Kurt didn’t pause. He didn’t stop. He heard his name but he couldn’t slow down. He simply ran.

The only thought going through his head was that he had to get home, no matter the cost.

On foot, at a steady pace, Lima was about six hours from Dalton castle. If Kurt could just keep going, pace himself, he’d be there in the early hours of the morning. If he didn’t trip and fall, or injure himself, or run into highwaymen, or—

—or a wolf.

He’d stopped running just outside Dalton’s gates, when the trees overhead had filtered the moon, the leaves causing the light to dapple and shift on the path, making his road unclear and even more dangerous. He wished he’d grabbed a torch, for light and for warmth, as he’d left his cloak as well, but it was too late to go back now.

He felt trapped. Blaine behind him, Sebastian ahead. At least the month isn’t up yet, the little voice in his head reminded him. Sebastian will forgive you if you go to him before the end of the month, just like he said. Or you could just wait to see what he does to you…

Maybe he’d send Finn to collect his things from Dalton and set out for himself. He’d done well enough for the Prince. He didn’t know everything about the life of a travelling bard, but he could improvise. Having played for the Prince, he could afford himself a certain level of prestige. And he could tell stories, new stories, tell everyone what it was really like at the castle. He didn’t have to return to Dalton for either its current ruler or the one in its apparent future. He could leave everything behind and just go. His father would understand, would help him.

Kurt was about halfway down the half-mile path from the castle to the main road when he heard the howl.

It was close. Too close.

He stopped in the middle of the path, eyes staring wide into the darkness, trying to make out movement. He knew well that wolves didn’t attack people unprovoked, unless one were to either endanger the pups or get in the way of a hunt, and wolves weren’t stupid enough to roam near a path that stank of humans. If he could just stay still, or turn around and go back calmly, the wolves would have no cause to attack—

The howl went up again—a solitary wail, loud enough that Kurt could feel it in his teeth.

You know another way wolves attack, he thought, is a lone wolf desperate for food.

He turned and started slowly walking back toward Dalton. He had been rash, so rash and childish and he had panicked. Blaine had hurt him—his wrist ached, and he was certain there were already bruises—but he wouldn’t have harmed him, not deliberately. He’d been angry, so angry, and he had terrified Kurt, but he would never have been allowed to truly hurt Kurt, not with Mike lurking around at all times.

How could you have been so stupid?

The sounds of the forest were always unnerving—rustling, chittering, cries that came from nowhere. Kurt wasn’t used to them, and every sound made him flinch as he tried to calmly make his way back up the path. It wasn’t far, it would only take a few minutes, he had no reason to believe he wouldn’t make it back.

Just ahead, he heard a low growl. He looked up, his feet freezing to the ground while every inch of him screamed at him to run or shout or curl up into a ball, none of which he could make his body do. Instead, he stared with cold terror into a patch of moonlight falling onto grey and black fur around yellow eyes and white, white teeth. 

Blaine ran through the woods, dodging tree trunks and branches and holding his torch high, lighting his way ahead. He was quick, but he could only hope he was quicker than Kurt.

What on earth had Kurt been thinking? Blaine knew he had been out of line—he had lost his temper, he had scared Kurt—but what sane person would risk the woods at night?

Someone who has nothing left to lose.

And just as Blaine realized that the same sentiment applied to himself, he heard a scream from up ahead.

Kurt.

Pain.

Kurt fell, his back slamming painfully into the ground as he toppled over, carried by the weight of the wolf, lunging at him with snapping jaws. Stones dug into him, dirt smeared over his entire body, and all he could smell was a musty animal stench. He writhed instinctively, trying to throw off the animal with both arms and legs, twisting his torso around to escape anything that could injure him. But within moments, the wolf would have him—it would kill him.

But as suddenly as the wolf had leapt, as suddenly as Kurt had screamed and lost all sense of anything but his own impending demise, the weight on his chest was gone with a thud and a sharp whine filled the air.

“Are you okay? Kurt?”

Kurt looked up. Blaine was above him, sword in hand, hood back. The moonlight reflected off of his dark, curly hair, and Kurt found himself mesmerized by it.

“Kurt! Are you injured?”

Blaine was kneeling now, and Kurt blinked. He didn’t feel any injuries—his back hurt from the fall, but otherwise he seemed fine.

“Where’s the—the wolf?”

Blaine sighed in relief and stood.

“I kicked him off. Let’s get going before—“

In a flurry of snarling, Blaine was suddenly pinned beneath the wolf, his right arm caught between its teeth, sharp claws scrabbling viciously at the Prince’s side. Blaine cried out, struggling against the wolf, grasping the back of the beast’s neck with his free hand. Kurt scrambled to his feet and panicked—what the hell could he do?

His mind started to work overtime, and everything seemed to slow down. The wolf was dirty and matted, and strangely small, not like the wolves Kurt had seen in paintings and heard about in the stories. It was probably only attacking out of desperation, so it should be easy to fend off. If only he had a weapon—

And then he remembered what Blaine had done for him.

He pitched forward, ignoring the part of him that panicked and told him to run away. He drew up, lifted his leg, and kicked the beast in the side. He heard a sickening crunch and the wolf whimpered, its grip on Blaine’s arm dropping as it stumbled aside.

In an instant, Blaine was up, sword arm swinging back. He jabbed down, stabbing the creature’s chest, just below the throat. It made a terrible noise and collapsed, paws scrabbling weakly in the dirt.

Kurt covered his mouth and held back his tears. He couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor thing and its pain. He stepped forward, determined to beg Blaine to end its misery, but Blaine was already leaning down, sword carefully aimed at its ribs. He slipped the sword in almost gently, and with a choking noise, the wolf stiffened all at once before collapsing, its movements ceasing.

Blaine straightened, his sword left standing out of the wolf’s side. He walked backwards a few paces, tripping and almost falling over a branch.

“Blaine?”

Kurt moved forward. There was something wrong with the Prince.

“Blaine?

“Blaine!”

Blaine peered ahead through the gloom. The light was dying fast—the sun would set soon and the woods would turn much more dangerous.

“Come on, squirt! I know you can be quieter than that.”

Cooper was bounding through the woods like he was born there, feet light as he darted from tree to tree. Blaine followed behind as closely as he could, but he wasn’t nearly as practiced at this as Cooper, who had several years’ experience on him.

“I’m trying, Coop,” Blaine said, gripping his bow tighter, tiptoeing up behind his brother. He shifted his shoulders, a little uncomfortable—his shirt was feeling tight. He’d have to have some new ones made after this last growth spurt. “Shouldn’t we wait for the others, though? They fell behind ages ago, I don’t even know where we are—“

Cooper tensed suddenly, finger flying to his lips in a plea for silence. He motioned at Blaine with his fingers, his eyes fixed ahead. Blaine peered carefully around him.

A great buck stood between a few trees about thirty feet away. Blaine counted its points—eighteen total. A rare beast, and he knew Cooper wanted it for his prize as his elder brother drew his own bow and nocked an arrow.

They both raised their bows and took aim, but before they could shoot there was a shift in the wind. It had been blowing across them, keeping their scent away from the buck, but in that shift they were suddenly upwind. The buck raised its head, sniffing, and bolted.

“Damnit!” Cooper cursed, immediately bounding away.

“Coop, stop!”

“We can catch him!” Cooper called, ghosting away through the trees at an alarming speed. Blaine pursued, struggling to keep up.

“Cooper, we can’t catch him!”

But Cooper wouldn’t listen. Blaine continued to follow after him, much harder to accomplish with the light almost completely gone, the world all turned to hues of blue and grey as the last vestiges of day clung to the sky.

He couldn’t keep up. One minute he had his eyes locked on his brother’s fleeting form, and the next he was alone, tumbling down into a hollow after tripping over a tree trunk he’d tried to navigate unsuccessfully. He sat up painfully, his body aching with the fall, and his eyes fell on an opening in the high wall of the bank he’d tumbled down. It was strangely even, as though it had been dug out. And then Blaine’s mind caught up with his eyes, and he realized what he was looking at.

A wolf den.

And there was a wolf, a large wolf, its hackles raised and its teeth bared, growling and snarling at him. A strangely calm part of Blaine’s mind broke through the freezing dread and noted that there were probably wolf pups within, and he had just flown into the wolves’ home with startling noise and movement and smells, and the wolf would certainly be on edge and ready to defend her young. All he had to do was back away slowly, eyes down, posture non-threatening, and then he could turn and run away—

“Blaine!”

Several things happened in quick succession. Cooper appeared above Blaine on the bank, just visible in the darkness. Blaine, afraid and cowardly, jumped and crashed to the ground, panicking. And the wolf, driven to extremes by the proximity of a threat to her young and the stench of fear in the air, attacked.

Blaine, at level with the wolf, felt only pain. The wolf’s teeth and claws dug into his face, neck, and chest, and every sense was obliterated by the agony. He screamed, unable to move, too frozen to fight back. He felt himself slipping, curiously removed from everything, as though his body and mind had separated as he predicted his own death.

I’m dying, he thought. I thought it would be different.

It was because of this altered mindset that he was able to process the wolf no longer attacking him. He heard several strange noises. He heard the wolf growling over him, and then a thwack, and then more growling and a piercing scream followed by some heavy thuds and a whimper.

Blaine came back to himself a bit, aware of the pain over his body, the wetness of the blood and the slight chill that came with its loss and the shock of severe injury. He opened his eyes, the right swollen enough that he had trouble with it. His vision was blurry and stung with sweat and blood and tears, but he could make out the shape of tree leaves above him, dappling the stars of the night sky.

He heard a whisper next to him, a soft call of his name, and he turned.

Just in his periphery was the still form of the wolf, shaggy and breathing heavily, twitching and whining. He found himself lost in studying what he could see, wondering how deep the arrow in its side went, what it had hit, and how it had ended up unable to move but for breathing and shuddering.

“Blaine.”

Blaine finally looked over to the source of the sound, and saw Cooper laying parallel to him. Their heads were turned to face each other, and Cooper’s hand was reaching out, bloody and weak. Blaine reached his own hand out, their fingertips brushing over the dirt in which they lay.

“Coop.”

“I…Blaine…you—“

Cooper blinked slowly, his face tense and pale, and Blaine realized then that Cooper had been clutching his leg with his free hand. There was a huge chunk missing from his thigh, and the wound was bleeding at an alarming rate, pooling beneath his body and soaking everything around.

“Cooper.”

Blaine looked back up at his brother’s face, but it was lax, his eyes shut and his mouth open.

“Coop.”

There were shouts, screams. Clanging of metal, beat of hooves. Rustle of movement. Thud of boots. Hands, grasping him. Some rough material pressing over his wounds.

“There was a wolf,” he slurred, pain overtaking him as he was touched and moved, the shock wearing off and darkness swiftly overcoming him. “I fell and scared it and it attacked me and Coop—“

“Shh, Blaine,” said a familiar voice, and Kurt’s face was above him. “You’re safe.”

…Kurt’s face?

“—he was gone, he bled out, he died to save me and I could have—“

Hands were grasping him again, and he was babbling, just like before, but instead of Mike above him, it was Kurt, intruding on his flashback.

“Blaine, it’s Kurt,” Kurt was saying, hands and voice soothing him. “You’re okay. The wolf didn’t get you this time, you’re safe.”

Blaine took several deep breaths, his head swimming as he came back to himself. He hadn’t had an episode like that in years, and never outside of nightmares…

“My apologies,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “I…forgot myself.”

“This is truly how Prince Cooper died?” Kurt asked, and Blaine noticed tears in his eyes. He nodded.

“The wolf was a mother—the cubs hadn’t even opened their eyes,” he said, and he felt the tears on his own face. “She died—Cooper had hit her hard with the arrow, and even after she bit him, he beat her with the bow. She was just defending her cubs. If I had been paying more attention, or if I had just stayed calm, she wouldn’t have attacked. Wolves don’t attack like that.”

“What about that one?” Kurt asked, nodding toward the lump a few feet away, his hands shaking where they lay on Blaine’s shoulders.

“Desperate,” Blaine said. “It’s only just spring. Food has probably been scarce. Wolves don’t hunt humans. You were…an opportunity, I suppose.”

Kurt nodded, silent, as though this weren’t news to him. Blaine looked up at him, his face streaked with grime and tears.

“Are you at all injured?” he asked, increasingly aware of the pain blooming across his own body.

Kurt looked at him wide-eyed, as though startled to be asked.

Gods, Blaine thought, I treated him so badly that he imagines me impartial. Or worse…

“No, I’m not injured,” Kurt replied. He looked over Blaine, his breath hitching. “But you are.”

Blaine looked down at himself, concentrating on keeping his breathing even. His arm was bleeding a bit, though not nearly as much as he’d expected—the jaws of a wolf were notoriously strong, though Blaine supposed if the wolf was hungry enough to attack humans it would be terribly weak. But its claws had done a number on his side—he could feel the seeping of the blood, and he suddenly felt very faint.

“Blaine, stay with me,” Kurt said, supporting Blaine with two strong hands on Blaine’s shoulders. “We have to get you back to the castle.”

“Probably not going to make a difference,” Blaine whispered, trembling, feeling weaker by the moment. “I don’t think…there’s anything to help me.”

“I have supplies,” Kurt said, “but you need to stand and come with me. Can you make it back?”

Blaine stood, relying on Kurt’s steadying hands to keep him balanced. His head swam and his vision dotted with black, but he fought down the nausea and dizziness and nodded at Kurt.

“I…I need—“

He took a deep breath, ashamed of his fragility.

Kurt stepped forward silently, unbuckling his belt and undoing his vest. Blaine stared, uncomprehending, as he removed it and replaced his belt around the light tunic he wore, shivering. He balled up the fine garment and stepped forward, pressing it to Blaine’s injured side and pushing Blaine’s own hand to hold it.

“I can hold you up,” Kurt said softly, slipping an arm around Blaine’s waist and helping him to hold the velvet to his side, drawing Blaine’s uninjured arm around his shoulders and taking most of his weight. “Just stay awake and keep walking—I’ll keep you upright.”

“I don’t understand,” Blaine said as they started forward, determinedly keeping his eyes on the ground ahead of them.

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why you are helping me. I’ve frightened you—I am…I have been nothing but unkind to you.”

He felt Kurt take a deep breath, his broad shoulders expanding.

“You do not deserve to die for it, Blaine,” he replied softly, sadly. “And I am not blameless either. I should not have disrespected or questioned you.”

“You had every right,” Blaine countered, eyeing the gate to the castle up ahead. “Your safety, and the safety of your family and friends relies on me, and I am failing you. 

Kurt quickly shushed him, sensing his distress, but Blaine felt obligated to explain before they reached their destination and the reality of the world came crashing back down. Between blood loss, adrenaline, and the eerie otherworldliness of the moonlit night, he felt he could explain, as though there were no consequences. And somebody needed to know.

“Stop,” he commanded weakly, planting himself as firmly as he could just outside the looming gatehouse, whose iron gates had been rusted open for years, though so few had taken advantage of the implicit invitation. He drew back from Kurt, fighting to keep himself upright.

“Kurt, I was never meant to rule,” he said, trying and failing to meet Kurt’s eyes. He instead stared at Kurt’s lips, which were slightly parted. “I never knew how, I wasn’t raised for it. I was raised to expect nothing—to either roam about court as a useless fop or to retire out into a country estate until my brother summoned me. I have no—“

“Shh, Blaine,” Kurt whispered. “You’re exhausted, and you’re injured—there’s not need to explain this now. If you still wish to talk after I’ve treated your injures, I’ll listen.”

He drew Blaine’s arm back around his shoulders and continued on, heading toward the torchlight waiting at the castle entrance.