did so many others; his parents, his therapist, his teachers, his old friends... And he wasn't sure why. No one else had seen the scars, no one else knew. But for some reason he was sure that even though Kurt did, now, he wouldn't abandon him like he was so scared everyone else would.

When Kurt stopped staring at the scars and lifted his head up, his eyes searching Blaine's, Blaine was surprised to find that there were trails left on Kurt's smooth cheeks from tears. He brought his free hand up to wipe a stray drop under the boy's right eye softly with his thumb, smiling sadly. When Kurt opened his mouth, presumably to start questioning him, Blaine shook his head, still smiling, and held up two fingers.

"Days?" Kurt asked, and Blaine shook his head. "Weeks, then?" Blaine nodded.

Kurt nodded back, and removed one hand from Blaine's, rubbing his eye fiercely. "Blaine, I-" He paused, staring, and the other boy held his gaze. "Let's get you home."

Blaine was a little surprised by this sudden turn in events, but simply nodded again. He was even more surprised to find that, after shifting the car out of park, Kurt's hand found his again, and their fingers tangled together comfortably. Blaine pointed with his free hand to direct Kurt to his house, and soon they were parked in the driveway.

Kurt unlocked the doors, but didn't let go of Blaine's hand. He squeezed it a few times, and, when Blaine turned to look at him, said, "I- I know we just met, Blaine, but I want you to know, if you ever need to talk-" here he grinned a little self-deprecatingly "or, you know, text, whatever, I'm here, okay?" He took Blaine's smile as an acceptance of his offer- which it was- and pulled a pen out of a cup holder, scribbling his number on the back of the hand he still held. Blaine felt a huge grin tug at his lips and did his best to hold it back, to not seem too excited. He couldn't, however, stop the watery smile and the tears that flooded his eyes when Kurt returned the pen, lifted Blaine's hand to his mouth, and on one of the scars laid a very, very soft kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine," he said, and Blaine stumbled, surprised but not unhappy, out of the car and up the sidewalk to the front door, pausing to roll his sleeves back down as Kurt backed his car out of the driveway.

He let himself in, and heard his mother call, "Blaine, is that you?" Instead of calling back in response, he followed her voice to the kitchen, where she was sitting at the table, reading a large textbook. Her long, curly hair was swept into a French braid that ended halfway down her back, and her tan skin looked darker against her white blouse. She had a pen in her hand and was scribbling in a notebook as she flipped through the book.

He waved to her, hanging his jacket on the back of a chair and heading to the fridge to grab a snack. "Don't spoil your dinner, alright, honey?"

Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly and held up an apple, raising an eyebrow. His mother smiled. "I suppose that's alright," she said teasingly. "Come sit down, talk to me."

He looked at her skeptically, but swung his satchel off his shoulder and set it under the table, sitting down across from his mother. She flipped to a new page in her notebook and slid it and the pen towards him wordlessly. Blaine took a quick bite of the apple and held it in his right hand as he picked up the pen in his left, straightening the notebook in front of him. He looked up at his mother.

"How was your day?" she asked.

Fine. he scribbled.

"Did you make it to all your classes?"

Of course. These questions were too easy.

She smiled at him and teasingly chastised him. "Don't use that attitude with me, Mister. Did you make any friends?"

I

Now this question gave him pause. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't really communicated with anyone, or at least, anyone but Kurt. Or maybe it was that he wasn't really sure when acquaintance-hood stopped and friendship began. Was Kurt his friend? They were lab partners, sure, and Kurt had given him a ride home, and kissed his scars... did that make them friends?

I think so is what he ended up scrawling.

"Good, good. Did you have any trouble with your teachers?"

Blaine huffed out a breath as he wrote, My history teacher.

"Why?"

She wouldn't let me write and got angry when I wouldn't answer her question.

He felt his fingers curling around the pen tighter as he remembered his first class, the anger and humiliation. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, dropping the pen. His fist banged the table.

Mrs. Anderson looked at her son sadly. She could see the hurt, even when he tried to hide it. She wasn't the least surprised when he pounded on the table, though she did worry that it might have jarred his shoulder- she couldn't help it. She knew what Blaine had told her- had written to her- that his shoulder was fine, that it was all healed, even the doctor said so- but after that dislocation, after all that had happened, and especially with him still not being able to utter a word, or make a noise, or, god, sing, she couldn't help but see him as her frail little boy. The world had been so unfair to him, and he knew it, and she knew it, but there was nothing they could do about it. What had happened was done, and there was no way they could change it. And even when Blaine tried to hide it, tried to act like he was completely fine and over what had happened, she knew he wasn't, knew he might never be over it. She heard him stumbling downstairs in the night even now, a month and a half later. She heard his sniffles as he tried to control his crying. She heard the punches he threw at the wall in his bathroom when he was overtaken by rage and resentment, and she had seen the haunted look in his eyes first thing in the morning, after another night of restless sleep.

But she didn't know how to help him, not really. She and Mr. Anderson had sent him to therapy, they still sent him. They had taken turns sleeping in the hospital room with him, and then, after Blaine had come home, his bedroom. They had transferred him out of his old school, they had deleted his Facebook which had become wrought with hate posts, and they had moved towns. But nothing was helping, not in the way it needed to.

He was still alone, in the dark, bruised and beaten, and she couldn't help him. And there was nothing that hurt her more than seeing her son that way.

"Well... we'll talk to her, Blaine," Mrs. Anderson said, reaching out a hand and sliding it over his. He didn't look up. "Once she understands, I'm sure it will be fine."

Blaine took a deep breath, and she felt his hand relaxing under hers. He nodded and slowly picked up the pen to write one last thing before turning, picking up his bag, and retreating to his bedroom, head low. I'm going to go do some homework.

"I'll call you down for dinner, sweetie," she called after him, and when she heard the lock on his door click, she sighed and buried her head in her hands, letting the tears fall.

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Up in his room, Blaine unbuttoned his Oxford and dropped it into his hamper, slipping on a v-neck t-shirt and an Old Navy hoodie. He fell back on his bed and sighed loudly. His day had been so nice, for the most part, but there was still something missing. He knew that didn't make sense, that he could have such a nice day and still feel so crappy, but from his experience, that was how depression worked. It didn't care if the circumstances were good or bad, it didn't care if the day had been terrific or awful; somehow, it took every color in the rainbow and turned it to gray. Somehow, it made everything terribly bleak, even if just an hour ago the day seemed perfect.

Out of habit, Blaine twisted around until he was laying on his stomach and reached out to his nightstand to open the drawer and pull out the razor blade. He gripped the blade in one hand and watched as it tugged on the skin on his wrist, watched as a little blood escaped. He lifted it again, but then he saw something that made him pause. Ten little numbers scrawled across the back of his hand in neat print. Blaine pulled his hand back and stared at the numbers, and then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, tapping the numbers in and then the message, "It's been two weeks. Two weeks and I ruined it."

He hit send before he could think to stop himself and clutched the phone in his hand, waiting anxiously for a response. He came off as so desperate, he thought. There was no way Kurt was going to want to be friends with someone so needy. But then his phone buzzed in his hand.

"Please, please stop. I'll be there soon."

And Blaine knew that no matter what, Kurt wouldn't leave. They might've only just met, but Kurt understood in some deep way that Blaine had never believed another would, and he just knew that Kurt would stick around. And Blaine was so grateful.

"Thank you," he typed back.

Kurt pulled up to the house ten minutes later, and Blaine hurried out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door before he could ring the doorbell. He opened the door just as Kurt was climbing the stairs to the porch.

When he saw him, Kurt threw his arms around his neck. "Blaine, please," he began, voice cracking as tears sprang to his eyes. He slowly stepped back and released Blaine. "I know it must be weird for you- you only just met me-"

Blaine cut him off by pressing a finger to Kurt's lips, and holding out his phone, which still had the last message he had sent on the screen. Kurt looked down at it and smiled. "You're welcome," he responded.

Blaine turned and shut the door before turning back to Kurt and gesturing to the porch stairs. Kurt got the message and perched on the edge of the top stair, Blaine plopping down next to him, hands deep in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, gripping his phone.

"Blaine..." Kurt said slowly, focusing on his fingers, picking at one of his nails. "Excuse me if I'm overstepping, but... are you depressed?"

And no one had ever come right out and asked Blaine before, and he wasn't quite sure how to answer, though he knew he only really had to options, not being able to speak. So, like he found himself being with Kurt, he nodded, honest.

"And... does anyone know?"

Another nod.

"I mean, besides me?"

Oh. Blaine shook his head.

"Blaine," Kurt sighed. Blaine frowned and lowered his head, staring at his lap. Kurt was disappointed in him now, he thought he was weak, he was going to-

"You have to tell someone, Blaine," Kurt continued, and Blaine's head jerked up. "You can't go through this on your own, it's too hard."

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed.

Kurt shrugged. He got a far off look in his eyes, gazing somewhere over his shoulder. "I knew... someone," he said vaguely. "They tried to fight it on their own, and they couldn't, and it was the worst thing in the world to watch, to watch them self-destruct and not know why, or how to help, and..." He paused. "I don't want that to happen again, especially not to you."

Blaine watched him, amazed at the care that this boy, this boy he had known for a day was showing to him.

"I've heard that it helps if you describe what the depression feels like to you," Kurt said softly. "That everyone experiences it differently, and it helps if you can identify how you feel it." He turned to look at Blaine, searching his eyes. "Do you want to try?"

Blaine shrugged, nodded a little.

"Okay." Kurt took a pause, folded his hands together. "Does it... does it feel like... like a ghost, following you? Does it sneak up on you?"

Blaine thought a moment, shook his head.

"Maybe, maybe it feels more like fog, like it's always there, and you have to wander through it?"

Another shake.

"Is it... is it like a pit that you have to keep swinging over, maybe like Tarzan on vines?" Kurt asked. Blaine smiled a little at the image of him acting as Tarzan, but shook his head again.

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not sure that I have any ideas left, Blaine."

Blaine froze for a second, closed his eyes, and pulled out his phone. Slowly, silently, he tapped out a message before passing it over to Kurt, who read it quietly. "It feels like rain. Sometimes there's a giant storm when it's least wanted, but more often it feels like a constant gentle rain, one that's always there, and I don't have an umbrella so I'm kind of trying to find a path between the raindrops, but I always get wet."

Kurt finished reading and paused, the phone clutched in one hand. He slowly turned to look at Blaine, who was gazing at his knees, sliding his finger over the newest of the scars on his wrist. Kurt set the phone on the porch and gently moved Blaine's hand away from his wrist, settling it on his own lap, and wrapping his other arm around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine suddenly felt the tears sliding down his cheeks and reached up to wipe them away. Kurt pulled him in close and whispered, "It's okay, it will all be okay, I promise."

And when Blaine began to cry harder, his tears coming faster, Kurt began to sing softly. Blaine was surprised at not the pitch of his voice, but the sincerity behind what he was singing.

"Look around,

There's no one but you and me

Right here and now

The way it was meant to be.

There's a smile on my face

Knowing that together everything that's in our way

We're better than alright."

Blaine sniffed and wiped his nose gracelessly on his sleeve. Kurt rocked back and forth gently, keeping his arm tight around Blaine.

"Walking between the raindrops

Riding the aftershock beside you

Off into the sunset

Living like there's nothing left to lose.

Chasing after gold mines

Crossing the fine lines we knew

Hold on and take a breath

I'll be here every step

Walking between the raindrops with you.

Take me now

The world's such a crazy place.

When the walls come down

You'll know I'm here to stay.

There's nothing I would change,

Knowing that together everything that's in our way,

We're better than alright."

Neither boy heard the door creak open quietly behind them, neither of them saw Mrs. Anderson standing in the threshold. Neither saw the quiet tears drifting down her face as she watched her son cry in the arms of a boy she had never seen before, that boy singing softly, and with a love she'd never seen in one that age, never seen in people who had only just met.

Kurt moved his hand up to brush through Blaine's curls gently as he finished off the song, and Blaine moved to nestle his head more snugly in the crook of Kurt's neck and shoulder.

"Walking between the raindrops

Riding the aftershock beside you

Off into the sunset

Living like there's nothing left to lose.

Chasing after gold mines

Crossing the fine lines we knew.

Hold on and take a breath

I'll be here every step

Walking between the raindrops with you

Between the raindrops with you

Between the raindrops with you."

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A/N: Alright, so that's that. If any of you were wondering, the song used is Between the Raindrops by Lifehouse ft. Natasha Bedingfield (and I know, if you follow my other story, you're like HEY. WHAT'S WITH LIFEHOUSE?! I'm SORRY but their songs are GOOD and they FIT contextually!)

I hope you enjoyed that chapter! Please let me know what you think. :3 You guys are all awesome. I'll try to update relatively soon, yeah? :)