i'll hold your hand when you are feeling mad at me
yeah, when the monsters they won't go, and your windows don't close
i'll pretend to see what you see
"how long?" i say, how long will you relive the things that are gone?
oh yeah, the devil's on your back but i know you can shake him off

i'll help you see it through
'cause i just really want to be with you

waste; foster the people

.

.

Kurt has been scared many times in his life.

When he was a toddler, he was terrified of thunderstorms. As soon as the rain got heavy, he'd feel uneasy, running to his mother just in time for the lighting to crack and the thunder to roll across the wet earth. He'd curl up next to her, her thin arms wrapped around him as they waited for the storm to pass. Most of the time they'd pop in a Disney classic, and Kurt would fall sleep before the thunder ever stopped.

At age eight, he was afraid of losing his mother. He'd visit her in the hospital, and she'd hold his hand with her frail, slacking grip, promising him that she'd be okay. That they'd get through this and they would get to be a family again. He'd be okay for awhile, but many times late at night he'd find himself crawling into his father's bed and clutching to him tightly while he cried, wishing his mother was there next to them.

At sixteen, he'd been frightened for his own life. Racing through the school hallways and dodging red and white letterman jackets, he'd do all he could to avoid the fists and feet and slushies heading for his direction.

But nothing compares to the fear Kurt feels when Blaine is going through one of his hallucinations.

.

.

Blaine's eyes glaze over, and he stares, horrified of something that isn't there.

His breath comes in sharp gasps, and he whimpers, sometimes shouting out.

"No – please!"

"Stop – oh god – stop, please!"

"Fuck – ouch. Please, I can't – I – "

He clutches tightly to Kurt's hand, holding onto the only piece of reality he can.

Kurt rubs his back until he comes back to their apartment, breathing hard and shaking with sobs. He wraps his arms around Blaine, giving him a sense of security as the flashback fades.

"Shh, sweetheart. You're with me now. It's okay. No one else is here."

.

.

Living with Blaine's disease is difficult.

It's a struggle to get through the day.

One moment, Blaine will be feeling completely normal, happy almost. He'll be getting on just like anyone else – cleaning, cooking, reading, relaxing – just living an average day, and then one word will trigger a full thought, moving onto a memory, and before either of them knows what's happening, Blaine sees that night all over again.

He can feel the pain slashing across his arms, tearing at his chest and abdomen, banging through his skull. He can hear their voices, feel their hands on him, and he reaches out, feeling for that warm hand that's always there, reminding him that it's only a flashback – he isn't there. He's with Kurt back in their apartment.

And then it's over.

And Blaine clutches to Kurt for dear life, taking deep breaths as he adjusts back into reality.

It's not only the flashbacks, however.

Because Blaine's already living depression, this disorder strengthens it, and he's now taking double the antidepressants.

Some days he just goes completely numb, no will to do anything, and those days hurt worse than anything – for the both of them. Blaine simply lies there, not knowing what to do while horrible thoughts keep him occupied, and Kurt paces around, waiting for it to pass.

Sometimes Blaine really works himself up, completely drives himself insane. He'll start feeling dizzy, his stomach twisting into knots, and then it moves onto full-blown nausea and migraines. He'll rush to bathroom, vomiting into the toilet.

With Blaine's disease, it's different every day – they just never know. Anything can happen, but they try and they're always prepared for anything, especially the worst.

.

.

And though it all seems so hard, they've actually come a long way.

.

.

And honestly, the beginning is probably the worst.

.

.

It's a dark night, and Kurt Hummel speeds through the water-filled streets of New York, holding in sobs and blinking past tears as he makes his way to the hospital. His hands tremble on the steering wheel, and he's lucky his legs are steady enough for him to press the gas and pedals. He parks haphazardly in a handicap space, not really caring if he gets a parking ticket – right now he just needs to reach his boyfriend, to know he's okay.

He sprints into the building, skidding to halt in front of the receptionist.

"I'm looking for Blaine Anderson," he chokes out, water dripping down his face from his hair and disguising his tears.

"Down the hall and to the left. Room 215."

"Thanks," Kurt calls over his shoulder as he races down the hallway, careful not to slip. He slows down outside 215, taking deep, slow breaths. The door is closed, and he's so afraid of what he'll see on the other side.

He knocks softly, half-hoping he's not allowed to see Blaine just yet, and burning with desperation to be with him and kiss him gently and know that he's going to be okay. A heated battle rises with in him for just a second, raging through his chest as the door swings open.

A nurse stands there, offering Kurt a cheery smile.

He can't find it in himself to return it. "H – hi," he says softly. "I – I'm Blaine's boyfriend, and I was wondering if – "

"Come right in, sweetheart," the nurse says softly, stepping back and allowing him forward. "He's asleep right now," she continues. "He's got some heavy painkillers in his system so he's going to be out for awhile."

"How – how is he?" Kurt asks.

"He'll be fine," the nurse assures, and but that doesn't include a time.

That could mean hours, days, years – what's it going to be?

They'll find out later that it's much longer than they would like it to be.

Kurt nods awkwardly, and then steps forward, his heart racing and then dropping to his feet as he finally gets a look at Blaine. His mouth falls open and he stops breathing for a moment.

Blaine looks like absolute hell.

One eye is black, completely swollen shut. A cut grazes his forehead, deep and angry red. His arm is encased in a sling, his leg in a cast. Smaller bandages are everywhere, as are cuts, scratches, and bruises. Kurt's heart shatters, and a small sob escapes his lips as he lurches forward.

He reaches out carefully, sliding his fingers underneath Blaine's good hand and gripping it tightly. He presses his lips together, the tears falling thick and fast down his cheeks.

"Blaine," he breathes. "Oh, god – I – Blaine, I'm so sorry."

He gives a shudder, a sob escaping past his lips.

"I don't – I can't believe this has happened. And I – I wish I had been with you. I wish I could've protected you. I hate myself so much right now, and I – just. I want you to be okay. I – I know you will, but I just wish that was right now. I'll be right here, I promise. As soon as you wake up, I'll be right here waiting to tell you how much I love, and I do – "

He takes a deep breath, hiccoughing, and wipes his eyes on the back of his other hand, sniffling.

"I love you so, so much."

.

.

Blaine goes home with him just a week later, his leg still shoved into a cast – but one that he can walk in – and his shoulder is still sore, his eye still bruised. Kurt helps him limp to the car, his arm wrapped carefully around Blaine's waste, not wanting to hurt him in any way.

It's scary – seeing just how frail Blaine really is.

How he walks with such jagged movement. How he looks with a light so much darker in his eyes. How wrinkles seem to have formed in his skin overnight. How his skin seems to have lightened significantly, and how he hasn't smiled once – only kept himself from truly frowning.

Kurt reaches down, entwining their fingers and offers him a smile.

Blaine looks startled for a moment, but meets his eyes, and then forces a shaky grin.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks

Blaine takes a breath, as if he's been holding it in and then nods, choking out, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Kurt keeps it to himself, but he doesn't believe that at all.

.

.

Over the next few weeks, things start to change drastically.

.

.

Kurt wakes suddenly, but unsure why.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he can feel the lack of warmth beside him. He reaches out, feeling the empty space next to him. He rises immediately, his heart jumping to his throat.

"Blaine?" he calls softly, tripping out into the hallway. "Blaine, where are you?"

He finds him sitting in the living room, face buried in his hands.

"Blaine?" he asks cautiously.

Blaine jerks upward, startled, and then breathes a sigh. "Oh," he says, voice thick. "It's just you."

"Yeah," Kurt replies slowly. "Who else would it be?"

Blaine doesn't answer, but tries to discreetly wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Kurt sits down next to him, moving his hand up to brush a few curls from Blaine's face, careful not to touch his blackened eye.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asks softly.

It's so obvious something inside of Blaine is fighting, raging, warring. His limbs are shaking, and he's having so much trouble simply speaking. His eyes look out of focus, his eyebrows creased together. "I couldn't sleep," he says at last, his voice is laced with underlying fear, and tears spill over his eyelids.

Kurt reaches out, laying a hand on his boyfriend's knee. Blaine gives a slight twitch and Kurt tenses up. Slowly, Blaine relaxes and moves closer; Kurt mentally shakes it off and smoothes his hand over his Blaine's back, gripping his waist and pulling him into a hug.

Blaine hasn't been able to talk about the attack; in fact, he's done all he can to avoid talking about, or really reminding himself of it in general. Kurt supposes it's finally getting to him.

This is going to be difficult – incredibly so. For both of them – Blaine reliving his experience, and Kurt finally hearing about it, trying to imagine it. Kurt knows it's going to break both of them. This is such a sensitive and traumatic thing, and he's so scared of all the lasting effects, but they'll get through it. They will. Because they have each other.

Kurt waits – he waits for Blaine to say something, to tell him about the attack and how he feels and what they did to him, but Blaine never speaks. He keeps his lips tightly sealed, his eyes too – and he just breathes, trying not to sob.

He's not ready.

Kurt holds his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Blaine still says nothing.

.

.

This happens three nights in a row.

Blaine leaves the bedroom, unable to sleep and Kurt wakes up just as soon as he's gone, following into the living room. They sit together and Blaine cries silently, trying to rid his mind of thoughts about the attack. Kurt holds him, waiting until he's finished.

He knows that what Blaine really needs is to talk – to get it out, but he doesn't want to push him.

And truthfully, he can't find the strength and courage to listen.

.

.

And it's only fitting that things should seem to get worse.

.

.

Blaine goes back to work fairly quickly, sitting behind the cash register in a cozy bookstore, and it's really a bad idea. Dealing with customers is usually easy enough, but he finds himself getting restless and antsy, almost frightened. He's on edge, constantly checking behind him, and he holds his breath every time someone new walks through the door, thinking it's going to be one of his attackers.

His hands shake and he finds his breathing to be abnormal and he gives himself a shake, trying to focus on his work, and when he's not busy - flipping through pages of new books, looking for a good story.

It's a gloomy day today, rain coming down in sheets, and Blaine sits comfortably, a sweater drowning him in warm fabric and a cup of tea on the counter in front of him. A book rests just next to it, and Blaine's hand is curved around the cover as he reads, escaping the pain of reality and avoiding certain thoughts.

He sinks into the quiet, breathing easier and feeling safe.

And it all shatters when the bell to the shop open. He jumps violently, almost toppling over. His quickened heartbeat begins to slow as he sees Kurt walking towards him.

"Hi?" Kurt says brightly, and then his eyebrows crease together as he throws a paper bag down on the counter. "Did I scare you?"

"A little bit," Blaine admits, and that's a total lie. "What's in the bag?"

"I brought you lunch – but since it's three in the afternoon, I suppose it's more like dinner," Kurt replies. He leans over the counter, kissing Blaine lightly on the lips.

"Thanks," Blaine says quietly, reaching out to grab the bag. "I'm off the o'clock in about fifteen minutes, and . . well, I know we were planning to go to the park, but that doesn't look like it's going to happen."

"Nonsense," Kurt replies. "We can still go. We'll just hide under a pavilion and snuggle to keep warm." He offers Blaine a smirk that Blaine doesn't quite return – his expression almost flat.

"You okay?" Kurt asks carefully.

And Blaine simply looks at him for a moment, almost confused. "Uh – yeah," he says quickly. "I'm great."

"Are you sure?" Kurt asks. "You know we don't have to do anything if you aren't feeling well. We can just go home."

"I'm feeling fine," Blaine says, but his voice is slightly higher-pitched and he's not meeting Kurt's eyes and Kurt knows that he's lying.

"No, you're not," Kurt presses, and takes Blaine's hand carefully in his own. "Honey, I know it's hard. We weren't prepared for anything like that to happen here, and you're bottling everything up. That's not the way to do it." He sighs. "I know I've been scared – been scared to hear you talk about it, to see the way you looked when you did. I didn't want to see you upset like that, but I think you need to let it out. And I – "

Blaine struggles from his grip, yanking his hand back.

"Kurt, I said I'm fine," he says sharply, and his voice rises to a shout. "And you know what – you don't know what's good for me! Were you the one assaulted? I didn't think so. So don't act like you know what I'm feeling."

Kurt just stands there, his hand still outstretched in front of him. He feels his lips tremble and a lump rising in his throat. He blinks rapidly a moment and swallows hard, trying to breathe around the sudden pain in his chest. He feels like he's just been punched in the gut.

All he wants is to help Blaine – to be there while he goes through this and to guide him along. He just wants Blaine to feel better, to be himself again, because let's face it – he's not.

He's not happy, first of all. He doesn't sing around the house anymore, he doesn't waltz into the kitchen when Kurt's cooking dinner and give him a sweeping kiss on the cheek, he doesn't smile. He hides away in their bedroom, or in the living room, doing anything to distract himself.

It's not healthy, and Kurt's really starting to worry.

"Umm – I – just let me finish the last of today's inventory," Blaine says awkwardly, backing away. "I'll meet you in the car."

With a jerky nod, Kurt turns and leaves, trying not to break down.

.

.

Blaine sits, curled up in the arm chair, the tv playing in front of him and paperwork resting on his lap. He's not paying attention to either, but staring straight ahead with his cheek resting in the palm of his hand. His eyelids droop, worry lines dip into his forehead, and his mouth is turned down.

Kurt is no stranger to the symptoms of depression – Blaine's been struggling with it the whole time they've been together, but this is different. Blaine's been taking his medication – he always does. But this isn't Blaine's usually overbearing sadness that he tries to hide. This isn't him exhausted and tired, lost of all interest in anything.

Kurt's only seen this level a few times when Blaine's waiting on his prescription and hasn't taken anything in days.

This is Blaine drowning in numbness, his wrists itching for razors. This is Blaine completely worn out with no energy to continue and no desire to live. This is Blaine thinking way too much so that his mind wanders off to the escape of death. This is Blaine sending Kurt into panic mode, but of course Kurt can't panic because it only makes things worse, so he steps back and prays and hopes and wishes.

And Kurt showers him with reminders – a-little-bit-longer kisses, and more-often "I love you"s, and tight hugs that seem to melt them together.

Kurt thinks this is probably a side effect of the attack, and though inside he's screaming for Blaine to talk and let all his emotions out, he's not going to try and press him into it again. It's obvious things are growing steadily worse, but Kurt really just doesn't know what to do.

Blaine's right – Kurt wasn't the one assaulted – Blaine was, and Kurt has no right to make him do anything that involves that memory. It's not Kurt's job to heal him – only Blaine knows the best way to do that, and Kurt pushing him only makes things worse.

So he shuts his mouth and he keeps his opinions to himself and watches Blaine carefully from a distance, his heart breaking more with each passing moment.

.

.

It doesn't lighten up; Kurt just knows how to work around it.

.

.

They begin growing apart, and though it kills him, Kurt won't do anything about it.

He can't confront Blaine because he doesn't want to push him over the edge.

And he's just counting on the whole thing to blow over. He's hoping on the fact that eventually Blaine will face everything – he'll confront it, and he'll let out all that he's holding in.

But he never does.

.

.

Blaine sits in the kitchen, swirling around the food on his plate, but never eating. Kurt's noticed the behavior increasing a dangerous amount.

Kurt's getting ready to leave for the day, hustling around the house to get his things together, but with how much strain there is now in the household, he feels himself falling apart and slipping away, finding it hard to concentrate and focus on the easy things; he's too preoccupied with Blaine.

At last he's ready to leave and he stops in the kitchen, pecking Blaine carefully on the cheek.

"It's a short day, today," Kurt reminds him. "I'll be home a little earlier, so I'll have dinner ready on the table when you get home from the bookstore."

"But wait – don't we need to get groceries?" Blaine asks. "I can stop after work if you need me too."

Kurt stops in his tracks, creasing his eyebrows together. His heart thumps wildly in his chest. "Blaine, we went grocery shopping the other night," he says, trying to calm the shake in his voice. "I met you right after work and . . " he trails off.

"We did?" Blaine asks, and Kurt's ready to break down as he realizes Blaine's serious.

"You don't remember?" Kurt asks, and he feels like he's going to throw up when Blaine doesn't answer. "Oh god, you don't," he breathes. "You – you don't remember. Fuck." Tears start falling fast, and he's reaching for his phone, preparing to call into work.

This is it.

Things have gone too far, and Kurt can't ignore it anymore.

Something is very wrong. And it's not just that Blaine can't get over the attack. It's not just his depression kicking in harder because of the event. This is something dangerous and so very different. This is something else taking over Blaine's mind, and Kurt can't let it eat any further.

"Kurt – what's wrong?" Blaine asks, and he's jumping from his seat. "What are you doing? Stop – Kurt."

He freezes, his phone held loosely in his hand and he shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"What's wrong?" he asks incredulously. "What's wrong? Blaine – you - you're not yourself anymore," he says. "You – you lash out at me, and you're not happy, and I don't – I don't know what to do. Ever since the attack, you've just been so distant and – Blaine!"

Blaine sinks to the floor, his hands reaching for his chest, trembling against his shirt. His breath comes in gasps, and he fights to get the words out. "I – I – fuck, I can't –"

Kurt falls down onto his knees, reaching out to try and see what's wrong. "Blaine, what is it?" he asks between sobs.

"Hurts," he mutters through clenched teeth. "The pain – I can't bear – oh, god. No – leave me alone," he moans. "No, go away – I can't – I – " and he screams until he lets out a shuddering breath, going limp in Kurt's arms.

"Blaine!" Kurt shouts, panicked.

He looks up slowly, his eyelids heavy. "Kurt," he moans. "Oh, god – it's you. They – they had me and – didn't think I'd get away."

"They?" Kurt asks, but Blaine's too tired, too far gone to reply.

It takes Kurt a moment to realize Blaine's just literally relived his attack.

.

.

Kurt paces around in the waiting room, and really it's ironic how he was in this hospital only a few weeks prior. But then he was filled with hope, because yes, Blaine was bad, but he would heal. His bruises and his broken bones would heal, and Kurt never imagined just how broken he would be emotionally mentally, and now he's kicking himself for that.

He breathes shaky inhales and trembling exhales, the lump in his throat never leaving though he swallows hard many, many times. He has one arm wrapped tightly around his torso, the other curving up so that his lips rest against his mouth, keeping in his sobs.

He just wants to know what's wrong, and if Blaine's going to be okay, and what he's going to have to do to get his boyfriend back.

He's really prepared to do anything.

.

.

"Post-traumatic Stress Disorder," the doctor says, and Kurt nods, not really sure what to say. "It's not a mystery why this occurred. With physical assault and a medical history of depression – a good risk of the disorder developing."

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest, huffing. "So what do we have to do?"

"Well," the doctor starts. "We'll put him on medication, and I highly recommend at least some form of therapy. These symptoms are hard to take care of and handle – especially the flashbacks and hallucinations. He needs somewhere there to remind him it's not real – someone who's willing to fight through the front he'll put up."

Kurt nods again. "I – I'm ready to do that."

"Are you?"

That catches Kurt off guard – because the truth is no, he's not ready. He hasn't been ready, otherwise he would've realized something was wrong sooner. He doesn't want to remember the attack anymore than Blaine does. But it looks like he's going to have to, because in order for Blaine to heal, they'll have to relive it every day – maybe more than once. Kurt's going to have to pull the information from him, get him to talk about it, open up. Kurt's going to have to be there to hold his hand while he flashes back, believing it's that dark night again.

It's going to be so, so difficult, but Kurt's not going down without a fight. They may not be married yet, but in sickness and in health, he'll be there – and he's going to do this – they'll make it through, he knows. He has faith in their relationship, and as long as he doesn't give up, there's no reason Blaine shouldn't recover.

"I am," he decides, swallowing hard. "I'm ready to do this."

.

.

Blaine stays at the hospital for just one night.

They say he needs some space – the flashback shook him up and he needs room to breathe, to adjust back to reality and deal with the first steps of his disease.

Kurt's not allowed to stay, and he begrudgingly leaves, driving home in the empty silence by himself, shaking his head and wondering what on earth either of them did to deserve this. Hasn't Blaine gone through enough in his life without developing another mental disorder on top of it?

Kurt holds it together until he gets back to the apartment. There, he drops to the floor, his keys falling from his hand and he screams.

He screams because he's so frustrated. He screams because he wants Blaine to be better now. He screams because this isn't fair. And he screams because he's incredibly afraid.

The piercing yell tears at his throat, but he keeps it going as long as he can – until he's out of air, and then he just lies there, curled in a ball, and bawls. Letting out all his pent-up emotions, insecurities, and fears of the future.

.

.

When Blaine comes back home the next day, it really hits Kurt how much he's changed.

He walks slowly, with a glazed look in his eyes and a tired expression on his face. He really shows no desire to even live, and it terrifies Kurt.

It's going to be easier now, though – Kurt wants to believe.

Because now Blaine's aware of his illness, and just like Kurt, he's going to do his best to cooperate and heal himself. He's going to control his anger and listen to what Kurt has to say because now it really is Kurt's job to take care of him. Blaine now knows that he can't do it on his own and he has to depend on Kurt.

"We're going to get through this," Kurt says softly. He gives Blaine a sad smile and kisses his ear gently. "I'm not giving up on you. I'll be here as long as you need me."

"Thank you," Blaine says, and just like that, the first of his walls falls down.

.

.

They sit on their bed, and Kurt holds Blaine's hands gently in his.

"You're with me," he says carefully. "You're right here with me, Blaine. In our apartment, in the safety of our room – remember that."

Blaine nods, taking a deep breath, and his eyes flutter closed as he tries not to let the oncoming trigger take him into a flashback.

"Keep your eyes open," Kurt instructs. "Losing your surroundings will only help you slip into a flashback. Look at me," he says. "Right at me. Remember that I'm right here." He gives Blaine's hands a small shake, rubbing his thumb over the backs of them.

"Now," Kurt starts. "Tell me – tell me where you were when you first heard the men approaching."

Blaine takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes locked on Kurt's. "I – I was walking to the car," he says shakily. "It was after a long day at the bookstore, and I – I was about to come home to you." He pauses, exhaling heavily.

"It's okay," Kurt assures. "Continue when you're ready."

"I rounded the corner," Blaine says, and he swallows hard. "And they – they – th – "

He hunches over, gasping sharply and pulling his hands from Kurt's wrapping them around his torso. He gives a shudder, grunting and breathing fast as the flashback washes over him. Kurt's waiting for him as soon as it's over and he throws himself into his boyfriend's arms, starting to sob.

"Shh, it's okay," Kurt says, fighting back his own tears. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're right here with me. I've got you."

Blaine tries to stop crying, but he can't.

This is going to be so much harder than either of them hoped it would be.

.

.

Blaine begins taking his medication a week after his diagnosis, and it does help.

Kurt's a little worried about the fact that he's taking two antidepressants now, fearing that the combination won't do any good, but Blaine does in fact, improve. The depression-like symptoms disappear.

But he's still left with the anxiety, the hallucinations, the memory issues – just about everything else.

.

.

The thing that really shakes Kurt is the memory loss.

He's getting used to the flashbacks, though they still terrify him the most and make him feel absolutely helpless – they happen at least once a day, usually more. Triggers are all over the place, and Blaine has trouble avoiding or stopping them.

And anxiety – that's a given. But still, it breaks Kurt's heart when he walks into the room, or plants a kiss on Blaine's cheek or reaches out to hold Blaine's hand to only have him flinch away. Kurt knows he's not trying to react this way – that he's stuck thinking it's the beginning of another attack, but it still hurts.

Blaine's memory loss doesn't show as often as the other symptoms, but Kurt will catch him mentioning something that makes absolutely no sense, and his stomach will churn, his heart racing in his chest.

Blaine will talk about going to work the next day, only to realize he's off – he worked his last day for the week today. Kurt will remind him gently, and Blaine will nod, thanking him.

Blaine will tell Kurt about something – a story of his days' experience, only to have Kurt tell him that he's already talked about it twice. He'll crease his eyebrows together and give his head a shake, but Kurt will force a laugh and run a hand through Blaine's curls, telling him that it's okay.

Blaine hates it, he really does.

It's like Alzheimer's – but thankfully to a much lesser extent. He only has trouble remembering stuff that has a connection to the attack. He was coming home from work when he was attacked, so therefore anything that happens there goes blurry pretty fast.

But Kurt's always there, there to remind of what he's got wrong, there to assure him that it's going to be okay, that eventually when he can deal with things properly, his memory won't be so patchy and broken.

And most of the time, Kurt's saying these things to remind himself just as much as Blaine.

.

.

Another thing that plagues Blaine is nausea. Part of his increased arousal symptoms, he often feels sick, his stomach churning as soon as the smallest thing triggers him.

After a nightmare in which he relives the night yet again, he races to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He reaches the toilet, gripping to the sides as he vomits into it.

When he's done, Kurt's waiting for him with a bottle of ginger ale and an ibuprofen.

He gives a weak word of thanks and joins his husband in bed.

.

.

Psychotherapy is the hardest part of Blaine's treatment.

Getting him to talk and relive and experience his attack all over again is the most difficult – it sets him up for flashbacks and a whole tidal wave of his other symptoms, but he needs to do this. Continuing to avoid the situation only makes it worse.

Soon they develop a system.

Because simply being there in Kurt's presence, feeling him there doesn't seem to be working, they develop a way to counter the flashbacks, to pull Blaine back to reality. And it not only helps during psychotherapy, but whenever Blaine is triggered, whether he's at home or they're out and about. And it really helps the situation of when Blaine has to be alone and is without Kurt. He goes through the system, calming himself and coming back to reality.

They develop a safe haven for Blaine – when he's slipping into that night, the attackers coming to assault him, he thinks of Kurt of being with him, and slowly the vision shifts. The night moves to another street and Kurt's next to him, reaching out to hold his hand. The flashback fades and Blaine opens his eyes, back in the bookstore.

.

.

They're sitting together, wrapped into one another on the couch as they watch a movie. Blaine's getting tired and he rests his head against Kurt's shoulder, his arm draped over Kurt's stomach.

The scene of the movie changes, and a new character pops up.

Immediately, fear and adrenaline course through Blaine and he's shooting upward, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Blaine," Kurt says sharply, and he quickly fumbles for the remote, shutting the movie off before he grips Blaine's arms, trying to pulling them from his face and grab his hand. "Blaine, I'm right here. You're not on that street right now. Someplace only we know, remember?" He takes a shuddering breath

Blaine shakes his head, trying to push the flashback away.

"We're walking through Central Park," Kurt says quickly. "It's you and me – I'm holding you close. It's cold – winter, and we've just finished a movie. The city is full of lights and it's beautiful out."

Blaine breathes slower, lowering his hands and sitting up straighter.

He opens his eyes at last, panting.

"You're okay," Kurt says, and he throws his arms around Blaine's neck. "You're okay. You're with me. Right here – it's okay."

"I'm okay," Blaine repeats, and for the first time, he actually believes it.

He's here with Kurt, and he's okay.

No one's going to attack him – he can breathe easy and live his life now.

He's okay.

He's back with Kurt.

.

.

Time goes on, and Blaine's disorder still haunts him, but he knows it'll be okay because he'll always find Kurt in the end.

A/N: I'm really nervous about posting this. I just hope I did the illness justice. I did my research, of course, but you know . . if you do spot anything wrong, please tell me.