Kurt drives straight for the on-ramp. He doesn't worry about going home and getting any of his things. He has an overnight bag in his trunk, something his father taught him to keep on hand for emergencies. It became a habit that's saved his butt a few times already, and that he's never grown out of. Besides, where they're headed, he'll be able to get stuff if he needs it. He's not all that concerned. He needs to drive without stopping for now. He has a goal in mind, a destination he wants to get them to, but he's not going to make it by nightfall, especially considering they started out late in the afternoon. He's going to have to stop off part of the way, at a place where Blaine can defrag and not worry about anything. A place where he can simply rely on his instincts, and his Dom to take care of him.

A place where he can cry, scream if he needs to, without having to worry about who might hear.

Kurt juggles his choices in his head, and while he thinks them through, they drive in silence. He reaches for the radio once or twice, but pulls his hand back, and Blaine never does. He doesn't talk, doesn't cry - he doesn't do anything. He sits with his forehead resting against the window, eyes aimed at the sky. Kurt can see them in the reflection of the glass when they drive under an overpass. Blaine may have his gaze directed at the sky, but he's not looking at it. 

Blaine looks wrung out, so torn down, so…

Kurt stops himself from thinking broken because Blaine has worked hard not to be seen that way. But it's difficult when that's the first word that leaps to mind.

Bent, Kurt decides. That's it. He's bent, but it's nothing that can't be fixed.

Kurt hopes.

Kurt wants to talk to Blaine, wants Blaine to open up and let it all out. Blaine's always been quiet, but this is a bit unnerving. Kurt feels like he's witnessing this man unravel. He prays he has the tools to put him back together.

Faith. Kurt needs to have faith in himself and in Blaine. Blaine's a fighter. Kurt's always believed it. Now, he has to give Blaine the opportunity to prove it.

So Kurt leaves Blaine be and lets his mind put together a vengeance plan on Blaine's behalf. Kurt knows Blaine's battles aren't his to fight, but it's getting harder not to want to every time Kurt sees him and learns about another man that's broken his heart.

Kurt's beginning to feel like he's living in a Michael Cera movie.

Blaine is as strong a man as he can be, and getting stronger every day. It's a slow process, but it doesn't have to go any faster than Blaine can comfortably manage. Kurt reminds Blaine of that every time he sees him slipping. Nowadays, Kurt catches it before Blaine even mentions it, and has a reassuring word to keep him standing tall. But there are some fights too big for Blaine. They might always be. The guy who attacked Blaine in high school is definitely one of those. Man, oh man, but Kurt has some of the most disturbingly arousing dreams that consist of finding this guy and punching him so hard in the face that his eye socket caves in. Blaine's brother might be one of those also, but Kurt wouldn't punch him quite as hard. Just hard enough to remind him that he should have been a better brother, should have been around more when Blaine needed him, and for more than a handout.

Blaine's father – absolutely. Kurt has no qualms about kicking the shit out of an old man, provided he deserves it, and Mr. Anderson has proven that he does - in spades.

About three hours in to their journey, the sun has close to set, and they've crossed the border into Yuma. Kurt knows they're roughly about twenty minutes away from their first stop, and just in time, because his ass is ten levels of numb and Blaine looks like he's become one with the passenger side door. He hasn't spoken the entire trip, not even to ask to use the bathroom, and as far as Kurt can tell, he hasn't moved an inch. Kurt's stomach starts to growl, and he's surprised when Blaine's doesn't also. It's like whatever's been keeping Blaine going, it simply ground to a halt, and there Blaine stayed, waiting for the next time Kurt told him what to do.

Kurt didn't think things like dinner through before they left, or he would have grabbed some stuff out of the cabinets in Blaine's house. Kurt's not a huge fan of drive-thru dining, but he manages to find a place along the way that sells halfway decent food – chicken, potatoes, green beans, corn bread, and Blaine's favorite, macaroni and cheese. Since it's only for one night, Kurt doesn't see the harm. They also sell apple juice boxes on the kids' menu for way too much, but Kurt buys a bunch anyway. Blaine's not up for a trip to the supermarket, and Kurt has no intention of leaving him alone to go shopping.

They drive for another ten minutes, with the smell of food torturing Kurt to no end, but he's not about to eat in his car. No one eats in Kurt's Navigator...unless Blaine needs to. He'd let Blaine eat all he wanted if he asked, and worry about cleaning the seats later.

But Blaine doesn't.

They pull off the highway as the sun drops below the horizon. But there's a full moon out, and, since there's little in the way of street lights here, stars as far as the eye can see. This is the way Kurt assumed San Diego would be when he first moved out there, and some places are, but most are so disappointingly populated that the only way to come by a view like this is by driving out to the desert. But here, you blink your eyes and boom – the galaxy at your doorstep.

Too bad Arizona gets so fucking hot in the summer or Kurt might actually consider a change. He's been stuck in one place for so long now, doing something different could be good for him.

He glances to the seat beside him when he hears a shift and a creak, his eyes flicking to his right in time to catch Blaine sigh.

Then again, perhaps not.

Kurt takes a few off-beaten roads, driving deeper and deeper into an area that rolls out past RV parks and campgrounds, till he reaches a single row of divided bungalows, each one situated about a mile apart from its neighbor. Kurt peeks over at Blaine and notices his eyes lift up with a spark of barely-there interest.

“Well,” Kurt announces, encouraged by Blaine's reawakening, “we're here.”

Kurt wishes Blaine would ask, “Where's here?” but he doesn't.

Kurt would even forgive the omission of his title if he could hear Blaine's voice.

Kurt takes the final road in, circling around a few times down roads you can't see until you're right up on them, giving the impression that the bungalows are set back and apart further from the main road than they are. Or maybe the illusion is that they're closer than they should be. It's odd how it works, and changes with the light at different times of the day. When he was younger, it severely messed with his head. It's like something out of a horror movie, where you think you're going one way, with help a stone's throw ahead, to discover that the ground you're running toward is really a gorge, and it's only perspective that made it seem like something else was there. His mom used to say that was the nature of the desert, to make them see things differently than they did in their quiet suburb of cluttered cul-de-sacs, with their neighbors living within arm's reach.

Kurt didn't understand what she meant by that, and was waiting for the day she could explain it a little better.

That day never came.

They pull up to a bungalow marked 57, and Kurt parks a few feet from the door. There's no real landscaping for him to disturb – no grass, no plants, no tanbark, not even a decorative cactus. It's almost as if someone dropped this small house down in the dirt and kept going, plopping another one down when they felt like it, and continuing on that way. It's a nice, secluded hideaway from civilization, containing only the things someone would need to escape their scattered lives and put the pieces back together, which is why it's the first place that came to Kurt's mind.

Kurt gets out of the vehicle, and walks to Blaine's door, unlocking, unbuckling, and helping his sub out. Blaine goes willingly, pliant to Kurt's commands even if they are unspoken. He understands what's expected. He's to follow Kurt without question. That's all.

Kurt takes a second to grab their bags before he leads Blaine to the door. He's ridiculously bogged down, but he'd rather not make multiple trips. Now that he's out of the driver's seat, he's not eager to see his SUV again until morning.

“Okay,” Kurt says, opening the door and walking in ahead of Blaine, setting their bags on the wood floor inside. “Go sit on the sofa. I'm going to give the place a look around.” Kurt flips on the lights and locks the door, motioning Blaine towards a red, microfiber, fold-out couch, sitting in front of an old glass coffee table and a new flat-screen TV.

“Alright, Sir,” Blaine says, taking a seat in the lit living room while Kurt works at getting them settled. He wants to check the place out thoroughly, make sure that it's relatively the same as when he used to come here with his parents. He doesn't need any surprises.

The bungalow is just a box of a house really, with a handful of rooms, most of which can be seen from the living room – kitchenette, bathroom, bedroom, laundry. Kurt has many fond memories of this place, but he hasn't been here in…God, he can't even remember. Probably not since he moved to California, that's for sure, though, ironically, this place was one of the reasons why he came out west this far. It was his safety net – a place he knew he'd be able to stay if he couldn't pull down a full-time job.

He rushes through, making sure all the lights are turned on, that the bathroom's clean, and the bed's made. The sheets are different, as well as the bedspread. The towels are white instead of brown, and the wallpaper has been taken down and replaced with a neutral eggshell paint, but otherwise, it's exactly how he remembers it, like he could have walked through the front door yesterday, and not close to a decade ago.

He wonders who does the upkeep on the place. In all the time he's been coming here, he's never thought to ask.

Kurt unpacks the things Blaine will need for the evening – a pair of pajamas, a change of underwear, his toiletry kit, his comfort items. He doesn't put the photographs up. He doesn't want to drudge up any memories for Blaine. Kurt knows how much of a trigger the wrong photograph can be. Kurt wants Blaine to have a night of calm. Besides, he doesn't want to let Blaine in on the fact that he knows about the picture Blaine keeps of him. Whatever secret is wrapped up in his printing out that photograph and putting it by his bedside, Kurt wants him to keep it a little longer.

“This is primarily a vacation property,” Kurt says, starting conversation when the silence becomes oppressive, “that my mom and dad bought into decades ago. Apparently, it used to be part of some New Age meditation retreat in the 70s. Now, it's prime real estate, believe it or not.”

Kurt doesn't wait for a response. He knows it's not going to come.

Kurt picks up Blaine's schedule from where it left off. Blaine's schedule is of the upmost importance to him, and Kurt doesn't want Blaine to have his life upset any more than it has been already today. Kurt sets Blaine's dinner on the coffee table in front of him, using a green stoneware plate that he happened to find in the cupboards, cursing at himself for forgetting to grab Blaine's favorite Beatrix Potter plate when he packed his things. Maybe he can pick up something tomorrow that Blaine will like as much, though Kurt's pretty sure Blaine favors the Peter Rabbit plate he eats his meals off of every night because it was given to him by his mother.

In that case, maybe it's a good thing he forgot it after all.

“We're going to stay here overnight and head out in the morning,” Kurt remarks, but he feels like he's talking to himself. He fixes himself a plate and sets it down beside Blaine's, but he doesn't sit right away. He stands and looks at Blaine staring at the food in front of him, but not eating it.

“Blaine? You can eat, you know. You have permission.”

“I know, Sir,” Blaine says, quiet but clear. “Thank you, Sir.”

And that's the end of that.

Kurt takes a seat at the sofa and digs in to his meal, eating like he hasn't had a bite of anything for days when it's only been a few hours. He's starving after all the emotional upheaval, the rush to get Blaine out of his house, the long drive to Arizona, and Kurt's beginning to feel it collapse in on him. A half hour later, Kurt's plate is nearly licked clean, and Blaine still hasn't touched any of his food. But it's getting close to bedtime, and Kurt has to keep him going. He can't let him sit on the sofa and stagnate. If he does, Blaine won't want to get up again.

Kurt knows what that's like first hand.

“Okay, baby boy, it's time for your bath,” Kurt says, taking Blaine's arm and tugging up. “You know, I really wish you would have eaten something.” Kurt works on the buttons to Blaine's shirt while he talks. “Now you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night because you're hungry and…” Kurt watches Blaine's eyes, unmoving before, lower in shame. Kurt back steps in his mind, paying closer attention to what he's doing, how he's talking. He's condescending, like he's speaking to a child, which is what he always does with Blaine. Blaine responds to it. Except now, he looks hurt by it. Embarrassed, even. “It's alright,” Kurt continues, because he doesn't know what else to do. “If you get hungry later, I'll fix you something, hmm?”

Blaine nods, but he doesn't say anything.

Kurt runs Blaine's bath water, adds a cap of Mr. Bubble, and sticks Blaine in. It's soothing doing this for him. It helps Kurt relax. He wishes he knew that it was doing the same for Blaine. Blaine sits perfectly still while Kurt washes him, moving obediently when Kurt tells him to, but otherwise gives no indication that this is helping him at all. On the drive out here, Kurt waited for Blaine to drop. So far, he seems locked in sub space, but Kurt doesn't know. He's never suffered from this much self-doubt before, not this amount in one frickin' day, and it's frustrating the hell out of him.

Kurt doesn't let Blaine linger in the cooling water for too long with the hour getting later. He rinses Blaine off, gets a towel around him, and helps him dry. He moisturizes him, kneading tight muscles as he applies Blaine's favorite oatmeal lotion to his skin, treating the day like one huge, trying session, with this bedtime routine as aftercare. He helps Blaine into his pajamas, then changes into an old pair of sweat pants and a white tank. He opts for a shower in the morning to avoid the chance that the warm water might wake him up instead of make him sleepier. He sits Blaine on the bed, climbing behind him so he can deep condition his hair. Blaine's hair is well cared for, his locks in exceptional condition, so this is more of an excuse to touch him than actual mane maintenance.

“There” - Kurt runs his fingers through Blaine's curls - “we've got you all washed and dried and conditioned. What do you want now, hmm? Should I put on one of your movies? Get you a snack?” Hidden behind Blaine's back, Kurt's lip curls. “Did you want to color?”

“No, Sir. None of that, if you don't mind,” Blaine says with a sad shake of his head. “I think…I want to go to sleep. It's been kind of a long day.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, lifting up the blankets and watching Blaine crawl underneath. “Is there anything you do want before bedtime?”

Blaine thinks for a second.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me,” Kurt says, turning off one overhead light, and making sure a few other softer ones, including Blaine's half-moon shaped night light – a relic from his childhood – stay on.

“Would you answer a question for me, Sir?”

“Sure,” Kurt says, climbing under the blankets with his sub, “if I can.”

“Do you think” - Kurt sees Blaine drumming his fingers, gathering his thoughts together, except it's not drumming, Kurt has realized over time, but scales. When Blaine thinks, he performs his scales, back and forth on any obliging surface, starting with (as far as Kurt can tell) C major - “in a different world” - Blaine laughs nervously - “would you, you know, go for a guy like me? If we were…equals?”

Kurt's brow wrinkles when he hears that word. “What makes you think you're not my equal?”

“All of this,” Blaine says in a tone bordering on sarcasm. “The coloring and the juice boxes and the stuffed animal and the security blanket…the everything you do for me. You take care of me when I can't.”

“That doesn't mean you're not my equal,” Kurt says. “That doesn't make me somehow above you, Blaine. You are who you are. That's not a bad thing. And who knows? You might change your mind, change your identity, you might find something new that works for you…but whatever you do, it's up to you.”

“Would you still like me if I did?” Blaine asks. “I mean,” he hurries before his Dom can cut in without hearing him through, “I was reading a blog on the Internet, written by subs, and this one said that in order to attract the person you want, you have to be the kind of person that person would want. So, say, if your ideal person is healthy, you have to be healthy. If your ideal person is confident, you have to be confident, and so on. The problem is, I don't know how to be different than this just yet, but, should that keep someone from wanting me? Do I end up with a person exactly like me then? Because…I can't take care of someone else right now. But that wouldn't matter because no man goes into a relationship wanting a project, and I…I think I'm a pretty big project, Sir…” The sentence doesn't end completely, the thought left half-expressed, but it drops with Blaine's eyes to the blanket, as if the rest of it is missing there, lost among the fibers.

“Blaine, maybe those requirements exist for certain people, but not for everyone,” Kurt says. “I think that some people are meant to find each other in life, for whatever reason. You don't have to work at it, necessarily. You just have to let it be.” Kurt waits, pausing to gauge Blaine's reaction, but he can't tell if Blaine believes him. “And you're not a project, Blaine. You're a wonderful guy. And yes, I'd still…” Kurt trips over saying, “want you,” and instead comes out, “like you.”

Kurt isn't sure that Blaine is ready for that revelation.

Kurt doesn't know if he's ready to make it.

“Then, would you be willing to do something for me, Sir?” Blaine asks. “Maybe not right now…but someday?”

“That depends what it is,” Kurt says. “Because I have limits, too.”

“I know, Sir,” Blaine says. “But, would you ever consider…” Blaine's eyes drift up to Kurt's mouth before he finishes his sentence, “kissing me?”

“Are you sure that's what you want?” Kurt asks, his chest suddenly feeling too cramped for his heart and his lungs to fit altogether. Something would need to give if Blaine was going to continue to talk to him this way. “Because, you know, that could change things between us.”

“I know,” Blaine says in a voice Kurt hasn't heard before. It's smooth, confident. It makes Kurt's head tingle because he's never heard Blaine talk about anything so decisively before. “I want things to change, Sir. I think…they need to change. Don't you, Sir?”

“They only need to change if you want them to change,” Kurt says quietly. “Because, I promise…I'll feel the same about you either way.”

Then Kurt pulls Blaine close.

***

Kurt wakes to the sound of a stifled whimper, and an emptiness in his arms where Blaine had been. It astounds Kurt how cold he feels without Blaine there, how natural it had been falling asleep with Blaine in his arms, how much he'd wanted to do that for so long. Looking back on it now, the conversation that led to them huddled in one another's embrace, Blaine's face relaxing into sleep with the knowledge that Kurt was there to protect him, take care of him, Kurt kind of wishes he'd relented and given Blaine his kiss.

He hears the noise again before he sees anything - a muffled sniffling that travels through the air and hits Kurt beneath the ribs, making his tired heart race the same way it did when he was searching Blaine's house for Blaine, sure he was trapped and being assaulted by some asshole.

Kurt opens his eyes and sees Blaine's seated silhouette not too far away. He's hunched over slightly, he has his arms wrapped around himself, and he's rocking back and forth, whimpering in the dark. Kurt blinks his eyes, confused. It wasn't dark in the room before they fell asleep. Kurt had left the smaller vanity lights on. Plus, he'd plugged in Blaine's nightlight. And where was…? Kurt searches left and right. He finds Blaine's red blanket discarded at the head of the bed, his stuffed lion along with it. The way he has his arms wound around himself, pulling in like a strangling vine, his back turned to two of his most cherished comfort items, it's like he's refusing to touch either of them, even though he needs them.

“Hey, baby boy,” Kurt says in a groggy voice. “What's going on? Did you have a nightmare? Can't you sleep?”

“I…” Blaine turns his head, not far enough so that Kurt can see his face, but Kurt doesn't need to see to know Blaine's crying. “I'm sorry if I woke you, Sir. I needed to use the bathroom.”

“Well, did you?” Kurt asks, sitting up. “Or did the lights go out and you couldn't?”

“I went,” Blaine admits with an edge of embarrassment. “And on my way back I…I turned out the lights.”

“Why would you do that, Blaine?” Kurt asks, rising from the bed to turn the lights back on.

“Because what kind of grown man sleeps with a night light?” Blaine asks, the words coming out harsh, through teeth biting hard against the idea of snapping at his Dom. But Blaine's too overwhelmed by his inner pain to buffer them. Kurt can't punish him for that. He has to help him focus on the good.

“Probably a lot more than you realize, baby boy,” Kurt says. “I'm pretty sure a lot of people won't admit it, but having a light on at night is comforting. And maybe it's not the way you do it…” Kurt bends over to push Blaine's half-moon shaped nightlight back in its socket, filling its small corner of the room with a bright bluish-white glow, “but what about people who sleep with the television on? Or their laptop? Or with their cell phone by their head? Those are things that give people comfort. They make them feel connected.” Kurt gets to Blaine and takes his hands. “There's nothing wrong with that, Blaine. Not a god dammed thing.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt with those wide, trusting eyes of his, and for a second, Kurt gets lost. But he needs to think straight, keep his mind on the task of helping Blaine through this. If Kurt knows how Blaine's brain operates (and he's beginning to) this anxiety attack isn't over. And this room, though not the honeymoon suite at the MGM Grand, is too big for him to adequately handle his worries. He needs some place smaller, more confined.

“You know what I think you need?” Kurt asks rhetorically, rummaging through the cabinets and pulling out all the extra sheets and pillows he can find. “A fort.”

Blanket forts are one of those things, like coloring, that make Kurt want to poke himself in the eye when he mentions it, but he has to move past that. This is for Blaine, he reminds himself for the umpteenth millionth time since he's met the guy. This is for Blaine's sanity. Kurt's can take a back seat for now.

Blaine watches Kurt drag over chairs, cover them with blankets, and throw down pillows in the creation of a cozy nest for Blaine to sleep in…and Blaine looks devastated.

“Sir?” Blaine tries to get Kurt's attention while Kurt disassembles the bed, yanking off blankets and the bedspread to better pad the floor of the fort, leaving Blaine sitting on the fitted sheet. “Sir, you don't have to…”

“Blaine, you'll sleep much better in here,” Kurt says, arranging the red blanket for Blaine to lay on, and puts Blaine's lion on his pillows. “You always do.”

“But…but, Sir…”

“Blaine…” Kurt's voice is heavy with the desire for some much needed sleep. It's early in the morning, Kurt has a lot on his mind, and in a few hours, they'll be driving again. He just needs Blaine to do what he says. “You trust me, don't you?” Kurt presses a little hard. “That's why you hired me? That's why you've stayed with me? That's why you're here with me now?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine admits. But with his eyes glued to the fort Kurt's created for him, he looks like he might cry. “But I…”

“Blaine, get in the damn blanket fort!” Kurt says brusquely. Blaine flinches, his eyes flicking straight to the floor so quickly they almost make a noise. Kurt sees Blaine curl in, a tremor passing through him, and Kurt sighs. He puts a hand to his face, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. God, he's exhausted, but this is no time for him to lose his temper. He takes a breath. He counts to three. He waits till his pounding heart slows, then he speaks. “Blaine,” he starts, using a more soothing tone. “It doesn't make you wrong, Blaine.”

Blaine starts to nod, but it turns into a shake of his head.

Kurt steps away from the fort. He takes Blaine's hands. Then he does something he hasn't done in a long time for anyone.

He kneels.

He looks up into Blaine's face, into eyes that might not want to see Kurt this way, but with a single stare, Kurt compels him, because Blaine has to.

“It doesn't make you wrong, Blaine,” Kurt repeats in a softer voice. “It doesn't make you weak. None of it. The coloring and the stuffed animal and the cartoons and the juice boxes. Alright?” Kurt squeezes Blaine's hands in his. “It doesn't make you weak, and it won't make you lose me.”

Blaine's breath catches so that he hiccups when he answers. “Y-you promise…Sir?”

“I promise, Blaine,” Kurt says, beginning to feel that, even without the kiss that Blaine wanted earlier, everything between them has started to change. This exchange, this is something that Kurt has never done. This side of him, wherever it's coming from, belongs entirely to Blaine. He belongs to Blaine. “I wouldn't be here with you now if that was the case, would I?”

Blaine clamps his lips and shakes his head, harder than necessary to fend off tears.

“Now,” Kurt says, standing, tugging Blaine by his two hands, “get on in, baby boy, so we can get back to sleep.”

“You're…you're coming with me, Sir?” Blaine asks. “You're going to sleep in there…with me?”

“Of course, I am,” Kurt grumbles. “All the damn blankets and pillows are in there.” He says it to hear Blaine laugh. Blaine chuckles, but it's not strong enough. “Besides,” Kurt adds, “I want to be with you, in case you need me.”

“Alright, Sir,” Blaine says. He gets up from the stripped mattress, shuffles across the floor to the fort, and crawls inside. He sees his red blanket spread out on the floor before him, and his lion, sitting on the pillows, waiting for him. Kurt watches Blaine, how he looks like he wants to take the lion so badly, but he's keeping himself from it, some societal conditioning over what's right and what's wrong rearing up to keep him from doing what he wants to do. Kurt understands how he feels, like he needs to put that lion and that blanket behind him so that he can move forward, but Kurt knows a little better. He knows that's not true for everyone. It's definitely not true for Blaine.

“Come on,” Kurt says, grabbing the stuffed lion for Blaine and placing it in his arms, then wrapping his own arms around Blaine and the lion together, dragging them under the covers. “We've got a big day ahead of us. A lot more driving, and a bit of sightseeing, before we get to our destination.”

“And where is that, Sir?” Blaine asks.

“You'll see when we get there,” Kurt answers with a sigh, one that separates the curls on Blaine's head. Kurt can't tell Blaine yet, not when he's not certain what his sub's reaction will be. He can guess, and that's part of the reason why he's keeping it to himself. He'll prepare him, of course, when the time comes. But not tonight. Not when Blaine needs more rest than they're going to get. Kurt buries his nose in Blaine's soft curls and takes a breath in. He hugs Blaine tight, and Blaine snuggles into him, running his nose lightly through the fur on the face of the lion in his arms. Kurt catches a peek of Blaine holding that stuffed animal so tight in his embrace, and his heart clenches to the point of cramping. “For now, baby boy, just enjoy the journey.”