When Blaine woke up the next morning, Kurt was still asleep. He was sleeping...well, fitfully was too mild a term. He was shaking visibly, his face shiny with sweat, and it scared Blaine. What do I do? he thought, mind racing with possible causes of Kurt's behavior. The flu...the swine flu...the bird flu...he doesn't have the flu, Blaine, don't be stupid.

Suddenly, as if a lightbulb had turned on in his brain, it came to him.

Withdrawals.

He raced downstairs to the computer, powered it up, and tapped his foot impatiently while Internet Explorer loaded. Once the Google homepage showed up on his screen, he typed in every iteration he could think of. Oxycontin withdrawals, Valium withdrawals, and Atavan withdrawals all came back with various results, though Blaine had to adjust the spelling of Ativan. All of them counted shaking as a symptom, and most listed profuse sweating, as well. As Blaine read down the list, his worry for Kurt grew and grew.

"Poor Kurt," Blaine whispered aloud, putting his fingers to the keyboard again and typing "help with" in front of each original search he'd done. Scrolling and clicking through practically every search result, his heart sank as he saw that all the websites recommended—strongly—not quitting cold turkey. Not that Kurt had a choice. He hadn't been allowed to bring any medicine, from what Blaine understood.

Blaine went downstairs immediately. Rising early was in his nature, and he figured that he could use this time to make himself useful to Kurt, before his father woke up and gave him a laundry list of other ways to be useful. When Kurt woke up, Blaine was standing on the ladder precariously, a mug of tea in the hand that wasn't gripping the railing.

Kurt peered at Blaine, confused and bleary. "Blaine...what?" He gestured to the tea.

Blaine took a breath. "I woke up a little bit ago, Kurt, and I saw you sleeping, but it scared me, 'cause you looked all shaky and sweaty. It's not that cold out, so my next guess was...that you were having withdrawals from the OxyContin, Valium, and Ativan." Blaine shrugged, smiling shyly. "I had to, uh, adjust the spelling on that one when I searched on the Internet for ways to help," he chuckled. "It didn't say tea on any of the sites, before you ask, but it's chamomile. It'll get you more relaxed, which I feel like you need right now. Ain't a doctor or anything, but I...I wanted to help you, like I said I would."

When Blaine finally shifted his gaze from the mug to Kurt, he found Kurt's face streaked with tears.

"You're so good to me," he whispered, reaching out to take the mug and place it on the makeshift tabletop Blaine's father had installed on the side of the top bunk. "Blaine, you have the kindest heart of anyone I've ever known. Thank you for this, and for caring about me—"

"Shhh," Blaine interrupted. "Just relax, Kurt. You need rest. All the websites recommended that. Once you finish your tea, go back to sleep. I'll take care of your chores for the day." When Kurt opened his mouth in protest, Blaine contemplated placing a finger over it, but he managed to refrain. The last thing he wanted was for Kurt to misconstrue his kindness as flirtation. That comes later, Blaine, he told his inner voice. Much later. He's fragile.

Kurt, having been silenced, gave Blaine a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Blaine. I'll do the same for you one of these days."

Blaine shook his head. "It's all good, Kurt. You're hurting, and I swear, you just need to rest. Promise you'll go back to sleep."

Kurt smiled through his tears, reaching his arms out to hug Blaine. Blaine met him halfway and held Kurt tightly, careful never to squeeze too hard. "Thank you," Kurt said. "Just...thank you, Blaine."

Blaine smiled. "Anytime."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

"So, where's Kurt this morning? I know he wouldn't shirk his chores for more sleep."

At Buster's words, Blaine put down his grapefruit and stared up at him from the breakfast table. "He's resting." Blaine took an even breath, preparing to confront his dad. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

Buster put aside the dish he was washing, turning to face Blaine. "Sure, son."

Blaine took a calming, fortifying breath. "Why did you hide the reason Kurt was here? Why didn't you tell me?"

It was Buster's turn to stare, beleaguered, at Blaine. "I take it you know," he sighed. "I wasn't trying to keep it from you, son. But, that aside, why haven't you woken Kurt up yet? There's some stuff I was gonna have you teach him this morning."

Blaine leveled his gaze at his father. "Kurt told me last night. He woke up, but I made him drink some tea and go back to sleep, because he was having withdrawals."

Buster's eyes widened. "Withdrawals? Like..."

"Shaking, sweating. I looked up withdrawal symptoms of all the drugs he was on, and all the sites said rest would help. It wouldn't cure it, but it'd help. I'm doing his chores this morning. Maybe even the whole day, if he needs it. He didn't ask me to, Dad. He wouldn't." Blaine pulled the big puppy eyes that had worked on his father for seventeen years. "I want to."

Buster softened at the sight of his son's sparkling hazel eyes, coming around from the tiny kitchen to the table and wrapping Blaine in a hug. "You have such a big damn heart, Blaine Devon. You're turnin' out to be one hell of a man. Let Kurt sleep as long as he needs."

Blaine smiled at his father when they separated. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, Blaine." Buster smiled back, tucking a stray curl behind Blaine's ear. "You remind me more and more of your mother every day."

Blaine smiled fondly as he got up from the table, cleared and washed his plate, and followed his father outside to milk the cows.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

At dinner, an uncomfortable silence loomed over the table. Just as Blaine was about to attempt to alleviate the tension, Kurt spoke.

"I just want to thank you both for not judging me." He put his fork down onto his plate, having swallowed his last bite of pasta. "Both of you know why I'm here by now, and you've both been nothing but supportive and anything but judgmental. So, thank you." Kurt smiled a toothy, genuine smile.

Buster peered at Kurt over the rims of his glasses. "Kurt, I would be a hypocrite if I judged you for what you've been through. I've been sober three years now."

Kurt raised his eyebrow in genuine surprise. "Really?"

Buster nodded. "Really. Hit the bottle a little too hard a little too often. I know what you're goin' through, Kurt, and if you need anything, you know that Blaine and I will help you."

Kurt smiled again. "I know. Thank you for that, Buster. And Blaine. Blaine, that tea really did help."

Blaine beamed, trying to combat the blush that was sure to come. "I'm so glad," he responded, smiling back.

As Kurt and Blaine settled down in their beds, ready to go to sleep, it came out. The question. Blaine was dreading this conversation, but he knew it would have to be brought to the surface some time or another.

"Blaine, can I ask you something?" Kurt murmured from his top bunk.

Blaine steeled himself. "Anything, Kurt."

"Was your dad an alcoholic?"

Blaine had to hand it to Kurt; the boy was straightforward. "Yeah. Yeah, he was. He stopped when I was ten, but it...it took over his life—what was left of it, anyway, after my mom died."

Blaine heard a gasp, then saw Kurt's silhouette as he climbed down from the bunk to sit at the edge of Blaine's bed. Kurt simply sat there for a few long seconds before speaking. "Your mom...Blaine, I'm so sorry."

Blaine shrugged, hoping Kurt could see it in the faint moonlight. "She died when I was seven. It was really, really hard. I loved my mom so much, and losing her was like a part of me died, too." Blaine sighed. "She was finishing up her last trip in the Peace Corps. She was stationed in...Uganda, I think, in this really remote part. There was a lot of violence, and one day, she was walking with a little boy to go get some clean water for his dad, who was really sick." Blaine sniffled. He hated telling this story, but he wanted Kurt to know; wanted Kurt to know him. "The bullet came out of nowhere, and she stood in the way to save the kid."

Another gasp from Kurt. Blaine looked up to see tears rolling down the boy's cheeks. "Kurt, don't cry," he protested.

"Blaine, I'm so, so sorry that happened," Kurt sobbed. "I bet she was as sweet and kind and loving as you and Buster, and it's not fair."

Blaine couldn't take it anymore; he hated to see Kurt sad. He had to comfort him somehow. "Come here, Kurt," Blaine instructed, patting the empty space next to him in the bed. Kurt raised an eyebrow through his tears, and Blaine had to chuckle at that. "I won't try anything, I swear. I just want to make you feel better."

Kurt smiled gratefully, climbing over to the spot Blaine had indicated and resting his head on Blaine's shoulder. He sniffled again, and Blaine patted his arm soothingly.

"My mom died, too," Kurt revealed.

It was Blaine's turn to gasp. What were the odds that such a horrible tragedy had befallen both of their families?

"Um...how? If you don't mind me asking?" Blaine stammered.

Kurt turned slightly in the bed, so that he was facing Blaine. "Ovarian cancer, when I was eight. It was horrible. She fought for so long—four whole years—and we really...God, we thought she was going to beat it." Blaine felt a drop on his shoulder and deduced that Kurt was crying again; one look at him confirmed it. "She was s-so strong, Blaine. My dad...he hasn't even dated since."

"Neither has mine," Blaine said. "He has his buddies, and me, and now you...but that's pretty much it."

Kurt nodded into Blaine's neck, feeling a yawn coming on. "Same with my dad...except he's never met you."

Blaine smiled at Kurt. "I'm glad this happened tonight, Kurt. I never talk about my mom," he revealed, "but with you...I felt like I needed to tell you."

"Yeah," Kurt responded, "same with me. It's hard to talk about it. Nine years later, the wound is still fresh." Kurt yawned again, and Blaine was close to that point himself.

"I know exactly what you mean." Blaine nodded. "I think we'd better go to sleep. Are you okay down here with me?"

Kurt smiled at him as if to say you silly goof. "Of course I am. I feel safe with you."

Blaine smiled back as Kurt tucked his head into Blaine's neck. "I feel safe with you, too, Kurt."

The last thing Blaine heard before he drifted off to sleep was Kurt's sweet voice.

"My dad would love you, Blaine."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning, Blaine woke up early - again, being a farmhand, it was in his nature. He felt something move behind him, and remembered.

Kurt and I slept together.

He blushed at the language his brain chose to use. They hadn't slept together in the Biblical sense, but there Kurt was, all sleepy and adorable; the big spoon to Blaine's little spoon. Blaine didn't have the heart to wake him by getting up and making noise. Blaine was facing away from the wall; he had a clear way to get out of the bed, but he just couldn't. He couldn't waste an opportunity like this; what if Kurt got back with his boyfriend next week? What if Kurt found out about Blaine's crush, didn't feel the same, and spurned him?

There were so many ways getting out of that bed could go wrong. So, Blaine stayed.

He remembered the conversation they had had, about their mothers and their fathers. He remembered every word Kurt had said, right down to "my dad would love you, Blaine." It warmed his heart and caused a happy blush to take over his face. He giggled a little, so delirious with joy that they had become friends--and hopefully more someday, Blaine hoped.

"Mm--Blaine? You awake?"

Oh, no, Blaine fretted inwardly, turning around to watch the beauty that was sleepy Kurt. "Yeah," he whispered. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

Kurt smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Blainey. It's okay."

Blaine smiled back, sure that the nickname had skyrocketed his happiness meter. "Blainey?"

Kurt's face fell. "Do you...not like that? I'm sorry; I say weird stuff when I'm tired--"

"No," Blaine teased, a smile on his face. "I love it."

He had to bite his lip to stop from saying something else; another three words that it was too early to say or feel. He would save those for another time, even though right there, right then, he felt like he loved Kurt.