He broke character. He saw Kurt in that audience and he broke character for just a split second. He almost didn't even finish the song, but the show must go on, and what would Kurt think of him if he couldn't even manage to do one measly song? So he finished the song, barely holding on, and the second he went backstage he collapsed into a heap against the wall. He knew he shouldn't because he was still in costume and his costume was white and he'd just get it dirty, but he needed this. He could wash the costume later.

He just needed to crumple.

As he lay there against the wall, he thought maybe someone would come check on him, ask him if he was alright, but no one did. Maybe it was because they were in the middle of a show and things were crazy or maybe it was because they still just didn't care enough to notice. Either way, he felt invisible.

When the show ended he barely pulled himself together for curtain call, noting that Rachel was no longer next to Kurt. He made eye contact with Kurt fleetingly before forcing himself to look away. Last year, he and Kurt made eye contact across the row of other actors on stage, beaming at each other, smiling and laughing at how well they'd done. Blaine couldn't even remember the last time he laughed now.

They went backstage, congratulating each other on a show well done, chatting excitedly about how they better bring that energy to tomorrow's performance as well, but Blaine wasn't listening. He needed to find Kurt. He needed to talk to him. He needed to make sure that Kurt understood everything. He couldn't just leave it like this.

He found Kurt in the hallway with Rachel. Rachel excused herself smoothly, but the second she disappeared, Kurt dismissed him with a simple, "I'm not interested."

"Kurt, wait," Blaine tried, following. "I never told you about what happened. The guy I hooked up with…I need you to know everything."

Kurt whirled around and if looks could kill… "What are you gonna tell me? That it wasn't serious? That you didn't care about him?"

"I didn't care—."

"Do you think that matters to me? Relationships are about trust and I don't trust you anymore. I was stupid to come back. Rachel's right. This isn't home anymore."

Blaine watched the tears form in Kurt's eyes as he turned and walked away and wondered where his own tears were. Then again, maybe he'd cried so much recently he'd just cried as much as a person can, and there were no more tears left to shed.

So Blaine did the only thing he knew to do when he was upset. He took off towards the boys' locker room. He swiftly ripped off the top layers of his costume, leaving himself in just his undershirt, and then changed from his nice slacks and dress shoes to a pair of basketball shorts and tennis shoes he kept in his gym locker.

The first punch and already Blaine felt better. He didn't even wrap his hands or use any sort of protection this time. No, he deserved to feel this pain. After the pain that was written all over Kurt's face, and knowing that Blaine himself had caused it, he needed this. He needed to feel worse than Kurt. He couldn't stand seeing Kurt in so much pain.

It was better, Blaine thought, before he saw Kurt. Before, he could imagine that Kurt was getting on with his life. He could imagine Kurt happy and dating someone else and living his New York dream. Sure, that hurt like hell, but at least it wasn't hurting Kurt. It was hurting Blaine. Kurt didn't deserve to be hurt. Kurt did nothing wrong. This was all on Blaine, and he deserved to feel every last bit of it.

The punching bag was beginning to bite into his skin and his knuckles were starting to bleed, but he didn't care. He could wash the punching bag off when he was done. His face felt wet and he debated with himself whether it was sweat or crying before realizing it was both. He guessed he wasn't so cried out after all. It took him a few moments of hearing these awful screams, these awful sobs, before he realized that they were coming from him. With every punch he sobbed harder and his vision blurred even more with the tears. He thought maybe he'd get lucky and over-exert himself and just pass out. Wouldn't that be marvelous?

He thought he heard the door open, someone entering the locker room, but it was so preposterous that someone would come in there at this time of night that he just kept his tunnel vision focused and punched the bag, again and again. He started to imagine it was his own face.

There was noise, someone calling him, someone saying his name, but he couldn't breathe, and why should he? He needed this. He needed to push himself so hard that he couldn't breathe. He needed to punch and work and throw until his muscles ached and his knuckles were so bloody it looked like he'd been finger painting a fire truck.

"Blaine, stop, you're bleeding!"

The voice sounded awfully like Kurt, but that was impossible because Kurt was gone, gone, gone. Gone tonight. Gone tomorrow. Gone forever.

"Blaine, stop it!"

That was definitely Kurt. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was so out of it that he was just hallucinating Kurt's voice. It was a figment of his imagination.

This isn't home anymore.

I don't trust you anymore.

The words echoed in his head, drowning out even his own sobs and the imaginary Kurt standing near him. The hurtful words, Blaine could take. He deserved to hear those. What he couldn't take was when the words started morphing into the ones pre-break up.

I'm never saying goodbye to you.

You aren't going to lose me.

In that moment, Blaine Anderson wanted to die.

"Blaine, cut it out!"

There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder. Blaine jumped back, startled by the sudden contact. He blinked, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms because that was the only part of his hands that wasn't bloody. Kurt was standing there. He wasn't hallucinating. Kurt was really there.

"Kurt?" His voice cracked as he said it, and then he was down, on the ground just like backstage, sitting up but hugging his knees to his chest and burying his head there.

"Oh my, God, Blaine, you're bleeding! Look at you! We need to get you cleaned up. Come on."

"I'm not going anywhere," he muttered.

He felt Kurt drop down in front of him, trying to lift his head up. "Blaine, look at me." Blaine shook his head. "Please." Blaine shook his head again. "I need you to look at me."

He didn't want to, he really didn't want to. He couldn't stand to see the devastation on Kurt's face again. "I can't. I can't see what I've done. I can't look you in the eye again and see that hurt and know I caused it. I just can't."

Kurt sighed. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Blaine struggling to hold back groans of pain, because wow now his hands were really starting to hurt and he thought he might have pulled a muscle in his left arm.

"You wanted to talk," Kurt said. "You wanted to explain everything. Right? I'll listen to you. I'll let you talk. Just please, let me clean you up first. You really hurt yourself, Blaine."

Blaine finally brought himself to look up and make eye contact with Kurt and said, "That was the whole point."

And Blaine could see Kurt's heart break all over again and fuck he'd done it again and why can't he ever do anything right?

Before he even knew what was happening, Kurt pulled him into a fierce hug, holding him as if their lives depended on it. It was awkward, because Blaine's knees were still pushed against his chest, and his bloody hands were between them, and this angle just made his lower back hurt, but he was in Kurt's arms again, and none of the other stuff mattered.

"I'm so angry at you. You broke us, Blaine. You broke what we had. You ruined us."

"I know. And I hate myself for it."

Another moment of silence passed before Kurt pulled away and Blaine felt that emptiness he'd been feeling for months come rushing back. Kurt looked him in the eyes, studying him carefully, before he asked, "Why? If you hate yourself so much, and you know it was wrong, why did you do it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was lonely. You were gone. You were busy and I thought you'd moved on with your life and I was just…here. I didn't feel like a person anymore. I didn't even feel like I was really living. I just felt like I was existing. Then this guy messages me, and invites me to his house, and I don't even know what I was thinking, Kurt. I wasn't, really. I just…wanted to feel something. Anything. Even if it was something bad. I just needed to feel alive again."

Kurt's face fell and he was crying and, god, Blaine had fucked up yet again. Why did he have to keep doing that? He just wanted to tell the truth, for once, to the one person he thought might actually listen. But now he'd gone and hurt Kurt all over again and he was crying and they were both just crumpled messes of human beings and how were they ever going to fix this?

"Blaine, how long have you been feeling like this?"

"A while."

"Like, since I left? Or before?"

Blaine just shrugged again, looking down at his bloody knuckles. They really did need to clean him up. "I can't even remember anymore."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were busy. You had New York and Rachel and Vogue and I tried, Kurt, I tried, but you weren't listening. You just weren't listening. No one listens to me anymore. No one listens…" By the end Blaine's just trailing off, mostly talking to himself, and he just feels…nothing. Like he's nothing.

"I think…I think you need help, Blaine. Help that I can't give you."

So that's it then. Kurt was giving up on him again. Blaine had foolishly thought that maybe, since Kurt was here, since he was helping him, that maybe they'd be able to get through this, maybe this was the start. But no. Blaine is unsalvageable. He's past the point of no return. He's broken beyond repair.

"I understand," Blaine said, in the most even and calm voice he could muster. He finally stands and walks away from Kurt, heading towards the showers to wash off the caked on dried blood and sweat and generally dirtiness he'd accumulated. He didn't even have the energy to take off his clothes. He just turned on the faucet, cold, and let the freezing water wash away his mistakes.

"Wait, Blaine." Kurt was standing, following him, coming over to the shower stall. He kept a good distance, careful to stay out of the spray, but was close enough to talk. "Blaine, you don't understand."

"I do, though. I do understand, Kurt. You're done with me. And who wouldn't be after what I did, right? I mean, why did you even come in here in the first place?"

"I heard you sobbing and I came to see what had happened. I thought you might have been hurt, Blaine. And look at you. You are."

"What does that matter to you anymore?"

"Because I still care about you! God, Blaine, you threw my heart out the window and it's still just sitting in the middle of the street getting run over by car after car and waiting for you to come pick it up again!"

Blaine shook his head, his curls flinging water everywhere. "I can't. I don't deserve you anymore. I don't deserve anyone. I deserve this." He raised his hands, opening and closing his fingers to make a fist and release it, feeling the open wounds move and bleed even more. He said again, "I deserve this," whispering it.

Kurt stepped under the shower spray and reached around behind Blaine, turning off the faucet. "Come on." His voice wasn't authoritative or harsh, but instead gentle and quiet. "I'll dry you off and take you home. We need to bandage your hands."

"We don't have any first aid supplies at my house."

"I know. When I said home I meant my dad's house. Carole's got medical supplies stocked up, partly because she's a nurse and partly because she has Finn for a son."

"I can't go back there. I can't go to your house. Your dad hates me. Carole probably hates me. Everyone hates me. I hate me."

"I don't hate you."

"You should."

Kurt didn't respond to that. He just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and dried Blaine off head to toe, stripping him of his wet clothes and replacing them with dry spares from Blaine's gym locker. If Kurt found it awkward to see Blaine naked under these circumstances, he didn't show it. He just went through the motions methodically until Blaine was dry and clean and then led him out of the room.

Rachel was waiting outside the locker room. "What took you so long?" Then she saw Blaine and stopped short. "Is he okay?"

"No. I'm taking him to my house. Do you need a ride home?"

"No, no. That's fine. I'll call one of my dads. They'll come and get me."

"Alright. I'll see you soon."

They kissed each other on the cheek and then Kurt was leading Blaine away again, heading towards the parking lot. No more words were exchanged because what was left to say? Instead, Kurt helped Blaine into his dad's truck that he'd borrowed for the night and gave him an old Hummel Tires and Lube t-shirt from the back. "Wrap your knuckles in this. I don't want to get blood in my dad's car." Blaine did as told.

The drive was short and silent, and when they got to Kurt's house, Burt was the first to greet them. "Hey, Kurt! How was the…" He trailed off, his eyes landing on Blaine. "…show." He finished.

"Dad, Blaine's hurt, I'm taking care of him, and he's sleeping on the couch." There was no question, no ask for permission, no room for argument. There was only an adult informing another adult of what was happening. Kurt had grown up.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He hurt his hands in the locker room on a punching bag. I'm going to raid Carole's medical supplies in your master bathroom. I need you to grab a couple blankets and pillows for Blaine."

Burt eyed Blaine. "Does he not speak anymore?"

Both Burt and Kurt waited for Blaine to speak. Finally, he managed to say, "H-Hello, sir."

A tense moment passed before Burt looked at Kurt and said, "There's a lot more wrong with him than just his hands, kiddo."

"I know. Blankets and pillows, please?"

Burt nodded and walked away, so Kurt led Blaine up the stairs and through the master bedroom to the master bathroom. He sat Blaine down on the edge of the tub and looked under the cabinets to find what he was looking for. Blaine watched him close the cabinets and then kneel beside him.

"Hands, please."

Blaine held out his hands and let Kurt gently wash them with hydrogen peroxide before wrapping them with gauze. It wasn't that his injuries were so bad, it was just that it was easier to wrap them in gauze than to cover each knuckle individually with a band-aid. Kurt patted Blaine's knee and went to return the medical supplies to the cabinet, but Blaine held him back.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need help, and as angry as I am at you, I can't seem to stop loving you. We help the people we love."

"I don't deserve this."

"You do. You deserve someone who will help you and take care of you, Blaine. You made a mistake, you screwed up. You're human. It happens. But that doesn't make you worthless."

"Then why do I feel like I am?"

Kurt placed his hand back on Blaine's knee and squeezed. "Because you're depressed."

Blaine thought about that for a moment. He blinked. "I am?"

"Yes. You are. But I'm going to get you help, okay? I'll talk to Carole and see about finding you a psychiatrist. They can give you medication if they deem it necessary and recommend you a therapist to start having weekly appointments with."

Psychiatrist? Medication? Therapy? Kurt was making him sound like a crazy person. He didn't need all that.

Did he?

Sure, he'd been feeling low and empty and useless and dead, and he hadn't been eating or sleeping, and he hadn't had the energy to gel on weekends, and he'd worn the same cardigan twice in one week, but that didn't mean he was depressed, did it?

"Blaine? Are you okay? I know this is a lot to hear."

"No, it's…it's fine. I'm fine. I don't need any of that. I'll be fine. I should just…I'll go home. I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry."

He stood to leave but Kurt tugged him back down, gently grabbing his face and forcing him to look him in the eye. "You're not going anywhere. You need to be here. You need help, Blaine."

"I don't—."

"You do, kiddo." Kurt and Blaine turned to see Burt standing in the doorway. "Kurt's right. You need help. Carole and I will do what we can once Kurt leaves, but you gotta be willing to meet us halfway, alright? None of this will mean anything unless you're willing to get help."

He wanted to say he didn't need help. No, he wanted to say he didn't deserve help. But he was sitting on the bathtub in the Hudmel Home with Burt and Kurt before him, offering to care for him, and how could he turn that down when it's all he'd wanted all along?

"Alright," he muttered. "I'll get help."

Kurt's shoulders sagged like he was relieved before he rose from the ground, holding a hand out to Blaine to pull him up. "Come on. We can get you help tomorrow. Right now you need to rest."

"I have school. You have your job."

"It's called a mental health day. You should've taken one a long time ago."

Burt moved out of the way to let Kurt and Blaine pass, following them as they went back downstairs and to the living room. Blaine felt Burt watching them as Kurt laid him down on the couch and spread the blankets over him, tucking him in. Blaine closed his eyes and felt immediate relief, sagging against the couch and releasing all of his muscles. His knuckles still throbbed dully and his left arm still didn't feel quite right, but he felt better laying down on the Hudmel couch than he'd felt in a long time.

He heard Burt and Kurt speaking in hushed voices above him.

"I've never seen him like this, Dad, and I've seen him really down. This is different. I don't know what I can do."

"You've done all you can do. We'll worry about getting him professional help tomorrow. Right now let's just let him rest."

"I just don't understand how he got so bad. Why hasn't anyone done anything?"

"They probably haven't noticed. Blaine's the type of kid who won't even show he needs help until it's too late."

"I know. I just wish I would've picked up the phone or answered a text. If I'd have known he was this bad…"

"Don't think that way. He hurt you. You're angry. You have every right to be. This isn't your fault."

"What if I hadn't heard him in the locker room tonight? What if I just kept ignoring him? What if…What if he tried…What if it was like Karofsky?"

"Don't start with the what-ifs, Kurt. He's here now and he's safe. That's what you gotta focus on. Let's just head on to bed."

"Will you take care of him when I'm gone? I can't be here forever. I have to go back to New York. Will you make sure he's okay?"

"I promise. I'll look after him."

The voices fell silent, but there was the sound of clothes rustling, and when Blaine squinted his eyes open, he saw Burt and Kurt hugging. He closed his eyes again and went to sleep, playing a song in his head that he'd heard on some soft rock radio station one day.

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall