Saturday, 4:43p.m. - 8:29p.m.

New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania

Blaine was starting to wonder if he'd made the right decision.

Not his decision to take the vacation with Kurt.  He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that that had been the right decision.  The moment he made it he put his phone on silent, throwing it in a suitcase once he'd received Kurt's text.

He would call Dave – or maybe text him, if he wanted to reduce his stress even further – once they'd gotten to the cabin.  Dave would be furious, there was no way around it, but Kurt was right – Dave was Blaine's husband, not his father, and if their relationship couldn't survive Blaine's insistence on a bit of autonomy, it was in even worse shape than Blaine already feared.

No, the decision Blaine was worrying over was made manifest by the heavy metal object in his messenger bag, the heavy metal object that was fully loaded, even if it did have the safety on.

Blaine didn't even know how to shoot; he had never used a gun in his life, didn't even like having one in the apartment.  But Dave had insisted, and...well, whatever Dave wanted seemed to be what inevitably happened.

But Kurt knew how to shoot.  When he had told Blaine as much, Blaine had been utterly unable to mask his surprise.  Kurt had simply rolled his eyes and said: “I grew up in Ohio, Blaine, of course I know how to shoot,” by way of explanation.

Blaine chewed on his lip for a moment and contemplated.  At the next red light they hit, Blaine finally pulled the gun out of his bag.

“Kurt?  Um...would you hold on to this for me?”

Kurt turned to Blaine with a look of mild curiosity, his eyes going wide when he saw what Blaine was holding out to him.  The car lurched slightly – Kurt must have momentarily taken his foot off the gas pedal in his shock – before Kurt seemed to regain his usual collected demeanor.

“Jesus Christ, Blaine!  What are you even doing with that?  Oh my god!”

Blaine ducked his head in embarrassment. “I don't know...serial killers, bears, homophobes...what if the townspeople try to lynch us or something?  I just...I figured...”

“Blaine,” Kurt said shakily as the the car began moving again.  “That is...you do realize that is a Jericho 941, don't you?”

Blaine looked at him blankly.

“They were developed by the Israeli army, and – it's just a really serious gun, that's all.  My dad used to...”  

Kurt trailed off.  It had been four years since his father died, but there were still moments when he seemed to radiate grief like it was a fresh wound.  Blaine felt a sudden strong urge to touch him.  He laid the hand that wasn't holding the gun on Kurt's shoulder.  Kurt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and gave him a small, private smile.

“I'm just surprised you let Dave keep that lying around,” Kurt finally said.  “I know how you feel about gun control.”

“Well, I wouldn't use the term let...” Blaine muttered, hoping they could change the subject soon.  He wasn't in the mood to field Kurt's scathing (however valid) criticisms of Blaine's marriage at the moment.

Kurt sighed.  “All right, just put it in my messenger bag.  And please tell me the safety is on.”

Blaine rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Kurt.”  Dave hadn't actually taught Blaine to shoot, but he had made sure Blaine knew how to properly pull a gun on someone should the occasion arise.

Blaine tucked the gun into Kurt's bag, already feeling an enormous surge of relief at transferring it into Kurt's custody.  Blaine had never questioned how oddly and perfectly safe being with Kurt made him feel.  Safe and warm and loved, and–

Well, and everything he was meant to feel when he was with his husband, not his best friend.

Blaine sighed and closed his eyes, letting the breeze ruffle the few curls that had broken free from the gel in his hair.  Kurt and Blaine had met during their freshman year in college.  There had been an instant and intense attraction between them about which they had never spoken, but which Blaine was sure had been mutual at the time.  But Kurt had had a boyfriend, and he and Kurt were nothing if not moral and compassionate people, so nothing had come of it.  Their harmless flirting had tempered and mellowed into companionable banter, which later deepened into an abiding loyalty.  Blaine and Kurt had fun together.  They made each other laugh, and could spend entire afternoons talking about absolutely nothing of substance, and the conversations always felt truly nourishing regardless.  And they could just as easily confess their deepest insecurities, spend entire evenings revealing hidden vulnerabilities, and learning the depths to which they truly could trust one another.  

And when Kurt's father had died...

As horrible an event as it was, it was also the very thing that finally solidified the depth of their bond.  Kurt and Blaine were the forever kind of friends, and Blaine had barely left Kurt's side in the wake of Burt's death.

It had driven a huge rift between Blaine and Dave, and even though he had never told Kurt, Blaine almost left Dave when he finally decreed that Blaine would have to choose either Kurt or himself.

When Dave realized that Blaine really might choose Kurt, he had proposed.  And Blaine had accepted.

Blaine wasn't an idiot.  He knew his marriage was fucked up.  He knew Dave was controlling.  But there were sides to Dave that people like Kurt never saw.  Like how he gathered Blaine in his arms and told him how beautiful he was.  Like how he had told Blaine that cuddling on the couch and watching  football with Blaine was his favorite thing in the world.  Like how Dave had actually stood up to Blaine's father on more than one occasion, had defended Blaine when he was too exhausted by the same old arguments to stand up for himself.  

Even if Dave did seem to agree with Blaine's father on a few choice issues.

If neither Dave nor his father's opinion had meant so much to him, Blaine would be an actor by now.  Or at least a struggling wannabe actor.  It's not that he didn't enjoy his career as a freelance journalist and theater critic, but–

But. He had never wanted to spend his life on the sidelines.  And the sidelines were exactly where he had ended up.

Blaine sighed, and wondered – not for the first time – how, precisely, this had become his life.

Kurt glanced over at him.  “You all right?”

“Yeah.  Yes.  I just...I was just thinking.”

“Anything profound?”

Blaine laughed.  “Hardly.”  He paused.  “So...whose place is this again?”

As they slowed to a halt at a stop sign, Kurt ducked his head to light a cigarette.  Before two full seconds had passed, the car behind them blared their horn.

“Oh, I am so sorry I've inconvenienced you with a three-second delay!” Kurt snapped over his shoulder to a driver that had the windows rolled up and clearly couldn't hear him.  He turned back to face the road, and resumed driving.  “God, I will be so glad when we finally get out of the city.  New York drivers make me want to...well.  Maybe you should have waited a bit before giving me that gun.”

Blaine laughed, and Kurt smirked at him fondly.  “To answer your question, though – you know Felicia, who handles publicity for the bar?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Well, she's getting divorced and her husband is getting this place.  So she's letting all her friends use it before she has to turn over the keys.”

Blaine grinned.  “So the place might already be trashed by the time we get there, then.”

Kurt laughed.  “God forbid.  Hopefully her more destructive friends will be taking their turn after us.”

“I've never been out of the city without Dave before,” Blaine mused.  “I mean...not since I was a kid, anyway.”

Kurt looked like he was choking back a million things that he wanted to say.  “How did you get him to agree to let you come? I wouldn't have expected him to,” he finally said.

Blaine bit his lip and tried not to smile.  “That's because I...um...didn't ask him.”

Kurt's eyes widened in shock.  “Blaine you...”  He barked out a sharp, unrestrained laugh.  “Oh, my – Blaine, he's going to kill you when he finds out!  I can't believe you finally...I mean, I can't believe you actually did that!”  Kurt was full-on laughing now, a quality of laughter that Blaine hadn't heard from him in a long time.  It seemed fueled less by mirth than by actual joy.  Blaine started laughing too, unable to resist joining in.

“Well, he never would have let me come,” Blaine finally said seriously.  “He never lets me do a single fucking thing that's any fun.  All he wants me to do is sit around the apartment waiting for him to come home while he goes out and does god knows what.”

“Well, you get what you settle for,” Kurt replied mildly, wincing slightly as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Blaine studied Kurt's profile for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to be offended by the abrupt lapse in tact.

Unable to summon any true anger,  Blaine's lips twitched into a smirk.  “I left him a note,” he finally said in a serious tone.

Kurt absolutely shrieked with laughter, seeming barely able to keep his concentration on the road.

“I left him stuff to microwave for dinner,” Blaine added, dissolving back into laughter as Kurt's grew ever more uproarious.  

They laughed until they were well into New Jersey.

~000~

As the sky began deepening, late-afternoon light bleeding into dusk, Blaine pulled down the visor in front of him, holding his middle and forefinger in a tight “v” and miming the act of smoking a cigarette, a look of cool indifference on his face.

Kurt snorted.  “Blaine, what are you doing?”

“Smoking,” Blaine replied.  Then, his voice in a higher register, he added: “Because I'm such a badass.”

Kurt chuckled and rolled his eyes.  “Has anyone ever told you you're insane?”

“Well, you.  Frequently,” Blaine answered, continuing to “smoke” in front of the mirror.  

Kurt shook his head fondly. “There is a reason for that,” he replied.  

“So when are you going to quit, anyway?” Blaine asked casually.  Kurt groaned.

“Oh, god, not you too.  You're as bad as my f–” Kurt stopped himself, swallowed.  “As bad as Finn,” he amended, trying his best to sound lighthearted.  

“I just...Kurt, your dad...it was his heart,” Blaine said carefully.

“I know.”  Kurt's voice was small; not defensive or irritated as Blaine had expected.  Just....small.

“And...I mean, it's often genetic – heart issues – and smoking raises your likelihood of–”

“I know, Blaine.”  And, ah.  There was the irritation.

They were silent for a long moment.  “I'm sorry,” Blaine finally said with a sigh.  “I just...you're not going to be twenty-six forever, and I'm selfish.  I want to watch bad reality TV with you in a nursing home when we're in our 80s.  I want you to be around when I'm in my 80s.”

Kurt took his right hand off the gear shift and gave Blaine's knee a small squeeze.  “I know,” he said again, but this time his tone was nothing but soft and fond.  Blaine smiled ruefully.

Kurt pulled a fresh cigarette out of his pack and leaned into Blaine's personal space while keeping his eyes on the road.  “Got a light?” He asked, and Blaine laughed, pretending to light Kurt's cigarette with his imaginary one.

~000~

“Are those the Appalachian mountains?” Blaine asked.  Kurt nodded.

“At some point we should encounter the Alleghenies, which are part of the Appalachians.  Maybe we have already, I don't really know.  All I know is that the cabin is in the Alleghenies, near some place called  Spruce Knob.  And there's supposed to be a river we can fish in.”

“And swim in?”

Kurt pursed his lips.  “It might be a bit cold for that...”

Blaine waved away the protest.  “C'mon Hummel, it’s mid-September.  man up.  If you're making me fish, I'm making you swim.”

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  But if I freeze my dick off, you're paying to have it reattached.”

Blaine grinned.  “Deal.”

“So,” Kurt said, changing the subject, “are you hungry?  I have some granola bars and-”

“Granola bars?  Come on, Kurt.  Let's stop for some real Southern food.”

“We're in Pennsylvania, Blaine.”

“Southern Pennsylvania, Kurt.”

“Oh my god, how many times have you actually left the city in your life?”

Blaine turned to Kurt to give him his most earnest puppydog eyes.  “That's exactly my point, Kurt.  I neverget to do stuff like this.  Can't we just stop for a little bit?  Please?”

“We won't get to the cabin until close to midnight as it is,” Kurt protested, but Blaine could tell he was starting to yield.

“Oh, come on.  There is no way granola bars are going to be enough, and I know you hate eating drive-through.  We have to get dinner somewhere, right?  And besides, we should probably stretch our legs.  I don't want you getting deep vein thrombosis or something – do you have any idea how guilty that would make me feel?”

Kurt threw his hands up as he pulled to a stop at a lone traffic light guarding a quiet intersection.  They could hear the crickets chirping around them, the night as thick and dark as a heavy blanket.  “You live inNew York City, Blaine, and now that we're in a place where culture comes to die, you want to stop and mingle with the locals?  Really?” he demanded.

But Blaine already had his iphone out, and was thumbing along the screen excitedly as Kurt continued to drive.  “Ooh!  It says there's a gay bar near here.  An honest-to-goodness country gay bar, Kurt, we have to!”  Blaine was practically bouncing in his seat.  

Kurt sighed. “Oh, all right,” he finally conceded.  “But if you're expecting a gay bar in rural Pennsylvania to be an enriching cultural experience, I have a feeling you're going to end up quite disappointed.”

Blaine practically launched himself at Kurt, who yelped as the car swerved slightly from the surprise attack.  “Jesus Christ, Blaine,” he muttered.  But Blaine was barely paying attention.

“Oh my god, Kurt, you are the best! This is going to be so fun. OK, you're going to want to take the exit for route 76 when you see it.”

“I hope you realize that this is what you're getting from me instead of a birthday present,” Kurt mumbled, but followed Blaine's directions obediently.