“Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt says, peeking up from behind Blaine's body, “do you have to be so dramatic? You could have just said hello, you know. Like normal people.”

“Hello, beautiful,” Sebastian says with a musical lilt to his voice, “good to see you in one piece again.” Then he shifts his eyes to look at Blaine and his smile turns almost threatening. “Hello, Blaine,” he says.

“Hello, Sebastian,” Blaine responds in a similarly menacing tone, “nice of you to finally join the land of the living.” Blaine reaches back a hand to touch Kurt, wrapping his fingers around Kurt's wrist protectively. Sebastian watches Blaine as he reaches for Kurt, his green eyes shadowed by his open disregard for the human in front of him.

“Oh, I've always been here,” Sebastian explains, winking at Blaine, the movement accompanied by an off-putting clacking sound as wood touches wood. “Hiding out, watching you two…” His eyes shift to Kurt again. Blaine turns his head to see Kurt's eyes drop down and away.

“So, why didn't you just talk to us then?” Blaine asks, not thrilled at this effect Sebastian seems to have on Kurt – how Kurt suddenly looks like he wants to hide.

“I was waiting for the right time,” Sebastian says, amused at the mounting tension that has started to build in the room at his presence. “I'm an actor at heart. I wanted to make an entrance.”

Blaine doesn't look at Kurt, but sits up higher to shield him from view. Sebastian rolls his head on his neck 180 degrees to look up at him, the joint creaking as the wood and wires slide together. Blaine fights to hide his grimace of disgust at the appearance of Sebastian's contorted neck. Sebastian stares at Blaine, his mocking smile turning into a sneer.

“Well, don't I get an emotional welcome back?” he asks, mostly jeering at Blaine but with a thread of genuine hurt meant for Kurt to hear. “I heard you sing and talk incessantly to our little Kurt back there. What do I get?” Sebastian's teasing tone returns. “Aren't you happy to see me, Blaine? Did you dream about me? I've been traumatized, too, you know.”

Blaine's eyes narrow at the wooden puppet whose smile, Blaine suspects, was painted purposefully to always look like a smirk – untrustworthy and insincere. Blaine doesn't want that to color his perspective. Sebastian has been traumatized, probably more so than Kurt, but it's hard to sympathize with someone who openly seems to despise you for no reason. Regardless of that fact, Blaine expected something…different.

But Kurt's reaction is one that Blaine simply does not understand. He wanted Sebastian put back together, but now he doesn't want anything to do with him. It could have been only out of a sense of obligation that Kurt wanted Sebastian fixed, but Blaine always felt there was something else unspoken.

If Kurt doesn't regret this decision, Blaine sure as heck is starting to.

Sebastian's head turns back around to normal and he frowns.

“Well, could I at least get my other arm and my legs?” he asks, raising the one arm Blaine had managed to attach before he fell asleep and waving his hand in front of Blaine's face. “It would be nice to be able to walk upright. Or do you only grant that privilege to pretty puppets you want to fuck?”

“Sebastian!” Kurt's voice pipes up as he crawls forward from behind Blaine's body. “Watch your tongue!”

Sebastian smiles when he sees Kurt – not the mocking sneer that he gives Blaine, but a true smile. It almost makes Sebastian look human, the way Kurt's smile makes him look human.

“There's my Kurt,” Sebastian says. “I wondered where you went.”

“I'm not your Kurt,” Kurt says quietly but firmly.

Blaine can't help it when he yawns, but he's exhausted. He looks down at his cell phone on the floor and sighs, rubbing his eyes to make the numbers on the screen come into focus.

It's barely two in the morning. They'd only been asleep for about four hours.

God, it felt so much later.

“Okay,” Blaine says, putting his hands up, “I think that we got off to a bad start here.” He looks at Sebastian, fixing the puppet with a smile he hopes conveys something close to an apology, even though he doesn't feel it. “Why don't I go ahead and give you your arms and legs, and then I can set us up in our own rooms. I don't know about you guys, but I seriously need to sleep in a bed. My joints are killing me.”

Both puppets shoot him incredulous looks and he chuckles.

“Right,” Blaine says. “Sorry.”

Blaine looks at Kurt, who looks back at him with worried eyes. Blaine smiles, cupping Kurt's cheek with his hand. He hears the sound of wood grinding against wood. He looks down to see Sebastian rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“This is really sweet and all,” he says, drumming his fingertips against the floor, “but I'd really like my legs back now.”

Blaine drops his hand from Kurt's cheek, his fingertips tracing light lines down porcelain skin as Kurt cranes his neck to follow them. Blaine stands, stretching stiff muscles until he's upright. Then he bends over to pick up Sebastian. He hoists the one-armed puppet into his arm and cradles him carefully.

Sebastian looks up at him and bats his eyelids.

“Now, isn't this cozy?” Sebastian coos.

Blaine walks Sebastian over to the loveseat and promptly drops him onto the cushions.

“Hey!” the puppet screams, struggling with one arm to sit upright. “I may not be made of porcelain, but I'm still breakable, you know.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, not caring about his clipped tone since Kurt had retreated to the kitchen and was well out of earshot, “I slipped.”

Sebastian watches Blaine gather his other arm and the wire, and start fitting it onto his body.

“You know,” Blaine grunts, fighting more than before to get the arm in place, “this is your arm. You could help me out a little.”

“Now, why would I do that,” Sebastian says in a venomous tone, “when you're trying so hard to steal the only thing in the world I've ever wanted?”

Blaine's eyes snap up to take in Sebastian's dark expression.

“Wha---“ he utters just as Kurt walks in, a glass of Coke in his hand. He walks up to the dining room table, his smile starting long before then. Blaine sees Sebastian's smile turn again to one of longing, dreamlike, until Kurt walks straight up to Blaine with scarcely a glance at the wooden puppet.

“Here,” Kurt says, handing the glass to Blaine. “I thought this might help keep you awake.”

“Thanks,” Blaine says, taking the glass and sipping the drink before setting it down on the table behind him, not missing the way Kurt licks his lips lightly when he put the cup to his mouth. Kurt hops a little and then turns away to the sofa to take up his sewing again, looking up at Blaine one more time, his smile widening when he sees Blaine staring back at him. Blaine's eyes trail back to Sebastian, scowling between them, but he holds his tongue until Blaine is bent back over his shoulder.

“You know,” Sebastian whispers, “I don't know what you think is going on between you and Kurt, but it's all in your head.”

Blaine scoffs, keeping his own fears about the state of their relationship locked safely away so that Sebastian can't even guess what they are.

“Not that it's any of your business,” Blaine says, “but it's none of your business.”

“Smooth, tiger,” Sebastian says. “But in all seriousness, you and Kurt are never going to happen.”

“And why do you think that?” Blaine asks, keeping his voice low and even, peeking behind him to make sure Kurt hasn't caught on to their discussion.

“Because it's absurd,” Sebastian laughs. Blaine pulls the wires in his shoulder joint tight and moves on to his left leg. Sebastian keeps his eyes glued to Blaine's face, watching for a reaction. “You and him. You're human, he's a puppet. What kind of…relationship can you two have?”

Blaine looks up at Sebastian's pause and sees him wiggle his eyebrows.

Blaine shakes his head. He lays the puppet back on the loveseat, cringing internally at how intimate it feels.

“You know, worthwhile relationships aren't all about sex,” Blaine argues.

“Yeah, well, they are a little,” Sebastian comments.

“And what would the two of you do together?” Blaine asks, pulling the wires tighter than necessary, wishing on some level that it would hurt. “You don't have anything to work with.” Blaine knocks on Sebastian's wooden crotch for good measure, smirking when Sebastian jolts up, propping himself up on his elbows, looking like he might try to take a swing at him.

“Is everything alright over there, guys?” Kurt asks from his seat on the sofa. Blaine and Sebastian turn to look at him, his needle poised mid-stitch, his glass eyes switching back and forth between them.

“We're all good here,” Blaine reassures him. “What do you say, Sebastian? Are we all good here?”

Blaine's smile at Sebastian borders on devious, and the wooden puppet looks taken back.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says. “We're fine, Kurt. Just, getting my legs fixed. Everything's kosher.”

“Good,” Kurt says, returning to his sewing, humming to himself.

Blaine and Sebastian's eyes meet again, their plastered smiles dropping immediately.

Blaine tugs the wires in Sebastian's left leg and ties them off.

“Why don't the two of us play nice?” Blaine suggests. “For Kurt's sake.”

Sebastian's wooden face becomes a slideshow of mixed emotions, but he settles on the plastic façade that passes for polite. It doesn't fool Blaine in the slightest.

“Sure, tiger,” Sebastian says. “Whatever you want. I'll play nice.”

Blaine nods, turning back to the table for Sebastian's right leg, stopping to take a long drink from his cup of soda. Sebastian watches, narrowing his eyelids, shooting scores of daggers Blaine's way.

“I'll play nice,” Sebastian mutters, “for now.”

Blaine fixes Sebastian's leg in silence with the painted wood eyes of the puppet bouncing between glaring at him and watching Kurt sew. At one point, Abigail leaps onto the loveseat, overjoyed at seeing her owner, and Sebastian actually laughs when he sees her.

“Abby,” he says, stroking her back with great care. She climbs up onto his chest and rubs her face against her cheek. “You're such a clever girl,” he mutters, “such a smart little girl,” and the cat purrs so loudly that Blaine can feel it vibrate Sebastian's wooden body.

“That should do it,” Blaine says around his third yawn, tying off the wires that secure Sebastian's right leg to his hip joint. “Now just a dab of this pottery glue…”

“Pottery glue?” Sebastian laughs. Abigail jumps off Sebastian's chest and onto the loveseat as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. “Do I look like pottery to you?”

“No,” Blaine says, gritting his teeth. “But it worked miracles on Kurt's cracks and chips. Maybe it'll do the same for you.” Blaine uncaps the tube and watches Sebastian roll his eyes. Blaine bites his tongue hard to keep from saying something in front of Kurt he might regret. “Unless you want to stay splintered and brittle,” he says. “It's your choice.”

Blaine puts the cap back on the tube, but a hard hand on his arm stops him. Sebastian holds his arms out straight, waiting. Blaine relents and applies the glue – not quite as precisely as he had with Kurt, but it is going on four in the morning and Blaine has had about as much of Sebastian's snark as he can handle for one day.

And the sun has yet to rise.

“Alright.” Blaine caps the tube and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “That's it. I'm done. I've got to go to bed.”

Kurt giggles from his seat on the couch, slipping his needle into the fabric of the pants he's been hemming and setting them down on the cushion beside him. He stands and walks up to the loveseat beside the dining room table.

“He looks pretty good,” Kurt says, looking Sebastian over, taking his wrists and lifting up his arms to examine his shoulder joints. Blaine watches Sebastian's green eyes follow Kurt's every move with a peculiar sort of admiration. Kurt turns his attention to Blaine, and that admiration snuffs out. “You do incredible work.”

“It's nothing, really,” Blaine says, fighting his unease at the new sardonic interloper.

“You're damn right it's nothing,” Sebastian grouses, pulling his wrists from Kurt's grasp and folding his arms across his chest. “If that's all it took, I could have gotten a first grader to do it for me.”

Blaine hears Kurt sigh beside him. Sebastian turns his head toward the sound but Kurt is staring at his feet. Sebastian was an overbearing enough presence when he was motionless and silent, but now it's worse. He's vile and insulting, with a bizarre affection hiding beneath his cynical exterior that he's fighting hard not to show. But there's also a connection between him and Kurt. Blaine can feel it like a current spiraling around them. They have a history, a past.

Blaine wanted to be Kurt's future.

“Can't you just say thank you?” Kurt asks, pleading quietly, embarrassed by Sebastian's reaction.

“That's not necessary,” Blaine says quickly.

“No,” Sebastian says, not willing to let Blaine sweep in and get the upper hand by being humble. “Thank you, Blaine, for putting me back together. I'm in your debt.”

It takes a lot for Blaine to keep from rolling his eyes.

“I'll remember that,” he says as pointedly as he can.

Sebastian does not look pleased.

“Well, let's head off to bed,” Blaine suggests, gesturing with his head in the direction of his and his brother's bedroom. Kurt grabs his pants off the couch and both he and Blaine give Sebastian a wide berth as he takes a few tentative steps forward, holding out his arms for balance. Blaine stands nearby, ready to help in case he falls, but Sebastian shoots him a look and Blaine throws up his hands.

“Come on,” Blaine says to Kurt, putting a hand to the small of Kurt's back and leading him on ahead of Sebastian, willing to let Sebastian fall and spend the night sprawled out on the living room floor if he's going to act like a brat.

Being made of wood and not porcelain, Sebastian gets his footing quicker than Kurt had, and follows the couple to a set of doors standing side-by-side on the far end of the house.

“This,” Blaine says, opening the door to his brother's room a crack, “is my brother Cooper's room. He has a king-sized bed.”

Kurt's eyes brighten, his cheeks reddening at the thought of occupying the room right next to Blaine's. Blaine doesn't seem to notice, but Sebastian does.

“Thanks, Blaine,” Sebastian says, breaking the silence. He smirks at the way Kurt's eyes drop. “It'll be nice being so close to your room, Blaine. You know, just in case I get nightmares in the middle of the night.” Sebastian sniffs dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. “If you don't mind, that is, Kurt.”

“No,” Kurt says, looking back up at him and smiling a little forced. “Of course, Sebastian. If that's what you want. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable.”

Blaine watches the exchange with interest. Blaine doesn't like to judge books by their covers, so to speak, but Blaine has had enough experience with bullies to figure Sebastian out. He can blame that on Andrew all he wants, but the truth is that Sebastian doesn't need to be a bully because he was bullied. But Kurt is letting himself be bullied, and Blaine isn't sure exactly why. Kurt thinks he owes Sebastian, that's pretty clear, but there has to be something more to this than that. There has to be.

“That's right,” Blaine says, putting an arm around Kurt's waist and pulling him towards his room. “My brother's got some old clothes hanging in the closet I think might fit you, but other than that, if you need anything at all, just go ahead and knock. We'll help you out.”

“We?” Kurt asks, staring dumbfounded into Blaine's hazel eyes.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. “I've got a bunk bed in my room. I thought you could have the top bunk.”

Kurt still stares at Blaine silently, his eyes brightening.

“I'm kind of used to having you around,” Blaine says with a shy smile. “I don't think I could sleep without you. Would you like to join me?”

Kurt's mouth drops open, but Sebastian's mouth snaps shut.

“Yes,” Kurt says. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

“Great,” Blaine says. He turns the knob to his door and lets the door swing open. He bows at the waist, gesturing inside the room, and Kurt walks in with a laugh on his lips, hugging his sewing tight. Blaine walks in after him and shuts the door, ignoring the puppet in the hallway, seething at his back.

Blaine and Kurt approach the bed awkwardly. Blaine stops at the frame, but Kurt continues on to the other side, depositing his sewing on Blaine's desk as he walks around the foot of the bed and stops opposite him.

“So, you can take the top bunk,” Blaine offers, reaching up and patting the mattress, focusing on the plain white sheet that covers the bed as he speaks, “or…”

“Or…” Kurt asks, craning his neck to get a better look at Blaine's face.

“Or, you could sleep on the bottom bunk…with me?” Blaine asks, biting his lip. His eyes sweep the room and land on Kurt's face. “I just thought…” Blaine continues nervously, “like last night…”

“I think that would be nice,” Kurt says, climbing on the bed and slipping beneath the covers.

“Good,” Blaine says, nodding, turning off his lamp and slipping beneath the blankets on his side. Blaine stares up at the ceiling, his feet fidgeting beneath the sheets, suppressing the urge to giggle like a giddy doofus every time he feels Kurt move, knowing that he's lying beside him.

But as happy as he is – and at this moment, he's happier than he's been in a long time – the thought of Kurt kowtowing to Sebastian kills him. He has to know.

“Kurt,” he says, his fingers tracing patterns into the sheet.

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt says in that reverent whisper reserved for church and sleep.

“Can you explain to me this thing between you and Sebastian?” Blaine asks too quickly, afraid that if he doesn't get the words out all in one breath he won't ask at all.

Kurt reaches across the bed beneath the blanket and finds Blaine's hand. He slips his hand into Blaine's.

“Can I…can I explain it to you another time?” Kurt asks timidly. Blaine turns his head to look at Kurt, his glass eyes staring up at the ceiling. He looks so melancholy all of a sudden that Blaine doesn't have the heart to press him to talk.

“Of course,” Blaine says. “Tell me when you're ready.”

Their fingers lace together, and at the touch of Kurt's palm against his, Blaine falls asleep.

It feels like being dropped off a rollercoaster onto the ground, or skydiving without a parachute when Blaine finds himself locked into a memory or a dream that's not his own. That's where he is now, sprawled on his back in the soft earth, staring up at a sky full of silver points of light. He's not sure exactly where he is or why he's there, but he's beside a shed behind a house – a Victorian house, like the one he's renovating but without the cartoonish paint job. The lights are on upstairs and he hears the low hum of voices, like people having an argument. He hears a clash of wood against wood, and then a bottle shatter. He bolts to his feet, staring up at the lit window shrouded by sheer curtains, diffusing the golden light from within. Two silhouettes come into view – two men, one steadfastly trying to hold the other upright while the other sways back and forth, nearly falling straight to the floor. Cast only in dark shadows against the curtains, they look so familiar that Blaine knows whatever purpose he has here, that's where he needs to be.

It's almost instantaneous how he ends up in the room. He doesn't really practice the skill, it just seems to be a part of who he is. He knows he needs to be there, he wants to be there, and he's there.

He's in a bedroom and for a moment he's confused. It looks exactly like Kurt's bedroom in the Victorian house he's renovating, but he knows he's not there. All the same, there are similar theater posters on the walls, a Singer sewing machine in the corner, a dress form beside that and on it a half-finished suit…a suit that resembles the one Blaine had thrown in the trash, the one that Kurt didn't want to wear. Andrew had made Kurt's room in that San Diego house a replica of the room he lived in back in the 20s, down to the mahogany furniture.

Andrew had remembered all these details and recreated them for when he brought Kurt back.

Blaine looks up when he hears the springs on the mattress whine and sees Sebastian lying back on the bed with Kurt sprawled over him. He's holding onto Kurt's upper arms, wrinkling the shirt that Kurt's wearing, as Kurt struggles to be free of him. Blaine wants to rush forward, wants to pull Kurt off of him, but he stops. He can't do a thing. This isn't his memory, and whatever this is, it's already happened. Blaine watches, but Kurt doesn't seemed too concerned with the antics of his obviously drunken friend, extricating himself easily from Sebastian's grasp.

“You know, you have to stop doing this to yourself,” Kurt says. “You're going to drink yourself to death one of these days.”

“Wh-what the fuck do I care?” Sebastian slurs. “It'd be better than playing second fiddle to a God fucking puppet for the rest of my…for the rest of my life!”

Blaine watches Kurt try to sit Sebastian up, but the moment Kurt lets go of him, he falls back on the bed. Kurt clicks his tongue in disgust and shakes his head. He walks over to his dresser, close to where Blaine is standing. Kurt is dressed in a pair of tailored black slacks with a white dress shirt tucked in, and a black pin-striped vest over that. He looks beautiful – his skin soft, his pink lips so tempting, his blue eyes icy and unamused. There's a basin on the dresser and he pours some water into it from a pitcher right beside. He places a cloth gently in the basin, giving it a moment to sop up the water. Then he wrings it out and carries it back to the bed, placing it on Sebastian's forehead.

“Nothing says you're going to be playing second fiddle to Sammy,” Kurt reassures him, patting the cloth down. “You're a smart boy, Sebastian. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Yup,” Sebastian says, groaning at the sound of his own voice in his ears. “Do you know I applied for early admission to five different colleges, and I haven't heard back from a single one? Not even a no, thank you, we hate you, fuck off?” He shakes his head, wincing at the mistake of moving. “Oh, I'm a smart boy, alright. A smart boy who's going to be playing with puppets for the rest of my life.” He moans in the back of his throat. “It doesn't matter. He hates me anyway.”

“He doesn't hate you,” Kurt says. “I think he just wants you to take the act more seriously.”

“But I can't take it seriously, Kurt,” Sebastian gripes. “It's his life, not mine.”

“You know, Sebastian…” Kurt lays out beside him on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, “I know you don't think you have a say in your own life, but you do. You really do.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Sebastian says, turning on his side and draping an arm across Kurt's waist, “you're not saddled by the ghost of Vaudeville past hovering over your head.”

“Meaning?” Kurt asks, running his hand over the arm across is waist with long, soothing strokes.

“Meaning, my father isn't your father. You can leave anytime you want. You can go wherever you want. You're not tied down to this horse and pony show.”

Kurt sighs.

“I don't intend to stay here forever,” Kurt says. “In a few more years, I'll have enough money saved that I…”

Kurt lets the sentence drop. Sebastian looks up at him with unfocused eyes that can't seem to decide which image of Kurt they should be looking at.

“Saved up for what?” Sebastian asks.

“Well,” Kurt starts after a hard swallow, “to move to New York. To try and make it big on the stage.”

Sebastian gasps – a sound Kurt misinterprets for mocking – and Kurt snaps his head to look at him.

“I can do it, you know,” Kurt says defensively. “There are new musicals opening all the time. My friend from Lima – Rachel – she moved there with her intended last year and she's been in the chorus of three musicals already. Or I could go to Hollywood. Maybe try to be in a motion picture.”

“Traitor,” Sebastian mutters, but not vindictively.

“Yeah,” Kurt says with a smile, “you're probably right. But my point is, we don't have to do this forever.”

“Really?” Sebastian asks, inching his face closer to Kurt's, his eyes flicking over Kurt's lips in that same way Blaine had done so many times before. “And what do you think I should do?”

“Start over,” Kurt suggests with a warm smile. “Make a life that's all your own. One that you can be proud of.”

“A-ha,” Sebastian scoffs, “and how do you recommend I do that?”

“Well, you can start by telling your dad how you feel,” Kurt says, moving an inch back when he notices how close Sebastian has come to his face. Sebastian slumps back when he sees Kurt moving away. His expression changes to that mask of condescension that he wears so easily.

“You're such a simpleton, Hummel,” Sebastian spits into Kurt's face. “Such a Goddamned simpleton.” He swings his feet off the edge of the bed, pushing himself upright, letting the wet cloth on his forehead fall to the floor. He swings back and forth unsteadily, grabbing onto the bedpost for balance. “Such a simpleton,” he repeats, “and that's why you're never going to be famous.”

Sebastian's drunken muttering is stopped by a crash of broken bottles and mumbled cursing from downstairs.

Kurt stands up and stares Sebastian square in the face.

“Maybe I am a simpleton,” Kurt says, “but I'm a simpleton who's going to get out of here and never look back. Unless you want to die here, then here's your chance.”

Sebastian stares down at Kurt, thinking of some vicious remark, some comment so crippling that it will finally cut Kurt down for good, but then he turns his head to look out the window with a forlorn expression on his face.

“I'll pass.”

Kurt glares at Sebastian, as if personally and deeply disappointed by his refusal.

“Coward,” he says, blowing by him with a force that shoves Sebastian back down onto the bed. Kurt breezes straight through Blaine's body and heads down the stairs. Blaine waits for a moment before he follows, watching as Sebastian curls in on himself on top of Kurt's bed. He grabs one of Kurt's pillows and pulls it against his chest, burying his head into it and breathing in deep. Then, in the new silence, Sebastian begins to cry.

Blaine backs out of the room, his eyes holding on to the image of a broken Sebastian. He stares at what he can see of the man's face as he sobs into the pillow, and it spears Blaine straight to his soul.

He knows how Sebastian feels.

The room, with its lantern still lit, begins to darken in his mind, and he knows he's no longer supposed to be here. He turns and makes his way down the stairs, to the scene already in progress, of Kurt helping another drunk man off the floor, rolling his eyes as if to say, “Great. Another idiot.”

“It's over,” the older man slurs, sounding remarkably like his son upstairs. “Done. All done. The last nail has been hammered into the coffin. Our lives are over.”

Kurt rolls his eyes again as he sets the man on his feet.

“What is it?” Kurt asks, taking a step back. “What's done?” Andrew tries to walk. He barely takes a step before he falls forward. Kurt rushes to intercept the man before he skids and lands on his face.

“Vaudeville,” Andrew says. “Vaudeville's dead.”

“What!?” Kurt exclaims. “It can't be!”

“Well, it is, son,” Andrew says, leaning on Kurt as he makes his way to his chair. “It's all these new-fangled talkies. They did it. They killed us, boy.”

Blaine sees a cloud of guilt cross Kurt's face over his thoughts of wanting to break into the movies, but it passes and Kurt kneels at Andrew's feet.

“What are you going to do now?” Kurt asks. If Andrew notices that Kurt says you instead of we, he doesn't show it.

“I don't know, my boy,” Andrew says, putting a hand on Kurt's and patting it gently. “I just don't know.”

Kurt bites his lip and looks down at the floor, around the small room and into the fireplace, watching the flames he lit and tended dance over the logs they're consuming.

“You know,” he starts out, and Blaine gets a distinct feeling of déjà vu. This is just how the conversation upstairs with Sebastian started out, and Blaine is beginning to see the picture of a young boy who tried so hard to keep this disjointed family together, “I hear that some of those motion picture studios are filming Vaudeville acts…” Kurt stops, watching, gauging Andrew's reaction to his suggestion. The man doesn't seem to be listening, and for a second, Blaine thinks he might have fallen asleep. But then his head pops up and he stares down at Kurt with an incredulous, angry look on his face.

“If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, that's blasphemy!” he yells, sweeping an arm and knocking over an end table, sending books and papers sliding all over the floor. “How can we do that when they've destroyed our livelihood?”

Blaine catches sight of one black book – a journal. The book spins as it travels underneath the chair, and Blaine sees the first three numbers: 193-.

“Well, if this is the way things are headed,” Kurt says carefully, “maybe we should go with the flow.”

Andrew shakes his head, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Mr. Smythe, these movies that they're making…they're going to be around for years,” Kurt explains. “You will be remembered long after we're all gone. People will be watching your act for generations to come.”

Andrew sighs, but he doesn't speak, and even with his eyes shut Blaine can see them move as he considers Kurt's words.

“No, no. It wouldn't work.” Andrew raises watery green eyes to stare into Kurt's. “I can't do anything else. I've lived on greasepaint and sawdust my entire life. It's all I know. I'm a creature of habit, Kurt, and this dog's too old to learn any new tricks.”

Kurt nods, clenching his jaw tight.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, Blaine is sure it's to tell Andrew that he's leaving.

“Why don't I go make us some tea?” Kurt slips his hand from beneath Andrew's and stands.

“Alright,” Andrew answers softly. He waits until Kurt is in the kitchen before he looks up and follows him with his eyes.

Blaine wants to join Kurt in the kitchen, but he has a strong feeling that there's something here that he needs to see. Andrew gets up from his chair and starts cleaning up the overturned table. There are papers all over the floor – pictures and letters. Blaine comes up behind the man and watches him sort through them. Andrew picks through the letters first and Blaine reads the first few lines of each one –foreclosure notices from the bank, repo letters for everything from his car to their furniture, a hock slip for his wedding ring. Andrew was so far in debt there seemed to be no way for him to dig himself out.

After those, there were letters written to Andrew from Kurt's dad asking, “How has my son been?...When will I hear from you?...Here is the money you requested...Please let me know when my son gets over his illness…I'm sorry the doctor's bills are so high but I'll send you anything I can.”

Blaine feels his skin crawl as he reads Kurt's father's pleas over and over.

Andrew Smythe, the detestable asshole he was, had been scamming Kurt's dad for money.

Blaine's hands clench at his sides, his eyes burning with hate. Just when Blaine's loathing of Andrew couldn't get any stronger, couldn't run any deeper, the final letter shatters every ideal Kurt has built up in him that Andrew might be any shred of a decent human being.

It's a letter from Stanford University.

Dear Andrew Smythe:

Congratulations! We would like to extend an offer of early admission to your son, Sebastian Smythe, to our university for the upcoming spring semester…

Andrew gathers all the letters together and wrings them in his hands, throttling them and then tossing them into the fireplace.

“You bastard!” Blaine breathes, his hands shaking he looks down at the hunched over man. “You evil…”

The sound of a kettle whistling splits the air. Andrew pops his head up and looks toward the kitchen to see if Kurt is coming with his tea. When Kurt doesn't appear, Andrew picks up a poker and stabs at the mash of burnt ashes, pushing them deeper into the flames, upsetting the logs so that the top one teeters in its attempt to hide the evidence. Both Andrew and Blaine turn their heads at the sound of footsteps, but they bypass the living room and head for the stairs, fading up the staircase.

Blaine figures Kurt probably brought a cup of tea up to Sebastian first to make sure he was okay.

Andrew has the same idea. He gathers up the photographs next. He looks through them quickly, photo after photo of Sebastian and Kurt from years past – playing ball in the yard, performing on stage, swimming in a pond, walking down the street hand-in-hand. He reaches beneath the chair and grabs his journal. He pulls it out and opens the book to the middle, sticking the photos in the spine and placing the book back on the table by the fire.

“My family,” he says, sitting back in his chair and sighing. “No one is going to split up my family. Not even you, Sebastian. You're not leaving and taking my Kurt with you. I won't let you.”

Blaine hears a soft thud from above them. Andrew's eyes shut, entirely unconcerned about the goings on above his head.

Blaine can't look at him. He can't look at the man who is so intent on living his own dreams that he's willing to destroy the dreams of his son and the boy he's sworn to take care of, and can still sleep so soundly. Blaine heads back up the staircase to Kurt's room. He hears another thud and peeks his head in to see Kurt pulling off Sebastian's socks after having taken off his shoes. After the socks, he moves up to Sebastian's neck, loosening his tie.

Sebastian's eyes open, his hands lifting to hold onto Kurt's wrists. Kurt ignores him and continues with the necktie.

“Run away with me,” Sebastian whispers. “We'll go to Hollywood, or New York, or anywhere you want. Let's just…let's just be together…”

With eyes fixed on Kurt's face, he rolls his head slightly and places a kiss on Kurt's hand. Kurt sighs, stopping with the ends of Sebastian's tie in his hands.

“I love you, Sebastian,” Kurt says. “I do…but not the way you love me. I'm sorry.”

Sebastian's eyelids close and his head falls to the side, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

“Oh, Seb,” Kurt whispers, lying down beside the boy on the bed, the tea forgotten. He presses his forehead to Sebastian's and closes his eyes. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Blaine watches a tear roll down Kurt's cheek, a match to Sebastian's, which has already dried into his skin.

Blaine begins to see. This is where Kurt's guilt comes from. This is why he's so obligated to Sebastian.

Sebastian loved Kurt. Kurt didn't love him back.

Blaine doesn't know how long he spends staring at the two before he smells the smoke rising up the staircase. He runs to the doorway and sees it billow, rising higher and higher. He hears a sniffle as the smell registers for Kurt, too, and he sits up in bed. He climbs over the edge and heads for the doorway with Blaine close behind.

“Mr. Smythe?” Kurt calls down, coughing as the smoke finally hits him. “Mr.…Mr. Smythe?” Kurt covers his nose and mouth with his arm and makes his way down the stairs.

The living room is almost entirely engulfed in flames.

“Mr. Smythe!” Kurt yells, eying the man passed out in his chair. A single lit log sits on the floor not too far from his feet, the fire spreading quickly as it eats its way over the hardwood floor.

“Sebastian!” Kurt yells out as he rushes into the living room, hopping around patches of fire. “Sebastian, wake up!”

Kurt gathers Andrew up under his arm and lifts him to his feet, dragging him through the living room and out the front door as if the old man weighs nothing.

Blaine doesn't consciously follow them but in the blink of an eye he's outside. Kurt lays Andrew down on the ground and the old man immediately coughs up a mouthful of spit and soot, drawing in strained, shuddering breaths.

Kurt looks around them in the dark, desperate for any sign of Sebastian.

“Mr. Smythe,” Kurt says, shaking the older man lightly. “Mr. Smythe, I don't see Sebastian.” Kurt looks back at the house as the old Victorian surrenders to the fire. “You stay here. I'm going to go get him.”

Kurt stands but Andrew reaches out a hand and grabs him. Kurt looks into the man's soot-stained face as he shakes his head.

“Leave…leave him,” he says, his raspy voice competing with the fire to be heard.

“What?” Kurt's eyes go wide. “No! We can't leave him! He's your son!”

Kurt makes to leave, but Andrew holds on tighter.

“No,” Andrew says. “You're my son now Kurt. You always have been.”

Kurt looks at Andrew, stunned by the man's insanity.

“No, I'm not,” Kurt says sternly.

“You've been a far better son than that wretch,” Andrew insists. “Let him go, Kurt. Let him go the way his mother did, and then maybe they can be together…and Sebastian will be happy.”

Kurt tears his arm from Andrew's grasp and runs back into the house with the old man's cries of, “Leave him, Kurt!” echoing behind him.

Blaine races after him to follow him into the house. He can feel the heat from the fire assault his skin – the intense, awesome heat. The flames blind him. Everything in the house is waves of black without definition or color. He hears a scream – Kurt's voice calling out Sebastian's name through coughs and cries and pleads of Please, get up! I can't carry you!

“I'm coming!” Blaine cries out into the fire even as the flames keep him backed into the doorway. “Kurt! I'm coming! Just…hold on!”

He hears a crack, like the break in a massive tree during a harsh storm. It's loud enough to make his ears ring. The ceiling gives way, and what was once the second floor falls with a tremendous crash down to the first, beams and supports blockading the doorway, sealing the boys inside.

“Kurt!” Blaine hears the old man yell with panic in his voice. “Kurt! No!”

As the image dissolves and the heat from the fire fades, it's not Andrew's voice Blaine hears calling out Kurt's name anymore. It's his own voice. Blaine feels his mouth dry, his throat burning, and after a second of silence another voice joins his again.

“Blaine?” The voice sounds foggy and far away. Blaine wants to get to it, to hold it, to belong to it, and he runs toward it in his mind. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“Blaine?” He feels a hand shake his shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie. Wake up.”

Blaine can't make his eyes open, and in his mind, he's running in the dark.

He feels another shake to his shoulder.

“Blaine, I need you to wake up.”

Blaine reaches up to the hand on his shoulder and closes his fingers around it.

Touching it forces new images to flood his mind.

Kurt lying in the cellar, broken in a hundred irreparable pieces.

An image of Kurt dressed in a fine suit with sorrow-filled eyes.

Kurt sighing with his head stuck out the window of Blaine's car.

Kurt lying in the sun, his porcelain skin glowing with soft, golden light.

Kurt pressing cool lips against Blaine's skin.

“Wake up,” Kurt whispers.

Blaine's eyes fly open and he's staring at Kurt – puppet Kurt - in his bedroom, in the dark.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, putting a hand behind Blaine's head and stroking his hair. “What's wrong?”

Blaine is panting, his heart pounding so hard he feels physically ill. The blankets on his side of the bed have been shoved off his body and his skin is covered in a sheen of sweat. His mouth is still dry and his throat still burns.

“You died…you died in a fire,” Blaine pants out, his voice raw.

Kurt flinches, but he doesn't move away.

“Yes,” Kurt says calmly. “Yes, I did.”

Blaine's heart races so fast his whole body feels ready to explode.

“Do you remember?” Blaine asks, putting a hand over Kurt's.

“I sort of did,” Kurt admits. “Not entirely. It was a notion…or a nightmare. But now that you say it out loud like that, I know it's true.”

Blaine nods, more revelations pressing at his brain.

“You saved Andrew's life,” Blaine says. “You tried to save Sebastian's life.”

Kurt's lips twitch as they attempt to smile.

“I tried,” he says softly. “I really did try. But the fire spread so fast, we got caught up in it so quickly.”

Blaine watches Kurt relive the memory in his mind and curses to himself. Without intending to, he invaded Kurt's privacy. It was like he read Kurt's diary, only worse. He was there, he saw it all – he didn't have the right.

“I'm sorry,” Blaine says, shivering as the sweat cools on his skin and his heartbeat slows to human levels. “I didn't mean to…it just happens.”

“No,” Kurt says, reaching for the blanket and dragging it up over Blaine's body when he notices him tremble. “It saves me trying to find the words to tell you…”

“That Seabastian loved you?” Blaine asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Kurt runs his hand up the blanket that covers Blaine's body, pushing gently on his shoulders to lay him back down.

“Yes,” Kurt says, “but I didn't love him. Not that way.”

Kurt looks down at Blaine's face, carding his fingers through his curls, pulling a few tangles loose while Blaine thinks back on everything he saw, the tragedy of Kurt's life ending before his eyes.

“What does it feel like to die?” Blaine asks abruptly, not too sure that was the question on his lips waiting to be asked.

Kurt shakes his head and lies down on his pillow.

“I don't really remember,” Kurt says. “The feeling of dying, I mean. That moment when you go from being to not being anymore.” Kurt pauses. “I remember being scared, knowing I was going to die, but then I just wasn't scared anymore. I guess at that point I was gone and nothing else mattered. I remember being apart from my body, moving away to something bright and glorious. I could feel it at my back and as much as I wanted to go to it, I couldn't. There were too many people I needed to see. Too many people I wanted to take care of.”

“Andrew?” Blaine asks, the name leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Yeah,” Kurt responds, moving forward and braving an arm around Blaine's waist. Blaine scoots forward into Kurt's embrace, and Kurt snakes another arm beneath Blaine's neck. “And my dad. He came to the funeral. I saw him there. He was so…lost. I wanted to go to him, to apologize, to tell him I should never have left him, but the funny thing was, I knew he would be fine. Sebastian's dad…he blamed himself so much for what happened to us. I couldn't leave him. Despite everything, he took care of us.”

Blaine thinks about the memory of that night, of everything that happened while Kurt was upstairs talking to Sebastian.

“How did you know about the letters?” Blaine asks, yawning, leaning his head into Kurt's chest. “From your dad, from Stanford…”

“He told me,” Kurt says, running his fingers up Blaine's back, “when he was putting me…putting this puppet body together. And when he performed the spell, we shared some of his memories. All spells have a price, and this one…it forces you to confess your deepest secrets. We saw everything, heard everything. That's how we found out.”

And without meaning to, Blaine's heart splinters a little…for Sebastian.

The room goes still, and Kurt's fingers stop moving as he waits for Blaine to say something.

“Blaine?” Kurt asks, looking into the face of the boy in his arms. His eyes had fluttered shut a while ago, and now he breathes in deep, relaxed, asleep but not completely at peace. Kurt rests his cheek atop Blaine's head, in the nest of his dark curly hair. What he wouldn't give to feel Blaine's hair tickling his cheek, or to smell the scent of his shampoo. Blaine makes a small noise and moves in closer, and Kurt shakes all thoughts of self-pity from his head. He has too much to look forward to in this new life to spend any time lingering on his regrets. He presses a kiss to the top of Blaine's head and lets himself fall into that place that's not exactly awake for him, not exactly asleep, but lets him ponder the possibilities of this new life, this new world, this new boy…this new chance for love.