Kurt didnt cry. And for someone who got teary during any good Hallmark ad on TV, that was unusual.

Instead, he sat in his room, on his bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and stayed that way for days. He didnt cry.

Blaine had left him, and he was alone again.

"Kurt?"

The knock came at his bedroom door again, but Kurt didnt respond. Finally he heard the knob turn, and the door swing open gently. "Hey," Burt said softly. "Its been three days, buddy. Dont you think its time to talk about this now?"

Kurt stared at the wall. "I dont want to talk, Dad."

"I know." Burt sat down at the foot of the bed. "But sometimes it can help."

"Will it bring him back?"

"No, but it could help you deal with this a little better." The lack of tears was clearly unnerving Burt. "Just remember, Blaine leaving... it has nothing to do with you." Kurt let out a noise of disbelief, but Burt continued undeterred. "Do you really think he would drop out of school and leave town because he didnt want to date you anymore? Doesnt that seem a little extreme?"

"He knew he was going. He didnt tell me."

"What was the last thing he did tell you?"

Kurt closed his eyes, pained by the memory. "He said he loved me and that hed do anything for me." When he opened his eyes again, Burt was watching him with a soft expression.

"Well, maybe when he said hed do anything for you, he meant it. And what he did for you was to not involve you in a very messy situation." At Kurts questioning look, he added, "I can think of a dozen reasons why a family would have to skip town suddenly, and none of the options are very good. You said Mr. Anderson traveled abroad a lot?"

"Yeah. I never even met him. Blaine said he was gone most of the time."

"He may have gotten into some trouble. We just dont know."

Kurt frowned, deep in thought. "I wish I could help."

"I know you do, son. Thats one of the things I love most about you. But if I know Blaine, I know hed want you to take care of yourself right now. You havent eaten in days. Why dont you come downstairs and try some of Caroles hotdog macaroni and cheese casserole."

Kurt was silent for a minute, then heaved a sigh. "Quinoa salad with black beans and cilantro," he countered listlessly.

"Thats my boy."

Kurt made it through the next week on auto-pilot. He dodged his friends questions and the Warblers texts, choosing instead to spend his time reading magazines or watching old DVDs of Project Runway. The hurt didnt wane, though, and the worry only grew.

On Saturday morning, he rose early, stripped his bedding and threw it into the washing machine. Then he dusted his bookshelves, and wiped down his mirror. Cleaning was easy, automatic. It made him feel like he was accomplishing something.

The doorbell rang at eight, and he hurried downstairs before it could wake his family. When he pulled open the door, an unfamiliar man was standing there, holding a briefcase. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with natural blond hair and a bit of stubble. "Good morning," the man said with a charming smile. "You must be Kurt."

"I am," Kurt said, smiling back.

"My name is Scott Ward," he began.

Kurts smile dropped at once. "Youve got to be kidding me."

"Pardon?"

"What are you, some sort of pedophile?"

"What?"

"I heard you on the phone with Blaine. Trying to pressure him into doing something he didnt–"

"Kurt," Scott interrupted, pulling a slim leather wallet out of his jacket. "I work for the Department of Justice. Im a United States Marshal." He opened his wallet, displaying his badge. Kurt read it numbly. "Can I come in, please? Id rather not have this conversation on your porch."

Wordlessly, Kurt stepped aside, and Scott came into the foyer, shutting the door behind him. Kurt led him into the living room, dropping into a chair with a thud. "Youre a U.S. Marshal," Kurt repeated, still bewildered.

"I am. Im here because of Blaine."

"Youve talked to him? Is he all right?"

"Hes fine," Scott assured him, and Kurts shoulders slumped with relief. "I cant tell you where he is, but I assure you he is in a safe location."

"But why? Whats going on?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably. "Im in a bit of a strange predicament, Kurt. Because, for security purposes, Im not supposed to share with you any details."

"But?"

"But..." Scott showed his palms. "Blaine hasnt left me much choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Hes not doing too well."

"You just said he was fine!"

"Hes safe. Hes protected. But frankly, hes sort of heartbroken. He hasnt been eating or sleeping. And he flat-out refused to cooperate unless I came here and told you whats happening. So my options are either to lose our case, or to trust that you wont repeat what Im about to tell you. Not to anyone, not ever." Scotts eyes were deadly serious. "Do you understand?"

Kurt swallowed hard. "I promise," he swore.

Scott set his briefcase on the coffee table, popping it open. He withdrew a few newspaper clippings. "Have you ever heard of the Castellano family?"

"Sure, who hasnt. Theyre the West Coast mafia."

"Right." He handed the clippings to Kurt, who began to skim them quickly. "The FBI had been after their boss, Marco Castellano, for decades. But no matter how many informants, how many plants they got into the organization, no one could touch Marco. Then, in 2007, a boy and his father were fishing off a pier in the San Francisco Bay. They witnessed Marco shooting two men on his yacht and pushing them into the water."

"I remember this," Kurt breathed. "It was all over the news."

"Your boyfriend and his father were very brave. They reported the murders to the authorities, and they agreed to testify against Marco. And as a result, their lives would never be the same." Scott took back the articles, setting them back in the briefcase. "It wasnt long before the Castellanos found out who they were. We relocated them from San Francisco to Wisconsin, and gave them new identities. Perfecto chose a new first name–"

"Perfecto is Mr. Anderson?"

Scott smiled kindly. "Perfecto is Blaines real name."

Kurts eyes widened. "Oh."

"His mom, Dalisay, is Filipina. She named him after her father. But Perfecto is far too ethnic a name not to stand out in the Midwest. So I let him choose a new name. He became Blaine, and his mother became Ann."

"Why didnt they stay in Wisconsin?"

Scott drew a deep breath. "Well, thats where it gets complicated. Perfe – I mean, Blaine – he was twelve when we moved him, and hed just recently come out to his parents. Thats all well and good in San Francisco, but its a different ballgame in Wisconsin. He insisted on being out at his new school, despite all of his fathers warnings to fly under the radar."

"Oh, god." Kurt covered his mouth with his hand. "So when he thought his dad wanted him to be straight–"

"All his dad ever wanted was for him to be safe. The Castellanos had found out that Blaine was gay, and this country isnt exactly teeming with out-and-proud half-Filipino pre-teens." Scott shook his head. "No one could convince Blaine, though, and so he came out on his first day at his new public school. And the kids were merciless."

Kurts heart clenched, as he remembered the few stories Blaine had told him. "How long did they stay there?"

"Until Blaine landed in the hospital after a particularly bad beating. We relocated him and his mother to Ohio, while his dad was placed in Florida."

"You split them up?"

"Yes. Last week was the first time Blaine had seen his dad in more than two years."

"But–" Kurt squinted in confusion, his mind racing. Then he froze in disbelief. "You separated them because you thought Blaine was eventually going to get caught by the Castellanos. And you wanted his dad to still be around to testify."

"Very good," Scott said. "Blaines family didnt pick up on that."

"Youre a bastard."

Scott shrugged, not disagreeing. "The trial starts in a month. We pulled Blaine and his parents this week, and have them living in a safehouse for the duration of the trial."

"And then he can come back?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"No," Scott said, not unsympathetically. "He cant ever come back here, Kurt. A fresh start is his best chance at disappearing for good."

"But once Marco is put away–"

"There will probably still be a bounty on their heads. The mafia is not known for their forgiveness." Scott noticed Kurts pale expression, and added quickly, "Theres good news for Blaine, though." He rummaged through his briefcase again, before pulling out a photograph and handing it to Kurt.

It was a picture of a pudgy young boy with a mess of curls atop his head. "Whos this?"

"Thats Perfecto at age twelve."

Kurt did a double-take. "Seriously?"

"And here," Scott said, handing him another picture, "is something we intercepted recently through online chatter. Its an age-progression rendering thats accompanying the hit order out on Blaine."

The second photo showed a computer-generated image of an overweight teenager with shaggy, curly hair and a smattering of acne.

It looked nothing like Blaine.

"This is a good thing, right?" Kurt asked quickly. "Theyre looking for the wrong person."

"Exactly. They also assumed hed be taller, since his dad is over six feet. All of these things will work in his favor when it comes time to permanently place him. It doesnt protect him completely, though; he lives with his parents, and they still look similar to their old photos."

"But wont everyone see what Blaine looks like when he shows up at the trial?"

"No. Well be recording depositions of him and his father, and the footage will be digitally altered to obscure their appearances. As long as Blaine stays slim and keeps trying to straighten his hair, he should be okay."

Kurt flushed, recalling their argument over Blaines hair. Meanwhile, Scott placed the pictures back in the briefcase before snapping it shut. "Wait, youre not leaving, are you?" Kurt asked, starting to panic. "You–"

"I did what I promised," Scott said, standing.

"But I want to talk to Blaine. Please."

"Im afraid I cant allow that."

"What if you call him, and he and I can tell you what to say to each other? Then youre not technically breaking the rules–"

Scott started to walk toward the front door, then paused. "If you tell me a message, Ill relay it to Blaine when I see him. Thats all I can offer." He looked at Kurt intently. "But remember, hes hurting right now. You can give him comfort, but you cant give him false hope. Think about what Blaine needs to hear in order to move on with his life right now."

Kurt stood there, stricken. His chest tightened painfully, and he struggled to breathe. "Tell him..." I love you, I love you, Ill find you. "Tell him I said goodbye."