Kurt should've known he couldn't keep Blaine a secret forever.

Three weeks after he first met Blaine, Kurt entered the garage at a fast jog, cursing himself for losing track of time for the second time that week. He glanced at the numbers on his phone and groaned. An hour and a half late. At this rate, he'd be surprised if his dad didn't fire him.

"Dad?" he called, nodding and smiling at the other men in the shop as he passed them.

"Towards the back, Kurt!" he heard his father shout.

Kurt followed his father's voice to see him propping up the hood of a black SUV.

Burt looked up as he approached. "Hey, Kurt," he greeted. He glanced at the clock. "You're late," he said, frowning.

"Sorry," Kurt apologized. "I met Blaine at the Lima Bean again and lost track of time."

"That's twice in one week, Kurt. I'm worried."

Kurt flushed. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly. "It won't happen again."

"Hand me that wrench, will you?" Burt asked, holding out his left hand as he used his right to poke around the hood.

Kurt glanced around and reached over to the tool cart. After locating the wrench, Kurt handed it over wordlessly.

"You're spending a lot of time with this dead kid," Burt observed as he took the proffered wrench from Kurt.

Kurt bristled at the unsaid accusation. "We're trying to figure out how to get him to move on. Like I do with all the ghosts," he half-lied.

Burt sighed and bent over the hood of the car. "Yeah, Kurt, but I know you. I've never seen you so excited about meeting a ghost before. How old was he?"

"He is seventeen, Dad."

"Whatever, kid. So he's your age?"

Unseen by his father, Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, he's my age. He's also dead."

Burt turned just enough so Kurt could see his stony expression. "That doesn't mean anything in the long run."

"What?" Kurt spluttered.

"I'm just saying," Burt started, "That you're very invested for this to be a regular job."

"Because it isn't," Kurt bit back, strung. "Blaine's... special, Dad. He's different."

"Why? Cause he's your age and gay?"

"Yeah! Well, it's looking likely."

"So, what, are you two friends now?" Burt asked, straightening up from the hood of the car to stare into his son's eyes.

Kurt looked away. "I don't know, Dad. Probably. Maybe? I don't know."

"Well, you should figure that out, ASAP," Burt grunted. "And tell me when you do. I don't want you chasing after some ghost just in time for him to move on." He turned back to the car. "I'll tell you right now, Kurt. Loving a ghost can be one of the worst things you could do."

Kurt scowled. "I'm well aware of that. And I don't love Blaine. I've known him for all of three weeks."

"All I'm saying is that it's looking to me that that's where this thing is heading," Burt said, holding his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

"And," Kurt added, "He's dead!"

"Look, I'm not forbidding you from seeing him, alright?" Burt assured. "Just... be careful. I know how guarded you are, Kurt, and I've never seen you take down your walls this fast. I'm just concerned, is all."

"He's special, Dad," Kurt repeated quietly.

"Yeah, just remember that he comes with an expiration date," Burt warned in a patient voice. "And any relationship – friendly, romantic or anywhere in between – with a ghost comes with consequences. Like I said: expiration date, and they're never all there, if you catch my drift. When your mom came back, I expected it to be just like when we were married." Burt abruptly turned away from Kurt to attend to the engine once more. "But she had changed. As people, we have a million little things tying us to this earth. We have our stuff, our family and friends. But when you die, you lose all of those. There's one thing and one thing only that ties you to this earth, and when that tie's gone so are you."

Kurt fiddled with the strap of his bag, unwilling to interrupt his father.

"For your mom, it was you," Burt muttered, grimacing as the engine he was working on gave an angry hiss. "And it took me a long time to understand that." Burt shook his head. "But when you were grown and didn't need her any more, she didn't have that tie and she moved on. Like all ghosts do eventually."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Kurt apologized quietly.

Burt turned around, his expression one of shock. "What're you sorry for, Kurt? She did what was best for you."

"And for you?" Kurt asked knowingly.

Burt grimaced. "That's another story. But I don't blame Lizzie or you, Kurt, if that's what you're worried about. I loved having her around for those last couple of years, even if she couldn't love me the same way." He shrugged. "And I can't even imagine how I would have raised you on my own."

"I was quite a handful," Kurt agreed, his eyes drifting to inspect his reflection in a car mirror.

"More like several dozen," Burt murmured, earning himself a friendly glare from his son. "Will you put this back?" he handed back the now oily wrench, which Kurt took with a disgusted expression.

"What's got you all bothered? A little grease never killed you," Burt exclaimed.

Kurt shuddered. "Maybe not me, no, but it would kill my new Marc Jacobs bag, Dad."

"Is that the one that cost you $500 two weeks ago?"

Kurt nodded as he set down the wrench, careful to wipe his greasy fingers on a spare rag he found by the toolbox.

"Well then, make all the faces you want if it keeps that bag clean. I'm not paying to replace it," Burt huffed as he turned to inspect the engine from a different angle.

"I didn't expect you to," Kurt replied smoothly.

"So, Kurt, apart from this new ghost, what's up?" Burt asked, watching Kurt settle down in a chair and safely tuck his bag between his legs out of the corner of his eye.

"Nothing really," Kurt said, absentmindedly reaching up to rub his shoulder.

"How're things at school?"

"The same."

"My god, Kurt. I might as well be talking to a brick wall," Burt groaned.

Kurt shrugged and then spoke in a monotone, "I aced my French test, and we had a pop quiz in history."

"How'd you do on that quiz?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I think it went alright. I'm sure I did better than half the class, if that's what you're asking. They slept through it."

Burt nodded. "And... how's everything else? Glee going well?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Just as dysfunctional as ever."

"That Rachel Berry still annoying?"

"As a shredded fan belt," Kurt supplied wryly.

Burt nodded. "As long as you're still having fun, Kurt, that's all that matters. And how're people treating you?" He snuck a peek at Kurt out of the corner of his eye.

Kurt shifted slightly. "Fine, I guess," he said dismissively.

"I see," Burt huffed. "They still tossing those iced things at you?"

Kurt shook his head, avoiding his father's gaze. "No."

Burt made a skeptical noise. "You sure, bud?"

"Yes," Kurt declared defiantly, lifting his nose into the air.

Burt rolled his eyes. "Fine," he muttered, "Don't tell me. Just don't give me that look, I know when you're lying. I raised you, for Pete's sake. Give your old man some credit."

Kurt scrubbed his face with his hands. "It's fine, Dad. Don't worry."

"Can't help it," Burt called as he bent over the engine once more. "It's my job as your dad. Now, what's really going on?"

"I'm still getting slushied," Kurt admitted, going a bit red. "And a few shoves here and there, but I'm fine, Dad. I'm handling it."

Burt frowned. "If you say so, kid. But the minute things get too much for you to handle, you tell me, you got it?"

Kurt nodded solemnly. "I swear, Dad. I'll come to you the minute things get to be too much."

Burt nodded. "Now, how about you throw on your uniform and help your old man figure out what's wrong with this engine?"

"Sure." Kurt hiked his bag onto his shoulder and reached for his change of clothes.

"It's good to see you here, Kurt," Burt said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I'm here twice a week," he said dryly.

"Well," Burt started as he took off his baseball cap to scratch the top of his bald head, "Not many kids in high school would still be willing to work for their old man in a garage." He shrugged. "So thanks."

Kurt smiled. "It's my pleasure," he said as he gave his dad a one-armed hug on the way to the bathroom. "Love you."

"Love you too, son."

School on Friday was only slightly more bearable. Today, Kurt had Blaine and the weekend to look forward to, so it was that thought that got him through all of his morning classes, staring at the clock and doodling even more K+B in the margins of his French notebook.

Another locker check before lunch, but this one felt less forceful. Maybe the jocks were too busy focusing on the game later that day or the weekend. Either way, the resulting clang of his back into the wall of lockers didn't seem as loud as usual. Sure, it hurt like hell... but more of a week without hairspray kind of hell than the fire and brimstone kind.

The rest of the day resulted in the same fashion, doodles, daydreams and then the relief of the final bell.

With an extra bounce to his step, Kurt hiked his bag off the floor of his last period Home Ec class and made his way over the choir room. Just glee, and then he'd see Blaine.

So close.

Kurt settled into his usual chair in the back, placing his precious Marc Jacobs on the floor under his seat and crossing his legs. He listened coolly as Rachel began the rehearsal with her usual pomp and circumstance. He even double-teamed with Santana to cut her down to her hobbit size every time she got too self-absorbed, which was frankly all the time.

Just as Rachel began singing, Kurt caught sight of a familiar blue blazer lurking in the doorway to the choir room, and he felt something warm swell in his chest. Blaine's gelled head appeared a moment later, a coy finger pressed to his lips as he stepped inside the room.

'What...?' Kurt mouthed, his blue eyes staring at Blaine as he watched the other boy navigate around the piano and sidestep around a belting Rachel.

Blaine shrugged in response and skipped up to Kurt's row of chairs and seized the empty one next to him. "Well, you said you'd be late," he explained, speaking clear over Rachel's singing, "and I thought I'd check your glee club out." He swung around in his seat to face the front. "She's really good. Like, scarily good."

"She's also just plain scary," Kurt muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Crazy ambitious."

"A girl after my own heart," Blaine murmured, listening intently.

"You're dead."

"So? I was ambitious when I was alive. I had hopes and dreams, Kurt."

Kurt flushed. "Of course you did – I didn't mean to assume – Blaine..."

Blaine sighed and put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "It doesn't matter now, Kurt. Sorry."

Kurt nodded, his heart beating loudly.

"Can you please be quiet?" Brittany asked, turning around in her chair. "I can't hear Rachel over the smell of your raspberry hair gel."

"Sorry Brittany," Kurt apologized, his elbow halfway towards Blaine's ribs to encourage him to do the same before he realized that Brittany wouldn't hear Blaine anyway. Kurt turned to face the front again, but Blaine was staring at Brittany, his eyes impossibly wide.

"You can..." He cleared his throat noisily. "You can smell my hair gel?" he asked, his voice a tad higher than normal.

Brittany frowned. "Duh. But the rest of you drifts in and out," she explained slowly. "Like I can see you out of the corner of my eye." She pointed at the corner of her left eye to demonstrate.

"You can see him?" Kurt swiveled in his seat to stare at her too.

Brittany nodded, her expression one of confusion. "So can you."

"I know I can," Kurt inserted sharply.

"Kurt, she can smell my hair gel," Blaine whispered urgently.

Kurt snorted. "I'd be surprised if half of Ohio hasn't smelled it already, Blaine. It's pungent to the extreme."

"Hey!"

"Kurt, Brittany," Rachel Berry's strident voice cut through Kurt and Blaine's conversation like a knife. "You are missing the dramatic final rendition of the chorus!"

Blaine turned a concerned eye towards the band members behind her. "Does she know that the band is still playing? That's awfully impolite of her."

Kurt shrugged. His eyes swept up and down Rachel Berry, noting her not-really-appropriately festive reindeer sweater – wasn't she Jewish? – and her dramatic pose with her hands on her hips. She was also currently glaring at him with all the fire her small stature could possess, but Kurt was less concerned about that and more afraid of the knitted animal prancing on her chest.

"Right, sorry," Kurt drawled. Beside him, Blaine chuckled at his obvious insincerity.

"I'm sorry," Brittany apologized demurely.

Rachel huffed and resumed belting her Broadway showstopper at Finn, who looked mildly frightened. They were broken up, right? They always broke up on Thursdays.

"Wow," Blaine said frankly, "She's really committed. Don't get me wrong, her voice is lovely, but..." he drifted off, for a moment before resuming, "I was never this bad. I sang in amusement parks, for crying out loud."

Kurt nodded, his eyes trained on the small brunette at the front of the room.

"She does realize that this is high school glee club, right?" Blaine asked, his eyebrows raised skeptically, "She's not making her Broadway debut."

Kurt tried to hide his giggle behind his hand, he really did.

"And you weren't kidding about the sweaters," Blaine said in a perfectly audible voice, gesturing with a free hand. "And no, as far as I know, those have never ever been in fashion, at least, not as long as I've been around. And I've been around a long time."

Kurt stifled his laugh. Barely.

All too soon, Rachel finished her song to scattered applause.

"Santana, if you please?" Mr. Schuester called as Rachel took her seat. "You're up next. Then Tina and finally Brittany. Boys will be going on Monday."

Kurt sighed and shifted in his seat. "This is going to be a long practice," he sighed.

Blaine shrugged. "I don't mind staying. Are the rest of your members good?"

Kurt nodded. "Santana's very good, as is Tina. Brittney's not bad, but watch her dancing."

Blaine nodded and turned so that he was facing forward.

It was easily the best glee practice Kurt had had in a long time. Even though he didn't get a solo this time around, having Blaine there more than made up for the lack of spotlight. His commentary, less snarky than what was going on in Kurt's own head, was smart and laced with polite humor that was just so Blaine.

As soon as glee ended, Kurt tapped Brittany on the shoulder.

"Hi Kurt!" she chirped. She deliberately turned her head, so Kurt and Blaine could only see her profile. "And Kurt's friend!" she added with a smile.

Blaine laughed. "Hi, Brittany, was it?"

"That's me."

"Britt," Kurt started, his eyes darting to Blaine before coming to rest on Brittany's innocent face. "I-" He blinked, just noticing how Santana was waiting, perfectly within hearing range, with her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently.

"Get on with it, Hummel," she commanded as Kurt paused. "We have Cheerios practice in ten and Britt and I need to get our mack on before we hit the field," she said.

"Right..." Kurt said, eyeing Santana warily. "Um, Britt, perhaps another time."

"Okay." She lithely leapt up from her chair and linked pinkies with Santana, who led her out of the choir room.

Apparently everyone else had hurried out of glee, eager to get their weekends started, which left Kurt and Blaine alone in the choir room.

"So, this is McKinley, eh?" Blaine asked, hopping up from his chair and striding around the room, his hazel eyes bright with interest.

Kurt nodded from his seat, perfectly content to just watch Blaine from right where he was. "Yup, the home of the Titans, or Neanderthals, as I prefer to call them," he sniffed.

Blaine finished his round and sat back down next to Kurt.

"Do you want to stay here?" Kurt asked him after a moment. "We could go back to the Lima Bean, if you'd like that more."

Blaine shook his head. "Nope. Here's just fine – it feels like I've been living in the Lima Bean." He smiled. "If you know what I mean."

"I figured as much," Kurt laughed.

Blaine hummed happily as he stared around the choir room some more. "Unless," he said, turning worried eyes to Kurt, "You'd rather go to the Lima Bean, I know how much you love their nonfat mochas."

"You know my coffee order?" Kurt asked, both astounded pleased. A nice, warm feeling bubbled up in the pit of his stomach.

Blaine threw him a look. "Of course I do."

Kurt remained silent, not sure what to do with this most recent piece of information. "No, I'd like to stay here," he said after a moment. "The school's going to be open until the game later, so we won't get kicked out."

"Great!" Blaine said eagerly.

"So," Kurt began, "I've been thinking some more about why you haven't been moving on."

Blaine inhaled sharply. "So have I," he sighed heavily. "There's not much to do when you're dead, after all," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Right," Kurt coughed. "What're your ideas, then?"

Blaine let his chin fall to his chest. "I don't know," he mumbled, exasperated. "I've done everything I can think of." He raised his head so that he could look right into Kurt's wide blue eyes. "That's why I went to England that one time, you know?" He laughed hollowly. "Sure, it was great fun and all and I really wanted to see the royal wedding, but that was the first time I ever left Ohio, did you know that?"

Kurt shook his head wordlessly.

Blaine nodded. "I don't know if you know, but the fifties weren't about being... different. Or having life experiences. You were supposed to go to school, meet a girl, get married and move to the suburbs and raise four point five children. You were supposed to have a car and a refrigerator, and attend poker night with the boys or bridge night with the gals." Blaine shook his head, hunching himself over as he rested his elbows on his knees and stared straight ahead. "But I didn't. I didn't want that. And sometimes it felt like... I was the only one who felt that way." He licked his lips. "I told my parents, once. They laughed and shrugged it off, and wondered why the hell I was looking at colleges in New York."

"New York?" Kurt echoed, his voice slightly higher than normal.

Blaine turned his head to look at him. "New York," he affirmed. "I wanted to be a performer. I didn't ever tell them that, of course," Blaine explained with another sigh.

"I-" Kurt cleared his throat. "I want to go to New York too," he told Blaine quietly. "It's been my dream for years."

Blaine smiled, but it was sad and lacked his usual energy. He blinked. "But where was I?"

"England?" Kurt prompted.

"Right," Blaine said. "I went because I'd never left Ohio, and maybe that's what my short life was missing. An adventure. So I went to England for the wedding and had an adventure." He shrugged. "That obviously didn't pan out."

"Obviously," Kurt repeated, frowning.

"I mean, I had an adventure," Blaine backtracked, "but it didn't result in moving on. No gates of pearly white or doors leading to the great beyond." Blaine scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Anything else?" Kurt asked gently.

Blaine nodded. "I took a trip to New York in the nineties to see RENT." He smiled. "That was a lot of fun too."

"Oh my god," Kurt breathed. "That's incredible, Blaine."

"I thought so," Blaine said with a wry smile. "It was amazing, Kurt. I wish you could have been there."

Kurt flushed. "Me too," he said after a moment. "My god. The original cast?"

"Of course," Blaine scoffed, looking almost offended that Kurt had to ask. He straightened up in his chair as he made a face at Kurt. "Well, there you go. Those two are the major events in my afterlife. Any other questions?"

Kurt fiddled with the ends of his cashmere scarf. "Well, sometimes moving on can be triggered by small events, not big extravagant ones. Like, I know this one ghost I met a couple of years go – her name was Mercedes – came back to Lima after she had died in LA from a stroke because she needed to sing a song on the auditorium stage at McKinley. She said she had always wanted to do it, but had been kicked out of Glee club back in the sixties for having too much sass before she could. She reckoned the old glee club coach couldn't handle a black diva and kicked her out on purpose." Kurt shrugged. "I liked her. But yeah, Blaine," he continued, "That's sometimes all it takes. Just a song."

Blaine nodded thoughtfully. "I've sung hundreds of songs all over the place, and that clearly hasn't done it."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "That was an example, Blaine. Not to be copied verbatim."

Blaine smiled. "I know that."

Kurt bumped his shoulder affectionately. "Of course you do," he said with more than a tinge of condescension in his tone.

Blaine scowled, but Kurt could still see the smile in his eyes.

"Anyway, those are my words of wisdom," Kurt said brusquely as he looked away. "You've seen everyone you've ever known?"

"Yup," Blaine answered, "Parents, brother, old Warbler friends, all family members. I've seen them all." He bit his lip before continuing hesitantly, "I was never that... close with my family. My parents never understood me, especially my passion for music, and my brother was too old to really be around for me growing up. By the time I entered seventh grade, he was already married and moved to Columbus. I see my nieces and nephews sometimes," Blaine said, smiling slightly. "After I died, I even got my own namesake. Little Blaine's now – my gosh – I think nearly forty. But yeah," Blaine concluded, "That's it for family and friends. I check in on my Warbler friends every once in a while, but my death was so long ago, they've mostly forgotten me."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said quietly.

Blaine shook his head. "Don't be. It is what it is. I think it's good they didn't dwell for too long, got to live their lives and all that jazz."

Kurt blinked at him. "That's... very good of you, Blaine."

Blaine smirked, but Kurt could see something sad hiding behind his smile.

Kurt chuckled. "Any lost items that you need to find?"

"What, like socks? I never wore them if I could help it," Blaine said, trying not to laugh. "I really hope you're not going to make me spend my afterlife looking for my old socks, Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No I do not mean socks, Blaine Anderson. I mean like lost mementos, things of sentimental value... that kind of stuff. Not socks, my god." He shook his head, a smile emerging slowly over his face.

Blaine laughed as he shook his head. "Nope. Stuff was superficial in the fifties."

Kurt sighed and picked up the ends of his scarf again. "Alright then. Any secrets you'd like to share?"

"What?" Blaine demanded sharply.

"Secrets," Kurt repeated, looking at him curiously. "Like, things that others aren't supposed to know."

"I know the definition of a secret, thanks," Blaine said in a bitter voice.

"Fine," Kurt said, his eyes widening and hands raising palm up in a gesture of surrender. "I just thought that sharing some secrets might help the process along."

"Well, I've been spilling my life story to you," Blaine retorted. "I'm kind of out of secrets at this point."

"Really?" Kurt's expression was anything but believing. "So tell me, how'd you die, Blaine?"

He licked his lips nervously, all the fight draining out of him. "You really want to know?"

Kurt swallowed. "Yes I do, or else I wouldn't be asking."

Blaine's eyes hardened as he let out a deep sigh. "If you must know, there was a social with our sister school. It was the first ever Sadie Hawkins dance at Dalton. And I was asked by a couple of girls," Blaine said, waving an idle hand. "But I didn't really want to go, and those girls..." He threw Kurt a significant look. "I couldn't really see myself with them, so I said no. Because I knew what happened after those dances. It may have been the fifties, but we were still teenagers. But then, a friend, Charlie Elias, found me the night before and said that we could go together. As a laugh, he said." Blaine gave a dry chuckle that sounded anything but humorous.

Kurt nodded, entranced by the way Blaine's eyes seemed a million miles away from his corner in the deserted choir room. Or, more precisely, half a century away.

"So I said yes. Eli – that's what we called him – and I sat out most of the dance. Then," and Blaine's voice took on a hard edge that Kurt had never heard before, "Right before the last song, Eli asked me to dance with him. While we were waiting for his dad to pick us up, these three guys," Blaine paused, blinking, before continuing, "um, beat the living crap out of us. Eli lived, I didn't."

Kurt's eyes widened as he took in a sharp breath. "I-I'm so sorry," he whispered, instinctively reaching over to feel Blaine's cold hands.

Blaine shrugged. "It was years ago, Kurt."

Kurt gave him a sad smile, his eyes tender. "But I'm guessing I'm the first person you told about it."

Blaine smiled weakly in return. "You're the only person I could tell, Kurt."

"Like that matters," Kurt said loftily. "Blaine Anderson, we are friends. Don't try to write that off."

Blaine's blinked, his eyes suddenly watery. "Um, friends?" he said, his voice cracking slightly on the word.

Kurt flushed as he pulled his hands away hastily. "I-I mean, if you don't think we're friends, then for sure I don't think that. I know it's weird, and you're, well, dead, so of course you wouldn't think of me like a fr- and I for one, have never had a dead– it's hard enough to find live ones, never mind tracking down ones proverbially six feet under. Obviously, I'm ignoring those ghosts who always seem to track me down in the middle of my moisturizing routine, of course, because they always show up right-"

Blaine shook his head at Kurt's rambling, his face breaking out into a delighted grin. "No, Kurt, I'd love to be friends with you," he said, shaking his head and smiling even wider as Kurt stopped speaking and beamed at him.

"Oh," he said, giving a giddy little dance in his seat. "Friends," he murmured, his blue eyes widening.

"Friends," Blaine echoed, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he contemplated the word. "I'd like that."

"Good."

"Good."

"So, are you over all that..." Kurt asked delicately. "The Sadie Hawkins... the, um-"

"My murder?" Blaine supplied with an amused air. "Yeah." He shrugged. "I was pretty angry for about ten years or so, especially when the murder trials didn't go the way I wanted them to, but, Kurt, that was fifty years ago. You need to let go sometime. So I did... it was hard and I took a while, but that's about it. I'm not one to hold grudges."

"So that's not preventing you from moving on," Kurt stated, puzzled.

"No," Blaine said slowly after a beat. "I'm all square with my death. Luckily for you," he said in a wry tone, "I will probably be free for conversation and entertainment until the end of time."

Kurt didn't even hesitate to reach over and cover one of Blaine's hands with his again, ignoring the unnatural cold skin beneath his fingertips. "You won't be stuck for here forever, Blaine," he told him firmly. "It's my job to help ghosts move on. And I have a hundred percent success rate, and you will not mess that up for me, Blaine Anderson. Even if it takes another fifty years of moping around the Lima Bean. I'll bang on the door to the great beyond with my cane to get you in there, if I have to."

"Thank you, Kurt."

"Anytime."