Trigger warning for a suicide attempt. That's basically what this entire fic is based around, so if that's upsetting or triggering to you, please don't read on.

Sorry I'm posting so much, I just have a lot written and it seems like people were at least somewhat enjoying my weird, ramble-y little fics. This is not a part of When Everything Was Falling Apart, though yes that is still in the works. :)

Enjoy the Blangst!

When Blaine calls him, Cooper is already two shots and one beer into what he's hoping will be a relaxing, well-deserved night off from college.

Cooper sets his beer down on the counter and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, blinking thickly through the pleasant buzz clinging to the insides of his skull. The phone jingles brightly in his hand a second time, Blaine's picture grinning up at him, too bright and obscenely LED in the dim red light of the bar.

Cooper talks off his friend Marcus, who is entirely too drunk for his own good, and hurries outside through the back door, emerging into the blissful cool of the night air.

"Blaine?" Cooper says, pressing the phone to his ear and steadying himself on the ragged brick wall behind him.

"Coop," Blaine replies, and Cooper's gut instantly and inexplicably clenches. Blaine's voice is different in a chilling way, no longer bright and cheerful even in the face of a tire iron to the ribs. It's slow and sleepy, drags through the syllables of Cooper's name, and Cooper knows that something is wrong.

"It was hurting really bad, Coop," Blaine says, voice rising and falling breathily, and Cooper's fist clenches against the bricks and he fights to stay calm, to just clear his head and breathe.

"Blaine, where's Mom? Is she home?" Even thought Cooper had been out of the house for three years now, he knew that there was no way his father would be home; Mr. Anderson was well-known for loving his paperwork and tax files more than he loved his family.

"She's out with her friends," Blaine says slowly, and Cooper closes his eyes. Why the fuck would his mother leave Blaine alone? Blaine, who had come out at thirteen, terrified and seeking acceptance, finding only the slam of his father's knuckles on his face. Blaine, who had been beaten nearly to death in a parking lot for taking another boy to a school dance, kicked and broken by a group of drunk, 16-year-old jocks. Blaine, who was cheerful and optimistic throughout his two month recovery, who calmly and quietly accepted that his best friend had moved out of state without saying goodbye, but who Cooper had found on the bathroom floor when he came to visit three weeks ago. Blaine, who had been holding his ribs and crying so hard he couldn't even breathe, screaming at Cooper to make it stop, make it all go away.

"I took a lot of pills, Coop…" Blaine says vaguely, and oh fuck, Blaine, no.

"They're all gone, Coop." Blaine says, and Cooper's already running, slamming through the bar's back door, shoving past his hollering friends, back out into the snap of the night air.

"Blaine, Blaine you've gotta talk to me," Cooper pants, skidding to a halt next to his car and fumbling in his pocket for his keys. They're caught on the tight denim of his jeans and he swears violently, nearly snapping the keychain in half as he rips it unceremoniously from his pocket. "Blaine! Blaine, are you there?"

"I really didn't mean to," Blaine whispers, and Cooper's throat sucks closed, and fuck, why won't this fucking car start?

"I didn't mean to, Coop, but it hurt so bad." Blaine's voice chokes and Cooper peels out of the parking lot, taking the turn entirely too close to the curb.

"I know, Blaine, it's okay," Cooper tries to soothe Blaine, even though his own heart is racing faster than his tires and he wants to just fucking scream. "Blaine, I need you to throw up, okay?" he says urgently, biting back a snarl of frustration as the light ahead of him blinks red and he has to slam on his brakes.

"Why?" Blaine asks, and his voice is even fainter now, more dreamy, like he's already got one foot in the dark. "No… I don't want it to hurt again…"

"It's fucking phantom pains, Blaine, shove your fingers down your throat and throw up, now!" Cooper explodes, pressing the gas pedal down to the floor and gripping the wheel with one sweaty hand. Horn blasts bounce off his car from every direction and Cooper knows he's buzzed and his car is swerving all over the road, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters, not when his baby brother is sitting all alone in their huge house with a belly full of once-a-day pain meds. All that matters is getting to Blaine, and yanking him back out of the drain he's slowly circling.

"I'm too tired, Coop," Blaine whimpers, and Cooper slams his elbow down on the horn as a little green Civic cuts in front of him, causing him to jam his heel back into the brake.

"Come on, Blaine, please, just do it, just do it for me kid, please!" Cooper begs, and it's only when the road blurs and twists out of focus that he realized that it's not the alcohol obstructing his vision, but tears. He swipes furiously at his face with his sleeve, trying to clear his eyes, because he has to get back to Blaine, fast fast fast.

"Coop…" Blaine sighs, and his voice trails off completely, leaving Cooper with only the sound of the Honda's struggling engine and the roar of the traffic in his ears.

"Blaine? BLAINE!" Cooper shouts, and he's blown right past worry and fear, he's fucking panicking now, and he keeps yelling Blaine's name into the phone, even though he knows that Blaine's not going to answer.

"FUCK!" Cooper bellows, hurling the phone across the passenger seat where it cracks against the glass and clatters to the floor in pieces.

Why Blaine? Why the happy, innocent, smiling little boy he had once been? Why had those fuckers chosen to break him, to tear him down, turn him over to his inner demons? He didn't fucking deserve it, Blaine didn't deserve any of it, he just deserved happiness and someone to love him at the end of the day, a life any other fourteen-year-old led with ease, he didn't deserve this.

And Cooper is absolutely furious, enraged to the point of screaming, and his fingers grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel because it's all their fault and he wants to kill them.

The bar isn't far from the Anderson house, but it feels like Cooper is traversing the entire state of Ohio, even with his foot pressed to the floor and the speedometer wobbling at a steady 95.

Finally, fucking finally, when Cooper doesn't even know how much time has passed since Blaine last spoke into the phone, succumbed to the pills pooling in his stomach, he squeals the car to a stop in the driveway, jamming it into park and throwing himself out. He leaves the Honda parked haphazardly across the pavement and dashes up the walk, slamming his fist against the front door.

"Blaine!" Cooper shouts, and of course, the door is locked.

Cooper bashes his shoulder into the solid wood, over and over, but the door's just mocking him, not budging an inch.

"Fuck!" Cooper snarls again, and he rears back and brings the heel of his boot down onto the door handle with a shuddering crack. The wood around the doorframe buckles and splinters and Cooper smashes through, staggering into the dimly lit entryway. The house is ominously silent for a split second before Cooper yells Blaine's name again and again, voice echoing off the marble floors as he sprints up the stairs. His heart is choking him, expanding in his throat as he shoulders through Blaine's bedroom door, and this is what he knew he was going to find, he knew it, but Cooper wasn't expecting the iron-clad fist that slams into his gut at the sight of his brother, curled on the gray carpet, empty pill bottle discarded to the side and his fist still clenched loosely around his cell phone.

"Fuck, Blaine!" Cooper groans, skidding next to his knees next to his motionless brother, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him roughly. Blaine's head snaps back and the phone thuds lightly to the carpet as Blaine drags limply in Cooper's grip.

"No no no, come on Blaine, come on," Cooper growls, cupping Blaine's clammy cheek in his palm and pulling him upright. Blaine just sags heavily in Cooper's arms, eyes half-lidded and rolled back into his head. Cooper refuses to check for a pulse or feel for breath, because he refuses to believe anything but that Blaine's heart is still beating in his chest, his lungs are still moving. There is no alternative in Cooper's mind, not a single fucking one.

"You are not going to fucking die on me, kid," Cooper hisses, and seizes Blaine under the arms, heaving him up and half-carrying, half-dragging him down the hallway towards the bathroom. Cooper kicks through the door and rams the lightswitch with his elbow, lighting the small bathroom in a shocking, sterile clarity. Supporting Blaine's dead weight with one arm, Cooper drags Blaine across the tile and cranks the faucet to the side. He yanks Blaine roughly over the ceramic edge of the tub as icy water explodes from the showerhead, and together they crash to the bathtub floor, Cooper's boots slipping and sliding as he tries to right himself. Blaine's curly head smacks against Cooper's chin and Cooper grabs a fistful of Blaine's Transformers night shirt, hauling him upright.

"Throw up," Cooper snarls in Blaine's ear, forcing Blaine's mouth open and jamming his fingers down his throat. He slams his other hand down on Blaine's back, spitting freezing water out of his mouth, and Blaine rattles like a broken doll, small and pale and so fucking lifeless in Cooper's lap. The showerhead sputters, dousing them unrelentlessly, and Cooper hits Blaine's back again, shouting in Blaine's ear, and he thinks he's sobbing but he's not sure, can't hear past the roaring filling his head.

"Puke, god damn it, Blaine!"

Blaine's skinny body gives a jolt and suddenly he's heaving forward, throat croaking out a hoarse gagging sound past Cooper's fingers. Cooper chokes back a sob and slaps his palm against Blaine's back again, trying to breathe past the water clogging his nose.

"That's it, come on Blaine, please," he begs, and Blaine shudders, eyes cracking open, and he jerks forward and finally throws up onto the floor of the bathtub, again and again, choking and gasping and Cooper's crying and Blaine's crying and God hasn't done much for Cooper in the past, but he sure as fuck is thanking Him now.

Cooper doesn't know how many times Blaine's retched and heaved when he sags back against Cooper's chest, sobbing and wheezing but he's breathing and alive, and Cooper buries his face in Blaine's dripping curls and just holds him, growling, "You better not fucking to that to me again Blaine, do you understand me?"

Blaine splutters and gasps, icy hands snapping up to grab at Cooper's constricting arms, and he croaks, "I'm sorry, Coop," in this tiny, broken voice that punches Cooper right in the fucking heart.

"I love you Blaine, okay?" Cooper says sharply through his tears, pulling Blaine around to look right into his eyes, crazed blue meeting Blaine's dilated pupils. "If nothing else is enough, remember that. I love you and I'll always be here for you, Blaine, and I'm so fucking sorry I haven't. I'll be here. That's what brothers are for, right?"

Blaine's face crumples and he nods, curling into Cooper's arms. Cooper lets out a long, shaking breath and reaches behind him to turn off the shower, cradling Blaine's trembling body in his arms.

"It's okay," he whispers, even though it's not okay, not at all; Cooper should have been there for Blaine every second after the attack, seen the warning signs instead of choosing parties and college friends over his only brother. It's not okay, but Cooper says it anyway. "It's okay. I've got you."