Kurt awoke to the sound of screaming. Not low, disgruntled moans. Full-blown screams and another voice shouting back. Something held his arms, and when he tried to pry away from the hold, it remained strong, and everything was just so fucking loud- a cacophony of incoherent cries into the blackness surrounding him.

"Kurt, Kurt wake up." The sound of his own name in a familiar voice seemed to bring light to the room, a setting to all the noise. His and Finn's room; he was at home. His eyes flew around the space, taking inventory and searching for anomalies to prove it might not be real, but then he recognized the hold on his arms, the form in front of his.

"D-dad." Kurt's eyes brimmed with tears; his body still sick with fright.

"You had a bad dream, Kurt. It was just a dream." He wrapped his son into his arms when he started to cry. "You're safe now, shh."

Kurt sobbed into his father's shoulder. It had been real. Too real.

Carol and Finn stood at his bedside, Finn looking bewildered and his mother anxious, a hand pressed over her mouth.

Kurt's tears subsided, but he remained slumped into his father's safe embrace, his body trembling.

"I'll go get him a glass of ice water." Carol murmured, "Finn, honey, why don't you come with me."

Kurt and his father sat in silence, one of Burt's hands smoothed Kurt's hair. "That's the fifth one in nine days, buddy. They're getting worse."

Kurt didn't try to argue otherwise, he was still trying to catch his breath.

"You gonna tell me what they're about?" Burt's hand stopped moving, but remained pressed to Kurt's head.

"They're different every time." Kurt managed to stammer.

"You were pretty upset tonight; what was that one about?" His father tried again. He needed a target to hunt down so his son could sleep at night.

Kurt shook his head against his father's chest. He wouldn't tell. He couldn't.

Burt didn't pry. He held his child close until Carol returned with the promised water glass. Kurt took it with shaky fingers, sipped from it gratefully, and quietly reassured his family he was sure he'd be fine until morning.

Burt tucked the blanket back in around Kurt's shoulders, queried over his ribs, his stitches, his ankle, and any other injury he could think of, but eventually he ran out of things to fret about, and he knew he had to leave his son's bedside. "We're right upstairs if you need anything, and Finn's down here, too. You're safe, Kurt."

Kurt's voice was quiet. "I know."

Burt remained seated on the edge of his bed, deliberating, "You sure you can't talk to me about this?"

"I'm sure." Kurt's eyes went to the glass on his nightstand.

"You're supposed to go in for a therapy appointment on Thursday, you want me to see if they can bump it up?"

"It's fine for Thursday, Dad. I'll be fine."

Burt lingered for another moment before pressing a kiss to the top of his son's head. "Try to get some rest then, kiddo. I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad." Kurt murmured.

Burt turned off the lamp on Kurt's side table and picked up the half-emptied glass. Finn was already fast asleep in his own bed, leaving Burt wondering if Kurt would be afraid. But he knew better than to insult his son's pride by offering to stay at his bedside until he slept.

He and his late wife had had one oath outside of their marriage vows: that they would always love their child and ensure that he was happy and healthy. The night terrors that had begun only two days after Kurt's return home hardly seemed healthy to Burt Hummel, and those terrified eyes when he shook him back into consciousness were a far cry from happy.

Burt went to the kitchen to return the glass to the dishwasher. He looked over the pictures and notes tacked to the refrigerator: Finn's football pictures, an old French quiz of Kurt's, a Warbler's program, Rachel's homemade calendar of her and Finn's preplanned dates, a post-it reminding him to pay the cable bill. He sat down at the kitchen table and pulled the phone from its cradle. He had assured Kurt he would let things be, but his promise to his wife came first. He would shelter his son from any monster that hurt him-real or figurative- no matter what he had to do.

"Eat your breakfast and go get ready, kiddo." Burt waved a hand over the untouched piece of toast in front of Kurt. "It's that whole grain stuff you like and everything."

Kurt pulled off a corner of the bread and chewed it slowly; he looked exhausted. "Can I be done?"

"Half of it, then, yes, you can be done." Burt eyed his son anxiously. Kurt had not bothered to dress before breakfast-he'd come upstairs still in his silk pajamas and his hair disshelved.

Kurt gave him a weary look. "I'm not hungry."

Burt let a long breath out his nose. He glanced at the clock. "All right, fine, you can try something later. Go ahead and get yourself dressed."

Kurt strapped his cane around his wrist slowly before rising to his feet and moving toward the basement door. Finn jogged up the stairs and slipped past him. "You need help?"

"I've got it; thank you, Finn." Kurt replied, beginning the careful process of working his way down the steps.

Finn watched him maneuver the first few before going to the kitchen and throwing open the cupboard doors. His mother was already gone, so he would have to fend for himself for breakfast. He briefly thanked God that Kurt didn't like Pop-Tarts when he found one pack left in the box.

He sat down across from Burt at the table, dragging the sports section out of the pile of newspaper to look over. "Morning."

"Morning." Burt watched Finn scarf down one of his purple-frosted pastries in less than a minute. He wished he could give even just a fraction of his stepson's appetite to his own flesh and blood. "You gonna be around at all today?"

Finn squinted at the calendar on the fridge; "Um, me and Rachel are supposed to be going to an impro- impri- empero-... some sort of class thing at eleven. Do you need me to stay here with Kurt instead?"

Burt shook his head, "No, Blaine's coming over today."

"I thought Blaine was coming on Wednesday when he doesn't work." Finn said around a mouthful of Pop-Tart.

"Well, now he's coming today; he said he'd be here early, and with that kid I'm a little surprised he wasn't here at six. Can you just make sure he gets into the house before you take off?" Burt drained his coffee mug in the sink.

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for him." Finn swallowed down the last of his Pop-Tarts and started in on the forgotten piece of toast left on the table.

"Kurt," Burt called down the stairs; "I'm headed to the shop. Call if you need anything."

"Bye." Kurt's voice came faintly up the stairwell.

"Have a nice time with Rachel, Finn." Burt nodded a quick goodbye.

Finn moved to the fridge to get out the milk. He squinted again at the calendar. Seriously, what the hell was that word? Maybe Blaine would end up having to work and Finn would have an excuse to stay home...

A little to Finn's disappointment, the doorbell rang at exactly ten o' clock. Finn pulled open the door and stepped aside so Blaine could slip in past him. "Hey, Blaine."

"Morning, Finn." Blaine's face was scruffy and his hair unkempt.

Finn studied the smaller boy for a moment; this didn't seem very dapper at all. But then again, over the past few weeks, Blaine hadn't seemed quite so...Blaine to Finn. Hadn't the kid always been bubbly and smiley and chatty?

The boy in front of him now seemed serious, even when he took off his black, nondescript sunglasses so Finn could see his eyes-he looked sort of...mysterious or something. He'd have to ask Rachel about it. "Um, Kurt's getting ready downstairs. I'm going out with Rachel for- hey, actually, help me out for a second."

Blaine glanced around the room pensively before trailing after Finn toward the kitchen.

"What the hell is this?" Finn pointed to the block on the calendar.

Blaine scrutinized it for a moment, a brief shadow of a smile crossing his face. "Improvisation class."

"Great!" Finn studied the bubbly penmanship himself for a moment, "What is that?"

"Like... acting on the spot. Making it up as you go." Blaine supplied, watching Finn's face for a flicker of understanding.

"Isn't that just what life is? Making stuff up on the spot?" Finn frowned; if acting classes were anything like dancing classes this was going to be awful.

Blaine gave him a funny smile, "You're a smarter guy than people give you credit for, Finn."

Coming from a guy like Blaine that felt like a real compliment, "Thanks, man. Um, I should probably go get Rachel, but call if you need anything."

"We'll be fine; tell Rachel I say hello." Blaine turned toward the basement stairs, pausing to listen for the slam of the garage door. He didn't like not knowing who was or wasn't in the house. When he heard the faint sound of the garage door closing, he continued down the steps.

"Kurt?" He called, looking uneasily around the furniture. He hated basements. He hated things people could potentially hide behind (he was slowly discovering that was just about everything), but most of all he hated himself for suddenly being terrified of everything and everyone.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice called back from the bathroom, sounding confused.

Blaine followed the sound, wrapping his knuckles lightly on the closed door. "Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Um, give me a second." Blaine listened to Kurt shuffle around the small space on the other side of the door for a minute or two, "Okay, come in."

Blaine slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him despite the warm humidity of the little room. He preferred having doors closed- easier to keep track of everyone in an enclosed space. He shook his head a little; God, I'm losing it.

Kurt was holding a towel wrapped around him just below his armpits, his hair still dripping. "I thought you weren't coming until Wednesday."

"Surprise." Blaine waved his hands in the air for affect, but then let them drop back down to his sides.

Kurt turned his attention back toward the mirror, trying to precariously secure the towel around him while rubbing another towel through his hair. He was failing miserably. "You didn't cut work, did you?"

Blaine shook his head, "I called in... how do you work this whole shower situation with the cast?"

Kurt nodded his head toward the shower, "A stool in the shower, a removable shower head, and my foot outside. It's an awkward endeavor."

Blaine nodded, but said nothing. They sat in compatible silence as Kurt continued to try and juggle his towel and his hair routine.

Abruptly, Kurt's eyes moved back to his lover's face worriedly, "Are you okay; I mean, is there a reason you couldn't wait until Wednesday to visit?"

Blaine shook his head slowly, "No. I'm fine.,, are you?"

Kurt's eyes left him, "Sure."

Blaine frowned, "You think I don't recognize my own act?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

Blaine let out a long breath, "Your dad called me last night and asked if I could come out today."

"He what?" Kurt's eyes fell fully on Blaine, his cheeks paling a little more than usual.

"He says you've been having nightmares." Blaine studied Kurt's face.

Kurt looked conflicted for a moment before turning his attention back to the mirror. "Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?" Blaine ventured quietly.

"Of course I didn't tell you." Kurt snapped. He looked surprised by the tone of his own voice, and when he saw the hurt register in Blaine's eyes, he regretted the biting words. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

Blaine swallowed down the hurt; he needed to stay focused today. "It's okay. You think I don't get it?"

Kurt didn't look at him; too afraid that, if he met those knowing eyes, he would start to cry. Besides, it was taking all his effort to keep his towel from falling. "Could you do me a favor?"

Blaine straightened up, waiting to serve any desire Kurt might throw his way,

"Could you grab me something to wear out of my closet?" Kurt's shoulder was starting to burn with the effort of keeping the terrycloth firmly below it.

"What do you want?"

Kurt clenched his teeth together for a moment against the pain. "Doesn't matter. You pick."

Blaine frowned. Something was definitely not right-Kurt would never, ever in his right mind send Blaine Anderson into his fashion haven of a closet and tell him to pick just whatever. Despite his misgivings about the whole thing, Blaine ventured out of the bathroom, gave the room a quick once over, and approached the closet.

He stared at the racks of clothes and was a little intimidated. He could admire the creativity, but he didn't understand the majority of what Kurt wore from day to day with the exception of a few outfits he had come to admire. He decided to go with those few things he knew he liked... if he could ever find them. He nimbly flipped through shirts- wondering over the bizarre rule system that governed this closet's organization. Blaine quickly forgot what he was looking for as he pushed through another row of hangers. No wonder it took Kurt so long to get dressed-the guy had a tendency to dress in layers, and Blaine could hardly find a single shirt for his lover, let alone two or three (not to mention accessories and pants).

Kurt must have thought better of sending Blaine into his closet without guidance, he called out to the other boy, "Top right shelf there should be a bunch of folded t-shirts; just pick one of those and the crew pants in the second pile on the left...third from the bottom."

Blaine found the chino colored pants and considered quizzing Kurt on exact locations of other items, but opted to riffle through the shirts instead. He pulled out the Alexander McQueen Kurt had worn to his house the first day of summer. He held it close to his face, inhaling the familiar scent of his boyfriend- soft, cool; soothing. Even after his worst nightmares, Blaine could find a spot on one of his pillowcases that still held the faint smell of his lover and find comfort in it. He went back to the bathroom and settled himself on the counter, the pile of clothes in his lap.

"That shirt?" Kurt eyed the material curiously. "I was sure you'd pull out the red Armani one."

"I like this shirt." Blaine shrugged, studying the pile in his hands, "Going commando?"

"Hmm?" Kurt looked confused for a moment before blushing, "Oh, no, I already had my boxers in here."

"So what's with the towel?" Blaine had not missed Kurt's sad attempts to keep the terrycloth secured around him while he primped himself.

Kurt readjusted the fabric in his hand; securing it closer. He looked back to the mirror to smooth some flyaway that Blaine couldn't see.

Blaine studied the other boy, trying to work his way into his thoughts. Kurt, though not as confident out of his designer labels as he was in them, had never had a problem stripping his shirt off in Blaine's presence before; in fact, he enjoyed it-more exposed skin meant more places for fingers to trace, lips to kiss... maybe it had just been so long that now he felt awkward, when had Blaine last seen Kurt's exposed skin? "Kurt?"

Kurt's eyed flitted back to him briefly, but ignored Blaine's probing gaze, "Pants, please."

Blaine slipped down off the counter, "Come here; I'll help."

Kurt looked conflicted, "Um, I, I can do it, I just-"

Blaine gently took hold of the edges of the towel in a fist. "I've got it; lean on me."

Kurt reluctantly let go, relieved when Blaine held tight, and did as he was told- gripping Blaine's shoulder in one hand and hopping to get his pants over the awkward cast. With a little help from Blaine's free hand, he successfully pulled them up. He tried to take hold of the towel again, "Thanks, I've got it from here."

Blaine let go when Kurt's hand was firmly in place. He offered the shirt, but Kurt looked even more hesitant.

"Could you go out to my closet and find me, um, find me..." Kurt searched his brain for some item he could send Blaine on a mission to search out while he pulled his shirt on. "The Betsey Johnson scarf with the newspaper print on it?"

"Kurt." Blaine's voice was soft. "What are you so scared of?"

Kurt was irritated with his body for betraying him when he felt tears sting his eyes, but he was too tired to will them away, so he turned his gaze away from Blaine instead. "The surgery, it... the scar's really awful."

Blaine glanced down at the t-shirt still in his hands. He remembered the first day of summer- peeling that same fabric off the beautiful boy in his arms so quickly he almost didn't realize he was doing it. "It's just me, Kurt."

When Kurt's eyes remained misty and directed away from him, Blaine took a step closer and turned Kurt's chin toward him with a gentle hand, but Kurt's eyes remained evasive, "And you are exactly the person I don't want to see it."

Blaine studied Kurt's face for a moment, he moved to stand behind him, "come here."

Kurt let Blaine pull him in front of the full-length mirror on the door. Kurt stared at their reflections. Blaine's stoic face peering at him over his shoulder and his own tense, pale features stared back. Who had they become?

"Please?" Blaine brushed his fingers across Kurt's knuckles.

Kurt didn't know how to deny Blaine's sad eyes. He swallowed hard and let go of the fabric, letting it crumple in the space between their feet.

The stitches were gone, but the incision below them was still an ugly shade of purple and pink- little dots from the threads hold followed the long line down toward his hip. Blaine's fingers drifted down to trace the line from top to bottom. He loved that scar for a moment; loved what it stood for- all of Kurt's injuries were visible; messy for now, but with a little time they'd fade until they were so faint even Kurt would have to squint to see them. He pressed a kiss to Kurt's exposed shoulder. "You're perfect."

Kurt sniffled; he didn't even really know why he was crying. He was exhausted, and Blaine's sweet voice was so wonderful it almost hurt.

"Hey; no tears." Blaine smiled just a little, "The nightmares will stop after awhile, your body will fix itself; you're going to be okay, Kurt."

Kurt turned his face toward Blaine's and pressed his lips to the other boy's; wishing he could drink in all of those soothing words like an antibiotic to heal his rattled mind. The kiss seemed to be just as good as any drug; he was well aware of Blaine's hand still resting on the exposed skin above his jeans, the heaviness of Blaine's hot breath against his mouth. He hooked a hand around the back of Blaine's neck; twisting his fingers up into those dark curls to pull his face even closer.

Something in Blaine's head was screaming, and he was determined to block it out. Every time Kurt pressed against his mouth, his fingers tangling more and more in his hair, Blaine pushed back just as hard; nearly feverish with the attempt to keep that voice at bay. He savored the taste of that mouth, the softness of those lips; but still that voice just kept getting louder...

Kurt twisted around in Blaine's arms, when he broke contact just long enough to pull Blaine's shirt over his head, Blaine was back right away; his kisses hungry and desperate against Kurt's mouth. Kurt didn't mind the sudden aggressiveness; it had been too long since he felt that hot skin against his own. Oh, and Blaine's breathing was so seductively heavy, Kurt ventured a hand down his lover's chest, his abdomen, the edge of his jeans.

Too loud now. A quick flash of memory, and suddenly that scream broke past the barrier of his mind and escaped out his mouth. He was on the other side of the bathroom, his body trembling, and his stomach twisted with nausea before he could process what he was doing.

Kurt felt his hands shaking. Blaine was pressed so hard against the opposite wall that even his fingertips pressed into the drywall; desperate to be as far away as humanly possible. He tried to catch his breath; tried to understand what had just happened.

Blaine saw Kurt's bewilderment, the confused hurt he had caused. He wanted to offer comfort and apologize for his behavior, but he couldn't form words; he couldn't even steady his breathing. "I- I-"

"It's okay." Kurt whispered. This was his least favorite side of Blaine- the first three seconds after a nightmare, the momentary snap when something struck him wrong or when someone startled him. He was immediately fifteen years old again with no one to protect him. Kurt spied his shirt on the bathroom counter, he offered it slowly- afraid a sudden movement might trigger some sort of secondary reaction.

Blaine stared at the navy colored cotton, but didn't take it. He rubbed at his forehead for a moment, his mind busy trying to form some sort of resolve. He peeled himself away from the wall and took a few tentative steps back toward his boyfriend. When he felt no urge to bolt, he took another few steps closer. Kurt remained frozen in place; the shirt still clutched in his hand.

"Blaine, I'm sorry," Kurt swallowed, afraid to hold his gaze, "I didn't mean to- I wasn't thinking."

Blaine reached a tentative hand to Kurt's face, but then dropped it down before it met its mark. He flinched. "It's not you- it's me, it's all of this-"

Blaine trailed off, scrubbing at his forehead again, before wrapping his arms around his middle.

Kurt reached out a hand, carefully pressing his palm against Blaine's chest. "I wouldn't hurt you; you know that."

Blaine tensed beneath Kurt's hand, but then he was pressing his own shaky fingers over the top of it. "I know."

Kurt slowly pulled his hand away and pulled his shirt over his head, hiding the ugly scar beneath a perfect wardrobe made him feel a little more at ease. He watched Blaine carefully as he pulled his own shirt back on. "Are you going to be all right?"

Blaine wanted to cringe at the sound of that lovely voice. He was supposed to be taking care of Kurt today-not clawing his way out the basement wall. "I'm fine; it's hot in here though, come on."

Kurt thought better of using Blaine's arm as a support to make his way back into the bedroom and took a moment to strap his crutch back on before trailing after Blaine to his bed. He dropped down onto the plush mattress gratefully- he'd been on his feet far too long and his chest ached terribly.

Blaine hesitated for only a moment before settling down beside him. When Kurt didn't immediately curl into his side, a pang of anxiety and that voice whispered in his ear. He knows, he knows how disgusting you are. He doesn't want to touch you.

But then soft fingers were touching his, "is it okay if I sit closer to you?"

Blaine almost didn't hear him, "...if you want to."

"I want you to feel comfortable." Kurt said softly.

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, "I'm always comfortable with you- you're the only person I am comfortable with- it's just, sometimes... I don't know."

"Stuff comes back." Kurt murmured.

Blaine nodded, opening his eyes to look at the boy beside him, "Stuff comes back."

"What kind of stuff?" Kurt murmured after another moment of silence, his fingers still the only thing touching Blaine.

Blaine looked away, resting the back of his head on the headboard. "Stuff."

Kurt chewed at his lip for a moment. Blaine had never had a problem with intimacy before-not that Kurt had ever been the forcing type. Their friends had made their assumptions about what he and his boyfriend did behind closed doors- giving their fellow glee clubber raised eyebrows and knowing smiles that Kurt simply returned with his own coy smile or a shrug. They'd even fooled Santana, but the truth was, as steamy as those shower sessions had been and as kinky as some of the tricks Nadia had whispered in his ear, he and Blaine had never made love. The first time Kurt had pushed Blaine into the shower, his anxiety had been unmerited- Blaine pushed nothing- he followed Kurt's lead easily. Lips caressing the places that extracted a moan from parted lips; fingers exploring and memorizing new territory. Kurt couldn't bring himself to be brave enough to elicit that final step, and Blaine had never questioned it. But now, Kurt wondered over it all. What was real and what was Blaine's own creation? "Has it always been so... difficult for you? Us being intimate?"

Blaine looked stricken, "No! No, of course not. But it was like- that day at the hospital- saying that out loud... it's like its' happening for the first time all over again, except-"

"Except what?" Kurt rubbed his fingertips across the top of Blaine's hand.

Blaine was shaking his head. "Nothing; I came over here to help you deal with your stuff, not cry about mine."

"Blaine, if things are getting worse-"

"They won't get worse." He was moving in closer to Kurt, his fingers lacing between those of the hand beside his. "Your dad said you've been having nightmares since you got home."

Kurt considered forcing the conversation back to Blaine, but he knew better than to try and argue. "Yes."

Blaine was quiet for a moment, "Will you tell me about them?"

"No." Kurt said softly.

"Are they about that night behind the park?" Blaine pushed, lifting his arm to loop it behind Kurt's shoulders.

"Sometimes." Kurt let Blaine mold him into his side and his senses immediately soothed by the musky smell of his cologne and spearmint. "Not always."

"What about last night? Your dad said last night was the worst."

Kurt didn't want to talk about that one; thinking about it made his skin feel clammy and his throat tight. "You never tell me about your nightmares."

Blaine was quiet for a long time, "They're memories more than nightmares. Stuff I'd rather forget."

"Do you? Forget?" Kurt turned his head to study Blaine's profile.

"For a little while, sometimes." Blaine sighed, "we're talking about you right now Kurt, not me."

"You're involved in this, too, I am not the only one tearing myself apart, Blaine."

"We spend plenty of time fussing over what goes on with me, and I'm sure we'll have a million more opportunities for it." Blaine tried again at getting Kurt to open up, "Did you have them in the hospital?"

Kurt let out an irritated sigh, but when it was clear Blaine was not reopening their argument for debate, he conceded. "No."

They sat in silence, Blaine out of ideas on how to make Kurt talk to him, and Kurt still fretting over Blaine's reaction to him in the bathroom. He knew what he had to do. "I'll tell you about one of mine if you tell me about one of yours."

Kurt caught the momentary panic that crossed Blaine's features before his expression tensed into some torn sense of hesitance. "I don't want you to know about those things, Kurt."

"Why not?" Kurt pulled out from under Blaine's arm to face him full on. "You said I am the one person you're comfortable with; that you feel safe with."

"Which is exactly why I don't want to tell you," Blaine ran a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping to his lap. "I'm selfish."

"In what way are you ever selfish?" Kurt touched a tentative hand to Blaine's arm.

"If you actually knew, Kurt, if you had any idea what I-" Blaine shook his head, "You wouldn't ever look at me the way you do again."

Kurt pulled both of Blaine's hands into his, "try me."

When Blaine's eyes remained evasive, Kurt swallowed hard. He would have to go first.

"We were in your bedroom." It was his turn to look away, but he felt Blaine's eyes on the top of his head. "I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the sheets were red- the whole bed was covered in blood, and it was running over onto the floor and flooding the room. I tried to scream to you we had to get out, but you weren't in the bed anymore..."

Kurt faltered until he felt Blaine's hands squeeze his, anchoring him in reality, "All of the sudden you were in the middle of the room with... with Eric, and I knew he was killing you, but I couldn't move- I tried and it was just like that night in the park- like my body couldn't remember how, like it was too much to even cover a few yards of space- he killed you and then he came for me. He pulled me out of the bed and he was drowning me in all of that blood, and I could smell it, Blaine, I could actually smell it."

Blaine pulled Kurt tight against him before the first sob could even break free from Kurt's mouth. He smoothed his hair, rubbed his back, and whispered, "It's only a nightmare. You're safe. I won't let him touch you again..."

Kurt cried himself into near exhaustion, letting Blaine cradle him and comfort him. When his tears had dried and Blaine's voice had fallen silent, he wanted so badly to sleep. How had Blaine done it for weeks and months at a time- lived in a constant torment between exhaustion and fear of what awaited him in the blackness of his unconscious? An act could only carry so far; the body makes its own decisions at some point when it decides enough is enough.

"You should rest." Blaine murmured, freeing one of his arms to fluff up two of the pillows beside him.

Kurt complied when Blaine shifted him until he was lying comfortably at his side, but he did not close his eyes. He stared up at Blaine. "I held up my end of the bargain."

"I never agreed to that deal." Blaine replied calmly; his eyes distant once again. He'd used up what little reserves he had for that day to comfort Kurt.

"Please, Blaine," Kurt pleaded, knowing it was a lost cause.

Blaine slid down until his head was on the pillow beside Kurt's, "Lets try to focus on something other than nightmares for awhile. I'll sing you to sleep, how about that?"

Kurt sighed but couldn't resist the offer. Blaine hadn't so much as hummed along to the radio in weeks. "I'd like that."

Blaine searched his head until the words came on their own.

Can you lie next to her

And give her your heart, your heart

As well as your body

And can you lie next to her

And confess your love, your love

As well as your folly

And can you kneel before the king

And say I'm clean, I'm clean