Blaine was having a beautiful daydream before exhaustion and strain claimed him for their own, wrapping silky arms around him and dropping him into a deep, comfortable sleep. Seeing Kurt walk, talking to him, holding Kurt in his arms as if he were alive - it was the realization of everything Blaine had wanted since he found him.

And his mind gave that to him.

It's a perfect form of closure before he continues on with the rest of his life, putting away childish things and giving up on fairytales and outlandishly happy endings.

Unfortunately, it doesn't stay that way.

Shortly before he wakes, the nightmares start, every single one of them about Kurt - Kurt running for his life, scared, scratching frantically at … at something. The tips of his porcelain fingers bleed as he claws to get away. He doesn't care when fragments of his delicate skin start to chip off because he needs to escape, needs to climb out of the basement room and break free.

But there is no escape.

He's backed into a corner with no place to run, no place to hide.

Kurt looks over his shoulder at the horrific thing pursuing him, his eyes shimmering with impossible tears. Assuming his fate, he squeezes them shut in anticipation of the blow to come.

And when it does, Blaine's world explodes.

He feels the strike in his sleep, experiencing everything Kurt did, seeing through the puppet's eyes. He doesn't see what hits him exactly, but it feels hard, like steel. It strikes him on the forearm, shattering the bone. Blaine opens his mouth to scream, but the air in his body evaporates with the impact, and nothing but a choked gargle comes out.

His attacker strikes him again and again – on his shoulder, dislodging his arm; on his hip, cracking the joint; on his face, destroying his eye. He falls to the floor, alive but broken. His heart sinks in his chest as he watches legs clad in black pants walk backward out a narrow doorway, a pair of heavy boots stomping shards of porcelain as they go, grinding them into dust. A featureless face, obscured by the bright light of the room beyond, stares down at him. The door is pulled shut as his attacker leaves, and the room goes completely black.

The dream ends there, but Blaine's mind remains blank for what seems like an endless stretch of time.

In the midst of oblivion, Blaine feels the morning call to him, pulling him from sleep way too early. He tries to shrug it off, but it niggles at him to at least open his eyes. He reluctantly blinks droopy eyelids, forcing them open against their will. He sees light at first, then blurry images, but he can't shake the feeling that he's still dreaming. The room is coated in a bright haze – a band of morning sunlight glowing just above his head. He sees dust motes twirling in the air around him, hears the distant roar of the tide rushing for the shore.

His eyes sweep the living room. Kurt is lying on the sofa beside him with his eyes shut, one arm dangling over the edge from when he was running his fingers through Blaine's hair. He looks almost completely human in this fog of ebbing sleep and low light. Blaine smiles at that, at his young face and calm expression, at peace for the moment regardless of his circumstances. It would be so nice if Kurt were human, if he got the chance to pick up where he left off and be the person he was meant to be.

It would be nice if Blaine could follow that journey, see how his life story turns out.

Blaine rolls away from the sleeping puppet to get a glimpse at the time on his cell phone.

4:23 a.m.

Blaine groans, the air in his lungs dense and oppressive, like a weight sitting on his chest. He can't wake up before six – preferably before eight. He needs to rest. But his mind is a whirlwind of activity, questions, and fading visions. He flicks his gaze up toward the dining room, taking inventory of the things he left lying around – the next best thing he can think of to counting sheep. He stops when he sees Sebastian peering down at him, painted green eyes open, his wooden mouth twisted into a sinister grin.

Blaine peers back.

He squints.

He sticks out his tongue and makes a face.

Sebastian's grin grows wider.

Blaine nods. Now Blaine knows there's no way this can be real. Sebastian hasn't woken. He isn't aware. It's a dream – all of it a dream. Blaine is alone, surrounded by his stupidity.

There is no Kurt or Sebastian anymore, and puppets don't move and dance and speak.

He shuts his eyes, needing to block everything out and get a few more hours of sleep before he can function like a human being. With his head on his pillow and his eyelids closed, he drifts off in a matter of seconds.

“Blaine?”

Something cold and hard touches his skin, and the nightmares flood back. He whimpers, fighting the terror keeping him trapped within its walls.

“Blaine?”

The cold, hard touch gives him a gentle shake, but Blaine's sleep addled mind reads it as the beginning of more pain.

“No,” he mutters. “No … please …”

“Blaine?” The voice is soft, and Blaine finds comfort in it, but it's a shallow comfort. If this voice, originating from a source of kindness and compassion, is there with him, then its innocent owner is going to be beaten and tortured alongside him.

Blaine has to protect him, no matter the cost.

“Blaine? Blaine, please?” A harder shake, a hand squeezing his arm, the cold and hard digging in to his flesh.

“No! Don't! Stop! Let go!”

Blaine screams himself awake, sits upright on the floor. His head swims with the sudden jolt of his body, the room around him tipping and twirling. Sunlight plunges through his eyes and into his brain, burning away the rest of his dreams. He spins his head left and right, looking for reassurance that he's not locked away in that basement cell.

That he's not broken in a million pieces.         

“Blaine!” Hands on his shoulders shake him vigorously. His face snaps in their direction.

Kurt. It's Kurt. Kurt the puppet. Kurt the living puppet, staring at him.

“Ku--Kurt?” Blaine blinks once, but then forces himself not to, afraid that one blink more will make Kurt disappear into thin air. But he can't keep his itchy eyes open forever, and he blinks again. Then again. With each blink, his vision gets clearer, and Kurt's face becomes sharper.

“Blaine, sweetheart.” Kurt cups Blaine's cheek with his porcelain hand. “I think you were having a bad dream.”

Blaine covers Kurt's hand with his, holding it flush against his flesh.

“You're here,” Blaine whispers, shutting his eyes to absorb the cool comfort of Kurt into his skin.

“Yes, I'm here.” Kurt smiles shyly. “I told you, I'm not going anywhere.”

Blaine nods, keeping Kurt's hand pressed to his cheek for as long as possible. His breathing slows, the soothing effect of Kurt's presence seeping into his body. When he opens his eyes, Kurt is staring back at him with a curious expression.

It wasn't a dream, Blaine thinks with relief. Not a dream. Kurt is not a dream.

But Blaine remembers one more thing he needs to check to make 100% sure he's not dreaming. His gaze shifts to the loveseat where Sebastian sits, his position and expression utterly unchanged.

Blaine sighs, not quite with relief this time, but close enough. Maybe he is going crazy, but as long as he has Kurt there with him, he couldn't care less. Where's the crazy? Blaine invites the crazy.

Bring it on.

Blaine looks Kurt over from head to toe, drinking in the vision of the puppet dressed in his clothes, knowing that Kurt slept in them.

It's a wonderful image to see first thing in the morning, especially after the nightmares he had.

“What are you doing up so early?” Blaine asks, hoping to segue past Kurt's worried expression and his eventual hard-to-answer questions and into a comfortable, easygoing conversation.

Kurt's eyes narrow. He knows Blaine is bypassing the issue of his nightmares, but he doesn't want to pry. If Blaine wants to share them with him, he will. His face brightens, willing to change the subject if that's what Blaine wants.

“I wanted to make you breakfast,” Kurt says, motioning with his chin to the dining room.

Blaine turns his face into the light, purposefully ignoring Sebastian while he takes a look. He sees a place mat on the table that wasn't there before, with a glass of orange juice sitting on it. Beside the glass, there's a plate of food, steam rising up from the surface. Blaine can't see what's on the plate, but he takes a deep breath in to settle himself and is greeted by the most glorious smell of eggs and bacon. He doesn't often eat breakfast in the mornings, and when he does, it's not at the house. He's eaten more fast food meals than he would like to admit, which is becoming a problem for both his wallet and his waistline.

A home-cooked meal is a blessing.

He smiles at Kurt, grateful, and that beautiful stain of red returns to the puppet's cheeks.

“Kurt!” Blaine rises to his feet, helping Kurt up as he does. “Thank you so much! But you didn't have to do that.”

Kurt shakes his head, tsking as he leads Blaine to his meal. “I never understood that,” he says, a soft clinking noise chasing his words when his lips come together as he talks.

“Understand what?” Blaine reaches out for a chair to sit in but Kurt beats him to it, pulling it out so that Blaine can slide into the seat.

“When people say you didn't have to do that instead of saying thank you.” Kurt picks up a cloth napkin (Blaine didn't even remember that they had cloth napkins at the house) and tucks the end into the collar of Blaine's shirt. Blaine holds his breath when Kurt's fingertips brush his skin, but Kurt doesn't notice and continues on: “I mean, I know I didn't have to. I did it because I wanted to. And it's obviously too late now. I can't uncook the bacon, or unscramble the eggs and stuff them back into their little shells.”

Blaine chuckles at the passion in Kurt's voice, light-hearted as his tone is, but so sincere in his argument.

Kurt hands Blaine his fork, staring at him with a painted eyebrow arched.

“What?” he asks, slightly taken aback by Blaine's reaction.

“Oh, nothing,” Blaine says, accepting the offered fork. “It's just … I could listen to you talk all day.”

The blush in Kurt's cheeks darkens. “Why, Blaine … uh, what's your full name?”

Blaine tilts his head. “Why?” he asks, a sly grin pulling his lips.

Kurt plants his hands on his hips. “Because how am I to properly scold you if I don't know your full name?”

“Oh,” Blaine says with another chuckle. “It's Blaine Devon Anderson.”

“Blaine Devon Anderson.” Kurt lets the words roll through his mouth, dance over his tongue. The sound of Kurt saying Blaine's full name so thoughtfully sends a wave of heat washing through Blaine's body, flowing out to the tips of his limbs and back, settling finally – and unexpectedly - in the vicinity of his groin.

He crosses his legs at the knees to dull this new ache.

“Sh-shouldn't I know your full name?” Blaine stammers. “In case I need to scold you?”

The words tumble out before Blaine considers how they might come across in his breathy voice.

They sound unintentionally inappropriate.

The blush on Kurt's cheeks flames so brightly, Blaine is surprised when the paint doesn't melt off Kurt's face.

“Not that you'll be scolding me, but my given name is Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.”

“Kurt … Elizabeth … Hummel,” Blaine repeats, savoring each name as it passes over his lips.

Kurt's flushed face reaches epic proportions. He brings his hands up to cover his burning cheeks.

“Y-yes. My name is Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, and … wh-what was I saying?”

“I believe you were scolding me.”

Blaine swallows hard when Kurt's jaw drops.

Was he really thinking of kissing Kurt right now?

Was there a chance that Kurt was thinking about kissing him?

“Quite right,” Kurt says, accompanied by that strange cough that would be him clearing his throat if he were human. “Blaine Devon Anderson!” he starts again, trying to re-ignite the fire in his voice. “Are you getting fresh with me?”

“Uh … yes?” Blaine replies, not entirely familiar with Kurt's turn of phrase.

Blaine realizes that might have been the wrong response when Kurt gasps in the most scandalized way. Blaine wants to apologize, but when Kurt starts to stutter, “Uh … uh …” at a loss for a response, Blaine bursts out laughing instead, snorting unattractively while he struggles to breathe.

“I---I'm s-sorry.” Blaine coughs, trying to kill his laughter without choking on his tongue. “Let's start this over.” He puts down his fork and stands from his chair, facing the adorable puppet with the trembling lower lip. Blaine takes Kurt's hands and holds them in his, rubbing over Kurt's knobby knuckles with his thumbs. “Thank you for making me breakfast this morning, Kurt. I really appreciate it.” When Kurt doesn't respond, Blaine takes a chance that he isn't going to get himself slapped across the face and kisses Kurt's cheek.

“O-oh.” Kurt puts a hand to his face, covering the kiss. “Um … you're welcome.”

Blaine steps away to get another chair from the opposite side of the table and drags it over, setting it beside his own. He takes Kurt's hand and leads him to it, pulling it out so the puppet can sit down. With a tongue-tied Kurt seated beside him, Blaine sits in his own chair and starts back in on his meal.

Kurt watches Blaine take the first bite of his eggs, scrutinizing his face as he chews. It's so delicious, so decadent, so mouthwateringly tasty, that Blaine leans back in his chair and closes his eyes to devour it.

Without even thinking, he moans.

“Mmmm! Oh Lord, that's good!”

Kurt crosses his hands in his lap, running his tongue over his lips as he watches Blaine take another bite. It's when Blaine goes in for a fourth forkful that he notices Kurt watching him.

“Aren't you going to have breakfast, too?” Blaine asks, putting a hand over his mouth as he talks between chews.

“I … I can't eat,” Kurt says, his heel tapping nervously against the floor with a staccato clickclickclickclick.

Blaine gives himself a mental punch. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Kurt nods his bowed head, his eyes staring at his folded hands.

“Well, you're an excellent cook,” Blaine says. “This is really good.”

“It's just eggs,” Kurt says, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “But when I was … uh … when I … you know … I used to cook all the time.”

Blaine watches Kurt's eyes go distant as he tries to recall the memory of his life – a life that has been over longer than he's acknowledged. Blaine sits silently while Kurt mulls over his fuzzy thoughts, pulling them to the surface.

“I used to bake all the time with my mom,” he says. “She was so good at it … so much better than me. We made cakes, pies, and cookies all the time together. Every weekend during the summer, social groups in our town would have fundraisers or bake sales – the Daughters of the American Revolution, the Kiwanis, the Soroptimist Club …” Kurt's words dwindle, and another distant look clouds his eyes.

“Was your mother a member of all those clubs?” Blaine asks, encouraging Kurt to give him a little more insight into his childhood.

“No, but my mom believed in supporting organizations that did good works, especially for women and children. We didn't have much money to spare, but in a farming community, trading for milk, eggs, and flour is easy, so baking was the one way we could help out.” Kurt raises eyes full of emotion despite being made of glass. “It worked, too. Her sour cream, double-chocolate fudge brownies were legendary,” Kurt says proudly. “They were the toast of five counties. She won the blue ribbon for them at the Allen County Fair twelve years running.”

“Really?” Blaine discreetly finishes his eggs and moves on to his bacon, eating in part because he's starving, but also because he doesn't want to hurt Kurt's feelings, especially when he's telling this sensitive story.

“Yeah.” Kurt raises a hand to wipe away a tear, but drops it back to his lap when he remembers who he is now. “She baked all the time. She said that it was one of the ways that her mother taught her to show love, and she baked for me because she loved me so much, all the way up until …”

Kurt's voice breaks, and Blaine's heart along with it.

“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine gets out of his chair and kneels at the puppet's feet. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Kurt sniffles - a pointless, ingrained reaction. “I---I didn't remember until now. She was sick for a long time. She and my dad both knew, but they didn't tell me because they knew there was nothing anyone could do for her, and they didn't want me to be upset during her final years. She died a few months after I turned eight-years-old, sh--shortly after C—christmas ...”

Kurt crumbles. Blaine rises up on his knees to meet him, catching Kurt in his arms. Kurt's chest heaves and he sobs – his cries muted, with not a single tear rolling down his face to show for his misery.

“I'm so sorry,” Blaine says under his breath, feeling impotent to help in any way.

Kurt shakes his head against Blaine's shoulder. “Don't be, please. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Kurt's voice thickens, and Blaine understands.

Kurt isn't referring to his mother's death.

It's not Blaine's fault that Kurt is here, trapped in this puppet body, alive beyond his time, reliving these awful memories of love and loss and God knows what else that's going to crop up in the next few days.

It's someone's fault, though. Someone did this to him.

But that person isn't Blaine.

“Kurt, may I ask you a question?” Blaine says when Kurt's cries die down.

“Hmm?” Kurt looks into the hazel eyes shining at him with a touch of mischief highlighting their golden flecks.

“Do you happen to have the recipe for those brownies? Because they sound really good.”

Kurt stares a second. He sniffles one last time, then he laughs.

“No. Well, yeah. I mean, I know how to make them. I have that one memorized. All the rest are written down in a book that my mom gave me, but I lost it in the fi---“

Kurt sits up suddenly, shaking his head back and forth until his neck joint rattles, and Blaine becomes afraid that he cracked something.

“Hold on, Kurt,” he says in a soothing voice. He takes Kurt's head in his hands and tries to hold it still long enough to examine it. Kurt's body shudders, but he goes still at Blaine's touch. Blaine tilts Kurt's head gently to examine his neck. The joint looks sound except for a single wire that has become loose. Blaine twists the ends tight while running his fingers through Kurt's hair – hair that has been brushed and styled since the night before. “It's all right,” Blaine whispers. “Everything's all right.”

“I know,” Kurt says. “I have a chance I didn't have before, and I am so grateful for that … but it comes with a price.”

Blaine looks at Kurt's face. His smile has disappeared. Blaine would do anything to make that smile return.

“Hey” - Blaine brushes Kurt's hair back, enjoying touching Kurt in this intimate way - “I have some things I have to do today, but when I come back, do you want to go out and do something fun?”

Kurt's whole face changes at Blaine's question, and the carefree young boy from earlier this morning emerges.

It's like turning a page.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Blaine Anderson?” he asks, the red color creeping into his cheeks again.

Blaine hadn't intended it to be a date. He did want to ask Kurt out on a date, but Blaine thought it was too soon. He didn't think that if he asked Kurt on a date, he would say yes.

But here they were, Kurt smiling up at him with that enticing flush on his pale face, looking adorably hopeful.

Instead of stumbling his way through a lame explanation and ruining this moment, Blaine simply says, “Yes.”

“Then I accept,” Kurt says, clapping his hands in front of his chest.

“Great.” Blaine stands, too excited to remain crouched on the ground, ready to get his work at the Victorian house started and finished so he can get to his date with Kurt.

His date with Kurt.

He's still considering the improbability that such a concept even exists in the universe when he feels Kurt tugging at his shirt.

“Only …” Kurt stands, crowding close to Blaine, whispering in his ear “… would you mind if I came with you today? To your work?” Kurt peeks subconsciously at Sebastian. “I'll stay out of the way, I promise. I won't even get out of your car.”

Blaine peeks over at Sebastian, too. The wooden puppet hasn't moved, but that doesn't make him any less intimidating.

“Sure,” Blaine says. “D-did you want to see inside the house?”

“No.” Kurt answers before Blaine finishes asking his question. “No, I don't think I'm ready for that yet. I just … need to get out. Get some fresh air, not stay locked inside another house. Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does,” Blaine says, deciding not to ask if Kurt's request has anything to do with Sebastian's puppet and everything he represents.

“You don't mind?” Kurt asks with a small frown. “I don't want to impose.”

“No! You're not imposing. Are you … are you kidding?” Blaine's words run over one another, and Kurt snickers.

“Alright, alright,” he says, taking Blaine's hand. “I believe you. You know, you're kind of cute when you get nervous.”

“Are you nervous?” Kurt asks, troubling his lower lip as Blaine's fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

“A---a little,” Blaine admits. Just then, the button he's undoing pops off. Kurt stifles a laugh as the little disk of plastic flies through the air in front of his face. “Okay, maybe more than a little, but it's not because I don't want to do this.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want this so badly,” Blaine explains, his voice wavering, his bravery slipping. “I … I want it so badly with you, I mean. But I've never done this before, and I don't want you to be disappointed.”

Kurt lies back on the pillow beneath his head and pulls Blaine along with him, giving in to his need for one more kiss before he lets Blaine remove the rest of his clothes.

“I have waited so long for the perfect moment,” Kurt says. “The perfect time, the perfect place, the perfect person. I think most people want that, but unlike most people, I lucked out, because I got all four … especially the perfect person.”

Blaine ducks his head, smiling against Kurt's skin.

“You can't disappoint me,” Kurt says, placing a kiss to Blaine's curls. “Not even if you tried.”

Blaine presses a kiss to Kurt's exposed neck, against soft human skin.

“Blaine,” Kurt moans, prompting Blaine to kiss him again and again, each new moan eliciting a kiss. “Blaine … Blaine … Blaine …”

“Blaine?” Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand. It pulls Blaine from his fantasy and the image of Kurt lying in his bed, bare chested, eyes shut, moaning his name.

“Huh?” Blaine asks as Kurt's face – his real, here now, puppet face – comes into view.

“Do you need some more sleep? You kind of spaced out there for a second.”

“I guess I did,” Blaine agrees, the picture in his head dissolving until there's not a wisp of it left. “But I'm fine. Wanna help me pick out what I'm going to wear today?”

“Oh, Mr. Anderson” - Kurt swoons, plying his flair for the melodramatic - “you do know the way to my heart. Lead me to your room and take me to your wardrobe, kind sir.”

Blaine laughs as he pushes Kurt toward his room, the sound of something wood tapping gently against wood lost amid the patter of their feet on the floor.