"Kurtsie?" Brittany's voice was soft and kind, her small hands gently nudging his shoulder. Kurt Hummel groaned.

"Yes, Britt?" He mumbled tiredly, not opening his eyes.

"We're here at your new school. You need to wake up now, Kurtie."

The barest, barest hint of desperation in her voice was what finally roused Kurt, as he moaned and stretched as much as he could in the small space of Carole's car.

Britt was one of his best friends, innocent and kind and childlike. He knew that she loved him unconditionally, no matter what - and he loved her too, she was as good as his sister - but as long as he lived, he would never forgive himself for what he'd done to her.

The night he tried to - tried to end it, they'd had plans for a sleepover. Brittany walked in, hugged his father with a cheerful "hi, kurt's dad!" and walked up to his room to discover him on the floor, bleeding, an empty bottle of sleeping pills held limply in his clammy hands.

She had screamed his name, collapsed beside him and began frantically shaking him, whispering "kurt, wake up" in his ear over and over and over, until his father had come storming into his room.

When he woke, Santana had been standing at the end of his bed clutching Brittany's hand, both their eyes red-rimmed. "Don't you ever fucking try that shit again, Hummel," she growled, "I can't just let my favorite gay off himself."

Brittany had looked at him, sobbed, before whimpering, "Please don't leave me, Kurtie. I - I need you."

Puck had stared at him sadly. "Oh, God - I - I'm so fucking - I'm sorry, Kurt. For - everything."

Kurt smiled at Brittany, who had insisted on coming with them. Carole and Burt smiled at them from the front.

Finn, who sat on the other side of Brittany, hadn't spoken a word to Kurt since he'd woken up in the hospital.

Kurt stepped out of the car carefully, reaching his hand in to help Brittany out. When she was standing next to him, she didn't let go of his hand.

Carole came around the car and hugged him, whispering in his ear that she loved him. "I love you too, Carole," Kurt murmured, squeezing her gently.

His father and Finn were already walking towards the campus, his bags in hand.

He and Britt followed, hand in hand, not speaking, a kind of comfortable silence between them. They'd perfected it over nights of crying over the people who told Kurt that who he was wasn't okay, sobbing over Santana and her simple inability to accept the fact that she liked girls - loved Brittany.

Kurt's dorm was on the third floor of Kendall House, dorm number 206. Burt and Finn were waiting outside of the door, apparently waiting for Kurt.

Kurt quickly unlocked the door, holding it open for them as they hurriedly shuffled in. He and Brittany came in after them, letting the door swing closed.

A boy sat cross-legged on the bed closest to the window, laptop open in front of him. A navy blue light reflected onto his face, and he looked up and smiled at them, raising his eyebrows.

"Are you Kurt?" He asked, standing. "I'm Scott. It's so great to meet you; you're my roommate, right? Welcome to Dalton! Do you sing? Our show choir, the Warblers, is always looking for new members - you'd have to audition, though, and" --

"Are you a dolphin like Kurt?" Brittany interrupted. Surprised, the boy stopped his rambling, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Dolphin?" He asked, confused.

Kurt sighed. "Britt, remember what I told you?"

"That I can't ask people if they're dolphins unless I know them because it's rude and some people don't like dolphins because they aren't sharks?"

"Exactly, Britt. Honey, not everybody is like me and the rest of the New Directions," he smiled, and squeezed her hand, then turned to Scott. "I'm so sorry, my friend Britt's just...special," he said lamely. "I'm Kurt."

"It's so great to meet you, and if it's not too much - can i ask what she meant by dolphin?"

Kurt looked away uncomfortably. "I - she...wants to know if you're gay like me. I - I understand if you don't - I can ask for a different room if you want, it's fine, I'll just - "

"Kurt," Scott said firmly, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. "It's fine, Kurt - I don't care that you're gay. I'm gay too."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Oh," he murmured quietly. "Thank you."

"Of course, Kurt. I understand."

His dad and Brittany and Finn eventually left, and he put away his extensive clothes and made his bed and plugged in his laptop.

Then he sat down on his bed, put his head in his hands, and heaved a long-suffering sigh. Scott was at Warblers rehearsal - he'd offered to ask them to schedule an audition for Kurt, but Kurt had vehemently insisted that he no longer sang - regardless of what Brittany or Finn or Burt might tell him. "It's a long story," he deflected, "full of sighs."

Worthless.

Faggot.

Lady.

He remembered exactly what had set him off. He'd been having a bad day already - Karofsky had had him cornered in the locker room with the door locked and don't go there Kurt. He'd opened his locker to find a note taped to the inside.

Nobody will ever love you. You're disgusting. You'll never be wanted. Your life is worthless, you're worthless, you're useless. Why don't you do the world a favor and just kill yourself?

He'd argued with himself the entire way home, and when he arrived at his house, shut himself in his room, put on music, and called The Trevor Project. After being on the phone with a girl for three hours, he hung up abruptly, and wrote a note.

To whoever cares:

I'm sorry for any suffering this may cause you, but I can't be sorry I did it. I can't live like this anymore. I can't live in fear - I can't. Brittany, Santana, Mercedes, Tina, everybody...you never noticed how bad the bullying got, and I don't blame you. The worst of it was behind closed doors. You never got a chance to see. Mr. Schue? The next time someone like me comes along - someone who puts up a strong front but is so obviously not okay that it hurts - help them. For me.

To whoever wrote that note and put it in my locker: Are you happy now?

The he took an entire bottle of sleeping pills, and carved into his wrists.

You know the rest.

Kurt was only scarcely conscious of his movement as he walked into the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet. Do it. He dug through the cabnet under the sink until he found what he was looking for - a box of razors. Come on, Kurt. Don't be a coward. Do it. With shaking hands, he raised on of the razors to his forearm, a little bit from the crook of his elbow, pressed down hard, and dragged it across pale skin. The pain was intense, but nothing he couldn't stand. He watched as the red blood bloomed from the cut he'd made, slipping down his arms. Entranced, he didn't notice it beginning to drip onto the floor.

He snapped out of his trance as he heard the soft clink of the razor falling to the tile. He started, and scrambled to staunch the bleeding, wipe up the blood on the floor, hide any evidence of his actions.

He didn't regret it.

The next day was a Monday - his first day of classes. He still flinched whenever he turned a corner and cringed when someone got too close, but for the first time in a long time, he went from class to class without being taunted or teased or harassed or assaulted. He met up with Scott right before lunch, fingernails digging into the scar.

"Come on, Kurt, the school food at Dalton is actually really freaking good. Plus, there are people you need to meet. Attractive homosexual people who enjoy kissing other attractive homosexual people like you. Come the fuck on!" Kurt wasn't even struggling, but clearly he wasn't walking fast enough for Kurt who was heaving a long-suffering sigh as he dragged Kurt along at "more appropriate" speed.

When they arrived at the unsurprisingly fancy dining hall, Scott led him to a small circular table where five other boys sat.

"This is Wes - he's on the Warbler Senior Council - and so is David right there. Nick and Jeff are both Warblers, along with Blaine," Scott said, pointing out each boy in turn.

Wes was slim and tan, with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, smiling kindly at him. David was tall and dark-skinned, and seemed too involved in his food to pay any attention. Nick and Jeff were leaning against each other - Nick was kind of attractive, a little tall for his tastes. Jeff's hair was bleach blonde and pin-straight, staring off into the distance.

Blaine was - Blaine. Blaine was gorgeous, short and tan, with sleek dark hair that was stylishly gelled into place. His eyes were dark and friendly, and he was smiling at Kurt as if he had just recieved a kitten from the boy. "Hi," he said cheerfully, "I'm Blaine."