A feral growl rumbled from downstairs, followed by Nicks frantic voice yelling, “holy – help, Kurt, Blaine, HELP!”

Kurt barely noticed Blaines door flinging open before he himself was running downstairs. Once he reached the kitchen, he skidded to an abrupt halt, eyes widening at the sight before him.

“Holy freaking fuck,” he whispered as he took in what looked like a huge hairy ball inexplicably dripping slime. Its extremities reminded Kurt of a cross between an orangutan and a dachshund, with long, beefy arms swiveling haphazardly at where Nick was cowering, and short, stout legs that looked like its thighs and half its calves had been chopped off. “God, thats the grossest thing Ive ever seen.”

As he stared, he heard Blaine make a noise next to him, bringing Kurt back from his disgust-induced trance. The taller teen grabbed for the closest weapon, which happened to be a butchers knife, and immediately put himself in the path of the beast, which was still trying to get a good swing at Nick.

“Its – its a Chirago Demon!” Nick gasped from where he was still on the floor. “Watch out for the slime, its paralyzing!”

Kurt only registered his words at the precipice of his battle-focused mind, but understood enough to duck when a gooey fist nearly connected with his jaw, and stood back up, merely a foot away from the demon. An indescribable stench filled his nostrils, like rotten flesh but worse, and he suppressed a gag at the smell as he stabbed the knife forward. He felt the blade sink into its body with a squelching sound, followed by another roar. Pulling the knife out, he jumped aside just in time before the now enraged monsters arms punching at him hit home.

Just as he prepared to dive back in and hopefully find the heart on his next stab, he saw Blaine jump up behind the creature, ax a-swinging. Its head fell to the floor with a dull thump, black gore spraying Kurt from where some kind of artery must have been severed in the process of beheading. He stood there, frozen in disgust as he felt it seep through his clothes. The weapon in Blaines hands fell to the floor with a loud clank.

“Youre welcome. You can take care of the clean-up, I have to pack my stuff,” the other Slayer muttered and turned on his heel, ready to flee back upstairs, waking Kurt from his stupor.

“W-what? Are you fucking serious? Get the hell back here!” he yelled, ignoring a paralyzed Nick to storm after Blaine, who, in turn, ignored him as he stuffed a load of clothes into his duffel bag. Kurt yanked at the bundle, trying to snatch it from Blaine, causing a shirt to rip down the middle where he and Blaine had both been tugging at it.

“I saved your ass, the least you can do is to let me leave this hellhole in peace,” Blaine snarled.

“I saved your ass before you even knew what ass-saving entailed, so the least you can do is tell me what the hell is going on!”

Blaine looked at him like he was calculating his seriousness, pursing his lips with a scowl.

“Go get cleaned up, youre stinking everything up with the smell of demon gore. Ill explain, but only if you promise to let me get the hell out of here afterward.”

“You expect me to trust you not to bail the second I let you out of sight?”

“Just... just do it, Kurt. I need a moment.” Blaine didnt look angry anymore when he sighed and swiped a hand through his hair; he just looked resigned, and tired, and far older than his 16 years, so Kurt just nodded, recognizing this was not the time to fight. He followed Blaines suggestion and made his way to bathroom to shower off the sticky sensation of demon blood drying on his skin.

When he emerged, dressed in his spare pair of sweatpants and a shirt he borrowed from Nick, Blaine was sitting on the bed quietly, eyes cast down to examine what seemed to be a very interesting piece of lint on the floor. Wordlessly, he sat down next to him, quietly expectant.

“That demon… I've seen it before,” Blaine began. Kurt had about a thousand things on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say, to ask, and even to rage about, encouraged by suspicion and doubt simmering quietly below the surface, ready to boil over, despite the fact that he always tried to be fair and hear people out. Because this wasn't a regular guy and this wasn't only committing a crime as trivial as rash judgment he was risking – it was his life, and more importantly, his family's lives at stake here. So instead of voicing any of this, he inconspicuously reached for the lamp on Blaine's bedside table, taking a hold of it, ready to smash it over his head if necessary.

Blaine either didn't notice or didn't care. He still wasn't looking at Kurt, taking a few deep breaths before he spoke up again.

“It… or at least their kind… work for my mother.”

A beat of silence. And another. And another.

And then Kurt had Blaine by the neck of his shirt with one hand, knocking him back on the bed and straddling his thighs much as he had earlier, the lamp held above his head with the other hand, prepared to strike at the first sign of endangerment. Blaine seemed to not have been anticipating that move; he made an “oomph!” noise and looked up at Kurt with surprise. However, he seemed to recover quickly, using the fact that the taller Slayer wasn't restricting his arms to his advantage and knocking him off balance and, subsequently, off the bed. The lamp was flung from his clasp and shattered somewhere above his head, and before he could recover from the shock, Blaine was pouncing on him and – although Kurt was loathe to admit it – doing a much better job of holding him down than he himself had. He wiggled and writhed beneath the other Slayer, and when he didn't succeed in freeing his arms or legs, he tried, to no avail, to buck him off with his hips. At this point, he was so desperately panicked, he didn't even notice the proximity of their crotches in this position like he usually did, albeit with a lot of shame and barely disguised desire.

“Will you fucking let me fucking explain?!” Blaine growled, tightening his grip on Kurt's left wrist when he nearly triumphed and freed it. “Fucking hell, you always get down on me like,” he continued in a higher pitch, mimicking Kurt, mocking him, and ultimately, making him see stars with how angry he was, “Oh Blaine, why do you have to act the way you do? Why are you such a jerk? I really want you to fuck me but I'm such a prissy little bitch and I need to understand you first. Don't think I don't know your type,” he added in his normal voice, and didn't give Kurt the chance to reply, which enraged him even further. “And then, the second I do try to open up a little, you fucking attack me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You just told me the demon who attacked us in Nick's home works for your mother,” Kurt hissed and struggled in Blaine's hold once more, trying to kick or punch or otherwise fight his way to freedom.

“And did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I'm not exactly on the best terms with my mother?” Blaine raved, and it was only then that Kurt noticed the eyeliner Blaine sometimes favored was smudged in tear tracks down his face. Immediately, he stopped struggling, figuring that he should save his strength for when he really needed it. The fact was that there really was a need for him to use his strength – he really didn't like being trapped like he was – but in spite of what logic dictated he feel and do in his current predicament, he felt, in his gut, oddly and irrationally, like there was no real danger. Like he was, by all accounts, safe.

“Sorry, I just… It's my job to protect my family. It's my job to protect so much more than that, but…” he whispered and trailed off, expecting Blaine to get off him, but the other boy was just looking down at him with an unreadable expression and then there was more silence, the kind that was so thick you could cut it with a knife with how loud and just… filled with anticipation it was, and Kurt waited with bated breath and a turning stomach, already expecting the worst.

“My Dad was my hero when I was a kid,” the curly-haired boy suddenly broke into the quiet, just when Kurt thought hed have to prod for him to speak. “I didnt want to be like him... I wanted to be him. He loved classic rock, so I asked for guitar lessons when I was five... so I could learn to play his favorite songs. He was so proud when I won this talent show in fifth grade, playing and singing Sweet Child O Mine.” He laughed softly, and Kurt could tell they were fond memories flitting through his mind.

Just as quickly as the soft expression came, it left his face again, replaced by a deep frown, directed at Kurt's collarbone instead of his eyes. “My mom, though... She never wanted my older brother in the first place, but she was reasonably happy with how handsome and talented he turned out, so it wasnt so bad. And just when he was old enough that she could just push him off on the nanny, and just enjoy the cute parts while Juanita handled the hard stuff, she got pregnant with me. She was... less than thrilled, apparently.”

Kurt wondered how Blaine knew this, wondered whether hed just come to the conclusion or if his mother, or anyone in his family, had actually been cruel enough to relay this piece of information to him. He kept quiet, though, not willing to interrupt the truly miraculous event unfolding right before his eyes, the one he had almost kept from happening: Blaine opening up to him about more than what hed like to do to Kurt in the bedroom.

“When I came out 3 years ago, my Dad took it surprisingly well. I was terrified, because he was a mans man, you know?” Kurt smiled a bit at that and nodded, understanding full and well; Burt was strictly blue collar, loved sports, and beer and red meat and women, exactly what society would dub the perfect example of a man. “He was completely cool with it though, asking whether Id be this serious if I had to come out as straight and assuring me that I had no reason to be scared. He didnt know that I actually did.”

“Your mother...?” The other Slayer nodded, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath before he continued his saga.

“She would get down on me for all kinds of things, playing too loudly, not cleaning up my room, which were normal things, but sometimes shed yell at me for stuff like the way I fucking speared my food with my fork. And when she found out that I like boys, and not girls... she went fucking feral. She flung everything within reach at me, plates, vases, a chair... you name it.” The pale teen momentarily had to suppress a chuckle at the image of a tiny woman with wild curly hair like Blaine's flinging a chair through the air, but immediately sobered up when he realized her 13-year-old son had been standing there as her target, probably scared out of his fucking mind. “She was screaming her lungs out about how I was an abomination and that Id get AIDS and die painfully before I went to hell, and that it was all my own fault for being a fucking faggot, and that she should have had an abortion like she wanted to. Dad tried to reason with her, but she only turned on him instead, telling him that of course Id want to be a little bitch instead of a man, the way he had been spoiling me. They had a huge fight, and she left the same night, and though Dad tried to tell me it wasnt, I knew it was my fault. Its all my fault,” he whimpered, the sound startling Kurt. Hesitantly, he pulled his hand from Blaine's restraint, which had become lax as he retold his story, and placed it on Blaines back, rubbing circles into his shoulder and deathly afraid hed scare him off, but the younger teen seemed to revel in the soft touch. He shifted his gaze back up to lock with Kurt's, his haunted, amber eyes far away as he reminisced.

“A few months ago, she showed up on our doorstep one night. We hadnt heard from Mom at all since shed left, but Dad took one look at me, told me to go to my room, and stepped outside with her. I had just been Called and I was... having trouble adjusting. Thats to say, I went completely haywire, lashing out and talking back every chance I got,” he admitted with another chuckle, the noise mirthless as it resounded around them. His eyes got glassy as he went on.

“I couldnt – I couldnt have known, I just, I heard them talking, and then a thump, and I ran downstairs because I was suddenly feeling sick to my stomach, and, and...” Suddenly, a sob racked Blaines body. Kurts eyes widened in response; before he really understood what he was doing himself, the pale teen had pulled the shorter one more solidly on top of him and into his arms, wrapping them around his torso, holding him tight. As Blaine turned his head into his shoulder and shook with the force of his sobs, Kurt idly thought that it was a good idea to settle for showing his compassion physically, what with the way Blaine had been so focused on the physical with him. His hand painted random patterns up and down the other boys back and he kept whispering nonsensical flowers of speech, kept whispering, its okay, its okay, when he really didnt think it was or ever would be. His own mother had died when he was 8, but he knew without a doubt in his heart that she wouldve accepted him with open arms, had, in fact, already done so throughout the many eccentric interests he displayed as a child, never once telling him his behavior was inappropriate for a boy. He couldnt imagine not having that surety, or worse – finding out that his own mother would, in fact, reject him when he strayed from the norm.

It was only when the neck and shoulder of his shirt were almost completely soaked through that Blaine pulled back, sitting up on top of him, so suddenly that Kurt could do nothing but emit a strangled sound and blink in surprise. The curly-haired boy cleared his throat, avoiding Kurts gaze as he wiped a few stray tears from his face, the perfect picture of a heartbroken child donning the armor of a soldier twice his size, and Kurt wondered how long he'd kept this stuff bottled up inside.

“S-sorry. Its just... theres more.” The monotone of Blaines voice unsettled Kurt, if he was being honest, but he decided not to comment on it. “Uh... well... I got downstairs... And... my dad was lying outside on the porch. Pale as death, two puncture wounds on his neck, and it looked kinda... twisted. I never examined the body; I saw my mother, in – in her vampire form… She was lurking in the shadows… I dont think she knew I was the Slayer or she wouldve known Id see her... and... I managed to haul the body inside before she could react. Then I threw up a few times and sat in the corner until dawn, when I knew it was safe for my Watcher to come over. I called her, and I think she... dunno... Apparated her way to my house.” Kurt wouldve laughed at the reference if he hadnt been crying by this point, not only his heart but his entire chest breaking for the boy. No wonder he was such an ass. Kurt vividly remembered what a jerk he'd become after he died for a few moments, the shock and the pain manifesting in irrational, exaggerated dramatics even other teenagers had shaken their heads at.

“'s not everything,” Blaine's hoarse voice spoke up, breaking Kurt from his reverie once more. “Two days after the funeral, I was patrolling, although Dawn, my Watcher, had told me to take the night off and that she'd take care of it. Naturally, I didn't listen. So I walked around the cemetery and I stopped at my dad's grave when the dirt began to move.”

The pale teen legitimately gasped, knowing exactly what Blaine's next words would be. “It's alright, Blaine, you don't have to tell me, I think I can guess,” he rushed out, reaching for Blaine's hand. Blaine, however, pulled it away and just shook his head with a short, barking laugh.

“No, you wanted to know, you have to sit through the whole story. I fucking lived it, Hummel, I live it every day. I think you can manage to hear it.” Kurt immediately shut his mouth and nodded, realizing that he had, indeed, been trying to spare himself the pain of listening to the rest of the story, not even capable of picturing the pain and fear, and never really wanting to anyway.

“I was freaked the fuck out, as you can imagine. And I…” he inhaled sharply before he shook his head. “No, you know what? This was a mistake. All you needed to know was that my bitch of a mother was turned into a bitch of a vampire who's out to get me, but your fucking… eyes and your fucking being you and looking like you do made me… oh fuck, I don't even know.” Without a warning, the weight on top of Kurt lifted, and the taller teen sat up, feeling like he got whiplash from the sudden change in Blaine's behavior but still grabbing Blaine's arm when the other boy made to resume packing the few belongings he had into his duffel bag.

“Made you what?”

“Let the fuck go of me.”

“Made you the fuck what, Blaine?” Kurt snapped, wiping his eyes again with his free hand but not adhering to his request, tightening his hold instead.

“It's just bullshit. I haven't gotten laid in a while.”

Kurt laughed to mask the hurt, the sound cheerless and bordering on derisive, and let go of Blaine like he'd been burned.

“You know what? You can fucking go. I hate what happened to you, no one deserves what happened to you, but I can't be around your – your toxicity anymore!”

That made Blaine turn around, get up in Kurt's face, but Kurt stood his ground.

“Is that so?” A snarl, sending shivers down his spine, but he just turned his nose up and looked down at the shorter boy with disdain.

“Yes. You're not even a vampire, but you're just as good at sucking the life out of everyone who dares to cross your path, who dares to challenge and demand something real from you! You run around, this stereotype of a 90's badboy, with your mixed signals and tortured past and paralyzing fear of opening yourself up to the vaguest possibility of getting hurt and the crude exterior and insults, and boy, do I get that you're just a scared little boy because I am, too, but that gives you no right –“

Suddenly, his rant was cut off by a pair of lips on his own. Before he could register much, let alone respond, they were gone.

“Made me feel like it was okay to be vulnerable, like it could be worth it if I let myself be vulnerable with you, that you wouldn't pity me, but understand,” Blaine breathed, completing his sentence from earlier, before claiming Kurt's lips in a kiss again, and this time, Kurt reciprocated, unable to fight the confused mess of desire and affection and frustration and anger warring with each other anymore, instead letting it bleed into the way his lips pressed against Blaine's slightly chapped ones, the way his mouth moved and opened and let his tongue brush against Blaine's, the way he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and leaned into Blaine's touch when he held him around his waist.

“There's more,” Blaine admitted in between kisses.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Kurt asked as he pulled back slightly, his face hot with a different kind of flush than the one he was used to, his chest heaving as he breathed shallowly, looking at Blaine's face and almost moaning at the way he looked – swollen, red lips, dark eyes, nostrils flared as he, too, struggled for enough oxygen.

“Not a priority right now.”

Kurt accepted the answer as they, once again, met in a fierce lip-lock and tumbled down onto the bed together.