Title: When The Devil Can't Save Himself

Word Count: n/a yet

Rating: PG-13, maybe R at one point

Warnings/Spoilers: All of season 1 and aired season 2. SPECIAL WARNING: This chapter contains several mentions of suicide and suicide attempts. There aren't many details, but just be cautious if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable.

Summary: Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure that he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

Official Disclaimer: All Gossip Girl plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.

Author's Note: Oh my god, you guys. I'm so so so so so SO sorry it took me forever to update. I've been so busy and I've hardly had time to sit down and write. So much has been going on lately. It's been crazy. But I finally managed to get this written in a night of free time (thank God). I haven't written much of anything since winter break, so I'm a little out of practice and this chapter probably isn't that great. But 2x14 rendered me amazed with the CB epicness and while 2x15 was heartbreaking, I loved that as well. And 2x16 was definitely a turning point for Chuck as a character. I'll be working in a bunch of stuff and plotlines from those eps. Sadly, what I had planned to go down between Jack and Chuck was pretty much the same as what happened in the show (minus the Lily thing), so I'll have to find a way to mix that up a little. But anyway, FINALLY, I present to you the next chapter of "When The Devil Can't Save Himself." Enjoy. :)

Everything was hazy. The club was thick with pungent cigarette smoke, the lights were low, despite the colorful spotlights dancing on the sweaty, scantily clad bodies of the guests, and the dancers were waving giant, feathered fans in front of their heavily made-up eyes, their heels clacking against the stage and their curves twisting as they gyrated to the music.

Chuck grasped another glass of scotch off of a passing tray and dumped it down his throat, feeling himself swallow the stinging amber liquid and praying it would do something about the pounding somewhere above his eyes and the fact that the entire world was spinning, as if it were closing in on him.

But all the alcohol did was intensify the experience. The pain coming from his head was blinding and the shapes in front of his eyes were blurred together; a head full of wild blonde hair, a pair of brunette twins in tight pink cocktail dresses, men standing on top of the bar with their shirts off, downing tequila shots and shouting to their potential one-night-stands.

Faster…faster…faster. Things began to go dark. There were tiny light spots between the vague cloudiness that covered his pupils, but nothing else. Chuck's throat closed up. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't…

Chuck leaned over, grasping something, or…someone…near him tightly as he heaved in and out a large whoosh of air, attempting to get his breath back and some feeling into his legs.

"Chuck?" A voice was echoing far, far above his head. It sounded like it was coming from the ceiling. Wait, no. It was right next to the right side of his face. So loud. Chuck clutched his ear and blinked furiously. Once again, shapes began to swarm around his eyes, swooshing back and forth, every little sound like a hammer to his aching forehead.

But gradually his vision cleared and his burning eyes were met by the clean-cut prep-school-boy face of Eric. Eric van der Woodsen himself, staring at him with a mixture of worry and disgust. Chuck didn't blame him. He must have looked disgusting: exhausted, un-showered, stoned, drugged and drunk off his ass.

"Eric." Chuck tried to state the name with a bite of anger, but instead it rushed out as a drunken, enthusiastic slur. Normally Chuck wasn't a destructive, sloppy drunk like this, he'd left that to Serena since they were about twelve years old and stealing champagne and vodka from their parent's liquor cabinets, but tonight wasn't like any other night. He'd never drunk so much before in his entire seventeen years of partying and debauchery.

Racking his brain, Chuck tried to do a count of all the glasses of miscellaneous alcohol he'd chugged down over the past twenty-four hours, but his mind practically came up with a blank. There was the scotch this morning, that martini sometime around noon, the vodka shots, some whiskey, more shots…how had he gone from that, somewhat of a daily, or at least weekly, routine of his, to…this? Chuck stumbled, bringing himself out of his extremely inebriated thoughts, and Eric held onto his arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked sincerely, staring up at Chuck with those warm, simple brown eyes that seemed to have so much behind them. Chuck momentarily wondered if Eric would understand this. The need to completely numb the pain, to block out every single thought he'd ever felt and ever would feel.

Chuck sighed, swaying slightly on the soles of his dress shoes. One look from his stepbrother and Chuck Bass was suddenly going soft? Oh, hell no.

When he wretched his arm out of Eric's grip and saw the shocked, sad look on his face, Chuck's already shattered heart flooded with guilt. How was it that he was capable of hurting everyone without hardly trying? Blair, Eric, his father…just one before the other and one after the other until it was in an endless cycle, where Chuck was always the bad guy, the villain.

He blinked slowly, staring Eric down with a more enigmatic, haunted look than his usual patented smirk. "I think…" He swayed again as he reached for a full, sloshing bottle of golden scotch that was sitting on the edge of the dark wood bar right behind them. "I think I'll take the view from above." He pushed past Eric and headed for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, his feet slipping against the dark wood that turned into rough metal that turned into concrete, the higher and higher he got. Throwing open the thick, heavy door to the roof, the frozen air hit him hard. Wind gusted in all directions, blowing his dark brown hair into a mess of soft tufts. His jacket whisked back from his body, the bottom flying out behind him like a cape.

Chuck unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tossing it with a shaky arm off of the roof and onto the barely visible street below. He dragged himself up onto the ledge at the very tippy top of the roof, staring down at the darkened, hard, wet alleyway that was so many feet down. So many feet…

Tipping back the glass bottle, Chuck poured half of it into his mouth. His hair was a mess, flying in all directions, his eyes were red, his face was pale, and he was freezing. He felt like king of the world up here.

Until those feelings from before took a hold of him and he realized that, if he really wanted to, it was quite a long way down…

Back downstairs, Eric stared blankly at the spot where Chuck had stood. He couldn't believe he'd ever had faith in his stepbrother, faith that underneath the rock hard, cold-as-stone façade, he was actually a good person.

Every single drop of what had remained of that glowing hope had been wiped away by the way Chuck had acted just now, the way he'd been acting since Bart died. The endless bottles of alcohol, the vacant expression in his eyes, that fact that he'd reach out for someone (sometimes more literally than others) and every time, every single time they got remotely close to him, he would shove them away and the pattern would start all over again.

Damn you, Chuck Bass.

Eric looked to the stairs that he'd just seen Chuck disappear up a couple moments ago. There was a sign beside it, small, discreet, but there nonetheless. He moved closer, his soft brown eyes darting across the wooden label. "Roof." There was an arrow pointing upwards, pointing up those stairs.

Suddenly, things came barreling back into Eric's mind at full force, causing his eyes to cross and his breath to come out in one short gasp, emitting the cool air into the humid, sticky club.

"I think I'll take the view from above." The huge bottle of scotch, filled to the brim with warm, stinging liquid. Chuck's state of total intoxication. That empty look in his eyes…the way you'd stare into them and not be able to pick up on a single emotion, catch a tiny glimpse of human. The roof. The roof.

Eric's long months spent holed up in various therapy sessions at the Ostroff Center were finally paying off as a million different scenarios rushed through his head. But Chuck couldn't…he wouldn't…

The memories from the time Eric had tried played themselves back in his mind like a horror movie. All it had taken was loneliness and the feeling of being lost, and soon he was lying on the ground, bright red blood seeping from what were now only lightly traceable scars on his wrists. For Chuck, it was much worse. He'd lost a mother, a father, a stepfamily, friends and Blair, whatever she was/is/had been to him. He'd been drowning in this loneliness for days, weeks, months, years. There was no doubt in Eric's mind that what Chuck was about to do was something he probably wouldn't live to regret. So, within seconds, there were more footsteps, more dress shoes clacking up the stairs, thundering out onto the rooftop.

"Chuck, no!"

Blair's heels smacked against the pavement as she strode across the dimly lit street to Victrola's entrance. It was in a somewhat remote area, although you would never know it by the amount of town cars and limos pulled up to the entrance. Drunken couples tugged each other onto the black leather seats, slamming the doors to get the full advantage of the heavily tinted windows, and some high school kids she recognized leaned against the brick, wearing cashmere coats and checking Gossip Girl on their touch-screen phones. Chuck was nowhere in sight.

She reached into her purse, pulling out her small silver compact mirror. She tilted her head from side to side, her reflection as cold, hard and perfect as her real features were. Snapping it shut, Blair turned her head upwards for a brief second, intending to inhale a long breath of somewhat clean air before she entered a room that was sure to reek of cigarette smoke and alcohol. But before she could suck the air between her red-lacquered lips, something caught her eye.

Someone was on top of the roof, teetering for balance as he pushed himself up onto the very edge. A heavy bottle dangled from his shaky fingertips and dark hair blew in the wind, blending in with the jet-black sky behind him. Blair's stomach dropped and her breath froze in her throat as she recognized the shirt he was wearing. It was dark, blood red, and combined with his rumpled black suit jacket, the look was both classic and wild.

The figure on the roof was none other than Chuck Bass.

Blair wasn't even sure it was her voice screaming, shouting, echoing in her ears as his feet slipped dangerously close to the edge and Blair found herself dashing into the club and up the stairs as fast as her sleek black heels would carry her.

She was on top within seconds and staring at him from behind, every regard she had ever had concerning her reputation, poise and the language she used ("Chuck, damn it, stop!" "What the fucking hell are you doing?" "Are you crazy? Get down!") flying out the window as the boy she was pretty damn sure she loved stood at the top of a building, about to jump, or at least fall, to his death.

Blair was too busy screaming words of complete insanity to think coherent thoughts or notice the dirty blond, brown-eyed boy that was standing next to her, just as shell-shocked and just as scared as she was.

She was having such an out-of-body experience that when she stepped closer to shout from somewhere nearer to his apparently slightly deaf ears and the hand closed in over her gray-coat-clad arm, she didn't feel it. She didn't feel a thing until the owner of the hand began to speak, coaxing her away from him.

"Blair, calm down." Eric kept his hold on her arm as she watched his face swim into focus. Blair had consumed barely a drop of alcohol all night, but watching this cinematic-like situation, being a part of it, had made her feel even more inebriated than she would have if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne or done a round of vodka shots. "Screaming at him isn't going to help."

Blair pulled her arm away, his gentle grip feeling like it was burning through the thick wool fabric of her coat. "Are you crazy?" she asked, much louder than was necessary. "Nothing I would ever say could get him down from the edge of that building." She drew in a trembling breath. "If anything, it would push him further off of it."

Both heads turned to look at Chuck, who was walking the edge like one would the plank of a pirate ship, only much more cheerfully. He swayed back and forth, drunkenly humming some song to himself, and every time one of his shoes neared the side of the ledge, Blair would gasp and attempt to move towards him, but Eric held her back.

"Well, we have to do something," Eric said, his voice growing increasingly panicked. He stepped a few feet closer to Chuck and pulled Blair along with him. "Just talk to him. Say something. Anything." Chuck leaned his entire body over the side of the building, bending his knees as if to check out the packed street below. Eric drew in a heavy, anxious breath. "Blair, please."

"Let go of me!" She insisted in a forceful whisper, her heart pounding frantically as she ran the last few steps to him, cold air stinging her cheeks and her legs through only the thin tights that shielded them from the winter air.

"Chuck!" Blair's voice rang out, carrying over the rooftops and bright lights that spread out across from them. Chuck, finally hearing her, turned and in the process dropped the bottle he'd been clutching, the clear glass and gold liquid smashing and splashing with a faint noise down to the ground, a fairly long distance from where Chuck stood on the edge of the roof.

"Oops…" he muttered absently. Blair's eyes picked up on the fact that his were trying to focus on her face, but they were unruly and out of control, swimming in their sockets.

"Chuck, please listen to me." She stared up at him, her heart slamming in her chest and every bit of her shaking and weak as she waited for his response…or lack thereof.

Blair's face was blurry in front of him. The alcohol he'd imbibed even just since he'd left the party to come up here was more than most people drank in a year, and it was starting to have quite a negative effect. He was stumbling and his stomach was churning and he couldn't see straight…he couldn't see straight…

"Chuck, please don't do this to me." Her soft, red lips moved as her eyes filled with tears, shining in the reflective New York City lights. Chuck's intoxicated, barely functioning mind was barely able to process what she was saying, and it still struck something deep within him.

"Don't you understand?" A tear dripped down her cheek as she stared into his eyes, stared at his ice-cold, quivering body, and slowly broke his heart. "I'll always be here."

Chuck felt the moisture building up from behind his own eyes as well, and his throat ran dry and tight, causing him to clench his jaw in protest of the stubborn tears that wanted to seep out. He hadn't cried since he was a child, and he wasn't about to start now.

"I want to be here for you, Chuck. Whatever you're going through, I want you to know that I'm going to be here…anywhere…whenever you need me." She stared straight into his coffee eyes; tears streaming freely down her cheeks at this point.

"You won't." Chuck's voice cracked as the words emerged from his throat, the hoarse sound of his tone surprising and scaring him. "You won't be here. Everyone says that, but then they leave." His voice grew louder, bordering on hysteria. He was no longer able to control himself and screamed over the edge of the building. "They always leave!"

"Shhh, Chuck." Blair moved closer to him, so that her perfect face was in clear view. Partygoers were starting to glance up from the street, hearing noise and noticing the figures atop of the roof.

"You're going to leave," he struggled to say, an indignant finger wavering as he pointed at her. "Just like you always do." He turned his face towards the cold, harsh breeze and the bright lights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. "Just like everyone does."

It was next to impossible to hold back the tears at this point, and one may have slipped its way out and traced a pattern down his cheek as he faced the city, but no one could see him. No one was watching, and no one even cared.

"Chuck." Blair's voice broke again. "Please believe me. I'm not going anywhere. I will be right beside you for weeks, months…years, Chuck, if that's what it takes. I will." He heard her take in a long, deep breath before the rest of the words left her mouth. "I'll do all of that and more, because…" she stuttered. "…because I love you!"

The words hung in the air, lost and frozen between the two bodies. Two people, hopelessly in love, on the brink of life or death. Two spirits, two minds, living, breathing, thinking separately and differently. But in that moment, they were one. One heart, one soul, one collective sigh of relief as she extended her hand out to him.

Chuck stared at her gloved fingertips, waving up at him, ready to pull him down, ready to save him, to make him whole. He could choose that, the warmth and safety of her hand locked tightly around his, or he could choose…freefall. A quick, easy way out of everything that he had both enjoyed and detested over the years.

A hand clasped a hand as he made his choice, his head of soft dark hair nodding slightly before allowing her to help him carefully off of the ledge. When they were finally on the same level and his feet rested on solid, safe ground, Chuck's eyes bore into hers, riveting his irises straight into the opaque shadows of her big brown eyes. He wondered briefly if she could see the wet line from the single tear that had tracked its way down his pale face, but decided it didn't matter as he grasped her upper arms, burying his face into her jacket.

Blair wrapped an arm around his body, which was quaking with cold. It wasn't a hug, not really. It was just a comfort, something to hold on to in that moment, because he knew that sooner or later, no matter what she said, Blair would be gone. For Chuck Bass, departure, whether it be of a friend, foe or family member, was always imminent.

Author's Note: *gasp* Blair's ILY! Will Chuck say it back? You'll just have to wait and see. :D Anyway, yes, I am well aware that I completely butchered the rooftop scene, but the real one was too much like something I have written for later on in this story. I'm guessing this is going to go on for three or four more chapters. Five at the most, I'm pretty sure. I'm going to be working on the outline, but the next chapter has literally been written in my head for months, so that should be out a lot sooner than this one. Thank you guys so much for all the support I've gotten on this story. It means a lot. Keep reading and reviewing. :) Thanks to reviewers: fizliz23, princetongirl, bookworm455, Kimberly Ramone, .N, suspensegirl, bluestriker666, TheCutie, Piccolo Chic and laxgirl95.

UP NEXT: "He had never let anyone touch him like this, like she did. Gently and carefully, hands making their way across soft, wet, slowly heating skin. For the first time in a long time, he felt relief. He felt warmth. He felt happiness." With Chuck and Blair, nothing is simple. A shower, drunken confessions, and cuddling can only lead to disaster with these two.