Dinnertime at the Berry household was always noisy and often musically-centered, as Sam had come to learn in the recent months since Finn and Rachel had dragged him out of the dregs of Kentucky. He'd been hesitant at first – the prospect of living with Rachel Freaking Berry had been terrifying and back in November he would much rather have crammed himself onto the fold-out couch at Finn and Kurt's house – but within a week of settling in, he'd discovered that things in the Berry family were really quite mellow, for all their loud talking and spontaneous musical numbers. The routines that they all followed – whether on their own or as a family – were something that Sam had been grateful for in contrast to the constant worrying and hectic activity that was his own home life.

After Kurt had snapped in school, he'd been even more grateful for it. He'd honestly thought that the main reason he'd ended up living at Rachel's was that she was trying to get a strong male vocalist who was available to her at all times, and that she'd forced Finn into letting it happen with some petty bribe involving getting to second base or something. Once he found out about Kurt's… problem (he wasn't sure how else to refer to it), he'd realized that the only person stopping him from living with Finn was actually Finn.

Sam didn't know what might have happened if he'd actually moved in with the Hudson-Hummels, and if he was honest with himself, thinking about it scared him a little.

Of course, he'd never tell Rachel that. She'd bite his head off.

It was during Tuesday evening dinner that Rachel's phone went off in her pocket.

"Rachaela, you know we don't allow cell phones at the table," Hiram reprimanded her as he took a sip of his wine. "Not since your dad thought that answering a call from his Adonis of a masseuse during mealtime was acceptable."

"We've heard that story enough times already," Leroy cut in with a pointed grin. Sam chuckled through his mouthful of roast duck (which was awesome, because both her dads seriously knew how to cook). "Rachel, honey, please turn that off."

She smiled sheepishly and pulled it out of her skirt pocket, quickly checking the screen before standing up and taking it into the kitchen. She left it on the counter and returned to the table. "Sorry, I forgot I had it with me," she said, reaching for her glass of sparkling cider. "It was just Finn – he probably needs my help with homework or something. I'll call him back later."

"Sometimes I wonder whether you're his girlfriend or his tutor," Leroy remarked.

"Trust me, she's definitely his girlfriend," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at Rachel. She narrowed her eyes and lobbed her napkin at him, knowing perfectly well that he was referring to a very public make-out session between her and Finn in the middle of lunch that day.

Hiram waved a hand, grimacing. "Please don't tell me whatever it is I'm missing out on. I don't want to know."

Rachel's phone rang again in the kitchen, cutting through the laughter around the dining table. "Sorry," she said, again standing up. "I'll go set it on silent."

The dinner conversation continued for another five minutes before Sam's phone also rang from his jeans pocket.

"Samuel, really?" Hiram chided.

Sam shrugged apologetically and glanced at the screen, hesitating. "It's Finn," he said, not sure if he should ignore the call.

Rachel frowned. She didn't have to say that it was strange that Finn would call her a few times and then call Sam. Hiram and Leroy picked up on this, too, and Leroy was the one to give in and suggest that Sam answer it.

Sam hit the Answer button and was met with only the dial tone – Finn had hung up. A moment later, the phone buzzed and a text popped up.

TELL RACHEL TO PICK UP HER PHONE.

Sam relayed the message to Rachel, who immediately jumped up and ran to snatch her cell off the counter. "Finn, what's going on?" she said in lieu of a greeting.

Sam and her dads watched as the worried expression slid off of Rachel's face and was replaced with sheer terror.

"…What?" Her voice was uncharacteristically small. Both Leroy and Hiram remained silent and tense – odd for them – and Sam could feel a prickling in the back of his head. Something was extremely wrong. Finn wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but he definitely wasn't one to panic, and the text had seemed pretty damn urgent.

"W-Well, is he okay?" Rachel stammered. "…Okay. Are you sure you don't want me there with you? …All right, but only if you— Yeah. Of course, I'll call Mercedes. And Finn? Tell him that I'll be there as soon as they say he's up for visitors. Okay. I love you too."

She hung up, and Sam could see that she was trying very hard not to break down into tears right then and there.

"What's going on?" Leroy asked when she didn't speak.

"Kurt…" she began, but her voice petered out and she had to restart. "Kurt tried…" She faltered again, her words hitching in her chest. "Oh my God," she said, burying her face in her hands.

Leroy barely managed to stand up and wrap his arms around her before she fell apart completely.

It was loud, though Blaine couldn't tell if that was from the chatter of the EMTs or the incessant ringing in his ears. He'd leaped out of his car and bolted up to the house, not caring that he'd parked more diagonally than parallel. Abruptly, a policeman standing by the porch steps caught him and pushed him back, calmly telling him to stay where he was.

"No, you – you don't understand—"

"Don't worry," the cop said. "The kid had a real close call, but he's going to be completely fine. Now, take a step back, please."

The officer's assurances didn't relieve Blaine nearly as much as they should have. A thousand other questions raced through his head – what happened and who did it and dear God where was he? – but they were all shoved aside as the front door banged open and two EMTs slowly guided a stretcher through the almost-too-narrow doorframe. They carefully carried it down the porch steps toward the ambulance, passing by Blaine without so much as a glance.

Kurt was strapped down, his eyes closed and his head lolling to the side. The lower half of his face was obscured by the cup of an oxygen mask, and his skin had turned from a smooth pale to a deathly white, bordering on grey. Blaine felt the grass sway under his feet as he saw the flecks of blood staining Kurt's neck, though it was clear that his neck was unharmed. The blood must have come from somewhere else.

"Oh my God, Blaine!"

Blaine's head whipped round to see Carole standing on the porch, having followed the stretcher. Finn was behind her, his face stretched as he watched the EMTs load Kurt into the ambulance. The red lights pulsed against the outside walls of the house, the ambulance doors clunked shut, and Kurt disappeared from view.

Finally, the officer let him by and he bounded up the porch steps. "What's going on? What happened?" he rushed, too aware of the fact that Carole had been sobbing not long before. Her face was red and puffy and her chin was still trembling.

"He tried to kill himself," Finn said lowly, sounding far calmer than Blaine thought he should be. "Well… Kurt didn't. Eleanor's tried crap like this before, but it's never been this… much."

"Wh-where's Burt?" Blaine stammered, because he knew that if Kurt's father were there at the moment, he'd have barreled through any boundaries that the EMTs had set up – violently if necessary – so that he could be in the back of the ambulance with Kurt.

"He was pitching in at the shop. I called him – he's on his way to the hospital and he'll meet us there," Finn answered, watching the ambulance pull out of the driveway. Its siren wailed to life, deafening everyone for a few moments until it disappeared from view down the street.

"I shouldn't have left him alone," Carole cried, her hands over her face.

Finn draped his arm around her shoulders, looking like he was about ready to punch through a wall. Blaine thought maybe Finn should skip class and pay a visit to the weight room with him. "Mom, it's okay," he said flatly, not really sounding like he was that interested in her blubbering, but maybe he was just in shock. Blaine noticed for the first time that Finn's clothes were spattered with blood as well, and the hand not holding Carole's shoulders was covered in it. His knees both bore thick dark stains.

"No, it isn't," Carole was protesting through a fresh stream of tears. "I knew I shouldn't have left him alone! I knew it!"

"Is he going to be okay?" Blaine asked, still staring at the blood on Finn's shirt.

"That's what they're saying."

"Wh-what did he do?"

"Eleanor slit his wrists," Finn responded. Carole choked on a sob. "Really deep, too."

"Why would she do that?"

Finn shook his head. "I don't know. Usually if she hurts him, it's just to keep him in line. She really tried to kill him this time. It's weird."

"Maybe it wasn't Eleanor?" Blaine suggested, but he didn't know Kurt's alters as well as Finn did and he couldn't tell if the question was too invasive (he didn't know why it would be, but something was nagging at the back of his mind to pull back).

Finn glared at him for a second. "It was her," he said simply, as if that cleared everything up. He sighed, pulling away from Carole. "I'm going to go clean up."

It was another two days before Blaine was allowed to actually visit Kurt instead of waiting around uselessly in the lobby for updates on his condition. He knew that the hospital staff had had to give Kurt more than a few blood infusions before he'd been deemed stable enough to move out of the ICU, but it really didn't matter to Blaine if he wasn't able to be in the same room with Kurt and see it for himself.

Finally, after school on Friday, the nurses told Blaine he was permitted past the lobby, and he quickly bought some flowers from the hospital gift shop before approaching Kurt's ward. He knocked on the door and poked his head in to find Burt sitting by the bed, reading The Lorax aloud to Kurt.

"Hi," he said hesitantly. "Can I… Can I come in?"

Burt frowned at him for a moment, then nodded. Blaine placed the flowers on the windowsill as Kurt's father turned back to his reading.

"He was shortish, and oldish, and brownish, and mossy," Burt recited. "And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and bossy…"

Blaine leaned back against the wall as the story continued, not really paying attention to any of the words and instead studying Kurt. It was obvious that Kurt wasn't present at the moment, and whether that was from stress or just sheer exhaustion was unclear. Blaine was fairly sure that it was Tyler peering out through Kurt's eyes, since the world-weary expression weighing down on Kurt's face didn't seem like something that Zack would display. The hospital gown didn't flatter Kurt's skin tone, though the loss of blood hadn't helped either. An IV needle was attached to a spot just above his collarbone, since his forearms were tightly bandaged all the way up to the elbow. Blaine noticed that Kurt's fingers were shaking ever so slightly.

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing's going to get better. It's not."

Blaine swallowed and hoped that he'd only imagined the pointed tone to Burt's voice.

A few minutes later, the book closed and Burt stood up, ruffling Kurt's hair. "I'm going to go get a cup of coffee," he said. "You want something?"

Kurt shook his head wordlessly, and Burt turned his attention to Blaine.

"Listen to me, Blaine," he said under his breath. "Kurt's been dealing with some pretty heavy stuff the last few days, and I'm not just talking about what Eleanor did to him to put him in here. So, you know… be careful what you say to him."

Blaine nodded quickly, easily picking up on the silent threat beneath Burt's words.

Once Burt had left, Blaine cautiously took a seat next to Kurt. "Tyler, right?" he said. Just to be sure.

Kurt nodded.

"They didn't let you have Raleigh in here?"

"He got covered in blood," Kurt said, speaking for the first time. "Carole's washing him."

"Oh."

Kurt was lying on his side, curled underneath the thin hospital blankets. He looked cold. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"Why?"

Blaine paused, not really sure of how to respond. He couldn't exactly say because I love you, since Kurt was technically eight years old at the moment and that would be weird on so many levels, and he couldn't say because I'm your friend because Tyler barely knew him. "I just…" he faltered. "I want to be here for you."

Kurt didn't respond for a long time, and even though his eyes were open Blaine had to wonder if he had fallen into a sort of half-sleep. Eventually, Kurt spoke again, though it was flat-sounding and had nothing to do with the situation at all.

"Kurt says you sing."

"Uh, yeah."

There was another pause, but this one was shorter and less tense.

"Can you sing to me?" Kurt requested.

Blaine swallowed. He wasn't in the mood at all, but he did tell Kurt that he wanted to be there for him. "Okay," he replied. "What song?"

Kurt shrugged, studying the edge of the blanket. "You pick."

Blaine took a deep breath, trying to think. He settled on a shortish lullaby he'd heard a while ago, though he'd never actually sung it before. He scooted his chair closer to the bed.

"This was the center of the world for me once," he sang lowly, "where I saw 'I love you' all over the place. That was where the Stones played once, and these are the bricks that shattered my heart…

"This is the place where I felt like the world's tallest self-supporting tower… At least for a little while anyway."

Kurt's expression didn't change as the song progressed, and Blaine wasn't sure if that was a relief or a cause for more concern.

"Hiding out in the subway system," he continued. "Hanging out in the library system. You made me feel like a harbor, and you made me feel like a fortress. This is the place where I felt like the world's tallest self-supporting tower… or maybe number two. At least for a little while anyway…"

The lullaby ended and Blaine sat there in silence, his nerves crackling in his fingertips.

"That was pretty," Kurt said.

Blaine was about to say 'Thanks, Tyler', but then he blinked in surprise. It had not been Tyler's voice. "Kurt?"

"Hi, Blaine." Kurt pushed himself up, propping his back against his pillows and finally looking Blaine in the eye.

"How are you?" Blaine asked lamely. He was nervous; Kurt was watching him with a little too much wariness.

Kurt shrugged. "I hate hospitals." He scratched first at the gauze wrapped around his left forearm, then his right. "Ugh, these are starting to smell," he said, his nose wrinkling.

"I'll call the nurse," Blaine said, pressing the red button on the side of Kurt's bed.

Neither of them said anything as they waited for someone from the nurse's station to show up. Finally, a chubby young woman in purple scrubs walked in with a cherubic smile and at Kurt's request set about changing the bandages.

Blaine tried not to flinch when he saw the deep, scabbed-over gouges running lengthwise from Kurt's wrists almost to his elbows.

The baby-faced nurse left a few minutes later and the air stretched thinly between the walls of the room.

"Blaine, I need to tell you something," Kurt said, sounding like he was forcing himself to speak.

"I need to talk to you, too," Blaine replied, rushing his words because he had a feeling that if he didn't get it out now, he never would. "Can… can I go first?"

Kurt nodded, his expression skeptical.

"Kurt, I've… I've done a lot of thinking," Blaine started, twisting his fingers together in his lap, "and it's taken me awhile, but… we agreed, no matter what, right? I love you, and I can't exactly say I don't care that you have this… problem, but I want to help you with it, and I want to be there for you." He was glad to hear that his voice was gaining confidence as he went, which made him more certain that he was doing the right thing.

"Blaine…"

"No, let me finish. I love you. That won't change, even if your alters think otherwise." Blaine reached forward and wrapped his hand around Kurt's fingers, squeezing tightly.

"Blaine."

"What?"

"I can't be with you."

Blaine blinked, his mind skidding to a halt. "Wh-what are you talking about?" he stuttered, not sure if he couldn't comprehend what Kurt was saying or if he was making a choice not to.

"I'm sorry, but…" Kurt shook his head and pulled his hand out of Blaine's grasp. "I can't live like this."

Blaine felt his heart plummet at the thought that Kurt might actually agree with what Eleanor had done to him. "No – no, that's what I'm here to help you with, right? I've done research – there's some specialists in Boston and with some work you could get better in a couple of years—"

"Blaine, stop!"

The command was so abrupt that Blaine jumped.

"That's not what I meant. I meant, I can't live like this… with you."

"I don't understand."

Kurt chewed on his lip, looking down at his hands like he was trying to figure out how to express something that wasn't quite defined in the dictionary. "There's a reason that my alters think you're not good for me. As much as I care for you and as much as I absolutely hate to admit it, they are parts of me. They're built from me. So, I can really only come to the conclusion that I think you're not good for me. And it took a long time for me to figure out why that was."

Blaine shook his head again. "I-I don't get it. What are you saying? I thought you said that it was up to me if I wanted to leave."

"It was up to you. For a little while. I gave you more than enough time, and you took way too long to give me an answer. That wasn't fair. I can't be with someone who thinks it's okay to do that."

Blaine sat back in his chair, winded. His nerves were crackling and he couldn't decide if he was angry or just scared, and if he was, what he was scared about. "Kurt, to be fair, the fact that you bring seven extra wheels into this relationship as a package deal is kind of a lot to absorb! That takes a long time to be okay with!"

"I never said you had to be okay with it," Kurt countered evenly, his eyes harder than Blaine remembered. "You just had to decide to leave or stay. That's it. And this is not a relationship any more."

"Kurt, you – you've been through a lot lately," Blaine insisted. He was beginning to grasp at straws and he knew it. "This isn't really a good time to make a rash decision, don't you think?"

"It's not rash," Kurt argued. "I've been planning this for a week. You just haven't bothered to pick up your damn phone."

And just like that, the room was completely silent, and Blaine understood that the gavel had struck. He had no more excuses or questions or straws he could grasp.

Standing up slowly, feeling like his limbs were made of lead, Blaine moved towards the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he stopped and turned around.

"Wait," he said, his forehead creasing in thought. "It wasn't Eleanor. She... she didn't try to kill you, did she?"

Kurt watched him, his eyes covered in a film.

"It was you."

The fact that Kurt looked away instead of speaking was more than enough confirmation, and Blaine wanted to scream. "Kurt, whywould you—?"

"Please leave," Kurt interrupted, his voice cracked. He refused to look Blaine in the eye. "Just… go away."

Everything that Blaine wanted to say was bottlenecking in his head and he couldn't make any of his thoughts follow any sort of coherent sequence, so he did the only thing he could. He did what Kurt said, and closed the door behind him.