It was the smell that completely turned Blaine off of going to the auctions with his parents. He remembered that now. He remembered the godawful smell that could only be described as human squalor. Sure, the vendors had all of their goods prominently displayed. The sellers would have their men stand up straight to showcase their strength and their women kept their eyes cast to the ground in a show of submission. The children and teenagers were all on their knees. It was their place, because they knew that, unlike the older products, the teenagers weren't bought for their strength or skill, they were bought for a different, more sinister purpose.

As Blaine wandered in between the rows of vendors all touting the value of their slaves, his stomach roiled. He wanted to find his father and leave. To get as far away from there as possible. He knew, however, the reason that his parents were there. They were there to buy. Blaine's eyes drifted across the rows of too-skinny, too-broken people. They were people, human beings. They had once had hopes and dreams for the future, but now they were being sold like livestock, because that's what they were in this society. Livestock. Only, livestock held more intrinsic value.

He felt sick. The aisles went on forever.

"You! Boy!"

Blaine turned to face the man who had called him.
"I think I've got something you'd like," the man said, his voice had all the cadence of a salesman.
"I'm not interested," Blaine answered flatly, turning to walk away.
"Not interested you say? Look at these girls, boy. They've never even been owned before. They're fresh," the vendor said, winking.

Blaine's stomach did a sick flip as he realized what the man was implying. These girls were "fresh". Virgins. Someone would be buy one of these girls, take them home and..."No. No, thank you."

The man reached forward and put his hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Look, son," he said, his voice almost condescending. "A boy like you deserves a girl like one of the ones I've got here." The vendor stepped back and put his hands on one of the girls—a young blonde with a terrified expression. Blaine could tell that she was new to the slave trade. She couldn't have been older than fifteen. She hadn't learned to keep her expression neutral. To not show that she was afraid.

The salesman brought his hand to the girl's front to squeeze her hips. "Look at the curves on this one. She's got strong hips, legs that won't quit, and look at those tits, son," the man said suggestively, winking and cocking an eyebrow. Blaine had to swallow back the bile in his throat.

Blaine did his best to look past the man. He was raised to listen politely when an adult is talking, but he knew he was pushing his limits. As he was doing his best to dutifully ignore the disgusting man trying to sell him a human being, a small movement behind the slave display platform caught his eye. The man suddenly noticed his distraction. "Are you listening?"
Blaine ignored the question. "What's that behind the platform?" He asked, pointing to a small pile of what looked like blankets.

"Oh, that's just a reject. This is his last auction." The man gestured dismissively toward the bundle of cloth.

Blaine sidestepped the vendor and, as he got closer to the bundle of sheets, he saw a boy lying, curled up, on top of the pile. Blaine's stomach dropped into his shoes. He'd never seen anyone look so...broken before. Not even a reject. Something about this boy pulled Blaine in. He wanted—no, needed to help him. Before he could stop himself, Blaine dropped to his knees next to the boy and carded his fingers lightly through his chestnut brown hair. The boy's eyes fluttered open. The startlingly blue eyes hit Blaine like a shockwave. They were so expressive. Blaine could feel the terror and the pain and the hopelessness that the boy felt.

In that moment he realized that the boy knew that this was his last auction, that he'd been labeled a reject. That beautiful broken boy knew that, after the end of the auction tonight, he was going to die. The terror in his eyes was heartbreaking, but even worse was the fact that, even though the boy was terrified, he was too weak to cry out. Too weak to beg for his own life to be spared. All he could do was lie and wait for the end to come. He was trembling on the cold floor, wearing a pair of ragged boxer shorts and a t-shirt that had more holes than fabric.

"You don't want that one. He's useless. He's had at least five owners already."

Sick. Blaine felt sick. Five owners. At least five owners. Five owners breaking and obviously abusing him in ways Blaine couldn't even bear to think about. He reluctantly lifted his gaze from the beautiful boy on the floor to look at the salesman. "How much is he?" Blaine asked, unable to believe that those words had just come from his mouth.

The seller hedged around answering, so Blaine repeated the question more forcefully, standing up to meet the man's gaze. He quickly thought about the fact that he only had about ten dollars in his wallet, and his stomach rolled again as he realized that he could probably buy this boy and have some change left over.

The man huffed out a breath and lifted his arms at his side. "Uh...make me an offer."

A person. Blaine was about to make an offer to purchase a human being. His stomach lurched at the thought, but he knew that he had to save this boy. "I'll give you five bucks." He tried to act almost disinterested. It was illegal to show too much compassion for slaves. Illegal to treat them like people.

The seller stuck out his hand for Blaine to take. "Son, I don't know why you want that one, but you've got a deal. I almost feel bad for taking your money. That one's useless. He's all worn out. I suppose he's trained real good though."

Blaine gave his hand one proper shake before letting go as though he'd been electrocuted. He wanted to get himself, and the boy, as far away from the man as possible. "Can I take the blankets? He'll freeze outside."

The man gestured toward them in agreement as he took Blaine's money. Blaine slipped him an extra dollar for the blankets before walking over to the boy he'd just purchased and kneeling down beside him.

"Hey, can you look at me, please," Blaine asked softly, stroking the boy's hair again in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. The boy's eyes fluttered open again weakly. "You can sleep if you want to, but I just wanted you to know that you're going to be okay. I've got you now. I won't hurt you." The boy shifted slightly in what looked like an attempt to sit up. He was too weak to actually pull it off though. "It's okay. Don't try and get up. I've got you." He stroked the boy's hair again gently, feeling the weak, confused stare that was fixed on his face. "You're okay. Can you tell me your name?"

The boy looked as though he wanted to answer, opening his mouth but shutting it again quickly with a wince. Blaine pulled the water bottle out of his jacket pocket and twisted open the lid. "Here," he offered. "It's okay. Take a drink."

He lifted the boy's head off the floor and held the bottle to his lips. The boy gave the bottle an apprehensive look, and Blaine could only guess how many times he'd been tricked before. He just continued whispering reassurances until he saw the boy take one sip, pausing to make sure that it truly wasn't a trick, and then taking a real drink. Blaine took the bottle away.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to give you too much right now. I don't know how you'll handle it. I promise, I'll give you more later. You can have all you want. Now, can you tell me your name?"

The boy lifted his head weakly and whispered, "Kurt."

The boy's—Kurt's—voice took Blaine by surprise. Even weak and tired, it sounded like bells. Like music. Blaine tried his best to give him a small smile, but felt it fall just short of genuine. Kurt was still trembling. God, Blaine thought. He looks so small. It looked as though the tiniest thing would break him. He was just so...fragile. Blaine knew there was no way that Kurt was going to be able to walk, and, even if he could, there was no way that Blaine was going to let him try. They were going to have to go outside in the bitter chill of January, and Kurt was wearing nothing but rags.

Thinking quickly, Blaine shrugged out of his jacket. "Kurt," he asked softly. Kurt lifted his head in acknowledgment. "I'm going to sit you up now. Okay?" He received a weak nod of agreement. Blaine slid his arm under Kurt's shoulders and lifted him. As he sat him up, Kurt started coughing, his tiny frame wracked with obviously painful convulsions. Blaine rubbed a hand against his back helplessly. Finally, the coughing fit subsided, leaving the already fragile boy, gasping to catch his breath.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," Kurt apologized fervently, his voice whisper quiet and pleading. Pleading for what, Blaine wasn't immediately sure, but as Kurt shrunk away and covered his face with his hands defensively, he figured it out. He was waiting to be hit. For coughing. Blaine had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat over the idea of anyone hitting Kurt for any reason, let alone for coughing.

Blaine bit back his anger. He didn't want to scare Kurt. He needed him to know that he was safe. "No, Kurt," Blaine soothed, sliding his hand across his back. "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I-I was loud. I-I'm sorry," he apologized again in a whisper.
"You were loud because you were coughing. You couldn't help that you needed to cough, Kurt. We'll get you to the doctor to get that cough taken care of." He did his best to be reassuring, but he wasn't exactly sure what would help. Where does one start to make someone who has been abused and treated like they were sub-human believe that they weren't going to be hurt anymore. How can that trust ever be rebuilt?

Blaine reached over Kurt's lap, doing his best to ignore the way the other boy flinched away from his hand, and gathered up the blanket to drape over Kurt's bare lap. Kurt eyed the blanket with an almost awed expression. Blaine lifted his jacket from his own lap and asked Kurt to stretch out his arms. He complied too quickly, obviously desperate to obey orders. It was a habit that would have to be done away with.

He stood up and truly looked at Kurt for the first time. Now that he wasn't curled in on himself, Blaine could see that he was actually quite tall. His legs were stretched out in front of him and his hands were toying idly with a loose thread on the blanket. The jacket hung loosely off his shoulders.

Blaine never thought he'd see anyone be swimming in his clothes, but Kurt was tiny. He knew that they'd have to be careful with food, because it was obvious that Kurt hadn't been fed regularly. He literally looked starving. But through all that, there was something that stood out, something that out-shined all the bad: Kurt was beautiful.

Blaine took a deep breath to steady himself. He just wanted to get Kurt as far away as possible, wanted to get him off the cold concrete floor, but he didn't want to startle him. "Kurt, I'm going to pick you up. Is that okay? I don't want you to try to walk. I'm afraid you'll fall. I won't hurt you."

Kurt's eyes widened in terror, so Blaine continued to patiently reassure him. He knew that Kurt wouldn't refuse or fight if he just walked forward and scooped him up, but it was the principle of the thing. He wanted Kurt to be okay with it. Finally, Kurt nodded. Blaine pressed further. "Kurt, may I lift you up?" He wanted to hear Kurt say that it was okay, wanted Kurt to know that he wouldn't act until he was given permission.

Kurt looked confused, but he answered, "Y-Yes."

Blaine stepped forward and instructed the other boy to wrap his arms around his neck before sliding an arm underneath his knees and lifting him off the floor, thankful that the blanket stayed in place.

Kurt was light, too light. It wasn't even a struggle to carry him. He was barely holding himself upright in Blaine's arms. It hurt so badly to see someone be so weak. Blaine walked quickly to his car and, after a little bit of effort, managed opened the back door with his foot. He set Kurt gently into the backseat. "You can lie down if you'd like. I'm going to take you home now. The car will be warm in a minute, but keep yourself wrapped up in those blankets, okay?"

Kurt nodded and lay down across the backseat. Blaine reached into the passenger's seat and picked up a spare jacket, balling it up and tucking it under Kurt's head. As he watched the shivers slowly subside and Kurt's face relax into something that could almostbe considered relaxed, a swell of emotion washed over Blaine. He slid his fingers gently through the other boy's hair. "I promise I'm going to make you better, Kurt. No one will ever hurt you again, Kurt, I promise."

Blaine could hear his voice breaking and his promises start to ramble, but he needed Kurt to hear them, even if he didn't believe them yet, he needed to hear them.

When Kurt slowly turned his head to meet Blaine's gaze, his blue eyes were wet and he sniffled once quietly. Blaine reached forward and took his hand. "Kurt," he said slowly, trying to compose himself. "I need you to believe me. I will never let anything hurt you. I'm going to take you home and get you cleaned up, and then I'm going to figure out what you can eat, and then you are going to go to bed. I willtake care of you, Kurt. I swear it."

A small, hesitant smile lifted the corner of Kurt's mouth, and even though it was still a sad smile that didn't touch his eyes, it sent Blaine's heart flying. The smile was nothing and everything all at once. He gave Kurt's hand a small squeeze and stepped back, closing the door and quickly making his way to the driver's side of the car.

He turned on the car and cranked the heat as high as it would go. He was abruptly so thankful that he'd decided to take his own car instead of riding with his parents. They had gone to the auction to browse the selection and maybe buy someone to do the housework. The idea sickened him.

Blaine had insisted that he'd do the work. He washed dishes and cooked dinner most nights so that his parents would never even get the idea that they wanted a little help around the house. Hell, they weren't home enough to notice whether or not work got done.

Blaine had been so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when Kurt fell asleep in the backseat until he heard a soft, faint snore. He looked in the rearview mirror just in time to see Kurt shift under the blankets, snuffling his nose against the makeshift pillow. He looked...comfortable.

-xXxXx-

"Kurt," Blaine said softly, leaning into the car. "Kurt, wake up. We're home." The other boy stirred beneath the blankets, his eyes fluttering open slowly. Blaine laughed lightly. "Hey. Good morning, sleepyhead." This time a different smile touched Kurt's face. It was a crooked little smile, a completely unguarded expression. Blaine didn't trust it to last. He knew that, as soon as Kurt woke up fully, his face would settle back into the nervous mask he had grown so accustomed to wearing. But Blaine's heart was sent into overdrive. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmhm," Kurt hummed, rubbing his eyes, but when his eyes settled on Blaine, he suddenly straightened up and schooled his expression back into the mask. "S-Sorry."

Oh well, it had lasted longer than Blaine had expected. "Kurt, don't apologize. I'm glad you fell asleep. You need all the sleep you can get right now if you're going to get better. Okay?"
Kurt just nodded, and Blaine sighed. "Come on. I want to get you inside. We'll run you a bath. You'll feel better after you get cleaned up. Ready?" Blaine asked, stretching his arms out as an invitation. Kurt nodded tentatively and reached to wrap his arms around Blaine's neck, unprompted.

Blaine kicked the car door closed behind them and bolted for the house. The blanket had fallen off Kurt's legs as Blaine lifted him, but it was only a short distance to the front door. He carried Kurt straight into the bathroom where the bath was already drawn. He had let Kurt sleep for a few minutes in the car while he got everything ready. He wanted everything to go as seamlessly as possible. He set the other boy down on the closed lid of the toilet seat and watched as his eyes darted around the room, a little more awake and appraising than they had been before.

"Lets get your shirt off so you can get in the tub. Wanna lift your arms up for me?" Kurt obliged and Blaine slid the shirt from his shoulders and put it directly in a shopping bag. Those clothes were never going to see the light of day again. He had half a mind to set them on fire right in the middle of the bathroom floor.

Blaine did his best not to look at Kurt without a shirt on, but he couldn't help it. He had to see just how bad it was. He could easily see all of Kurt's ribs and his hipbones poked out in a way that looked almost painful, his chest sunken. His entire chest was marred and dotted with ugly bruises in various stages of healing, some looking as recent as that day. His eyes drifted down Kurt's body to his legs. Dark, angry bruises marked up his thighs, and Blaine didn't even want to think about how they got there.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine gasped sadly, bringing a hand to cover his mouth. He couldn't help it. He'd never seen anyone look as sick and broken as Kurt looked. The other boy cast his eyes to the floor and avoided Blaine's gaze.

Blaine relaxed his tense posture and reached out to Kurt. "Come on, can you try and stand up?"
Kurt nodded and eased himself to his feet, only teetering a little. Standing, he was probably about four inches taller than Blaine. "Alright, I understand that this might be a little awkward, but I'm going to help you get your underwear off and get you into the tub."

He wondered idly if it would be as awkward for Kurt as it would be for him. He didn't want to think about how commonplace that it would be for a relative stranger to strip him of his clothes with much less than the kind words that Blaine had given him. He shook the thought. "Is that okay, Kurt?"

"Yes, that would be fine," Kurt answered gratefully, clearly following the same train of thought.

It was the most Blaine had heard him speak, and he found himself captivated by the way sentences would flow in his unique voice. Blaine realized quickly that he'd never heard another voice like it. Every word sounded like music. He was pulled from this thoughts by Kurt's voice again, hesitant now. "If—If it's not too forward, and I know it's not my place to ask questions, but what do I call you?" Kurt kept his eyes glued to the floor in a submissive gesture that would have to be forgotten.

Blaine reached out and tilted Kurt's chin up until their eyes met. "My name is Blaine Anderson."
Kurt nodded in understanding, "Mr. Anderson, do you want me to get in the bath now?"
"How old are you, Kurt?" Blaine asked, shaking his head profusely.
The other boy cocked his head in confusion. "S-Seventeen...?"
"Well, I'm only sixteen, which means that you're older than I am. So, I'm not a 'mister'. I'm just Blaine."

Kurt looked down blushing. "Just Blaine," the taller boy affirmed quietly, a shy smile gracing his features.
"Just Blaine," Blaine repeated, returning Kurt's smile and enjoying the way the blush that colored his pale cheeks breathed new life into his face. "Do you want me to turn around so that you can take your underwear off?" Blaine asked, realizing as he said the words how ridiculous the act would be. He was going to have to help Kurt into the tub and help wash him, so he was going to see him naked.

"N-No," Kurt answered, his voice hesitant as though he wasn't used to answering questions like that. "Thank you though."

There were no words to describe the relief that Blaine felt over the fact that Kurt was talking. He felt like taking about random and ridiculous things just to keep Kurt talking. He slowly helped Kurt out of his underwear, pausing to toss them in the shopping bag beside the shirt and tying it up.

Careful not to betray the shaky trust that Kurt seemed to have placed in him, Blaine helped him into the tub without looking at anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. He handed Kurt a bar of soap and a washcloth, and he looked at it as though it was made of solid gold. Kurt's eyes flitted across the different products sitting on the ledges of the tub, his eyes landing on an expensive sounding French product that Blaine was pretty sure was some kind of face wash. "You can use anything that you want to."

Kurt's head spun quickly and his eyes met Blaine's. They looked almost hopeful. Blaine stood up from where he was kneeling beside the tub and went to dig under the sink to find his mother's shampoo. It had a name he couldn't pronounce, so he assumed it must be good. He knew for a fact that it was expensive. He held a bottle of shampoo in one hand and it's matching conditioner in the other. "Here," he said, smiling, handing them to Kurt. "I don't know what they are, but my mother bought them from the same boutique she got the face wash from."

Kurt reached out and took the bottles from Blaine's hands, his own slightly shaking as he read the labels. Blaine couldn't imagine what it felt like for Kurt knowing that the bottles of product he held in his hands cost ten times what Blaine had paid for him. "These are so expensive..." Kurt trailed off, his voice awestruck.
"It's just shampoo, Kurt. You can use whatever you want. This is your house now, too. You won't have to use my mom's shampoo forever, I just...wasn't exactly expecting any of this..." Blaine cleared his throat. "I think we should wash your hair first so that we can drain and refill the tub and you won't have to wash your body with dirty water."

Blaine reached to his side and grabbed a tea pitcher, dunking it in the water behind Kurt. "Tip your head back." The other boy obliged quickly. Blaine put a hand on Kurt's forehead to keep water from running into his eyes and drenched his hair, the bathwater already turning a murky color from the dirt. Blaine looked around for the shampoo before noticing that Kurt still had it in his hand. "Shampoo?" Blaine asked, stretching out his flat palm. Kurt snapped open the bottle and put some in his hand. "Thank you."

He brought his hand to the boy's wet hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp. A contented hum came from Kurt's throat. Once he was sure Kurt's hair was clean, he grabbed the pitcher again and rinsed out the soap. The bath water went from murky to almost opaque. Kurt stared sadly at the water that rippled around him. Blaine reached forward flipped the stopper switch, startling Kurt with the sound of water draining suddenly. "Sorry," Blaine apologized. "But, let's wash your hair again with the clean water from the tap while the water drains."

A smile lit up Kurt's face and he nodded his agreement.

By the time the water had completely drained from the tub, Kurt's hair was clean and Blaine was massaging in the conditioner as the tub filled. He rinsed it out and Kurt reached tentatively for the face wash on the ledge of the tub, his eyes flickering back to Blaine who nodded for him to continue. He squirted some of the soap into his palm and washed his face, rinsing it in the clean water. Blaine handed him a towel to dry his face.
"Feel better?" Blaine asked, smiling.
"You have no idea," Kurt drawled. Blaine was ecstatic by the way Kurt's personality was starting to come out. He couldn't bring himself to respond, because he didn't want Kurt to second guess his words. It had been natural, and for that moment, Kurt didn't seem afraid.

Kurt dragged a sudsy cloth across his front, Blaine looking away when Kurt wanted to clean his more intimate areas. "Want me to get your back?" Blaine asked politely.
"Sure." Kurt handed Blaine the washcloth. He soaped it up and dragged it across Kurt's back.

Blaine stared at the pale expanse of Kurt's back, his stomach doing a sick flip as he really surveyed the mark on the other boy's skin. In indelible red ink, in the center of his back, was the word REJECT written in all capital letters. It was in the very middle of his back, so that he wouldn't be able to wash it off himself. He'd been marked to be destroyed. The beautiful boy had been slated to die. The thought hit Blaine again like a wrecking ball.

He found himself scrubbing a little too hard at the mark. He wanted it gone. It needed to be gone. Nothing should be marking the pale, flawless skin, especially something as vulgar as REJECT.

The bruises that stretched across Kurt's shoulder blades and spine were bad enough. Horrible. To have a word branded onto your skin in permanent marker was like adding insult to injury. Kurt must have realized what Blaine was doing because he didn't flinch away from the cloth that was rubbing his skin almost raw.

Blaine was suddenly pulled from his concentration by Kurt's small and sheepish voice. "Will it—Will it come off?"

He stopped scrubbing and surveyed Kurt's back, realizing for the first time just how hard he had been scrubbing. The pale skin flamed an angry red color and looked a bit raw. The mark was almost gone, but the word could still be read. Blaine sighed deeply and apologized. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I got carried away."
Kurt kept his eyes cast to his knees, wrapping his arms around them and pulling them closer to his chest. "It's okay."

"Wait," Blaine said quickly, standing up and walking to the medicine cabinet, returning with a bottle of baby oil. "This should get rid of the last of it, and I won't have to scrub anymore. But that mark absolutely has to go."
Kurt's expression was confused, obviously not used to anyone caring for him in this way. "Why? It doesn't hurt..."
"Yes, it does, Kurt. It may not hurt you physically the way these bruises do, but it doeshurt you. No one should ever feel as though they're worthless. You are not a reject, Kurt."

Kurt's voice was tiny when he finally responded. "Yes. I am. I'm not strong enough to work anymore. That's why Mr. William marked me. I dropped his plate on the floor."
"Why did you drop the plate, Kurt?"
"I don't remember dropping it. I remember carrying his dinner to the table and feeling really dizzy. The next thing I remember was being pulled into the shed." He rubbed at a fresh bruise on his arm unconsciously, and Blaine couldn't help but think that he had just learned where it had come from.
"You passed out?" Blaine asked, rubbing the baby oil into the ink on Kurt's skin.

"I-I guess so," Kurt answered softly.
"How long had it been since you'd eaten?"
Kurt just shrugged his shoulders.

He had been marked as a reject, because he collapsed out of hunger. Blaine looked down to realize that he was gripping the bottle of baby oil so hard that his knuckles were beginning to protest. He hated the slave trade. He hated the whole goddamned system. He hated whoever had put Kurt in rotation to begin with and he hated whoever owned him last.

"Kurt," Blaine prompted. "Look at me."

When Kurt met his gaze, he continued. "You are not a reject. You dropped that plate because you were starving. Damn it, you're still starving, but you're going to get better. I'm going to help you. It's over, now, Kurt. The beatings, going to bed hungry, being afraid, and Godknows what else has been done to you, it's all over now. You're safe. I'll never hurt you."

He couldn't fight the urge to lean forward and wrap his arms around Kurt's shoulders, effectively soaking the front of his shirt. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except reassuring the broken, beautiful boy that he was going to be okay. That, one day, it was going to be alright.

Kurt flinched away at first, his eyes darting and nervous, but he slowly relaxed. With his hand on Kurt's back, Blaine could feel when the sobs started. Blaine pulled away quickly to avoid making the situation worse, but he could swear he felt Kurt tug on the arm of his shirt just a little in an attempt to keep him there. "Kurt, what's the matter?"
"No one—The last person who-" his voice cracked and broke in odd places.

"I'm sorry," Blaine apologized fervently. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, I'm not upset," Kurt said, wiping his eyes and doing his best to calm the wracking sobs that shook his frame. The outpouring seemed to have caught him by surprise as well. "The last person who hugged me was my father. It's been so long." Another couple tears fell from Kurt's eyes.

"I'm sorry." Blaine wasn't totally sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed like the thing to say. He reached behind himself and grabbed a towel, holding it open for Kurt. "Ready to get out?"
Kurt nodded and tried to stand up. The deep bruises on his legs seemed to be making it a difficult task. Blaine reached forward and wrapped his arm around the other boy's middle, helping him to his feet.

"Here, I've got these for you. They're going to be huge on you, but it's the best I've got for now." Blaine held up a pair of red plaid pajama pants that were a little too long on him and a soft grey t-shirt. "But these," he started, grabbing a pack of underwear. "These should fit you alright. My mom never learned what size I wear, so she always buys them about two sizes too small."

Kurt took the offered clothing with a 'thank you'. Blaine rubbed his hand idly at the back of his neck, feeling suddenly awkward. "So, I'll step out so that you can get dressed." Kurt nodded and Blaine went to stand outside the door.

What in the hell was he going to do. He had no idea how to take care of another person. He had been used to taking care of himself since Cooper moved out, but he had no idea how he was going to help Kurt.

He steeled himself. The need burned inside of him, and he knew that it was something that he had to do. He would figure it out even if it took forever. Kurt needed to be safe.