We Have Each Other, and That Is Enough

Summary: Kurt is killed in a hate crime, and Blaine doesn't have anything to live for anymore. Future!fic set in NYC. Oneshot. Complete.

Warnings: Major character death, coarse language.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, nor do I own I Will Follow You Into the Dark. They are property of FOX and Death Cab for Cutie, respectively.

A/N: I was listening to I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie a while ago, and that inspired this. I don't even know.

A telephone call can mean so much. It can bring joy, it can bring hope. But it can also bring death, bring despair. When the shrill tones of Blaine's cell phone rang out, unfortunately, the news he received was not of the first kind.

"Hello?" Blaine was tired. He had been sitting on the same stool on the same street corner all day, and he had barely earned any money. Despite the fact that he was starting to get desperate, that he was resorting to flirting and winking shamelessly at the endless trickle of men and women that walked past him every hour, he had practically nothing. But still, there was someone on the other line. Maybe it was Kurt. He really hoped it was Kurt.

Shaking the lethargy that was beginning to settle over him, Blaine voiced the greeting again. "Hello? Kurt? Is that you, Kurt?"

"Mr. Anderson?" That wasn't Kurt's voice. Kurt's voice was like a choir of angels, like the twittering of birds, like the light, tinkling laughter of children on a beautiful spring day. This man's voice was deep and gravelly. His voice sounded like a lifetime in one breath. This was not Kurt's voice. This was not Kurt.

"Yes, this is he." Blaine reprimanded himself for his sharp tones. He tried again. "I'm Blaine Anderson. May I ask who is calling?" He said this in a cooler, calmer voice. He hoped everything was okay, even though the pit of his stomach was beginning to tell him otherwise.

"Mr. Anderson, this is Officer Stuart, from the NYPD. We need you to come down to the station immediately. This is of the utmost importance. Mr. Anderson… Your… Partner- Kurt Hummel? – he's been the subject of an attack. A hate crime. He… We need you to come down immediately."

Blaine's heart had stopped. This wasn't happening. Surely, he must be joking, right? Kurt couldn't… No, he took cabs, he stuck to the good streets, he didn't go down alleys, and he knew what parts of the city to stay away from. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. It mustn't be happening.

"Oh, officer, surely you must be mistaken." He laughed. "That couldn't happen to Kurt! It couldn't! It just couldn't. Now, you must have the wrong number, or the wrong person, or something, because this isn't real. I don't know, maybe you're some sick homophobe who thinks this is funny. Kurt will walk through the door any minute now." Blaine checked his watch. It was getting late… No. Kurt was coming home, and that was that. There were no second thoughts involved. Kurt was coming home.

"Mr. Anderson this is serious. He's in critical condition and being moved to the hospital now. We need you to come down to the station, now. This is no joke, Mr. Anderson. Your partner was attacked." The officer – Blaine couldn't remember his name anymore, it wasn't important – wasn't kidding around. This was real. This was real, and it was happening to Blaine.

"Fuck. I'll be there. I'll… FUCK!" Blaine stabbed at the end button until his thumb hurt, shoved his wallet and his phone into his pocket, and sprinted out the door of his and Kurt's tiny apartment.

"Was a good man…"

"Had so much potential…"

"People are sick…"

Words like this and more surrounded Blaine, enveloped him, crushed him. He wasn't listening anymore. It didn't matter. None of it mattered now. Kurt was gone. He was dead. Some sick bastards had jumped him on his way home. They had dragged him screaming into an alleyway, vomiting and kicking as hard as he could. They beat him within an inch of his life, then beat him just a little bit more. Then they raped him. At least, that's what the doctor had said. That's what everyone else had told him.

But the worst part was nobody had made a move to stop them. There were thousands of people in New York, millions, but not one had stopped. They had to have heard the screams. They had to. But no one lifted a finger. Kurt never had a chance.

He flinched away from the kind words and gentle touches that were offered to him. He didn't want them. He just wanted Kurt. Nothing and no one else. But that wasn't going to happen, it couldn't happen. Not anymore. Kurt was gone. Kurt was gone forever.

Blaine made his way back to the apartment in a stupor. He didn't truly see anything. He could only see Kurt. There was a bench over there that looked like the one he and Kurt had held hands on. There was a cup by his feet like the ones at Kurt's favorite restaurant. He would have dug for the change in his wallet for the woman huddled in rags not three feet away.

Kurt was everywhere, everywhere, but with Blaine.

When Blaine finally made it up the six flights of stairs necessary to reach their apartment, shoved the key into the lock, and kicked open the door, he broke down. He stumbled, fell onto the floor, and then stayed there. There was no reason for him to get up anymore. He lay there for hours, screaming and sobbing and crying. He lay there until the ends of his hair were soaked, his face was bloated, and he couldn't see.

Eventually though, he sat up. He made a decision. Kurt wasn't there, so why should he be? He didn't deserve to live. Nobody but Kurt did. Kurt was the only thing that had ever mattered, the only thing that would ever matter.

He hauled himself to his feet, his entire body shaking with the reality of the momentous choice he had just made. But he wasn't going to change his mind. No, this was the correct choice. The only choice, really. He walked over to the desk they both used to find paper and a pen that actually worked.

He scribbled out only a few words:

I'm sorry, but I just can't live, not like this, not without Kurt.

He was the only thing that I truly lived for. He was the only person that ever treated me like I was enough.

I loved him more than anything, and now that he's gone, there's just nothing left for me.

Mom, Dad, Burt, Carole, Finn. I love you all too. You're my family, all of you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I have to do this, but I do. I have to.

And Kurt… I love you. I love you so much. You left me, but I don't blame you for that. It wasn't your fault. But now, I have to be with you. I know you didn't believe in an afterlife or anything, and I really don't either, but if anyone deserved it, it was you. I hope I can see you again soon. I love you.

His normally perfect, almost flowery handwriting was nearly illegible from the shaking of his hands. But you could read it if you really wanted to, so he left it like it was.

He made his way to the bathroom, and pulled out all the bottles of pills he could find. It didn't matter what they were. If he took them all, they would do the job no matter what their original function was. He dumped them all onto his side of the bed and then went to the kitchen to fill up their biggest glass with water. He would need all of it.

Finally, finally, he made his way back to the bed. He sat on the edge, and took a few slow, deep breaths to calm himself. He pinned the note to the bedspread so they could find it when they found his body.

Blaine took the tops off all the bottles easily. His hands weren't shaking anymore. He poured out the first handful of pills into his hand, transferred them to his mouth, and took a swig of water to wash them all down. He did this over and over again until every single bottle was empty, and an eerie calm had washed over him.

He swept all the bottles off the bed, not flinching at the clatter they made on the floor. It didn't matter, because soon, he would be with Kurt again. They would be together, and nothing could tear them apart this time.

He started to curl up on Kurt's side of the bed, but then remembered something. The ring. The nurses at the hospital had given him a ring they found in Kurt's pocket, in a little blue velvet box. It was an engagement ring. Kurt was going to propose to him. Maybe even that night.

He pulled the box from his pocket, not having to look in the bedside table for it. He had carried it with him ever since that night. Engraved on the inside of the ring were intricate, flowy cursive letters. It took him a moment, but Blaine made out the words for the last time.

'We have each other, and that is enough.'

He smiled faintly at the last thing Kurt would ever tell him in the physical world.

Then, pretending Kurt was really there, he slid the ring onto his left hand, and said "I do." Maybe he was crazy, or maybe it was the overdose, but he swore he could imagine Kurt's delicate laughter in the air, his smooth hand caressing the ever-present stubble on Blaine's cheeks, and his soft lips pressed on his own.

Deciding it was time, he lay down on Kurt's side of the bed and buried his face in his pillow, breathing in the cologne that smelt simply of Kurt. And that was how he lay, completely still, until his muscles relaxed and the smile became the last expression his body would ever have.

Blaine was with Kurt again, and that was enough.