Chapter Summary: Kurt tries to deal with everything. It goes about as well as you expect.

A/N: This chapter took so long, goodness me. It's a doozy. I hope you don't all murder me when you read it! As always, thank you all for sticking with me and being incredible people. I'll try to respond to your comments over the weekend. I love you all. Enjoy! *goes to hide*

"You won't hurt him?"

"No. I'm going to set him free."

"…What do you mean by that?"

—-

Lips moved up his chest and his ribs expanded at their touch, taking in air as if enchanted. Fingers trailing warm magic into his skin made their slow way down his arms, his stomach. Kurt, the body above him whispered. Let me help you, Kurt. Let me save you.

His breath shuddered as his body stretched in yearning. Yes, please…

Kurt, Blaine said, soothing the bristling of his skin with soft, sure touches. Kurt.

He was red with raw blisters, burning hot with thirst. He needed.

Kurt….

He needed.

"—urt!"

Kurt jerked in his seat, glancing around the classroom. Right. Study hall. That was… he swallowed heavily, glancing at Tina's frown next to him before blinking up at Mr. Schue's worried face.

"Are you all right?"

His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. His throat was dry. It was really… it was really hot.

"I think he has a fever, Mr. Schue."

"Tina, help him to the nurse."

"No," someone found his voice and was using it for him. Kurt thanked whoever was in control of his mouth for the intervention. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Kurt," Tina said quietly next to him, grabbing his wrist and holding it up. "You're shaking."

Kurt watched the tremors wracking his hand in surprise. He clenched his fingers into a fist to try to stop them, pulling his arm away from Tina. "I'm fine," he repeated.

Mr. Schue had a hand on his back, and suddenly he was standing up, and Tina was walking him out the door. "No…" Kurt said, tongue tripping over the word, and yet still they continued walking.

"You can stay there for the period if you want," Schue said as they left. "Try to get him to lie down." And Tina nodded like that was good advice, but it really wasn't, and Kurt couldn't understand why they didn't see that.

"No," he said firmly, even as he was dragged down the hallway. Going to the nurse would mean going home, and he couldn't go home, not when Blaine was still there. He couldn't. All he wanted to do was sit down, was that too much to ask? They had only made it halfway down the hallway when Kurt finally managed to figure out how his body worked.

"No, Tina—no," he pulled out of her grasp, falling against the brick of the hallway to keep himself upright. Tina moved to grab him again, and he jerked away. "I'm fine, let me go."

"You're sick, Kurt!" Tina insisted, worry and confusion in her eyes. Kurt shook his head, looking desperately around the hallway.

"I'm fine," he said again, mind empty of the words he needed. "I can't go to the nurse, I can't go home. I'll be fine, just let me… I have medicine I can take in my bag, for headaches, I can take that." Tina looked at him dubiously. He summoned all his mental energy to search for some semblance of normalcy in his brain. "Tina, I promise, I'm fine. If I was really sick, I wouldn't be able to talk to you like this, right?"

She wavered. "You're really hot, though…"

"I know," Kurt nodded seriously. "It's a wonder the boys can keep their hands off me."

That did it. She smiled, her face settling into something closer to relief, though still tinged with worry.

"Here," Kurt said, holding out his hand. "Give me the slip. I'll go lie down in the choir room, and if I feel worse, then I'll go to the nurse." She hesitated. "I promise," he added.

Tina let out a sigh, searching him suspiciously. Kurt pressed hard against the wall to keep himself upright.

Finally, she nodded. "Okay," she said slowly, "but I better not hear from Mike that you showed up for gym class."

Kurt let out a small noise of disbelief at the thought of attending gym class in the state he was in. That seemed to be the right move, because Tina gave him another small smile before handing over the nurse's slip.

"Text me if you need someone," she said. Kurt nodded, thankful that it was Tina and not Mercedes or Rachel that shared study hall with him. She knew when to back off.

A few seconds later, and she was gone. Kurt let himself lean against the wall, turning his head to feel the cool brick against his forehead. Hot. He felt hot. Tina was right about that.

He should go to the choir room.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he stood leaning against the wall, and he took it out without thinking, blinking blankly at the message on his screen.

'Someone's looking for you.'

It was from Mercedes.

Kurt stared, waiting for his mind to process the text. Someone…

He put his phone away.

…Where was he going again?

Right. Choir room. Go to the choir room.

He started moving in what he hoped was the right direction, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to orient himself. His shoulder dragged against the brick wall as he pressed against it. He was probably ruining his shirt.

Kurt… Blaine whispered in his ear.

He shivered, leaning his forehead into the cool hand feeling his temperature. Caressing his hair back from his face.

Kurt, please, don't do this to yourself. Let me help.

His mouth opened as hands rubbed his back, pulled him into a hug. It was too hot for hugs. It was…

Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's temple.

Safe. He was safe with him. He was safe.

There was a way out of this, Kurt knew, his mind told him, there was a way out. Everything would be okay. They could be together again, and everything would be—

"You okay?"

Kurt snapped open eyes he didn't remember closing, turning his head towards the voice that had interrupted his thoughts (hallucinations. He was having hallucinations. That was a brick wall, not a hand). "…Karofsky?" he said slowly, finally registering the boy in front of him. (It wasn't real.)

Karofsky watched him with a furrowed brow, standing outside an empty classroom. Wait, wasn't he headed to the choir room?

"Are you okay?" David Karofsky repeated."You need to go to the nurse?"

Kurt looked at him. He was leaning up against the door, casually. He looked like he was waiting for someone.

You need to go to the nurse?

Kurt blinked and shook his head, belatedly. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Are you waiting for Blaine?"

Karofsky shifted self-consciously, scowling a little.

"Why are you waiting for Blaine?" Kurt pressed. This was important, he thought, this was important information. He didn't know why. Someone was looking for him.

"Have you seen him?" Karofsky asked, avoiding the question.

Kurt studied his face: it was hopeful, waiting, peppered with something scared and worried around the eyes.

A feeling he couldn't name gripped his heart. It tasted numb.

"No," he told the face. "He's not coming today."

The face fell, and then scrunched itself closed. Kurt watched intently as Karofsky started to walk away.

"He's not ever coming back," he said, and Karosky stopped.

Turned.

"He's not ever coming back," Kurt repeated. "You won't see him again. He's gone."

Karofsky was still.

Then: "Whatever," he muttered sullenly. Kurt's eyes followed him as he walked away.

His pocket buzzed.

'Where are you? I think this has something to do with Blaine.'

Blaine.

His head was pounding. He felt sick.

There was a bathroom a few feet away. Kurt tripped over his feet, shouldering his way into it.

Blaine…

His arms shook as he stumbled past a girl on her way out. Oh. Girl's bathroom. Oh well. It's not like anyone would be inside right now.

What period was it—had the bell rung yet?

He felt so hot, like he'd been shoved into an oven twenty minutes ago. Where was the fire? Somebody had texted him something. Someone was looking for him. Text me if you need someone. I think this has something to do with Blaine.

His hand reached for his pocket because he needed someone, but he couldn't—he couldn't think and—

He felt sick, he felt so sick, he wanted to go home. He wanted his dad. He wanted—

Blaine. I think this has something to do with Blaine.

He fell against the sink, and sweat, or was it water? Dripping down his neck—he was so hot, he was so thirsty—

He—

What was he—

Why was he…

Something to do with Blaine.

Kurt.

Please.

Just—

Let me help you.

Fingers tangled themselves in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. A small noise sounded at the back of his throat as soothing cool flowed down his head like a cracked egg. There was a light, uncomfortable buzzing accompanying the pads of the fingers; his headache. His hands curled around the sink as his body began to prickle. (Hallucinations. This isn't real.) Kurt's lips parted as the fingers caressed his skull, a soft moan escaping him.

"Shh."

His eyes shocked open at the sound, staring into the reflected image watching him. "Blaine!" he breathed. His limbs trembled as he tried to move them, but a hand briefly but firmly held him steady. Blaine's face was screwed up in concentration, tiny lines of pain wrinkling his brow.

"Hold on," he said softly, nails still gently massaging Kurt's skull (that buzzing wasn't his headache, it was the pain he'd laced into Blaine's touch. Blaine was just pouring in comfort to offset the sting. This was real, this was—) "I won't let it go too far. Trust me."

Kurt had a hard time trusting him when he had apparently been planning to involve Kurt in an assisted suicide without Kurt's knowledge, but…

He was thinking, he could think again, oh god… but his body was shutting down, and wasn't responding to his commands to move. And even if he had the physical capacity to do so… God, he couldn't make himself, he needed, needed, needed…

His eyes rolled up into his head as the magic washed out his body, clinging to the blisters inside of him and healing them over. His blood was rushing fast, and it felt like all his pain was evaporating away—the room spun. He collapsed, his knees giving out, and Blaine's arm grabbed his waist to catch him, seemingly automatically, before it recoiled away. "Hey, hey, hey!" Blaine grabbed his arms and shoulders in quick, flinching movements in an attempt to keep him upright. "Hey, come on. Hold on. Hold on, give it a few more seconds, just hold on, Kurt!"

Kurt gasped out a breath as his muscles began to work, his brain to awaken. He gripped the sink, using it to lever himself up into a standing position. A few more seconds, and he started to feel superhuman—his sight, hearing, feeling, all hyper-sharp as his body started to sing with greed.

Oh.

Oh—Blaine.

He let go of the sink.

"Are you good?" Blaine asked, breathlessness dancing on the edges of his words. Kurt nodded, and turned to look at him.

Blaine's eyes were over-bright as they stared at each other for minutes too long. Kurt's muscles wound themselves taut as his eyes were drawn unalterably to pink lips. Blaine stepped forward, and someone leaned in—

Kurt hissed as his scalp finally registered the sting, and the boy in front of him closed his eyes. Blaine's fingers extracted themselves from Kurt's hair carefully. His hand shook in the corner of Kurt's eye as it fell to his side, the fingertips an angry, wounded red.

Neither of them stepped back.

"You can't let yourself go that far again," Blaine said, voice quiet. "I don't think you'll be able to come back next time."

Kurt swallowed heavily at the connotation, although secretly he agreed. Those last few moments before Blaine touched him…

Was he in the girl's bathroom? …What?

He stepped away.

"You're here," he said, moving to grab a paper towel. Blaine sent him a wry half-smile.

"You think I don't know how to pick a lock?" he teased. "Your vanity is covered with bobby pins."

Kurt held the paper under the tap, fighting the tickle of amusement that crawled over his cheeks. "You mean you found the key in my desk drawer and used it, because despite some questionable architectural choices that led to its placement, the door is easily unlocked from the inside."

Blaine smiled, glowing with warmth. Kurt let his eyes travel softly over his face, feeling a quick barb of longing. This boy was in love with him.

Silently, he handed over the cold, wet paper towel. Blaine grabbed it carefully, looking puzzled.

"For your fingers," Kurt gestured weakly.

"Oh." Blaine applied it to his hand carefully. Even though it was no longer red, Kurt knew it was probably still stinging. The skin of his head felt like it was burning right now.

… "If that means preventing us from touching, then so be it"…

He watched as Blaine pressed the towel gingerly against his fingers, and an image swam to the front of his mind of himself holding Blaine's wrist, soothing the sting in his boyfriend's fingers with his own hands. Blaine would smile, and let him, even though he could do it just as easily himself, and the air would grow rosy with feeling. Maybe he'd kiss each one, as Blaine stood quietly watching, pouring all his love into each finger. And he'd straighten up, and ask feel better? and Blaine would laugh and kiss him and say much.

Kurt felt an immeasurable well of sadness rise in him, clogging his throat.

"I hate this," he whispered. Blaine's head was ducked down, his face shadowed and hands stilled in their movement.

"…I'm sorry," he said.

"I don't want you to die."

Blaine head snapped up, his eyes water-colored and passionate. "I don't want you to die! Kurt–!"

A raging fire swept through him, suddenly, a thunderstorm of anger that cut Blaine off mid-sentence from the force of it. Kurt slammed his hands against the wall, needing to lash out against something, because it was all so hopeless and it couldn't be. It couldn't!

"Why do I have to?" His voice bounced against the walls of the bathroom as he whirled on Blaine, spurned on by the ferociousness in his chest. "What happens, Blaine, what is happening to me?"

Blaine stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. "You're—you're going through withdrawal," he stumbled out. "The magic, it's, it's like a drug, and your body can't function without—"

"So why can't we fix it?" Kurt demanded. "Isn't there some kind of magic rehab?"

Blaine let out a quick, breathy laugh that was made of nothing happy. "It doesn't work like that."

There was resignation coated thickly on those words, and Kurt hated it.

"Why?" His head began to prickle uncomfortably. Withdrawal. So soon, and already it was coming back. He felt it draining him, latching on and pulling until it left him with nothing but nets of unshed tears. They couldn't, he couldn't. There had to be a way. There wasn't, but there had to be—Kurt couldn't do this, be this, hear this. No.

No.

Blaine's eyes glistened.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "If I had known before, I would have never…" he trailed off. Kurt brought the heels of his palms up, pushing back against the press of tears. "I don't know how else to fix this."

Killing you isn't fixing anything, Kurt wanted to say.

He sunk to the ground, too tired to keep standing.

"How does it work?" his voice was rough with tears.

He felt Blaine sit down next to him.

"When I touch you," came the gentle words. "Sometimes, when I feel something particularly strongly, or when I'm overwhelmed, I bleed out the excess emotion through magic. You've felt it."

…As if unaware of itself, a tanned hand absent-mindedly reached for Kurt's arm and traced comfort into his veins…

…bursts of pleasure were racing up Kurt's back from Blaine's fingers, magic that he couldn't stop, he didn't initiate, that sometimes scared him, and Kurt could see it, could see how it made him fist his hands in weak prevention before want spasmed them flat out against Kurt's skin again…

Kurt breathed out slowly. "And then?" he asked.

"And with most people, that's it. It doesn't happen too often, and the magic washes through their system and evaporates. But with a Fascinator… with you…"

…"It's different with you," Blaine admitted…

"You absorb it, and it becomes a part of you. The more magic you're exposed to, the more your system holds onto." Kurt brought down his hands, staring into the empty bathroom in front of them. "…And I'm overwhelmed very often when I'm with you," Blaine admitted softly. "So you're exposed to a lot of magic."

Kurt was having trouble processing things. Blaine's voice echoed through his head, a merry-go-round of repeated phrases that he had noticed in the past and yet chosen to pay no attention to.

You feel things very deeply.

I don't think you believe anyone can hear you, but you're the clearest thing I've been able to hear since I got here.

A Blaine from long ago, repeating non-answers, avoiding his questions.

I think you underestimate how powerful that is.

"How long have you known?" he asked. From the minute they met, Blaine had looked at him differently. Like he was the only one in the room. Had he known this entire time? It colored the whole past month in a harsher light, turning their moments into foreign photocopies of memories he thought he knew.

Blaine shifted closer, obviously feeling his discontent. Too close, because they could touch with the slightest movement.

Too far, because they weren't touching.

"Do you remember the time I told you about Rachel, and who she reminds me of?" Blaine began. Kurt nodded without looking at him. "I had suspicions before but… that day was the first time I actually thought, oh, it's him. I wasn't positive. But it crossed my mind."

He remembered their almost-kiss, and Blaine's spike of panic. At the time, his only thought was for their getting together. He had been convinced Blaine was playing with his feelings. Leading him on.

If only that was all they had to deal with.

"That's when I started hearing you," Kurt stated numbly. Blaine hummed beside him. "What does that mean?" he turned to look at his boyfriend, needing something—answers—comfort…

His nose was inches from Blaine's cheek and Kurt shivered at the knowledge of how close they were.

Blaine shook his head. "I don't know. My grandmother died before I knew anything about what a Fascinator was. I learned everything I know from Dalton."

They were too close. Kurt studied the planes of Blaine's face. His cheekbones. Nose. Lips.

The itching started up again, vague and inconstant, riding up and down his veins. He didn't understand how he could want this so much when he knew it led to something horrifying.

…Wait.

"When you said you'd come to terms with it," Kurt realized slowly, horror filling slick up his stomach. "You meant… that day, when you taught me how to use magic. That was…" the day you resigned yourself to death.

Blaine turned to look at him, and his gaze was so tender and intense Kurt couldn't look away. "I spent days surrounded by you—your emotions, your hopes, your fears. Your most vulnerable moments, in my head, underneath my skin… I couldn't escape it. How could I let you wither away after feeling that?"

No.

No. No, stop, no.

The horror sloshed over his stomach and sped up his throat. No, he was going to be sick—

He swallowed back a sob and stood up, running to the sink.

"Kurt!"

He covered his mouth his hand, forcing it back.

"Kurt, what—?"

"I was so happy," he choked out. "That day, I was so happy, but it was lies, all of it."

"What?" Blaine rose from the floor.

"You looked at me like I was special," he leaned over the sink as a wave of nausea rose up inside of him. "Touched me like… and it was all lies!"

"No," Blaine said earnestly. "Nothing was a lie!"

"We're boyfriends because it's convenient, because—"

"We're soul mates, Kurt—"

"Just stop!" he cried miserably.

"Kurt, god, I love you so much—"

"Because you have to!" Kurt spun to face him, angry and desperate. "In order to sacrifice yourself to me, in order to—you've put me on this pedestal or something so that you can die happily—"

"That's not true!"

"Like I'm some god that deserves life more than you do—"

"Why are you doing this?" Blaine's tears tracked wide and wet down his cheeks. "Why are you making this so hard?"

"Because it should be hard!" he cried. "I can't—we can't, you can't make it easy, Blaine, you can't!"

Water raced in rivers down Blaine's face even as he made no sound, the echo of Kurt's words clogging the air like smoke.

"I don't know what to do," he mouthed, voice not more than air. "What do you want me to do?"

They were stuck, held still and frozen in a mold of amber—fossilized like Blaine's eyes, like the trapped eternity hidden inside of him, vats of liquid emotion, and it all had to add up somehow—there had to be a reason, a way out, somehow, Kurt just wasn't seeing it!

He opened his mouth—to say what, he didn't know—

Then he heard it:

"Where are you?"

Breath escaped him as he snapped his head around, eyes scouring the rest of the room behind him to find where the voice had come from.

Someone is looking for you.

"Did you hear that?" he asked carefully.

Blaine watched him with concern, tears slowing and brow furrowed. "What? Hear what?"

"I heard someone—"

There it was again! A hoarse echo of a voice, repeating syllables in his mind before forming itself into soft, ghostly words: "Come find me." Kurt looked back toward the door. Where was it coming from? Find you where?

"Kurt…" He looked back at Blaine, who was inching carefully toward him, features shifting toward shocked fascination. "Your eyes…"

Kurt looked toward the mirror, and his lips parted in surprise at the pale white-grey that had taken the place of his usually-saturated irises. His chest dropped low and caved in as he stared at the alien change, fear rapidly climbing up his—

"Talk to me."

Kurt gasped in a breath and snapped his head toward the door.

There was something…

Someone is looking for you.

He walked slowly over and opened the door, not fully aware of moving his legs. The warmth of another body at his back told him Blaine was following, but things weren't quite registering the way they had before. He felt like he had been placed behind a plastic film, watching the world through clear, blue-tinged sheeting.

"Come on, I want to talk to you."

He was halfway down the hallway before he noticed he was moving, heading toward… the choir room?

Hadn't he been heading there earlier?

He reached for the doorknob without thinking, hands closing around—

Someone suddenly seized his arm and Kurt's body jolted with adrenaline. He tore himself away, belatedly registering the pain, and turned in surprise to see Blaine—who was as far back as he could possibly be while still staying within reach, unnaturally still and looking like he was watching a ghost.

"Don't," he whispered, eyes wide with fear and stuck on the choir room door. "No. We have to go home. Now."

"What is it?" Kurt asked.

"Come talk to me."

Kurt's attention was drawn inexorably back to the choir room, his mind emptying. Come talk…–

Another sting, this time as Blaine jerked him backward, taking several steps before Kurt flinched his forearm away. "What?" he snapped (had he asked that before?). Worry gnawed at his stomach as he noticed Blaine's expression: he looked terrified.

"We can't go in there, Kurt. We have to leave. Please."

Kurt swallowed heavily, studying the face in front of him. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay," he said, pacifying. "Okay, we'll go h—"

They both spun to face the door as it swung open. It revealed a young man, tall and attractive.

"Told you they were here!" the boy called to some unknown audience, a wide smile gracing his features. Kurt's eyebrows drew down. "Sorry if you're a little muddled," he continued, speaking to Kurt now, "it's just that I'd been told you'd be in this room, and when you weren't here, I got a little impatient."

Blaine had stopped breathing beside him, and Kurt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wary.

"You're just fascinating, aren't you?" came the boy's voice, made soft with awe and something that sounded like jealousy. Kurt's eyes snapped back to the boy at the phrasing, a little disconcerted to find intense brown eyes scrutinizing him.

"Who are you?" he asked warily.

The boy's grin was feral.

"I had assumed Blaine would have told you about me." Kurt's eyes narrowed. He sent a quick look to Blaine, a trickle of fear sliding down his throat when he found his boyfriend's expression had shuttered closed—nothing but blankness remained.

"You must be Kurt," the boy at the door held out his hand. Kurt inspected the hand guardedly before bringing his own up. The boys fingers squeezed closed around his in a firm, precise handshake. Their eyes locked and—

Everything inside of him suddenly stilled.

He knew this boy.

Those eyes.

That energy.

He knew what this boy was. He was like him—he was a Fascinator. Kurt knew it unquestioningly.

"It's nice to meet you, Kurt," the boy said quietly.

Kurt couldn't move for those eyes.

He could feel Blaine so clearly next to him, like a gaping wound in his mind…

"My name is Andrew."