(2001)

At this particular point in time, in the small town of Lima, a boy named Kurt Hummel was precisely seven years, five weeks, twelve days, and eight minutes old.

His cat, Wobbles, was precisely two years, three weeks, seventeen days, and two minutes old.

And not a minute older.

It was on this day that young Kurt had his first experience with death. He had been playing alone in the backyard when Wobbles, startled by the sudden appearance of a rather large raccoon, had broken free of Kurt's hold and sprinted towards the road.

Only to be hit seconds later by a bright-blue truck.

Devastated and confused, Kurt had fallen to his knees next to his beloved pet and cried. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality had only been ten or so minutes, he tried furiously to brush away his tears with one hand, and hesitantly reached out with the other to pet Wobbles one last time.

Only for Wobbles to promptly jump up, hiss angrily at him, and then immediately sprint towards the house.

Kurt, it appeared, could touch dead things and bring them back to life.

Delighted at this turn of events, the small boy squealed happily and quickly rushed after his cat. He never noticed the now-dead raccoon lying only a few feet away.

-

Kurt believed that he had been given a gift: where it came from, how it worked, and the limitations were of little concern to him. No, at the age of seven, Kurt was concerned primarily with only one thing.

Young Kurt, you see, was in love.

His name was Blaine, and he was five years, fifty weeks, four days, and twelve minutes old. Blaine liked both fire trucks and dolls, and he could spend hours playing tea party with Kurt and their other neighbor, a rather loud girl named Rachel. He liked peppermint candies and chocolate, and even though it was his favorite candy in the entire world, he would always share his licorice with Kurt. He liked to sing, and he had a different color bowtie for every day of the week.

He was utterly perfect.

After spending a good three hours playing house with Blaine – the first hour of which had consisted of a rather spectacular argument over who would be the father in their imaginary home, until Blaine suddenly remembered that Rachel had two daddies, so why couldn't they both be the father? – Kurt slowly made his way home. He walked in the front door and, noticing how uncharacteristically quiet the house was, began searching for his mother.

He found her in her workshop five minutes later, slumped haphazardly across her sewing machine, an array of brightly-colored fabrics scattered across the table and floor.

Elizabeth Hummel had been precisely thirty-four years, twenty-six weeks, thirteen days, and twenty-five minutes old when a blood vessel in her brain had ruptured, killing her instantly.

Kurt inched forward slowly, until he was right next to where his mother rested. He glanced around the room once – Kurt was just learning to tell time, but he knew enough to know that the old-fashioned clock that hung on the wall said it was exactly three forty-six in the afternoon – and then, without thinking about it, he leaned forward and kissed his mother's cheek.

Elizabeth sat up immediately and blinked down blearily at her son. "Hi sweetie," she murmured, looking around the room in confusion. "I mus– I must have fallen asleep? How strange. Who falls asleep while sewing?"

"I love you," Kurt said in response, suddenly desperate to make sure that she knew this.

"I know, sweetheart." His mother reached up to tuck a stray piece of her dark-brown hair back behind her ear, and gave him a warm smile. "I love you, too."

Kurt looked over his mother's shoulder just in time to see that a full minute had passed since he'd first touched her. He turned his attention back to his mom, and was just about to speak again when a loud scream suddenly pierced the air.

Without hesitating, Elizabeth stood and raced from the room. Kurt followed after her as quickly as he possibly could, but his smaller limbs made it difficult for him to keep up. They were halfway down the staircase when they heard another – this time much more desperate – scream.

A second later his mother opened the front door, and what Kurt saw outside would haunt him for the rest of his life.

James Anderson had been precisely forty-one years, forty-four weeks, six days, and nine minutes old when he had suddenly dropped dead while mowing the lawn. The younger of his two sons, Blaine, had been playing fireman only a few feet away when it happened.

At the tender age of five-almost-six, young Blaine did not quite grasp the severity of what had just occurred. He clung desperately to his father's prone body, crying and pleading for his dad to please just wake up.

Kurt thought that he was going to be sick.

"–listening Kurt? Darling, I need you to listen to me!"

At the sound of his mother's voice, Kurt slowly turned his head and looked up at her. "Mommy?"

"Do you remember what I told you about calling for help, sweetie?" Elizabeth asked, hovering nervously in the doorway.

He thought about it for a moment. "I call 911, right?"

His mother nodded approvingly. "I need you to be a big boy and call for help. Use the phone in the kitchen. Tell them our address, and tell them that our neighbor suddenly collapsed. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded.

"Good," Elizabeth said, turning her attention to the scene outside. "Go and do that right now, Kurt. I'm going to go and get Blaine. He shouldn't be out there alone."

Kurt stood rooted to the spot for a long time, watching as his mother knelt next to a still-screaming Blaine and gently pulled him away from his now-lifeless father. Although he was only a child himself, Kurt still somehow knew that he had – however accidental and unknowingly – done something terrible.

He had, in the larger scheme of things, traded his mother's life for that of Blaine's father.

-

That night, Kurt sat on his mother's bed as she put away her jewelry.

"Mommy?"

Elizabeth paused and turned her attention to her young son. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Is Blaine gonna be okay?" he asked nervously, not daring to look up at his mother. Instead, he focused his gaze on her dark-red comforter, listlessly tracing the design with his fingertips.

"I don't know," she responded honestly, taking off a gold bracelet and setting it in her jewelry box.

"Where's he gonna live?" Kurt asked, still staring down at the bed. "Is his brother gonna watch him?"

"Cooper is only fifteen," his mother replied. "My understanding is that they're going to go live with their Aunt Emma in Phoenix."

Kurt blinked back tears at the thought of his best friend – the boy that he was completely and utterly in love with – being forced to move because Kurt had been selfish.

"I'm sorry," he suddenly wailed, unable to keep what he had done to himself for any longer. Kurt burst into tears and looked up at his mother in despair. "This is my fault."

Elizabeth stared down at her crying son in confusion, her heart shattering at the sound of his broken, gasping sobs. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she moved over to the bed, reaching out an arm with the intent of pulling her son close so that she could hold him. "My darling Kurt, no one blames you for –"

In the single moment that Elizabeth Hummel's fingertips touched her son's hand, the first skin-on-skin contact between them since Kurt's innocent kiss on her cheek earlier that afternoon, young Kurt Hummel was taught the final lesson about his unique gift.

A lesson which he learned in the most heartbreaking manner possible.

Elizabeth's body went slack the very moment that their skin touched, and she promptly collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. Kurt stopped crying immediately and stared blankly at the spot where his mother had been standing.

"Mommy?"

There was no response.

"Mommy?"

Kurt stood and slowly made his way around the bed to where his mother was. He knelt down beside her and touched her cheek, but this time nothing happened. He touched her again. And again. And again.

She did not wake.

Kurt let out another sob and curled up next to his mother's body, crying and pleading with her to please just come back.

That was the position that Burt Hummel, the only mechanic in Lima and the father of our young hero, found them in when he came home from work two hours later.

-

These were the facts:

The boy known as Kurt Hummel had been born with a gift – no, not a gift, but a curse – to give life to those that had none. This curse came with three conditions.

The first touch brought life.

The second touch brought death.

Forever.

And, finally, if he kept someone alive for more than a minute, a life form of equal value within close proximity would die in their place; a raccoon for a cat, a father for a mother.

-

Four days later, James Anderson and Elizabeth Hummel were laid to rest.

The following afternoon, Kurt sat quietly on the front porch and watched as the moving vans parked next door were loaded with Blaine and Cooper's belongings. He wanted to go over and apologize, but he was afraid of what they would say to him.

Of what his father would say.

"Kurt?"

He tightened his hold on the dark-orange blanket that he had wrapped around himself, stood on his tiptoes, and peered over the railing. He let out a small gasp at what he saw.

"Why are you hiding in our bushes?" Kurt asked curiously, staring down at his best friend.

Blaine looked up at him with wide eyes, his fingers clutching tightly at something that Kurt could not quite make out. "I wanted to see you before we leave," the smaller boy explained, sniffling slightly.

It took all of Kurt's willpower not to start crying at the mention of Blaine leaving. He moved away from the railing and rushed down the stairs.

"This is for you," Blaine said shyly, once Kurt had come to a halt in front of him. The curly-haired boy held his hands out and Kurt finally recognized what he was holding.

"I can't take this," Kurt said adamantly, staring down at the bright-green polka-dot bowtie in shock. "This is your favorite one."

Blaine shook his head, curls flying everywhere. "No, you take it so you always 'member me, 'kay?"

Kurt stared at his best friend, lips trembling. "I would never forget you."

Blaine suddenly burst into tears. He staggered forward and clung desperately at Kurt. "I don't wanna go!" he wailed, looking up at Kurt with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Don't let them take me!"

"I –"

"We need to go, Blaine."

Blaine looked desperately between his older brother and his best friend, and it was obvious to everyone that he didn't want to let Kurt go.

Burt Hummel, who had at some point made an appearance on the front porch, took the decision away from the little boy.

"Come up here, Kurt," he said gently, giving his son a pointed look. "It's time for Blaine and Cooper to leave."

Kurt hesitated, but the look on his father's face told him not to push it. He pulled away from Blaine and took a step backward. "I'll miss you," he said, holding back his tears.

Without warning, Blaine lurched forward and pressed a quick kiss against Kurt's lips.

It was their first, and last, kiss.

Blaine pulled back a second later and slowly moved away, grudgingly taking his brother's hand. "I'll miss you too," he said, turning to leave with Cooper. "I promise we'll see each other again soon!"

Kurt took his father's hand and watched, heartbroken, as the moving vans pulled away.

It would exactly be eighteen years, twenty-six weeks, five days, and eight minutes before Kurt would see the boy named Blaine Anderson again.