Kurt popped his head up from the comfortable pillow hed made for himself of Blaines chest, his eyes batting in every direction so he could figure out where the muffled clawing was coming from. He couldnt see through the heavy blackness that had swelled in their little tent sometime after hed fallen asleep, and with his ear away from Blaines drumming heart, and the quiet noises he made from the deep exhales he blew out to the snores that rumbled from his throat, Kurt gasped at the scratching that was much louder now. Turning his head over his shoulder, Kurt looked at the top of the tent, where dark shadows hovered just above him. He squeaked and whipped back around to Blaine, hiding in his neck, but he poked his nose back out when he tried to convince himself that he was being silly, that hed been camping lots of times and nothing bad had ever happened to him. If he could just get his pounding heart to settle down, he could fall back asleep and wake up to the bright light of the day.

But a tapping on the fabric had Kurt flinging his hands down to the blankets and yanking them over his head. Feeling Blaine shift underneath him, Kurt curled his fingers into his shirt, squeezing it in two tight, tiny fists. From outside of his protective blankets, someone snorted, a rough sound that made Kurt jump. Suddenly, the only thing keeping him safe lifted, and Kurt peeked out at Blaines furrowed face. Blaine looked exhausted and groggy, a thin line of drool hanging from his lip, and crusty sleep in the corners of his eyes. Confused over what Kurt was doing, Blaine tilted his head at him, silently asking him what was wrong. When something scraped along the top of the tent again, he turned his chin up to it, showing Kurt the soft spot under his jaw. Still scared of those sounds, even though he felt safer now that Blaine was awake, Kurt squeaked and curled into a tighter ball.

Blaines golden eyes flicked back down to his fretful face, and he nudged the blanket off of his head. Because of the way the blanket brushed his hair, a stray lock fell across his forehead, and Blaine gently pushed it back. "Whats wrong?" Blaine asked, his voice so soft that Kurt almost didnt make out a sound. When Kurt pressed himself down again at the clamor of a hand knocking against their tent, Blaine wrapped his arms around him, guarding him from the scary clatter. "Its okay, Kurt... its just the wind pushing the trees around. See?" Kurt helplessly peeped as Blaine leaned down to the lantern that was resting at the edge of the tent, clinging to him because he felt himself sliding off of Blaines rising and dropping chest with the way that he shifted. Closing his eyes as the tent lit up because he didnt want to see the shadow of a hand laying on the fabric, Kurt twitched his nose at the feeling of Blaines fingertips brushing his cheek. "Open your eyes, sweetheart. I wont let anything scare you."

Deciding to trust Blaine, as hed always done, Kurt peeled one lid up, and he squinted at the ceiling, where, as he expected, fingerlike blotches were stretched across the fabric. He startled, and instantly closed the eye, but Blaine whispered to him, "Look, Kurt. Its the tree that you like to climb. Theres no one there to hurt you." Kurt was even more hesitant now, but he wanted to believe that Blaine would let nothing harm him, and he lifted his quivering lashes. At last, he let himself look over the patterns on the ceiling, and he discovered that Blaine was right all along. Smiling up at the shadows of the tree branches, Kurt widened his eyes as something else appeared in between those intricate, twisted limbs. He started to pull back into the shell that would keep him out of dangers way, but he watched that black blob spread out and grow what looked like wings.

Kurt inhaled sharply as he realized that a bird had landed on top of their tent, what was probably a little one who had escaped his moms nest and had gone out to play, even though he should have been asleep. Slowly sitting up, Kurt held his hands up to the flapping bird, and he ran his fingers over the soft fabric. Surprised when he didnt feel those sharp talons through the polyester, or the weight of the bird at his fingertips, Kurt pulled his hand down, and he frowned when the bird fluttered away, right off the blue canvas. Dropping his shoulders in a pout that their friendly visitor was gone, Kurt pointed his nose up once more when another splotch appeared on the tent. Soon enough, a long stem poked out at the bottom of the unrecognizable shape, and petals bloomed out of a small circle. Wondering if a flower had flown through the air and landed on the tent, Kurt touched the object again, and as he pressed up, the flower drifted away and fell to the ground.

As he hoped that something else would touch their tent, Kurt pushed both of his hands against the fabric, and he excitedly bounced as something else appeared between his palms. Watching the lines curve around each other, Kurt giggled as he made out a heart. He twisted around to Blaine so he could let him know of the wonderful shapes, and he felt his mouth fall open at the sight of Blaines hands, which were lifted and pressed together in the shape of the same heart that had appeared on their tent. Blaine quickly put his hands down, resting them on his thighs as if he was trying to make it off to seem that hed never had them raised, and Kurt looked back up for the heart, but it was gone. He turned his nose down to Blaine, and he flopped beside of him, "How are you doing that?" He squeaked, and Blaine smirked, flipping his head to the side so Kurt couldnt see his amusement.

"Im not! It must be magic." Blaine denied, and Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. Determined to figure out his secret, Kurt held up both of his hands in the way that Blaine had, and he pressed them into a heart. He gave off a squeal of delight when the shape reappeared, except much smaller than the one Blaine had made. Feeling Blaine move behind him, Kurt wiggled as he slipped an arm under his back. In front of him, both of Blaines hands appeared, and he wrapped his around Kurts. The heart on the tent grew, much bigger than either of the ones Kurt or Blaine had made alone.

Laughing again, Kurt leaned back against him, and he pressed his cheek to the side of his neck. "I see what you mean." He murmured, watching the heart shake, but never break, as the tent was blown with the light wind. "It must be magic." Turning his head, Kurt pressed the tip of his nose to Blaines jaw as he kissed him, a light peck to the first spot of skin he came across, his neck. "I love you."

Blaine gave him a crooked grin, and he whispered it back to him. Now that neither of them were tired, they both stared up at that blank canvas, and with one flick of their fingers, they made an ugly thing beautiful.

The falling snow melted into pouring rain as the days warmed up, letting up the first buds for the beautiful, coming spring. Long days had finally come around to February, and Blaine was turning twenty one. His birthday wasnt the first thing on his mind, but, rather, Kurts birthday and Archers birthday, which were very short months away. Kurts birthday was sooner, and, along with Kurt following him to twenty one, it marked the day that, two years ago, Blaine had proposed to Kurt for the first time, and, one year ago, married him. And with Archers birthday came his baby getting a year older, and one less year to have him as his son before Cooper took him away. This year, birthdays werent anything to celebrate because, two years ago, when Blaine had proposed to Kurt, Hunter had been weeks away from being born, and, a year ago, when Blaine had married Kurt, Hunter had been there to give them the rings so his parents could be together forever. Last year, Archers birthday had also been Hunters birthday. But, this year, Hunter wasnt. Just wasnt.

Blaine found this day to be a dreary reminder that he only had one baby to pounce on him and yell at him that there was a fun birthday party to be had, if only he would stop snoring. After hed dressed, hed forced himself to lug his heavy body down the stairs, where hed been presented with a cake that Archer had picked out and helped Kurt make. Blaine had appreciated the gooey cake that had lots of sprinkles thrown onto the icing, and hed cut himself a piece, even though he couldnt find it in himself to be hungry for the treat. Once theyd finished their cake, Kurt had gone off to the kitchen to clean up the plates, and Blaine had pressed himself to the window, watching the rain. There wasnt anything special about rain. He didnt even like rain. But he had spent a long time staring at it, with the sound of it trickling and the whispers of his husband echoing in his ears. Hunter had been dead for two months, and Blaine had exactly one year and five months left with Archer. There wasnt any reason for doing anything except sitting and watching the rain.

From behind him, he heard the kitchen door swing open, and he made out the noises of his son hopping across the floor, but he didnt move. Hed been stuck like that for so long that he didnt know if he could move. Suddenly, tiny hands patted his thighs, and he turned his nose down to Archer, who blinked his big, blue eyes at him. Archer was always so expectant of everyone to give him their best, so Blaine wiped the frown from his lips and managed a weak smile. "Hi, beautiful." Picking his baby up and resting him on his thigh, Blaine ran his fingers through his wild hair. As Archer got older, his chubby cheeks still wouldnt thin, and his face was just as round as it was when he was an infant, if not rounder. His fingers were still dimpled, and his knees were still pudgy. Seeing him like that made a tear wash over his eye, but he blinked it away.

Suddenly distracted by a button on Blaines shirt, Archer pinched it between two of his fingers, and he tugged on it until he remembered what he had run up to Blaine for. Lifting his head, Archer pressed his wet lips to Blaines chin, "Daddy, how old are you?" When Archer pulled an inch away, Blaine felt a sticky spot left by the blue icing that was smeared on Archers lips.

Wiping Archers mouth with the side of his hand, Blaine said lowly, "Twenty one." He shook his leg, making Archer wobble back and forth, and, amused by the way his body jiggled, Archer opened and closed his mouth. A broken noise came out of him, rising and dropping in octave as he went up and down.

Hed obviously forgotten again about what he wanted to know from Blaine because the conversation dropped, which Blaine was fine with. He didnt want to talk about himself when he could just watch his baby play and laugh. Scratching Archers head, Blaine heard him purr with enjoyment, his head tipping back so Blaine could get to his favorite spot to be rubbed. Blaine tangled a curl around his finger, wrapping and unwrapping it, but then he dropped it when Archers head popped back up. Archer cried for his père, who had a few boxes wrapped in ribbons in his hands. "Presents!" He squeaked, pushing himself from Blaines lap and skipping over to Kurt. He ran in a circle around his legs, desperately pawing at his dress. "Daddys presents!"

Somewhere down the hallway, a door clicked open, and two birds skittered away from a mess theyd obviously left behind from one of their adventures. Blaine had long ago figured out that Pavarotti and Everett often abandoned broken pots that they pushed off of tables, and stuffing from pillows that they shredded, and, once, a few eyes and a nose from one of Archers dolls, which he had screamed about until Blaine had glued it back together. They learned to never rip up Archers toys again, but they felt no guilt about anything in Blaine and Kurts bedroom. A pair of shoes followed the waddling birds, who scurried over to Kurt. He sat down on the floor and placed the presents in front of them. As always, they stepped up on the boxes, and Pavarotti went about undoing the bows.

"Pavarotti!" Kurt cried, shooing the birds over to Archer, who happily picked up one of their balls and threw it to them. They chased after it, their meddlesomeness diverted to their own toys. "Its not your birthday yet, silly boy. Blaine, open your presents before the birds take them for themselves!" Holding up one of the boxes, Kurt briefly turned his eyes over to Keegan, who sat down on the other side of the room so he could roll the balls back to Archer.

While his hands were occupied by the balls, Archer flickered his eyes up to Blaine, who pushed himself up from the windowsill and went over to his family. Sitting down by his husband, Blaine took the first present and looked at the big, sloppy letters on the wrapping paper, To Daddy! From Archer! Love you! Kisses! Smirking at his babys shaky doodles of a bunch of hearts and xs, he shook his head and flipped up the ends of the paper. He pulled away the paper, and he opened the box and found a hundred pictures within. All of them were completely random, some of them from the wedding, some of them from when the babies were constantly squinting and couldnt even open their eyes, and some of them from vacation. Many of them were at home, of the babies jumping on Blaines back, and of them running around the yard, and of them climbing trees with Kurt.

As he looked at his lost son, who always wore the biggest grin, Blaine felt his eyes become damp, and he rested a hand over his mouth, which he couldnt decide was going to flip up or down. "Baby..." he whispered, reaching over for Archer and scooting him against his thigh. He bundled his smiling baby up, and he kissed him all over his face, feeling his wet tears soak the places his lips touched. "Archer... this means more to Daddy than you know. Daddy loves this gift so much... Im going to keep each and every one of these pictures. Were going to find places to put all of them around the house, okay? You want to decorate the house with Daddy?"

Archer nodded, nuzzling under his chin and looking down at their box of pictures. "Daddy, am I the best gift youve ever gotten?"

Blaine gave his baby another peck to his cheek, "Youre the most perfect gift Ive ever gotten, sweetheart. You make Daddy so happy."

That made Archer smile, "Good... You and Père are my favorites, too!" Throwing his hands apart, Archer glanced around himself for something, and his mouth fell open at his uncle, who was wiggling his finger for a nipping Pavarotti, "And so is Uncle Keegan! And Pavarotti and Everett!" He smacked his chubby cheeks with his pink palms, "And Hunners my favorite favorite!" Even though Blaine frowned at that, Archer giggled and clapped his hands.

Stroking his baby again, Blaine leaned back on his palms as Archer climbed into his lap and bounced himself. He felt Kurts soft hand come to his back and rub a circle between his shoulder blades, and his eyes flicked over to his husbands wide, blue eyes. "Are you okay?" Kurt whispered so quietly that Archer couldnt hear him over his own laughter.

Leaning toward his husband, Blaine rubbed his face against his, and he felt a rush of warm air on his cold cheeks when Kurt sighed. He picked up the other box, which was much lighter than the first, and he heard something slide against the cardboard. Peeling away the pink paper, Blaine ripped the tape and flipped the top of the box open. Within was a bouquet of red and yellow roses, and, once again, Blaine was certain that hed been dunked under water. He wondered if hed ever cried more. Picking up the flowers, he glanced over at his husband, who had a small smile on his lips. "I was so looking forward to making a pathway of roses... like you did on the day you proposed to me... but Pavarotti ate the petals of every flower I put down!"

That made Blaine snort, and he wiped his watery eyes. Laying the flowers on his lap after he made sure Pavarotti, who had an eye on the yummy petals, was at a safe distance, Blaine reached back into the box for what looked like a silver chain. He picked up an identical necklace to that which Kurt wore, with a heart locket swinging from the thin metal. Engraved in the heart was a swirly B. "Kurt... this is beautiful." He muttered, thumbing open the locket and seeing a picture of his crazy family, Kurt with Hunter resting in his arms, and Blaine with Archer held high above his head. Both babies had their arms up as if they were superheroes. At their feet were their birds, and beside of them was Keegan, who had a crooked smirk on his face as he stared up at Archer. "I love it." He gave the necklace back to Kurt, who moved behind him and wrapped his legs around his waist. Looping the necklace around him, Kurt clasped it, and then he slid the locket between Blaines collarbones. He draped his hands across Blaines shoulders, and he laid his chin on the back of his hand.

Blaine raised his eyes from the locket and paused on his baby, who was flailing his hands at the birds. Both of the birds bobbed up and down in time with his spastically flinging hands. He continued over to Keegan, who had a protective eye on Archer, always the careful uncle that Blaine was glad he was. Dropping his eyes to Kurts hands, which gently massaged him, Blaine reached up and covered one of them. Kurt automatically flipped his hand over and slid his fingers through Blaines. Blaine realized that, even broken, their family was still perfect, like a beloved doll that was lacking an eye and nose. But, unlike the doll, their family was missing the piece they needed to glue back on.

Hunter set his creaky easel next to his low bed, nearly pinching his fingers between two of the wood pieces that caught on each other as they swung out. Once he stopped it from tipping back and forth, he sat down on his squeaky bed, sinking in a few inches until the springs dug into his butt. Ignoring the sharp pain on his thighs and cheeks, he held up his dripping brush. He could feel the paint sopping onto his pants, and he could hear the liquid splashing against the concrete floor, but he didnt look down at it. There was no reason to. He knew, from before his eyes had fogged over, that his pants were worn out, anyway, with holes at the knees and dirt dried onto the cuffs. Shrugging off his brief care over his clothes, which might have even looked a little better with paint splattered on them-just because he loved it so much, Hunter returned his attention to the matter at hand, his easel and that blank piece of paper that was sitting on it.

He had nothing to write lately, not since hed found this secret room, so he turned his attention to painting and drawing. Because his eyes hadnt cleared up yet, Hunter hadnt tried to escape in months, and he and Karofsky had faded into a strained and curt relationship. Somehow, hed managed to make Karofsky okay with him running outside every day, only to return to get something in his stomach. He and Karofsky spared few words for each other, and sometimes Hunter wasnt even aware that hed walked right past Karofsky until he cleared his throat or muttered that he was going to work. Karofsky worked even longer hours now, going away sometime in the late afternoon and returning when Hunter had already retired to his new bedroom. Whenever Hunter came out for breakfast, though, he heard Karofsky snoring on the couch. With his lack of vision, Hunter had learned to survive with Karofsky, but not thrive. Karofsky seemed to be aware of this, too, even though Hunter had done everything he could not to give it away. Hunter wouldnt tell Karofsky any of his weaknesses.

He seemed to be less of a threat to Karofsky, with fewer times of lashing out at him, and no attempts to get away. They had both settled in to a quiet life with each other, only meeting in the middle when Hunter approached Karofsky about getting more paper. With Karofskys longer hours came more money, which allowed extra food on the table, as well as a few splurges here and there. But, luckily, Karofsky seemed to know that his job wasnt granted, but worked for, and he never spent their spare money on anything more than a few sheets of paper and a couple of bottles of paint for Hunter. And Hunter made use of all of those sheets because he knew there could come a day when a lousy Karofsky could come home and cry that his job had been lost and that their money was gone.

As he thought of that dreaded day, he found it more urgent to put something on this piece of paper, so he slapped his brush against it. He didnt know what he would draw, but he had to draw something. He was growing older without his family there to guide him, so Hunter had to teach himself the things that his parents should have. He was determined to do what hed always been praised for, his writing and his drawing, even without his vision there to aid him. With that one line on the paper, he sat back and stared at the paper, as hed done a thousand times before, but, as always, nothing appeared. Frustrated with his cloudy eyes that hed tried to blink and rub and scratch to bring his vision back, Hunter turned away from the picture. He hated being aggravated. It never did anything for him but give him a headache.

Rubbing his forehead to soothe the boiling throb before it could blaze into a fire, Hunter pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He didnt want to give in to Karofsky, so he couldnt just sit and twiddle his thumbs. Sighing heavily, he bowed his head and took a moment to just think, and his parents instantly appeared inside his head. He left his eyes closed and raised his hand again, and he felt around for the cup of paint to wet his dried brush. Letting his fingers go where they wanted across the paper, Hunter found himself dipping into the blue, which hed placed on the end of his cups of paint. To avoid putting red where the brown was supposed to go, Hunter taught himself to love organizing and counting and reorganizing his cups of paint.

When he finished stroking the paper with the brush, he lifted it and picked up a stick of glue. Climbing from his bed, Hunter walked over to the wall, and he searched for an open spot that he hadnt already filled. After he smothered the back of his painting in the sticky goo, he stuck it to the concrete, then he turned away and walked, moving his legs by habit. One day, he would break out of the patterns hed made across the floor, forcing himself to outsmart Karofsky and not show him the way that he desperately felt around for unrecognizable things that had once been familiar to him, and he would run away, down a road he hadnt traveled in a long time and hadnt been insightful enough to memorize, but, for now, hed drawn his shapes and traced and retraced the lines.