Summary: And just as Blaine was about to disappear, Kurt asked, "Why can't you just tell me what you are? If you're not imaginary and you're not a ghost, what are you?" wing!fic

Kurt was eight the first time he saw his imaginary friend.

Kurt was also eight when his mother died.

It was a cold November day. Far too sunny for such an occasion.

"...died well before her time," the priest said, and despite being eight, Kurt glared at him. The guy was just reading words from a little book. He had no connection to Kurt's mother; he didn't know what those words meant.

Kurt glanced up, looking at the crowd of familiar faces – tear stricken, puffy eyed. And then he looked at his father, who was trying his hardest to not cry, to keep it together to show Kurt it'd be okay.

But it wasn't going to be okay.

Kurt felt a hand wrap around his own, and as his father gripped tighter, Kurt felt less alone.

The ceremony continued, the priest reciting his empty words. Kurt continued feeling empty and cold, and then they lowered his mother's casket into the ground, and she was gone from Kurt's world forever.

The crowd slowly cleared, one-by-one, in small groups of grieving people, Until it was just the two Hummels. Two. Just two.

Kurt's dad rubbed a hand across his son's small back, sniffling as he finally allowed himself to cry.

"We're gonna be okay, kiddo," he whispered.

Kurt's eyes never left his mother's gravestone. They never left the word Mother. In little over a week, he'd grown up so quickly. He lost a little of himself when he lost her.

Kurt knew his father walked away because the emptiness set in again, and for the first time, Kurt looked up. The sun shined over the graveyard. A slick fog, thin, almost translucent set across the field. Kurt looked over the other headstones, almost memorizing the people his mother would call her neighbors. Each one: a lost soul.

His eyes froze on a figure, still against the foggy mist. It was white and blended quite well with the light and the fog. A boy?

Kurt stared for a long second before he heard his father call, "Kurt?"

Snapping his head towards the voice, Kurt stumbled back then froze in place.

"Y-yeah," his choked out. "Coming."

His eyes scanned the cemetery for the small figure, but it had vanished, so taking one last look at his mother's grave, mentally saying farewell, Kurt ran off to his father.

Kurt's dad organized a get-together after the funeral and burial at their house. It was morbid, and Kurt felt like his happiness was being sucked right out of him.

One relative after another would grasp at him, holding him too tightly, sobbing into his tiny shoulders, and Kurt would just tap awkwardly on their backs until they let go with words of encouragement or sympathy.

Eventually, it became too much for the eight year old, and he went outside to the backyard.

Their yard was small. It was lined with bushes and in the corner grew a large tree. Kurt paced towards the tree, ignoring the voices coming from his house not aimed at him. He was small, but if he jumped, he could grasp the lowest branch. Kurt hoisted himself up, pulling higher and higher until he was buried in the branches of the tree.

He took a break, looking down at his home. Warm lights flooded out of the kitchen. This reminded him of how cold he was and how foolish he was for not bringing a jacket. His mother would have scolded him.

Breath caught in his throat; the thought shook him. Kurt reached up and grasped the nearest branch before allowing himself to linger on the thought. It wasn't long, two or three feet, until he reached a different kind of wood. Hidden amongst the branches was a tree house, build long before the Hummels moved in. Kurt maneuvered himself through the wooden opening then sat inside with his feet dangling through the hole.

The sun poked through the cracks between the lumber, but it was dark enough, in Kurt's opinion, to flick on the white Christmas lights he had stolen from the attic a few weeks ago.

His mother had found the tree house while trimming the bushes surrounding the fence. She immediately told Kurt, who immediately wanted it for his own. She helped him with the lights and brought him snacks when he'd spend all afternoon up there playing with his action figures or singing songs he'd play from his Walkman.

The white lights shined on pictures he either painted or colored, covering the walls in neat, organized rows. Kurt crawled across the short threshold and sat in the middle, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

Then he buried his face in his knees and cried. His little tiny body shook, sobs cutting through the silence.

"Why? Why my mommy?" he cried, his voice muffled against his knees. "She was everything to me and Daddy! It's not f-fair!"

And he just hugged himself tighter and cried for what felt like hours, which couldn't have been true because the adults would have noticed his absence.

"Shhhhh," came a soft voice.

Kurt was too wrapped up in his head to realize the voice was unfamiliar. As he continued to cry, the hushing remained.

"Kurt, it's okay," the same voice said, coming closer.

Despite his eyes being blurry, Kurt picked up his head and gazed past the tears to find a small, white figure hovering over him. Suddenly, the eight year old snapped back, crashing against the wooden wall of the tree house.

"W-who...how did you-" Kurt stammered, eyes coming into focus.

"Kurt..." the boy, no older than Kurt, said. He had a small, tiny frame. His skin was almost tan against the white shirt and pants he was wearing. He had curly, soft looking black hair, and his hazel eyes looked kind, yet sad.

"How do you know my name?" Kurt cried, hugging his knees again. "How did you find my secret tree house?"

The boy inched closer. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm your friend."

"B-but I don't know you!" Kurt whimpered.

"My name is Blaine," he said, sitting Indian-style in line with him, "and your name is Kurt."

Kurt looked into his face and soothed to his kind speech. Then something suddenly hit him.

"You were at the cemetery!" Kurt gasped.

Blaine nodded. "I couldn't keep watching you be sad. I had to do something."

Kurt's eyes narrowed apprehensively. "So, you followed me?"

Blaine pursed his lips, nodding. "I had to help. I'm sorry about your mommy."

Kurt nodded, feeling tears begin to form in his eyes again. Blaine inched forward, sitting beside Kurt. Their shoulders were almost touching, and Kurt caught Blaine eying the inch of space, saw him gulp.

"What?" Kurt asked, eyes narrowing.

"I don't really...I've never...nothing. Nevermind," Blaine mumbled.

Kurt glanced sideways at the boy, who was only wearing a t-shirt. Kurt's breath kept clouding in front of his face. How wasn't Blaine freezing?

"Aren't you cold?" Kurt asked, bringing his knees to his chest again.

"No," he said simply.

"I can get blankets," Kurt offered, getting to his feet.

"It's okay. Unless you're cold," Blaine said.

Kurt knelt facing Blaine now, and even though there were puffs of breath lingering between their faces, Kurt didn't rush for a blanket. He didn't want to leave his tree house, in case Blaine takes it and never leaves.

"You know, your mommy and daddy are probably wondering where you are. How far away do you live?" Kurt questioned.

"Not too far, I guess."

"I could walk you home," Kurt said in the tone of a question.

"No!" Blaine said frantically.

Looking confused, Kurt crossed his arms against his chest. "Why not?"

Looking slightly wounded, Blaine retorted, "I came here for you. I don't want you to be alone."

Kurt shook his head, getting up. "There's a houseful of people over there. I'm not alone."

"Really?"

Kurt stared at Blaine for a long second before turning away. Of course he felt alone, and no amount of company could change that.

"No," Kurt muttered, "but you being here isn't helping anything. I don't know who you are, or how you found my secret tree house, or why you're here, but you need to-"

Kurt turned, only to find himself actually alone. Not even a shadow of a person remained. He ran to the edge of the tree house, peering over to find Blaine, but he was gone. There wasn't even a rustling of leaves from Blaine climbing down the tree. He just wasn't there anymore.

Kurt's stomach squirmed uneasily. Where'd he go?

Kurt was seventeen when he saw Blaine for the sixth time.

It was in a hospital.

"Just squeeze back. Come on, Dad," Kurt begged on the hope that his father, who was lying in a hospital bed, motionless, would show the slightest sign of life. "Just squeeze my hand..."

"He can't hear you," Blaine said, knowing full well that Kurt couldn't hear him either.

Blaine drifted towards the bedside and looked at Kurt, full of remorse. Kurt, not realizing Blaine was standing across from him, continued to plead and tighten the grip on his father's fingers.

"Can't you tell Kurt's dad to wake up?" Blaine said to the woman who was at the foot of the bed.

Unlike Kurt, she responded to Blaine's words. Sadly, the small woman shook her head.

"If escaping death was that easy-" she spoke only to Blaine because only Blaine could hear.

Blaine interrupted. "He's not going to die! He can't die!"

"Dad," Kurt sobbed, tears slipping down his face.

"Melinda, look at him! He's breaking! He's already lost his mother; he can't lose his father too," Blaine said, watching Kurt intently.

Kurt slapped away his tears and turned to exit the room. Blaine felt a familiar pull in his chest as the distance between himself and Kurt grew further. He exchanged a sorrowful look with Melinda before following after Kurt.

They walked side-by-side down the hall. Blaine tried to focus on Kurt, but he was captivated by the figures going in and out of focus all around them. Hospitals had a lot of lost souls.

Kurt slipped inside an empty room and snapped the door closed behind him. Blaine watched him through the glass window as he buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with tears. Blaine remembered this happening before. He had a very vivid memory of an eight year old in the same situation.

And like many times before, he made a stupid mistake. He glided through the door and stood (or rather, floated) in the middle of the room.

"I-I'm sorry. I'll g-go," Kurt cried suddenly seeing Blaine through his tears, jumping from off the hospital bed he'd been sitting on. "I just needed a..."

Kurt's eyes grew wide, frozen.

"Are you all right?" Blaine questioned, staying put.

Chest heaving, Kurt blurted, "It's you."

Teaser for Next Chapter:

"I-I can't-" Blaine began.

"No. No! You always show up, expecting it to be completely normal for me. Guess what, Blaine? It hasn't been normal since I met you, and it's your fault. You owe me this," Kurt ordered.