Blaine left the door open as he walked out of the room. He made his way down stairs, surprised that he didn't find his mother waiting in the living room. "Mom?"
"In the kitchen, sweetheart!"
He padded into the kitchen and dropped down into the same chair he'd sat in earlier.

His mother turned around from where she stood at the sink and walked over to the table with two cups of tea, setting one down in front of Blaine and herself.
"Sweetie, we didn't bring you home anything from the restaurant, because we figured you'd have already eaten. I hope that's okay."
"Yeah, that's fine. I already ate," he lied. He hadn't wanted to eat in front of Kurt. He was also grateful that his parents hadn't brought anything home, because he didn't want the smell to go wafting upstairs. It seemed wrong to tease a starving person with food they can't have.

"So, where's the worker you bought?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea.
"Oh, he's upstairs, asleep."
His mother furrowed her brow. "Sleeping? God, I hope you got a good price on him," she laughed at her own humor and Blaine feigned a smile, lifting his cup to his lips.
"Here's the thing, mom," Blaine started. "He's not exactly what you're expecting."

The older woman cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean, dear?"
"Well..." Blaine set down his cup and folded his hands. "When I bought him, he was a—a reject."
"Blaine," His mother chastised sternly. "Why on Earth would you waste your money on a reject. They are useless. Don't you remember what your father said?"

Blaine nodded slowly. "But Kurt's not useless. He's just sick. They were going to kill him because he dropped a plate."
His mother shrugged as though she failed to see the point of Blaine's argument.

He was about to open his mouth to press the issue when he heard a thudding bangand his father shouting from upstairs. He shoved his chair away from the table and ran for his bedroom.

"What in the helldo you think you're doing?" His father screamed at Kurt, gripping his bicep harshly. Kurt was on his knees by the side of the bed, the blanket hanging off the mattress. His father shook Kurt's arm, making his whole body jerk like a rag doll.

"Dad! Stop!" Blaine yelled, running into the room. "Stop!"

He wrenched Kurt's arm free of his father's grasp and pulled him to his feet. The taller boy's entire body was shaking and his eyes were cast submissively to the floor.

"He was sleeping in your bed, Blaine!" His father shouted, pointing angrily at the bed. "Why were you in his bed, boy?"
"B-Blaine said that it was okay," he said quietly. His voice sounded terrified.

Suddenly, Mr. Anderson's hand flew out and slapped Kurt hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blaine lurched forward and shoved his father away, dropping to his knees next to Kurt. He wanted to reassure him that everything was okay, but he knew there was no way he could do that with his father in the room. "Why would you do that?" Blaine bit out angrily.

"Did you hear what he called you? No wonder he was marked! He has no respect! I remember this one from the auction. I saw him get marked. You brought home a reject." He pulled his foot back as though he was about to kick the boy kneeling on the floor, but Blaine jumped forward and shoved his father sideways, nearly sending him toppling onto the bed.

"Stop!" Blaine shouted, stepping in front of Kurt protectively. "I told him to sleep on the bed and I told him to call me Blaine." Blaine could feel his hands shaking with rage. "I bought him and I say that he's not to be hit. Don't touch him. If he does something you don't like, you come to me. He's mine. Not yours."

His father straightened up, fixing his rumpled shirt. Anger flashed in his eyes but tried to relax his voice into something almost conversational, coming up just short. "Why did you buy this one? I understand that you're gay, Blaine. I don't like it, but I get it. But, you could do so much better than this one." He gestured disgustedly at Kurt.

"I didn't buy him for that. I'm not like you, dad," Blaine snapped, eager to have this conversation over so that he could assess the damage that his father had inflicted on whatever shaky progress Kurt had been making. "Will you leave now, please?"
The man sighed and turned to leave. His voice was disappointed. "I don't get you, Blaine. Your brother, I understood, but I just don't understand you."

Blaine ignored the comment, standing up to close the door behind his father, before rushing back to Kurt's side. "You're okay. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Kurt was silent, his face buried in his hands. His entire body was trembling. The silence was deafening and Blaine couldn't take it for another second.

He dropped down to his knees in front of Kurt. "Hey, look at me,"

Sad blue eyes connected with Blaine's and he felt his heart break as he realized, thisis what Kurt is used to. He's used to being treated like he's worthless and unwanted. He's used to be roughly yanked out of a peaceful sleep to be abused. The thought made Blaine's stomach lurch. "He won't hurt you anymore, Kurt. I promise. He's gone."

The other boy lifted his head and Blaine could see the perfectly formed handprint on Kurt's right cheek, Blaine reached forward and wrapped his arm around Kurt's shaking shoulders, resting his hand gingerly against the angry red mark on the other boy's cheek. "Come on, Kurt. Stand up. Let's go sit on the bed, okay?"

Blaine helped Kurt to his feet and steered him to the bed. "Sit here for a second. I'm going to get something cold to put on your cheek."
Kurt nodded against Blaine's palm, his face still stoic and flat.

Blaine hurried back with a cool washcloth. He pressed it against Kurt's cheek. "Does that feel better?"
"Y-Yes, sir," Kurt said softly. "Thank you."
"Kurt, I'm not a sir, I'm just Blaine, remember?" He tried his best to keep his voice even, soothing.
Kurt looked down again. "I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Blaine asked, exasperated.

Tears formed in Kurt's eyes and he lifted his head to meet Blaine's gaze. He looked completely lost and genuinely terrified. "I don't know," he choked out, his voice hitching as tears began to fall. His entire body shook with sadness and fear.

Blaine felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He and his father had never gotten along. They'd never seen eye to eye on anything, especially treatment of slaves, but right now Blaine hated the man. It was all he could do to keep his breathing even, even if his hands were shaking, and be calm for Kurt.

He inhaled a deep breath through his nose and took the cool cloth from Kurt's cheek, setting it down on the bed beside him. He kept his voice soft but there was an undercurrent of a fervent promise. "Kurt, it's going to be okay. He won't hurt you anymore. It's over." He leaned forward and Kurt all but fell into his arms, allowing himself to be comforted. No matter what had happened, at least it seemed that Kurt still trusted Blaine not to hurt him.

Blaine put a hand on the back of Kurt's head and soothed him as though he was a child, murmuring soothing nonsense in his hear and gently rocking him. He didn't know what else to do, because in that moment, Kurt seemed as vulnerable as a scared little boy. He was relieved to feel Kurt's body relax slightly in his arms. Blaine just heard himself whispering, "You're okay. I've got you. I've got you."

He wasn't sure who needed to hear the words more, Kurt or himself.

Blaine finally released Kurt after his sobs had quieted. Kurt's eyes were still nervous, darting around the room as though he didn't trust the peace to last. The angry red mark on his cheek was already starting to bruise. By tomorrow there would definitely be finger shaped bruises marking the pale skin of Kurt's face. The thought made Blaine sick. He debated going to get an ice pack, but he knew it wouldn't do much good. He felt helpless again.

"I'm really sorry, Kurt," he said truthfully, his voice low and sad.
"It's okay. I'm used to it," Kurt answered softly. He sniffled once and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Just because you're used to it doesn't make it okay. I'm still sorry," Blaine muttered, turning his head to shoot a withering glance at his door as though his father was still standing there.
"Why?" Kurt asked. His face screwed up in confusion.
"Why what?" Blaine was confused by Kurt's confusion.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything." Kurt said, cocking his head to the side a bit.

Blaine's mouth opened and closed dumbly; he couldn't think of anything to say. Kurt continued. "You tried to help me. N-No one's ever done that before."
"What?" Blaine asked, shocked. His eyes flashed to Kurt's face. There was some sort of calmness there, a resolve that Blaine didn't quite understand.
"When your father hit me, you pushed him away. You made him stop. No one has ever done that before."

"I promised that I'd keep you safe. I said that you wouldn't be hurt anymore, and you got hurt," Blaine mumbled, angry with himself. He had betrayed Kurt's trust. He hadn't been able to stop his father from hurting him like he'd promised. He'd let Kurt down.
"You didn't know he was hurting me," Kurt said, shaking his head lightly. "You were downstairs. You didn't see him hit me." A fresh wave of anger flared inside of Blaine. He hadn't known that his father had hit Kurt before he'd come upstairs. "As soon as he hit me, you stopped him. You did keep me safe, Blaine."

A small smile touched Kurt's face. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was reassuring all the same.

"I promise that I'll always keep you safe. I'll be better than I was today. I swear," Blaine promised.

The words prompted another soft smile from Kurt. "I believe you."

Blaine smiled and reached forward to give Kurt's hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Kurt."
"Thank you? For what?" Kurt asked, his eyebrows knitting together as though he was having a hard time processing the words, as though they were foreign. Blaine sighed as he once again realized that they probably were.
He gave Kurt's hand another squeeze. "Just, thank you."

Kurt tentatively squeezed Blaine's hand in return, still not seeming completely comfortable returning any sort of gesture of kindness. Blaine could see in Kurt's eyes that he wanted to believe that all of this was real, but he just couldn't bring himself to accept it. He just looked as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Blaine knew there was nothing that he was going to be able to say to get Kurt to truly understand that it wasn't a trick. He saw it in the way Kurt looked at him when he handed him the shampoo, when he set the food down in front of him, and even now as Kurt was squeezing his hand. He wanted to believe that it was all real, but there was always that spark of cynicism that never seemed to fade.

He could see it in the way Kurt watched him. He was waiting for the niceness to fall away like a pretense, waiting for Blaine to drop the "act" and treat him just as his other owners had treated him. There was nothing he was going to be able to do to convince Kurt that it wasn't going to happen. Only time would make him believe it. Blaine just knew he had to be patient.

He released Kurt's hand and stood up, not sure where he planned to go. He watched Kurt's eyes follow him and felt obligated to break the silence. "What do you like to do?"
Kurt looked completely confused, so Blaine tried again.

"Do you like to read or play video games or...?" He trailed off awkwardly. He had no idea what Kurt had been allowed to do at his other homes. Probably not very much, he guessed.

"I like to read," Kurt said simply.

Blaine hurried out of the room, going into the bathroom to grab a stack of magazines. He hoped that at least oneof them appealed to Kurt. He closed the door behind him as he entered his room, walking forward to set the small stack of magazines on the bed next to Kurt. "We don't have much. I don't know what you like, so I brought everything." Blaine heard himself rambling but didn't seem to be able to stop. "There's Field and Stream, People, Time, and I think my mom has a Vogue in there somewhere."

Kurt's eyes lit up as he reached down and pawed through the stack. He didn't know what had captured Kurt's attention. "Is there anything in there you like?"

He asked, half to keep Kurt talking and half because he was desperate to get some sort of handle on Kurt's personality. Kurt glanced up toward his face as he pulled a magazine out of the stack. It was a copy of Vogue magazine that had to be at least six months old. His mother had canceled that subscription ages ago.

"You like fashion?" Blaine asked conversationally.
Kurt nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the tattered cover of the magazine. He opened his mouth as though he was going to speak but closed it quickly. Blaine prompted him to go on, so he sighed and said, "When I was in high school, I designed all the costumes for my school's glee club. I considered it as a career before everything happened."

"You were in show choir? What high school did you go to?" Blaine wondered, curious if he'd ever competed against Kurt's school.
"McKinley High, in Lima," Kurt said, distracted, opening the magazine.

He was pretty sure they'd competed at Regionals. The Warblers had won. Blaine shuddered as he remembered overhearing the other choir's coach lamenting over their loss and blaming it on losing their countertenor. The Warbler's victory seemed almost bittersweet now. He made a mental note to do a search for McKinley's performances on YouTube later.

Kurt was sitting awkwardly on the bed reading. He hadn't moved since Blaine had come back in the room. "Kurt, you can make yourself comfortable. This is your room now, too." He wanted to be completely clear. "You can sit anywhere, touch anything, and do anything you want. It's all yours too. You don't have to ask."
Inquisitive blue eyes flickered up from the magazine toward his face.
"I mean it, Kurt. Really, make yourself comfortable. I'm just going to go over here and practice." He gestured to the piano in the corner of his bedroom.

Kurt kept his eyes locked with Blaine's as he slowly slid back against the headboard of the bed and stretched his legs out in front of him, setting the magazine on his lap. Blaine smiled to see that Kurt at least looked like he was relaxed. For the moment.

Blaine crossed his room and dropped down onto his piano bench, stretching his fingers before placing them on the keys. He let his fingers move of their own accord, playing his favorite nocturne. Something about the somber sound calmed him. It always did. The sound drifted through the room and Blaine suddenly felt eyes on him.

He took his hands off the keys and turned around. Kurt was staring, wide-eyed.

Blaine smiled at Kurt as he slid off the bench and walked back toward his unfinished homework. As much as he wanted to play, he just couldn't center himself enough to concentrate. He flicked on his desk lamp and sat down in his chair, leaning over his math book with a sigh. He was about halfway through the second problem when he heard Kurt scoff. The sound was so out of place that he looked up. Kurt was covering his mouth and shaking his head lightly.

As soon as he saw Blaine looking, he schooled his expression into something more neutral. It seemed to be a defense mechanism he'd developed in order to draw less attention to himself. It would have to be forgotten as well. Eager to be distracted from his homework, Blaine decided to press the issue. "What's the matter?"

Kurt shook his head, glancing back down at the magazine. "Nothing," he mumbled.
"Well, it was obviously something," Blaine joked, standing up and switching off the lamp.

He took the few necessary steps to make it to his bed and sat down, sliding up until he was sitting next to Kurt. He glanced down to the man on the page. He was muscular, but he looked flaky and pretentious. He looked very much like he belonged in Vogue magazine, but nothing about the image seemed particularly offensive. Blaine wondered what Kurt had seen that made him scoff like that. "Don't you like his outfit?"

Kurt glanced up toward Blaine's face, obviously fighting against his desire to begin ticking off all the things he found fault with. From the look in his eyes, it was quite a list. Blaine rubbed his hand across Kurt's upper arm as in invitation to continue. Kurt sighed deeply and sat up straighter, crossing his legs. He pointed to the page, his finger poking against the model's shoulders. "See how broad his shoulders are?"
Blaine nodded.
"Okay, they've got the fabric waytoo loose. It does nothing to accent his shoulders." He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "And, I hate the cut of those pants. It makes him look like he's in the navy or something. Why would they dress him like that?"

Blaine smiled as Kurt ranted. He didn't say anything, just listening to the words pour, unguarded, from the other boy's mouth. He made a mental note to stop by the drugstore tomorrow and pick up the latest copy of Vogue. Blaine mentally calculated how much a subscription would cost, quickly deciding that the cost didn't matter.

Kurt's stomach growled loudly, and Blaine laughed at the sound. "Hungry?"
Kurt looked toward Blaine and bit his lip nervously.
"If you're hungry, we'll go downstairs and get you some food. It's a little after dinner time, but I'm sure we can find you something." He patted Kurt's knee, mindful of where his bruises were.

He stood up and stretched his arm out, extending a hand to help Kurt off the bed.

"Blaine, what if your father is down there?" Kurt asked nervously.
"What if he is down there? It doesn't matter. He's not going to touch you," Blaine said, his voice thick with indignation that was just shy of petulant.

In a slow, hesitant motion, Kurt took the offered hand, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. Though he said nothing, his face gave away his anxiety. He tried to take a step toward the door. If he hadn't been looking, Blaine would have missed the way Kurt winced as he put pressure on his leg.

Kurt bit his lip and tried to take another step. It hurt; Blaine could see the way his mouth twitched downward in pain, but Kurt was silent. He didn't want to ask Kurt if he could inspect his bruises, because he felt as though Kurt had undergone enough scrutiny for one day, and he made a note to be sure to mention it to the doctor on Monday, but he couldn't let this go on. "Kurt, would you like me to carry you? You just have to ask. Don't be embarrassed if you need help. I'll always help you."

The other boy's eyes flickered from where he was intently watching the floor with each step, as though he was afraid he would fall if he looked away, to Blaine's face. Though Kurt was silent and his face had been skillfully cleared of all traces of pain, his eyes were pleading. He would never ask for help. Even after everything he'd been through, Kurt was too proud to ask for help. He didn't want to be seen as weak.

Blaine almost laughed at the thought. As if there was anything Kurt could do to make Blaine see him as weak. Kurt had been through hell that Blaine couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around. From the obvious bruising to the way he flinched away from any sudden movements or noises, Blaine knew he'd been abused. He didn't know the full extent of Kurt's torments, but just guessing was bad enough.

Kurt had been tragically uprooted from his family and sold to a "Not good. Very bad." owner who did God knows what to him, tossed from abusive owner to abusive owner, until finally, his body had been pushed so far, beaten down so badly, that he collapsed and had been marked as a reject. The fact that Kurt was still functioning was enough to convince Blaine that Kurt was the strongest person he'd ever met.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was a playful expression. "Kurt, there's no shame in asking for help." He wanted to add I already know how strong you are, so you don't need to prove anything to me.but he bit his tongue, not wanting to overplay his hand. It seemed that whenever Kurt would sense that Blaine was noticing something new about him, he would retreat back into himself in order to hide away, to protect himself from getting hurt.

Blaine decided that he'd spare Kurt the embarrassment of having to ask. "Would you like me to carry you?"

Kurt let out a breath in a quick gust and looked down toward the floor. His expression looked almost defeated. He lifted his gaze and nodded slowly. Blaine wasted no time taking the few necessary steps to scoop Kurt into his arms and carry him, bridal style, down the stairs.

Nervous blue eyes were darting back and forth as he scanned the house for signs of trouble. Blaine felt Kurt stiffen in his arms and drop his gaze submissively as they passed through the living room where his father was reclining in his favorite chair. He turned his head from the television to watch his son pass through, a disapproving expression on his face. Blaine shot him a withering look and continued walking.

Once they got into the kitchen, Blaine finally spoke. "Would you like to try and walk a little bit? I know it hurts, but it might help if you move your legs, make them less stiff." Kurt nodded quickly, obviously eager to be self-sufficient. Blaine set him on his feet, but kept his hands on Kurt's hips to steady him. "If it hurts too much, I want you to tell me, okay? Don't be a hero. There's no shame in asking for help."

Kurt nodded again and Blaine slowly stepped away, letting Kurt take the couple of steps required to get to his chair. Blaine pretended not to watch as Kurt hobbled his way to his seat. He had been ready if he needed to catch Kurt or help him if he needed it.

Blaine busied himself with warming up some leftover soup and making another piece of toast for Kurt, apologizing again for the limited selection of choices. Blaine even warmed some up for himself so that Kurt wouldn't have to eat alone. Tomato soup had never been his favorite, but he didn't like the idea of eating something else in front of someone who was stuck on a diet of soup and toast. He promised Kurt a better selection tomorrow.

"What's your favorite food?" Blaine asked, taking another bite of toast.

Kurt looked up at him thoughtfully, seeming to truly contemplate the answer. His face scrunched up as he answered, his voice sounded timid and unsure. "When I used to cook for my dad, I would make chicken parmesan and cut up green peppers and onions to bake with it. I remember that I really liked it. My mother showed me how to make it before she died. It's been a long time since I thought about it though."

He watched his hand as he dunked the crust of his toast into his soup a few times, seeming deep in thought. Blaine almost regretted asking. "When you get better, I mean, when you can eat regular, non-tomato-soup, food again, I'm going to make that for you."

Kurt's gaze flickered up to meet Blaine's, his blue eyes seeming to sparkle with something that looked almost like hope. "Y-You'd do that for me?" Kurt's voice was quietly awestruck.

He made it sound like such a monumental inconvenience. "Of course I would, Kurt," Blaine answered simply, reaching across the table to squeeze Kurt's hand lightly. A bright smile lit up Kurt's face and the sight of it very nearly knocked Blaine off his chair.

He was a terrible cook. It was something that he knew and had accepted long ago after very nearly burning his kitchen down trying to bake a birthday cake for Cooper. He'd all but given up on the whole institution, but damn it if he wasn't going to try and cook for Kurt.

With the way Kurt was looking at him now, he knew that it wouldn't matter how bad the food turned out, it would still mean more than anything that he had even tried.

As Blaine gathered up their dishes, settling himself in front of the sink to wash them, he tried to keep up small talk with Kurt. He was surprised when Kurt's voice sounded much closer than it had before. "Let me do those for you. It's the least I can do. Let me do something," Kurt asked, his tone just shy of pleading.

"Nah, I've got it covered. You're not here to work, Kurt. Remember that. You don't owe me anything," Blaine tried to keep his voice light, but he wanted Kurt to truly accept the words.

Kurt watched him work with an expression Blaine couldn't place. It looked somewhere between guilt and longing. He bit his lip and shifted his weight awkwardly. "Blaine, please, let me wash those for you. You've done so much. I don't deserve any of this. Just—Just let me do up the dishes for you." The words came out in an almost desperate rush.

Blaine shut off the tap and turned to face Kurt, drying his hands on the dishtowel before setting it on the counter.

"Kurt, listen to me. I want you to understand that you owe me nothing. I'm not doing this just to put you in my debt. I brought you here because you deserve so much better than how you've been treated, Kurt. You need to see that. You're not here to do chores or anything like that. You're here because when I saw you shivering in the cold, it almost killed me. I had to help you."

He tightened his grip on Kurt's upper arms and looked into his eyes, holding his gaze. "I get that you don't like to ask for help, but I couldn't leave you there, Kurt. I could tell that you were meant for so much more than that. You're above all this." He gestured around vaguely, not sure exactly what he was gesturing to, but hoping Kurt got the point anyway. "The point is, Kurt, you're not here to work. You're just here to be."

Kurt listened, wide-eyed, as Blaine poured his heart out. When his speech drew to its close, Kurt's eyes were wet and tears were sliding silently down his cheeks.

Blaine knew better than to push for Kurt to speak, so he forged ahead, wiping the tears from the other boy's face before turning back to the sink and changing the subject. "Now, I'm going to finish these dishes, and you're going to tell me more about that Vogue girl's asymmetrical nose."

He saw a small smile touch Kurt's face as he felt his head come to rest, just for a second, against his shoulder. In a voice so soft it was almost undetectable, Kurt whispered, "Thank you."

-xXxXx-

Blaine carried Kurt into his room, setting him on his feet next to the bed and gesturing for him to take a seat. "I'm going to get your bed set up, so whenever you're tired you can go to sleep."

Kurt nodded and slid back on the bed to watch Blaine work. He unfolded the cot and quickly put fresh sheets on the mattress before crossing the room to his closet to pull out an extra pillow. He put it inside the pillowcase and tossed it unceremoniously onto the cot, turning to face Kurt. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was much later than he'd thought, already well past ten.

Just as Blaine was about to suggest that he get some sleep, Kurt yawned widely, his hand flashing to his mouth to stifle the small breathy sound. Blaine grinned widely. "Tired?"
A small smile spread across Kurt's face as he nodded.
"You should be. It's been quite a day," Blaine mused, walking over to where Kurt sat and offering a hand to help him up. Kurt took it and allowed himself to be led to his bed, a hand on the small of his back to keep him from wobbling too much.

Blaine turned down the bed and helped Kurt get in. "I'm sorry it's not very comfortable, but I'll start cleaning out Cooper's room tomorrow so that you can have your own bedroom."

Kurt looked up at Blaine as though he'd lost his mind, as though the suggestion that the cot wasn't the most comfortable bed on the face of the planet, was completely insane. Blaine pulled the blankets up so that Kurt wouldn't have to stretch too far. He'd seen what had happened earlier when Kurt had tried to go from lying flat to sitting up. It looked as though it caused him pain, so that was definitely something to be avoided.

Blaine carded his fingers through the side of Kurt's hair gently. "Goodnight, Kurt. Sleep well."

Kurt nuzzled his head unconsciously closer to the pillow. "Goodnight, Blaine."

The only light in the room was coming from the desk lamp and it only cast a small circle of dim light. Blaine walked over to the piano in the corner and sat down on the bench. He pressed his foot against the mute pedal and began to play softly, hoping Kurt didn't mind. It was something he did each night before bed, a habit picked up from Cooper.

Every night, when Blaine was young, Cooper would tuck him in and quietly play softly until he fell asleep. It was just something that stuck. Since his brother had moved out, Blaine would play to himself each night. He suddenly felt very self-conscious, afraid he was being too loud. Even if Blaine was keeping him awake, he knew Kurt would never say anything.

He glanced over to the cot and saw a pair of soft, blue eyes watching him intently.

"I'm sorry. I'm keeping you awake," Blaine apologized awkwardly. "It's just something my brother used to do to help me sleep. I'll stop."

Kurt ignored the rambling. "You're very good."

"Thank you," Blaine said, looking down, still feeling guilty for keeping Kurt awake.
"I don't mind if you keep playing. My mother used to play for me when I was little. She'd always play one of Chopin's nocturnes and I'd fall asleep," Kurt answered softly, sliding his hand underneath his pillow.

"I know some Chopin," Blaine said, smiling, turning back to the keys. He began playing the slow opening to his favorite nocturne, and he heard Kurt exhale a soft breath. It was a calm, relaxed sound. Blaine let his fingers drift across the keys, letting the song fade to its quiet end, feeling more relaxed than he had all day, sleepy almost.

He turned around to look at Kurt and saw that he'd fallen asleep, his face relaxed into something much calmer and more peaceful than Blaine had ever seen it. He stood up and crossed over to his bed, pulling off his jeans and sliding on a pair of cotton pajama pants. They weren't something he usually slept in, but he wore them tonight for Kurt's sake.

Blaine climbed into bed, his head falling heavily against the pillow. He did his absolute best not to go back and analyze everything that had happened that day. In that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to just slip into unconsciousness, so he closed his eyes and willed it to happen.

He fell asleep quickly, but when he did, it wasn't the peaceful sleep he'd been hoping for.

He stood in a doorway, an entrance to a small shed. He looked around and quickly realized that it wasn't anywhere he'd been before. The shed stood in stark contrast to the considerable size of the house next to it. He wondered idly why the owners of such an opulent house would have a shed as ratty as this one, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door being wrenched open. He heard a soft, tearful voice pleading. His heart dropped into his shoes as he recognized the voice.

Suddenly a man appeared in view, his hand was gripping Kurt's upper arm so tightly that it was obvious that there would be bruises. His mind flashed back to seeing Kurt in the bathtub, seeing what were clearly finger shaped bruises marking his upper arm. The man continued to shout at Kurt, ignoring his pleas.

"You worthless shit! You need to be taught some goddamn respect for other people's property, and by God, that's what I'm going to do," the man shouted, shaking Kurt like a rag doll. He dragged him down the back steps of his porch and through the backyard, throwing him inside the shed. Kurt was sent sprawling to the dirty floor as the man descended on him.

Kurt covered his face defensively, but it didn't do any good. The man hauled his foot back gave him a hard kick to the side of his leg. Kurt curled in on himself as the man kept kicking and yelling about respect. He reached down and dragged Kurt up by the hair. Tears were shining in the beaten boy's eyes, but he stayed silent. "You'll stay in here until you learn some fucking manners, boy! You're useless! Goddamn useless!"

He gave another kick, this time to Kurt's back. "I think your time is passed, boy. You're lucky I don't end it all right now. You'd be of more value to me dead than alive. You know they're buying dead workers down at the landfill now? They'll pay me more than you're worth and all you have to do is be dead. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be able to get something out of you. Hell, it'd pay for that goddamned plate you smashed."

Kurt stayed silent. It was as though he knew there was nothing left to say. His owner had already made up his mind. The man spat on the floor before delivering a final parting kick to Kurt's legs and turning around to leave, slamming the door loudly, washing the entire scene in pitch black. Kurt was trapped inside a windowless shed, curled on the floor just waiting for his owner to come back and kill him.

The last thing Blaine heard was the sound of a padlock clicking shut outside the door.