Blaine spent the rest of Valentine's Day locked up in his room and not speaking to his parents. His mother knocked on the door to ask him if he wanted dinner, but he pretended to be asleep. He wasn't hungry anyways.

He stayed awake for most of the night, sleeping fitfully for only an hour and a half or so in the very early morning. Once the sunlight began to poke through the blinds on his window, though, he quickly decided that he wasn't going to school.

"Blaine, please talk to me," his mother greeted him in lieu of a 'good morning' as he sat down to breakfast.

"There's nothing to talk about," Blaine replied without looking up from his pancakes. His mother only laid out a real breakfast when she was trying to connect with her kids (it had become tradition as soon as Cooper entered his sullen adolescent stage and started toking up in the garage), and Blaine didn't have to meet her eye to know how worried she looked.

"Blaine," she said, and Blaine's head snapped up. He'd never heard her use that tone. "Don't lie to me."

He exhaled and sat back, dropping his silverware onto his plate with a clank.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but I need to know if you're all right," she insisted. He didn't answer, instead studying the grain of the table. "Blaine, I can tell. I can tell every time you lie, whether it's about something going on at school or about issues with Dad or what you and Kurt were doing up in your room."

He bristled at the mention of Kurt, but his mother was still talking.

"I let you get away with it, though, and maybe I shouldn't, but you've always been so desperate to be independent. I thought that if you could solve enough problems on your own that you'd be okay." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "But this, whatever it is, is really hurting you and I think I've let you get away with too many lies. You need to talk to me now."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

He crossed his arms, still staring at the table. "Because of Dad, okay?" he snapped. "You tell him everything."

"Honey, he's your father," she replied sternly. "But, if it's really that important to you, then I won't say anything to him. I promise."

Blaine finally raised his head, trying to figure out from his mother's expression if she was likely to back out of the promise. He knew she wasn't lying – she always told the truth. But most of the time her truth didn't stay true for very long.

"Please, Bumble," she said.

He sighed, his limbs feeling heavier than they should be. "Kurt broke up with me," he admitted quietly.

"Oh, honey." His mother stood up and moved to the chair right next to him, draping her arm around his shoulders and running her hand through his hair, which he hadn't had the energy to gel that morning. "Everyone goes through this at some point," she said. "And I don't know Kurt that well, but I know you, and if he was too blind to see how good a man you are, then he just doesn't deserve you."

Blaine suddenly felt sick, like his insides were covered in slime. He quickly stood up and edged away from his mother. "Thanks, Mom," he said tightly. "I'm just going to… leave for school."

She smiled like she'd done him a world of good, and Blaine wanted to throw up. "You want me to pack up your breakfast? You can eat it on the way."

He shook his head and grabbed his bag, coat, and car keys, rushing out of the house and leaving his mother with two full plates of pancakes.

Despite the fact that it was February and below freezing, Blaine drove with the windows rolled down, letting the icy air burn his lungs. He had no intention of going to school, but he was headed for central Lima, driving by muscle memory more than anything else. He was fairly sure that he was going a little over the speed limit, but he didn't really care all that much and he wasn't pulled over, so he figured no harm done.

He somehow ended up at Schoonover Park, sitting on a bench overlooking the frozen lake and watching a few people ice skate near the opposite shore. Blaine hunched his shoulders against the cold, pressing his thighs together for warmth as his breath fogged in front of his nose. A couple walked past him along the paved path cleared of snow, their dog on a leash. He and Kurt had talked about getting a dog in New York. Blaine had wanted a golden retriever, Kurt had wanted an Irish setter, and god damn it, Blaine needed to stop obsessing.

He exhaled slowly, trying to get his nerves to stop crackling in his fingertips. It wasn't that he was mad as his mother. Not really. She was clueless for the most part, yeah, but she did want to help him; he knew that. He just wanted this entire problem to disappear. He wanted to go back to that morning when he'd woken up to find Robbie in Kurt's place and not ask questions. He wanted to pretend he didn't know, and he wanted the old Kurt back.

Plus, the entire thing was really his fault.

Blaine hadn't caused Kurt's mental abnormalities, of course, but if he thought of every bad thing that had happened since that one otherwise insignificant morning in early January, it could really all be boiled down to himself. It was his poking and prodding that led to Finn revealing Kurt's condition, which led to their fight at school, which led to the entire school finding out and his humiliatingly public breakdown. It was just one giant chain reaction that started with Blaine and ended with Kurt going into a psych ward.

It was simple math. Two and two made four.

Blaine was so deep in thought that he almost didn't feel his phone buzzing in his coat pocket, but he fished it out and answered without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Hey, Squirt!"

Blaine blinked, startled. "Coop? What's going on?"

"What, I need a reason to check up on my baby brother?" Cooper laughed on the other end.

"No, it's just… you don't usually call me unless… Never mind."

"Okay, fine, you caught me," Cooper admitted. "Mom called me. She said you were having some problems."

Blaine tensed. "What did she tell you?"

"She said you got dumped. What happened? I mean… I've never been dumped, but I can probably give you some cheesy advice or something. At least give you an ear to talk off."

"You know what, Coop, I don't think any of your post-breakup advice is going to work here, alright?" Blaine said as smoothly as he could manage, which was probably still snappish.

"Blaine, I'm just trying to help, okay? And Mom's seriously worried," Cooper insisted, his tone strangely paternal. Despite the age gap between the two (an entire eight and a half years) Cooper had never sounded like anything but the sort of big brother who would spray his sibling with shaving cream just to elicit a laugh from his friends.

(Okay, maybe Blaine was still sore over that particular instance, but still.)

"So?" Cooper pressed. "What happened?"

Blaine swallowed, not wanting to discuss this with his brother. He did want to talk to someone, but there just wasn't a very long list of people he trusted enough to approach. He trusted Carole, and talking with her that one time had been a relief, but it just felt strange talking to Kurt's stepmother about him. He couldn't trust anyone in the Glee club to be objective, and Miss Pillsbury was plain useless.

He huffed, finally giving in. "Kurt was having some… problems," he said hesitantly, still completely unsure of whether he wanted Cooper to know about this. "He was having problems and he didn't tell me about them, so I got mad, and from there it just turned into a shitstorm."

Cooper paused on the other end, probably taken aback by the rushed admission and Blaine's use of language. "What kind of problems?" he asked, and Blaine let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, relieved that Cooper hadn't jumped into a speech of how good a person Blaine was.

"He's sick," Blaine said, chewing on his lip as he watched the ice skaters on the other side of the lake.

"What, like cancer?"

"No, I mean… mentally."

There was another pause. "Is he depressed?"

Blaine let out a hollow laugh, amazed at how insignificant the idea of depression sounded. If only it were depression. Sweet, simple, easily-medicated depression. "You could say that."

"What's wrong with him, then?"

Blaine's tongue seemed to take on a mind of its own then, and suddenly he was rambling, spilling every detail and event that he'd been keeping secret from his mother. He talked and talked and talked, barely stopping for a breath, and surprisingly Cooper didn't try to interrupt at all. It wasn't until he finally ran out of things to say that he drew a shuddering breath and realized he was crying, earning several worried glances from the people walking the park path.

He wiped his face on his sleeve, blinking away the burning in his eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Coop, I just…" he trailed off. There was no response on the other end for several seconds. "You still there, Coop?"

A heavy breath crackled on the other end. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

Blaine swallowed. "Everything's just completely messed up."

"I really don't know what to say."

"It's fine, Coop. Thanks for listening, but I really don't expect you to—"

"Stop it, Blaine," Cooper cut him off. "I'm your big bro. You're obligated to expect this stuff. So, why did Kurt dump you again?"

"He said I took too long to decide," Blaine repeated.

"So you're Hamlet, basically."

Blaine let out an involuntary barking laugh, startling himself. "You had to make a theater reference, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. Look, Bee, you're right. It's completely and totally screwed up and way beyond the normal circumstances for relationship troubles," Cooper said, and Blaine had to stop himself from making a quip about stating the obvious. "But when you boil it down, it's not all that unreasonable for Kurt to have broken up with you for that reason. I mean… if a producer offered me a role and I debated whether or not I wanted it for too long, they'd just cast someone else."

Blaine thought it was a little odd how this was actually making him feel better.

"But," Cooper added. "It's also not an unreasonable solution if you just talk to him about it. When he broke up with you, he was in the hospital after a suicide attempt. Personally, I'd stay far away from that kind of drama, but you're different, and Kurt might be in a better place now that he's out of the hospital."

"He's going into the hospital this week," Blaine reminded him. "A real psych ward. For a long time."

"Sounds like he needs it," Cooper stated. "But aren't shrinks always going on about the importance of a support network?"

"I… yeah."

"Talk to him, Bee. Even if it doesn't work out, you'll have done something."

Blaine sighed. "Okay, Coop. Thanks. And… would you mind—?"

"Don't worry. I won't tell Mom about any of this. I know how Dad would react."

"Thanks," Blaine said again.

"Talk to him," Cooper repeated. "And don't forget to point. It's a very dramatic situation."

Blaine snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I'll be sure to use that particular piece of advice."

"See you in a couple months, Bee."

Blaine wasn't really sure what he was doing. He knew he was going to talk to Kurt, but about what? He didn't know what he wanted to say, or even how he was going to greet Kurt in the first place. He parked his car at the front of the Hudson-Hummels' driveway and climbed the porch steps, having to force himself to actually knock on the door. He only had to wait a few moments for Burt to show up on the other side of the door's glass pane.

Burt paused, glancing over his shoulder before opening the door. "Blaine, what are you doing here?"

"I… was hoping to talk to Kurt," he said, the explanation sounding more like a question than anything else.

"Now's not really a good time—"

There was a shuffling behind Burt and Kurt appeared toting two bulging garbage bags. "Dad, can you take these—" He froze in his tracks, his eyes jumping back and forth between his father and Blaine.

"Kurt, can we talk?" Blaine asked before his nerves could get the best of him.

Kurt's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"I think it'd be better if you left," Burt said, shifting slightly toward the space between Blaine and his son.

"N-no, Dad, it's fine," Kurt cut in, carefully keeping his eyes away from Blaine's face.

"Are you sure?" Burt asked. "You don't have to."

"It's fine," Kurt repeated. He held out the two trash bags. "Can you take these out to the street?"

Burt sighed, clearly unhappy about leaving Kurt on his own even for a minute, but took the bags and elbowed through the door. Blaine stepped aside to make room for him, then followed Kurt down the hallway.

"Seems like all I do nowadays is clean up after the alters," Kurt said wearily, and Blaine noticed for the first time just how much Kurt's posture had slumped. His shoulders seemed to be permanently curled forward.

This is my fault.

"What happened?" Blaine asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Oh, Zack had a meltdown yesterday and destroyed my room," Kurt replied. "Lot of broken stuff I had to get rid of."

Blaine wasn't sure which was more upsetting – the nonchalance with which Kurt had spoken or the fact that what he'd said had registered in Blaine's head as something normal.

In the kitchen, Kurt dropped the air of indifference, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter island. "Why are you here, Blaine?" he inquired, keeping his eyes on the floor. "What do you want?"

Blaine swallowed, feeling his palms beginning to sweat in his pockets. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm not."

Blaine paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Look, I don't blame you for… saying you didn't want me around," he started.

Kurt frowned. "That's… good to know, but I wasn't aware it was something I should be blamed for."

"I-it's not, but—" Blaine stammered. He huffed, frustrated with himself. "I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"Most people have that reaction," Kurt said dryly.

Blaine's eyebrows knitted together. "Huh?"

"I render people speechless." Kurt's mouth twisted into a pained smile, and Blaine's stomach clenched at how terribly self-loathing Kurt's voice was.

"What do you want me to do, Kurt?" he asked softly.

"We aren't together, Blaine," Kurt said, his face hard. "You've been released of any obligation to help me."

Blaine's fists involuntarily clenched in his pockets, though he was aware that he had no right to be angry. "You really think I'm that kind of guy?"

"I don't know what to think," Kurt snapped, his eyes finally – finally – rising to meet Blaine's. "You weren't there when I needed you, and then as soon as I sever the tie, you come begging. What kind of message am I supposed to glean from that?"

"Hey, first of all, you dumped me after I told you I wanted to stay," Blaine snapped. "Second, are you ignoring everything good about us?"

Kurt grimaced, and Blaine gritted his teeth.

"I transferred. For you."

"Oh, please," Kurt scoffed. "You didn't do that for me. You did it because you were so desperate for the perfect boyfriend that you latched onto me and ignored every single sign you saw!"

Blaine blinked, subconsciously taking a step back.

"Blaine, nobody transfers just to be with someone in high school! That doesn't happen!"

"I loved you!" Blaine shouted suddenly, barely registering in the back of his mind just how much this argument sounded like something out of a soap opera.

"No, you didn't," Kurt yelled back. "You were in love with the idea of fixing me, and you can't fix me!"

Kurt had straightened up now, his eyes burning and glassy. Blaine stared at him, unsettled by this new, agonizingly bitter version of Kurt that he'd never seen.

"I shouldn't have come," he said quietly, more to himself than to Kurt.

"You really shouldn't have," Kurt spat, circling around the counter island and facing away from Blaine as he pulled open a drawer and yanked out a trash bag. "I need to finish cleaning up Zack's mess. Please leave."

Blaine didn't move, glaring at the counters and simultaneously wanting to stay and run away and never see Kurt again.

"Did you hear what I said?" Kurt demanded over his shoulder.

"You need help!" Blaine cried. "I want to help! Why is that so hard to—?"

"I don't need you to tell me how damaged I am!" Kurt screamed, slamming the drawer shut with so much force that it emitted a loud crack and sat crookedly on its rollers.

Finally, Blaine lost the battle with his impulses, and he drew his foot back, kicking one of the kitchen stools over in exasperation. It crashed loudly against the tile floor.

Kurt's spine snapped back, arching rigidly where he stood.

"Kurt?" Blaine called, out of breath and with roaring ears. His rage had vanished in the span of half a second, replaced by a twisting, agonizing terror in the pit of his stomach. When Kurt didn't move or respond, Blaine edged around the island, more than wary of what might happen if he got too close. "Kurt," he said again. "Are you there?"

No response.

Kurt's eyes were wide, whipping back and forth but seeing nothing.

Blaine called his name again, reaching out to touch his arm in the hopes that the feeling would jolt him back into reality.

The jolt was not what Blaine had hoped. The moment his fingers came in contact with Kurt's skin, a bloodcurdling scream ripped from Kurt's throat as he thrashed at Blaine. Blaine leapt backwards and out of the way of Kurt's swinging arm, instinctively ready to defend himself against any attacks Kurt might deliver.

Kurt screamed again, sinking to a crouch on the floor, his hands clamped over his ears. His limbs didn't stop moving, jerking as if he were an ant under a magnifying glass.

"What did you do?!" Burt cried as he rushed into the room, immediately going down on his knees to pull his writhing son into his arms.

Blaine was frozen, staring at this… thing that Kurt had become.

It took Blaine several seconds to realize that Kurt was actually screaming words rather than unintelligible sounds.

"FRANKLIN'S BEEN A BAD MAN! BAD MAN! BAD MAN!"

"Kurt, if you can hear me, I've got you, you're okay—" Burt urged loudly, rocking Kurt slightly.

"BAD MAN! BAD MAN! THE BAD MAN'S HERE! BAD MAN! THE BAD MAN'S HERE!"

Burt held Kurt's head tightly against his chest, glaring up at Blaine. "GET OUT!" he snarled.

Blaine flinched, stepping further back.

"BAD MAN! THE BAD MAN'S HERE! BAD MAN!"

"GET OUT!"

Blaine turned and ran, not allowing himself to breathe until he was in his car, driving away.