From Last Chapter: On the day of Kurt's mother's funeral, he met Blaine – a boy his age, who just appeared, wanting to help. On the day Kurt's father could die, nine years later, Blaine appeared again.

He remembered Blaine. He knew it was him, yet within ten seconds, Blaine was gone, vanished into thin air, with a surprised, scared look across his face. Blaine hadn't changed much, Kurt decided, even though he hadn't seen him in years.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered feebly into the silence of his bedroom. "Blaine?"

And with a racing heart, Kurt lifted up from the pillow to gaze around the room. He felt foolish, but how foolish could a person be if this wasn't the first time he'd been in this situation?

"Please," Kurt breathed, shutting his eyes.

Blaine only showed up when Kurt needed him but didn't expect him. Many, many times Kurt had tried to call for his friend, but it never worked. Blaine appeared on Blaine's terms.

"It's not fair, you know?" Kurt pushed, eyes peeking open. "Why don't I get a say in when you pop in and out of my life?"

Kurt waited for a long second, ears straining to hear anything.

"And if something happens to my dad and I'm alone, you'll feel really guilty for not answering my calls," Kurt threatened, pulling up and leaning against the headboard, arms crossed. He continued, "When we were eleven and I asked you if you were real, and you answered no, I knew you were lying."

And Kurt waited, his heart pumping blood rapidly through his body.

"You're real," Kurt whispered, ducking his head into the knees pressed close to his chest.

"We aren't eleven or nine or eight anymore," a voice said.

Kurt shot his head up. There was still no one in the room, but the voice was distinctive.

"What about ten?" Kurt egged on, inching to the edge of his bed.

And then a light filled the dim room. It wasn't a blinding light but unexpected against the darkness, and Kurt squinted until the light faded and his eyes adjusted.

And there was Blaine, just the way Kurt remembered him: white v-neck and slacks, tan skin, hair (which was slicked back for a change) and those hazel eyes.

Kurt hastily flicked on his bedside table light, sitting up.

"But I never came back when we were ten," Blaine said, staying impossibly still. "Just eleven, nine and eight."

Kurt stood up, as if in a trance. Without too much thought, he walked towards Blaine and reached out a hand. Kurt froze inches from Blaine's chest. Blaine looked straight at Kurt's hand, as if studying a new concept. Kurt watched Blaine intently.

"Blaine?" Kurt muttered, slowly closing the distance.

Blaine didn't move, and Kurt thought he was about let him touch him, but then the other boy flinched and jerked away. Frantically, Blaine shook his head and backed up.

He said, "Kurt, no. We were kids. I was being stupid. I know better now."

"Obviously," Kurt spat, rolling his eyes, "since you're back."

"I'm not staying long."

Kurt shook his head, turning away. As he flopped down to sit on his bed, he muttered, "You never do." He then added, louder, "I'm not gonna beg you to stay so you can just go now."

"Listen," Blaine began, kneeling in front of Kurt. "You're never alone, whatever happens."

Kurt rolled his eyes, again, scooting away from Blaine. Blaine sighed, standing up.

And just as Blaine was about to disappear, Kurt asked the question, "Why can't you just tell me what you are?"

The question lingered in the air. Blaine stayed, looking at Kurt carefully, and Kurt finished, Kurt finished, "When I was eight, I thought you were imaginary, and as I grew up and you become more real, I figured you were a ghost, but then we were eleven and I touched you. So now I just don't know what the hell you are, but you're here again. If you're not imaginary and you're not a ghost, what are you?"

Blaine furrowed his brow, sighing heavily.

"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.

Blaine lowered his head. With one quick, little nod, he squared his shoulders, and huffed out a breath. For a moment, nothing happened, but then something burst from behind Blaine, stretching out on either side of him so quickly that Kurt didn't realize what they were until they'd settled closer to Blaine's body.

Wings – fluffy and sitting in an organized pattern. Along the edges of the lowest set of feathers were a line of brown, but other than that, they were white.

"B-Blaine," Kurt choked out. And for a moment, Kurt forgot to breathe.

"You wanted to know," Blaine said.

"What are you?" Kurt asked.

There was a brief pause, and then, in a clear voice, "I'm an angel, Kurt," Blaine said. "Your angel."

Kurt was eight when he saw Blaine for the second time.

His back was pressed against the hard, prickly bark of the huge tree in the corner of his backyard. Kurt tilted his head back to look at the sun through the leaves of the tree and absentmindedly gripped the unyielding white cast covering his wrist.

The little eight year old was suddenly overwhelmed, with wanting to get up into his secret tree house, with the ache of his broken bone, with how much he missed his mother, and with feeling alone all the time, that he started to cry.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. As Kurt reacted, throwing himself away from the touch, warm arms wrapped around his torso.

"Kurt," whispered his father. "Kurt, it's okay. Come inside."

Kurt whipped his head back and forth, pulling away as his father tugged him up.

"It's okay. I'm okay," Kurt said, wiping away his tears.

His father's large hands framed his face. "You're sure?"

Kurt gave a tiny nod, and his dad was satisfied, clapping him on the back before turning towards the house. With a sigh, Kurt leaned back into the tree.

"Why didn't you take your dad's help?" a voice asked.

Kurt jumped, tumbling onto the grassy ground. He looked up and saw a boy, all in white, standing over him.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, getting to his feet.

"He wanted to help you," Blaine said, stepping back. "You were crying."

Kurt felt completely violated. "Did you follow me home again? From the hospital? From school?" Kurt spat, angry.

"I- no."

Crossing his arms and turning away from Blaine, Kurt said, "Well, it seems like it! I just want to be left alone!" and looked over his shoulder and found he was talking to himself. "Really?" Kurt huffed and stomped towards the house.

"Didn't you want to get up here?" Blaine's voice called from up above Kurt's head – from the top of the tree.

Turning, Kurt could barely make out Blaine's figure through the leaves. He gaped up at him. How had he got to the tree house so fast?

Kurt rounded the tree, head craned upwards. Blaine smiled down. With a sigh, Kurt jumped and grabbed the lowest branch, wrapping his encased arm around the wood. It took a lot longer than usual, but Kurt eventually managed to climb up to his tree house.

"You're not going to help me?" Kurt groaned, pushing through the entrance.

Blaine knelt in the corner, tying up his shoelace. "I think you're doing okay."

Grunting, Kurt rolled onto the tree house floor and lay there, panting.

Staying on his back, Kurt managed, "You're not my favorite person."

Blaine laughed and leant over Kurt so that he was upside-down.

"So, how'd that happen?" Blaine asked, kicking towards Kurt's wrist.

Kurt sat up and turned around as Blaine sat down. Even though the other boy was just a stranger who wanted to steal his tree house, Kurt felt strangely okay with telling him the story.

"It was a really pretty day out for the middle of February, and our teacher let us have recess outside," Kurt began, absentmindedly tapping at his cast. "I was on the monkey bars when Noah Puckerman jumped on, right behind me!"

Blaine leaned forward, interested. "Then what happened?"

"He started making fun of me, kicking at my shoes, telling me I was too much of a sissy to climb the monkey bars, to go play hop-scotch with the other girls."

"And you lost balance and fell."

It wasn't a question. Blaine was continuing the story.

"I fell, and it hurt really, really bad, Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed, picking up his wrist. "So they took me to the hospital. It was really bad."

"Why were you crying earlier?" Blaine probed.

Kurt hugged his knees, resting his chin down into them. "My mommy always said not to listen to mean people like that. They just want to hurt you. But Noah Puckerman really did hurt me! And I just hurt. Everywhere!"

"Your heart, too?"

Kurt let out a choked sob. "I miss her every single day."

Blaine went to reach forward but pulled back. "It's only been three months. It'll get better."

"No, it won't b-because she's never coming back," Kurt cried, hiding his face behind his palms. "The house still smells like her! I don't like being in there. That's why I need for my bone to get fixed. I need this tree house!"

Blaine hugged himself tightly, as if he was mimicking what he wanted to give to Kurt. He let Kurt cry, and gradually his sobbing began to fade.

"It's okay, Kurt," Blaine whispered. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

But when he woke up, Blaine was gone.

Teaser for Next Chapter:

"I don't want to tell you too much," Blaine confessed. "Because, well, you're not supposed to know about me." Kurt was about to argue, and undoubtedly bring up the fact that Blaine showed himself to Kurt first, so Blaine continued, "Five questions."

"The game is twenty questions."

Blaine smiled, and Kurt noticed that his teeth as white as the rest of him.

"We aren't playing a game," he said.