He hadn’t been nervous for his own Glee audition, all those years ago. He’d climbed up onto the stage at the old school auditorium and sang with an air of confidence that betrayed who he really was at the time; scared, shy, and trapped inside himself.

But not when he sang. Never when he sang.

Still, he’d been calm through every performance, even Nationals the year before. Excited and elated, yes, but never nervous.

It wasn’t until Blaine stepped out of the bathroom, bright-eyed and smiling, dressed in a beautiful combination of black and red with a striped bow tie around his neck that Kurt realised the reason why.

This wasn’t something he could control.

This was Blaine stepping out of his comfort zone and into something huge and new and frightening for him. Even though Kurt knew he would be there waiting at the bottom, ready to catch him if he needed it, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be the one at the top holding on, keeping him from falling at all.

He smiled softly, raking his eyes over Blaine’s body and appreciating the tight cut of the shirt and the bright scarlet of the highwaters he’d paired with it.

Blaine splayed both hands. “Well?”

Reaching out, Kurt brushed his fingers over the knot, knuckles grazing against the warm skin of Blaine’s throat. “I love the bow tie.”

Blaine grinned.

“Are you ready?” Kurt asked.

He nodded gently, eyes dipping and rising again. “I really am.”

Kurt beamed at him, sliding both arms around his waist and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let’s go.”

The long drag of another school day was only lessened by the in-between moments; the weight of Blaine’s hand in his in the hallway, the feeling of him tucked against his side at their lunch table. The girls had stopped to compliment Blaine’s new wardrobe, and he lit up with delight at every word of praise, thanking them kindly. Kurt quietly enjoyed the contentment spreading in his chest at the sight of Blaine so at ease in his own skin, finally feeling like he could be who he was without any fear.

By the time Glee came around, Blaine was buzzing with a nervous energy, unable to stay still even when Kurt held on to his waist and tried to soothe him.

“This is a bad idea.”

“You’re amazing,” Kurt told him, stroking his sides. “They’re going to love you.”

“What if they don’t-?”

“They will.”

“But what if I-?”

“You won’t.”

“But-”

“Blaine.”

His shoulders slumped as he laughed softly, bowing his head.

“You love to sing, Blaine,” Kurt breathed. “It’s who you are.”

Blaine looked up at him, eyes hesitant and nervous.

Kurt smiled. “Show them.”

He took his seat quietly while Blaine was introduced, folding his legs and settling his hands in his lap, trying not to fidget. When the song began, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and focusing on any sense of calm he could draw from, hoping Blaine could feel it somehow.

The song Blaine had chosen was perfect; but then, Kurt knew it would be. Blaine felt music; he drew it up from somewhere deep inside of him, and let it fill him up as he performed.

Each morning in the car, Kurt had listened to his voice get stronger and more comfortable. He’d heard him hum along to melodies while he set the table or dried the dishes at night and spent so long falling asleep to the sound of that voice trickling over him, sinking into his dreams.

Kurt had expected the round of enthusiastic applause, even the few cheers and words of encouragement that went up from his peers, but judging by the look on his face as he finished his song, Blaine hadn’t. He was utterly stunned and speechless as he looked around the room at the small sea of faces grinning back at him.

When Blaine settled into the seat beside him, shaking lightly but smiling, Kurt reached out and took his hand.

“I told you,” he whispered, and Blaine curled to hide his face in Kurt’s shoulder briefly, overwhelmed.

Ignoring Rachel’s rush to the floor in front of them and her subsequent speech about the perfect timing of a male voice that could keep up with her, Kurt chose instead to focus on Blaine’s racing heartbeat and the tremor that still shook his hands. He slipped an arm around his waist, stroking gently at the small of his back with his thumb and holding tight to a warm, shaky hand in his own.

The rest of the meeting was simply garbled sounds, and Schuester’s voice drowned out amidst the warm hum of Blaine’s proximity, settling in his skin. He could feel the adrenaline, the shaky surprise and awe that still clung tight to Blaine’s chest, buried underneath his attempt at a calm exterior. Kurt kept his hands on Blaine’s body, subtle but firm, stroking and holding tight as the other songs dragged on and time slipped away.

When the meeting ended and the group filed out, Kurt scooped up their bags and held out his hand for Blaine, just like he’d always done.

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face as they reached the hallway, interlocked hands swinging lightly between them while they wandered toward the parking lot.

“I’ve told you you were amazing, right?”

Blaine chuckled. “A dozen times, at least,” he said.

Kurt swayed as they walked. “It bears repeating. Seriously, Blaine, this - all of this - could open up so much for you. And soon, there’s New York.”

“New York,” Blaine echoed with mock gravity.

“I know you’ll still be finishing high school, but you’ll already be there, when you do. There’s so much there, and it’s all going to be right at your feet,” he insisted. “When you’re ready.”

“It’s going to be…” Blaine seized and let go of a long breath. “Wonderful.”

Kurt cast a sideways glance in his direction, considering for a moment. “Do you think you’ll miss Ohio?”

Blaine’s laugh was soft and breathy, and his gaze fell to the floor. He shook his head. “Not even a little.”

It sounded so clean cut and simple, Kurt had to wonder. The prickle of doubt in the back of his mind crept up again.

Blaine seemed to sense it, and squeezed his hand gently.

Their eyes met, and Blaine smiled as he turned and slowed to a stop, pulling Kurt towards him. “Everything I love is coming with me.”

Kurt tilted his head, sliding both arms over Blaine’s shoulders and fixing him with an adoring grin.

He shifted on the balls of his feet, moving in for a kiss before he suddenly froze. His eyes widened as he stared over Blaine’s shoulder.

“What?” Blaine asked, turning in his arms.

Kurt swallowed, fists curling around handfuls of Blaine’s shirt as a sharp warning flared in his chest.

There was a red letterman jacket hanging at the end of the hall, draped over the handle of a door that shouldn’t have been closed. With a quick surveying glance, Kurt could see it wasn’t just closed: it was deadlocked.

“We need to go the other way,” he whispered, tugging on Blaine’s shoulders and guiding him around. “Quickly.”

They rushed back the way they came and rounded the corner, skidding to another stop as two more red jackets slipped into view at the other end of the hallway. This time, they were wrapped around two heavy-set jocks, ambling towards them with smirks peeling across their faces.

Kurt scrambled to keep a hold of Blaine, turning around and dragging him further down the main hallway. “Run!”

Their footfalls clattered and echoed off the scuffed school floors, and they skidded and changed direction at another flash of red down the next hall, pushing out the side doors and racing over the asphalt down to the football field.

“Kurt?!” Blaine called out frantically, two steps ahead and trying to glance over his shoulder, to reach back and find Kurt’s hand.

“Run, Blaine, keep going!”

Kurt could hear them coming up behind - not fast enough, but plenty of them. His heart sank in his chest when he realised they’d come from each specific direction with such perfect timing; it couldn’t have been a coincidence. It wasn’t just a simple plan to find them.

They were being herded.

When he caught the small swatch of red and yellow, cut out and clear against the green of the field beyond, he struggled for breath, fighting the panic that seized his throat. They were waiting, fanning out and blocking the only way out that lead back to the parking lot past the bleachers.

Even if they broke through the line, he couldn’t risk leading them. He couldn’t risk Blaine.

The group ahead of them waited with toothy, vicious smiles while the rest of them closed in from behind.

Kurt could feel the burn of exhaustion in his legs, the shocks of dull pain shooting up both shins as they raced over the grass. It struck him as strange that the voice echoing in his ears in that moment wasn’t his own, but Cooper’s; a fleeting memory from weeks past, lingering in his mind.

That’s it.

“Blaine, the bleachers!” he cried.

Blaine twisted, throwing a glance back to say he’d heard and understood.

Kurt knew they’d never catch Blaine if he lead them under the stands, the memory of Cooper’s voice had told him that much.

He got away. He's fast, and small, so he's hard to catch.

“Blaine, whatever you do,” Kurt called out between desperate gasps for air as their feet pounded over the dirt. “Don’t stop, and don’t look back!”

“KURT!”

“Keep running! Run as fast as you can!” Kurt cried, forcing as much of a command into his words as he could, watching Blaine’s speed pick up as the distance between them grew.

Good boy.

“Don’t look back!”

The burning pain in his lungs dimmed as he slowed down, their long run coming to its inevitable end as the pack ahead of them closed in. Blaine’s quick feet let him duck under outstretched arms and a slow lunge up ahead, skipping over two steps with a clatter and crash as he dropped down the side of the framework and slipped beneath the metal ribcage of the bleachers.

Run, Kurt’s head cried out, but the word didn’t make it to his mouth.

His body sagged with the panting drag for air, the sharp, prickly burn in his lungs forcing up a hard and painful cough. It took him a moment to realise he was surrounded.

Eyes flicking around the circle of bodies closing in, he straightened carefully and forced his features into an unreadable calm. It was the right choice, he told himself. If they had him, they wouldn’t chase Blaine. But he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

It doesn’t matter now. Blaine is safe.

“We lost him,” a tall red-haired boy said as he jogged back over from the bleachers with three other sheepish neanderthals in tow. “He’s fucking fast.”

“He’ll come back,” Carter said.

“He won’t,” Kurt insisted. “He’s gone.”

“But we have you.” Carter laughed, and the others joined in briefly before he stepped inside the circle, moving towards Kurt.

“Dumpster today?” Kurt asked casually, folding his arms. “Or is there a particular Port-a-Potty you want to shove me into?”

“Oh we’re way past that now, fairy boy,” Carter said.

“What is your problem with me?” Kurt shouted, unable to keep down his rage. “I’ve done nothing to you!”

“You flaunt your faggy ass around this school,” Carter began, jabbing a thick finger in the air at Kurt. “Put on your fairy clothes and we shouldn’t have to look at that shit. You’re in our town. You’re in our school. And your fuck-toy took something that didn’t belong to him.”

“He doesn’t wear the jacket,” Kurt countered. “He quit your stupid swim team. He’s not doing anything to you!”

“No, but he tricked us!” another boy piped up.

“That’s right,” Carter nodded. “He tricked us, he tried to be one of us. He was allowed to wear that jacket for too long, and he has to pay the penalty. But he keeps ducking out on us, see, so everybody else has had to pay for him. And that’s a pretty big bill. All that time wearing our colours.”

“You put Cooper in the hospital,” Kurt said coldly. He searched Carter’s face desperately, shoulders dropping. There had to be something human in there, somewhere. Some inkling of regret in Carter’s face or in his eyes, and Kurt was determined to find it. “You could have killed him. For what? For a jacket?”

“It’s pride!” Carter shouted, and the others sent up whoops of affirmation. “It’s not a jacket, it’s power and dominance, and we won’t stand by and let some fucking dog Sub wear it. He stole it out from under us, and then he didn’t even face up to punishment like a good dog should. He ran and hid behind you. Behind a fucking fag!” He spat on to the grass, and Kurt tried not to flinch away as he came closer.

“So,” Carter shrugged, “his pussy Sub brother paid for his mistake. And now, you will.”

Kurt saw the punch coming.

His arms were barely up in time to deflect it from his face, but the force knocked him off his feet. He landed awkwardly on the hard turf, scrambling to back away until he bumped the legs of another jock and caught a sharp kick to his side.

Ducking and curling into a ball, he gritted his teeth, hissing his breath with every blow.

Don’t cry out.

A hard boot tip drove into his hip.

Blaine could hear you. Don’t scream.

The kicks kept coming, and he quietly thanked his past self for the heavy, thick jacket he’d worn on a whim that morning.

A vicious boot to his ribs left him winded, and he rolled onto his hands and knees, shifting to block another foot and trying to get back up. He caught the angle of a kick to the jaw, and felt his mouth flare with pain before it went numb.

“You’ll keep on paying,” Carter insisted, kneeling and forcing Kurt’s face up with rough, sausage-like fingers curled around his chin. “Until he comes to collect his due.”

The hand slipped away just as another foot came down on his shoulder. It crunched sickeningly on impact, and the sound that broke away from him was guttural and wet with pain.

“Now, you get a choice, just like the brother did. You can pick up your phone and call your bitch dog, and get him back here. Or, you can find out what the hand of a real Dom feels like.”

Kurt’s eyes widened as he stared up, gaze blurred by the throb in his head and his body.

They did this to Cooper too, he realised. They tried to make him trap his own brother.

“Fuck you,” Kurt spat, dribbling blood on to the grass in a weak mimic of Blaine’s own act of defiance all those weeks ago.

“Suit yourself, fag,” Carter growled, lifting Kurt up limply by his collar and winding up an arm to deliver another blow.

“Stop it!” a broken voice cried, and Carter dropped him back down to the dirt.

Kurt gurgled in protest when he recognised the sound.

No.

“Stop! Leave him alone, I’m here,” Blaine said frantically.

Kurt couldn’t see him, only a whirr of faded colours as he tried to regain his balance and get up onto his hands and knees.

“No, Blaine, RUN!” he screamed, fear and helplessness tearing through his veins.

Please, no. Oh god, no. Blaine.

“Well, what do we have here?” Carter said around a vicious smirk. “Good doggie.”

“Let him go,” Blaine warned, his voice dropping.

Kurt rolled onto his side, blinking up through the fading daylight. He could see red; but he wasn’t sure if it was a jacket or Blaine’s pants.

“B-bl- no.” He spat out another mouthful of blood.

Underneath the steady current of pain seeping through his body, he could feel Blaine’s fear. The same clawing feeling he’d felt last time they were here, before they were even claimed. Back when I wasn’t even supposed to feel it.

“Blaine, run,” he croaked.

The shuffling of feet through grass grew closer, and the words on the air dipped in and out from muted to clear again.

They had Blaine.

“You can’t touch me,” that was Blaine’s voice, “I’m claimed. You know the law. Let him go. Stop this, please.”

Kurt wasn’t sure if everybody had gone silent, or if he’d lost his hearing. He gave a weak, startled jerk when they started speaking again.

“He’s right, Carter, I don’t want that on my record,” another boy said.

“They won’t find out!” Carter hissed.

“If a claimed Sub shows up beaten, man, they’ll investigate. They have to,” another voice chimed in. “We can’t.”

There was a quiet murmur of agreement, and Kurt strained to look up, eyes focusing on Carter’s clueless face as he weighed his options.

“Fine, then,” he said with a smirk, eyeing Blaine carefully. “We’ll just have to make you an unclaimed Sub.”

Terror shot through Kurt’s body, and he pushed up off the ground with the last of his strength, unsure of whether the hollow, burning fear clawing at his throat was his, or Blaine’s, or both.

Blaine was thrashing against the two boys that held him, trying to keep his arm tight to his chest as they pried it away and tore the bracelet off his wrist.

To break a claim, remove the Sub bracelet and return it to the Dominant party.

“DON’T! PLEASE!” Blaine screamed desperately as he struggled.

Kurt shuffled on the ground, swatting at the meaty hands that dragged him up and crying out at the brutal, crushing grip that found his arm, twisting it up in the air and holding it still as the bracelet was clipped over his cuff.

He waited for the pain to come, like he knew it would; the roar in his chest, the tearing down the middle of his body and his heart as the part of him that belonged to Blaine was crushed underfoot.

It never came.

Blaine sobbed quietly around a broken breath, body shaking, face glittering with tears in the dim light.

“Kurt.”

His eyes flicked up, meeting Blaine’s and flashing wide in an instant. Nothing happened.

Mine, he thought.

You’re still mine.

Blaine didn’t speak, but his mouth twitched at the edge, just the hint of a smile as his gaze dipped for a split second.

Kurt followed the instruction, glancing down to Blaine’s other hand and the cell phone still alight in his palm.

He didn’t come back, Kurt realised, heart thundering in his chest. He never left.

“Now, doggie,” Carter said, voice thick with intent. “Get on your hands and knees like a good boy.”

Blaine’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and his muscles flexed visibly, seemingly straining against the command.

Kurt blinked numbly, confused. He couldn’t feel any resistance, any real fight. Just determination and carefully guarded fear.

Blaine was faking it.

His head swam in muggy heat, and a sudden wave of nausea rose inside, riding on the pain in his shoulder. After a moment, his gaze fell back to the phone in Blaine’s hand, and he swallowed against the bitter copper taste in his mouth, trying not to choke.

“Down!” Carter screeched, but Blaine put on the show of resistance still.

His eyes fell to Kurt one more time. “I’m so sorry,” he mouthed.

No.

“Blaine,” Kurt murmured wetly, trying to get up again only to be pinned by the weight of a boot pushing down on his spine.

“Hold him,” Carter insisted, pointing to Blaine.

The two jocks on either side obeyed Carter’s command, and Kurt thrashed on the ground as Blaine grunted and choked with every punch.

The pain was real and burning under Kurt’s skin, and he could hear and sense every hit like an echo in his bloodstream. When Blaine’s ribs broke, Kurt screamed against the ground. When Blaine fell to his knees, Kurt rolled, beating at the leg that pinned him viciously before another kick sent white lights shooting behind his eyes.

He could hear a rumble in the distance like earthly thunder, vibrating the ground against his ear and fading in the night. Cars rolling by in the distance, his brain offered absently.

It took a moment for his vision to clear, and when it did he realised the cars weren’t far away at all. They were here. He glanced up as best he could to measure the faces of the boys above him, but nobody had heard. Nobody else was pinned to the ground.

Blaine’s face was caught in Carter’s grip, chin twisted between chubby fingers as Carter leaned down. “You’re going to be a good doggie, and do what I say.”

A sharp thrill rippled up Kurt’s spine at the sound of Blaine laughing. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he tried to come back to himself, to understand what was happening. Why is he laughing?

There was a loud smack as Carter slapped Blaine’s face with a hard, open palm. “-fucking laugh at me! Do as I tell you, you piss weak little fag!”

“You hit me before,” Blaine said, voice clear and loud like it hadn’t been till now. “Before I was claimed.”

“You’ll remember this one a lot longer,” Carter threatened. “You’ll learn your lesson if I have to beat you till every last bone in your body is broken. Now do as I say!”

Blaine spat on his shoes. “You’re never going to be able to tell anybody what to do,” he whispered gravely. “You’re never going to lay a hand on anybody. Ever again.”

His eyes flicked over to the entrance that divided the bleachers, and Carter turned in alarm, mouth falling open in shock.

Kurt squirmed on the ground, craning to see what was happening. The pressure on his back released in an instant as the jocks stumbled back in unison.

He recognised his father’s shoes first as they came towards him, then his cap and jacket, followed by the dark cut of police uniforms against the grey metal of the stands as they emerged onto the field, closing in rapidly.

“Kurt!”

Dad.

He could hear the rapid crunch of his father’s heavy work boots, and suddenly he was being lifted off the ground and into strong, powerful arms.

“No,” Carter choked. “I - I can explain!” he insisted, facing the officers. “This is a misunderstanding!”

“My brother - the other Sub you beat? He’s on the other end of this call,” Blaine said, wheezing in pain and cradling his ribs as the jocks backed away. “Every word out of your mouth was recorded. And they saw you,” he nodded to the police officers, “and heard you.”

Kurt huffed soft breaths of air as his body flooded with relief, safe in his father’s arms and watching with heavy, pain-drugged eyes as Carter was led away in cuffs. The world spun around him as the hum of voices picked up again while the officers dispersed amongst the remaining herd of jocks to take down their stories.

His hands flexed loosely in the air. “Bl- Blaine?”

“Blaine!” Burt called out desperately, head lifting up. “Where’s Blaine?”

Kurt rolled his neck limply against the arm cradling his head, but his eyes were only open long enough to see Blaine’s shoulders and the bright red of his pants where he lay on the ground just a few feet away. In the static rush of voices he caught the blare of a radio, and the sound of an ambulance siren.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” Burt told him gently. “He’ll be okay.”

“No, I need h-him-” Kurt struggled, head hanging as what little strength he had left seeped out of him too quickly. “Blaine.”

And then there was only darkness.