Kurt kept his eyes closed. He blocked out everything going on around him and concentrated on his breathing – taking a breath slowly in through his nose and then letting it go again out his mouth.

Breathe in…breathe out…breathe in…breathe out…

He thought seriously about leaving. There was nothing really keeping him there anyway. Any feeling of obligation or loyalty that Kurt had toward the Dalton Crew evaporated the second Wes agreed to this asinine bet. What would it matter if he got into his Eclipse and drove away? Apparently no one considered his feelings in any of this. In fact, he had been demoted from person to object, and then from object to prize. He sort of expected it from Sebastian and Wes. Their moral compasses didn’t seem to point anywhere near north. They both lost their tempers way too easy and were always rising to a ridiculous challenge of some sort, ceaselessly needing to prove they were the best…but from Blaine?

That Blaine went along with all of this, more than anything, made Kurt want to slink into some dark corner and die.

Kurt heard the GT-R and the Mustang as their engines roared to life and they approached the designated starting line. He heard the screams and catcalls of the various fans and onlookers gathered around to watch what was already being hailed as 'the race of the century'. Kurt smirked. He was undoubtedly surrounded by total idiots. As for how he was behaving personally, Kurt couldn't figure out what upset him more - the fact that he was being treated like an object, or that he couldn’t find a way to do anything to put a stop to it.

What Kurt had said to Blaine at the Lima Bean was true. Raising the money to go to New York was more than a ‘want’. He needed that money - he needed to go to New York and despite everything else, working for the Dalton Crew was the only way he could see to get that money and make his dream a reality. But Kurt was getting tired of Sebastian's advances, and the constant jokes and name calling. He had already been called Porcelain, Princess, and a whole slew of other demeaning nicknames that were getting harder and harder to swallow. Sebastian's hand on his ass had almost been the last straw for Kurt. He wanted to lash out, to slam Sebastian’s head with the hood of his car, to say, “Fuck you!” and quit. He honestly didn't know what he would have done if Blaine hadn't stormed over.

The growl of the engines and the squealing of tires signaled the start of the race. Both cars shot away down the street, and the overwhelming din made Kurt winced. All of his money literally rode on Sebastian’s GT-R, but his heart – his heart wanted to bet on Blaine.

Blaine.

Kurt wanted to be angry at Blaine. He had every right to be furious with him over this. He thought Blaine was different from the rest of these overly-hormonal greasers and their little boy race cars - their minds only focused as far as their next fuck and their next race.

He had also hoped that Blaine was a better friend than the ones he’d known – the ones who had forgotten all about him in nearly no time flat.

But Kurt also recognized that he himself hadn’t been all that great a friend. He had asked Blaine if he had a dream solely to prove a point, and when he said yes, Kurt never bothered to ask him what that dream was. In the end, Blaine was racing here tonight, putting up his own car, to defend Kurt's honor. If Blaine wasn’t being a good friend then what kind of friend did that make Kurt?

Kurt felt torn. He didn’t know exactly who to root for in this scenario. One of two things was going to happen at the end of this race - Kurt would be out of a job and his dream would be washed away yet again, or Blaine would lose his precious car. Kurt's heart sank. He felt guilty, but he had to push all that aside and be selfish. He had to remember that more than anything he needed this job. He needed the money.

Kurt took that up as his new mantra and repeated it over and over.

I need this job…I need the money…I need this job…I need the money…

He would stick to his guns. His dreams were more valuable than any silly Mustang. It was logical, but it was a cold comfort for him.

Blaine and Bas had decided on a one lap race. Kurt knew the route like the back of his hand by now – a single circuit around the industrial park, roughly ten miles total, and then a sprint down the straight away on the return, which was when most every driver hit their NOS and flew through the finish line. It didn’t sound too difficult but in reality it was a race won through skill, timing, and sometimes incredible dumb luck.

Kurt knew that Blaine had the skill and the timing – it was the dumb luck that he hoped he didn’t have.

Kurt took another deep, cleansing breath, willing himself not to care too much about the outcome. He left it in the hands of the universe. Whatever happened would happen. He had no part in it.

He just hoped that the universe wanted him to keep his job.

'There's no way Blaine can win,' Kurt assured himself as he heard both cars approach the home stretch, tires screaming against the asphalt on the final turn before the straight away. Sure Kurt had helped Blaine with his NOS, but Sebastian's car was the hottest thing on the road right now, if he could learn to keep his hands off his...SHIT!

Kurt fumbled in his pockets for his phone, cursing. He pulled his cell phone out but the screen was dark – the battery had died without him knowing. Kurt ran up to Wes, flailing his arms like a madman.

"Call Sebastian! Call him! Call him now! Somebody call him!" Kurt yelled.

Wes shifted his eyes slightly to look at Kurt, irritated at having his attention called away from his flawless victory.

"What...” Wes muttered, acknowledging Kurt with a single grunt that barely classified as a word, “why?"

"Because Bas fucked with his NOS!” Kurt explained rapidly. “I was going to fix his line tomorrow. If he hits that switch..."

Wes’s eyes went wide. He suddenly understood, but it was too late. The growl of Blaine's Mustang as it sped down the straight away drowned out everything else. Meanwhile, Sebastian's Nissan sputtered forward and then dragged to the curb, stopping with a sickening metallic clank. Sebastian threw open the door and Kurt saw him struggle with the seatbelt. The belt finally popped open and Sebastian stumbled out. He bent over at the waist, hands clutching his knees for support. He heaved and coughed, fighting to suck in fresh air.

Blaine's Mustang slowed down as he approached the finish line. He wrenched the steering wheel and drifted the car to a stop for effect, leaving an impressive trail of dust in his wake.

Blaine climbed out of his car through his open window, beaming as a throng of cheering fans ran up to congratulate him. Many people laughed and patted him on the back, or fought to show him cell phone video footage of Sebastian's GT-R crapping out by the side of the road.

"Totally!" Blaine gave someone a thumbs-up. "That’s great! Upload that one for sure!"

Kurt rolled his eyes at the boy’s arrogance and glanced over to a stunned and fuming Wes.

"You did it, man!" Puck embraced his friend tightly, hopping up and down, nearly lifting Blaine into the air. "You beat the unbeatable!"

"Ah, that GT-R isn't the beast Sebastian claims it is." Blaine spoke to his friend, but his hazel eyes searched the crowd for Kurt. Over bouncing heads and smiling faces Blaine found him, looking at Wes, his face creased with frustration and worry. Kurt's shoulders slumped as he walked over to where the rival crew leader stood. Wes glared, radiating pure hatred in Blaine's general direction.

Kurt didn't know what to say. Should he beg Wes not to fire him? Ask for a rematch? Technically, Sebastian's car malfunctioned. There had to be some sort of loophole. Even if this was illegal street racing, there was an unwritten code of ethics amongst drivers. There had to be.

Before Kurt could make the suggestion, Wes stomped over in his direction. Eyes fixed ahead and without sparing Kurt a glance, he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to the crowd of sycophants still praising what Wes thought was Blaine's less than incredible win. Blaine's eyes went wide at the grimace of pain on Kurt's face as Wes came to an abrupt halt in front of them. The cheering crowd went silent when Wes’s hard eyes swept the faces around him, as if any second he might unleash his fury on some unsuspecting victim. With a look of disgust, Wes shoved Kurt forward. This time Jeff wasn’t quick enough to save him and Kurt hit the ground hard on this hands and knees.

"Here, Blaine," Wes spat. "Here’s your mechanic. You wanted him so bad. He's yours."

Wes turned on his heel and marched away.

Blaine's eyes softened when Kurt hit the ground - his heart shattering at the pained, “Oomph!” that escaped his mouth when he came in contact with the asphalt. Blaine pushed past the crowd in an effort to get to Kurt and help him up, but the boy was already on his feet, chasing after Wes.

"David!" Wes screamed as he tromped back to his own car. "Go collect Sebastian!"

David hurried off in his Integra as Kurt caught up with Wes.

"B-but, Wes!" Kurt yelled, frantically chasing after him. "We had a deal!"

"Yeah?" Wes turned on Kurt, furious. "We did! You were supposed to keep the cars in racing order. If you had done your job then Sebastian would have won, and I would be driving home in Blaine's Mustang! But because of your incompetence, Blaine won! You're his now!"

Kurt felt as if he had been slapped in the face. His hands stung and his knees ached, but none of that registered with him. He barely registered the fact that a whole crowd of people had seen him wagered away, but still his cheeks glowed with anger and humiliation.

Kurt turned and began to walk slowly, vaguely aware that Blaine stood between him and his Eclipse...his one escape.

Kurt walked up to Blaine, arms wrapped around his chest, eyes downcast. The race was over. Blaine had won, and Kurt’s dream was over.

The thrill of winning died down, bleeding away and leaving Blaine empty inside. Seeing Kurt look so defeated, Blaine realized that Sebastian hadn’t lost. Wes hadn’t lost. Dalton hadn’t lost.

Kurt was the one who had truly lost.

Blaine had never felt so ashamed in his life.

But everything was going to be alright now, Blaine thought. Kurt would be with him and his crew.

Kurt would be with him.

Kurt stepped up to Blaine and looked him over from head to toe with a palpable glare of disgust - his beautiful, pale face a twisted scowl, brimming with outrage on the brink of being unleashed. Kurt's cold, icy eyes drilled into Blaine’s as Kurt drew back his hand and slapped him hard.

Blaine’s head snapped to the side, a fiery red hand print stamped on his cheek.

"Fuck you, Blaine Anderson!" Kurt yelled. "Just... fuck you! You fucked everything up!" Kurt pushed past a startled Blaine and stalked over to his Mitsubishi.

"Wait! WAIT!" Blaine called after him, hurrying to stop him. "You didn't lose here! I promise! You'll work for us. We can pay you."

Kurt laughed bitterly as he spun back around, wiping tears from his eyes.

"There's no way you can pay me what Wes and his crew were paying me. You have six drivers, tops. He has fifteen! And I wasn't just going to work on their cars. He was going to hook me up - parents' cars, teachers' cars, the whole motherfucking Dalton alumni association! The amount of money I was going to make was more than worth getting laughed at, or-or having my ass squeezed once in a while..."

Kurt broke. He didn't even recognize his own voice or what he was saying. Was he really implying that it was worth getting bullied and sexually assaulted for money? Who was he right now? What was wrong with his life?

Kurt was desperate. He was frustrated and upset and desperate; he was spiraling so violently out of control that he felt his bones vibrating. He thought if he kept this up, he might shatter. His footsteps stuttered between walking back to slap Blaine in the face again, or hauling ass to his car and driving away. Midway he bent down, picked up a handful of loose gravel, and threw it in Blaine's face. Blaine raised an arm to block the flying debris, but one sharp rock caught him on the cheek, leaving a long scratch that started to bleed.

"They were my only chance of getting out of this buttfuck town!" Kurt screamed at full voice. "And now, it's gone! It's all gone, and I'm going to be stuck here. Just another Lima Loser. Just like you guys. Thank you so fucking much!"

"Oh, hell to the no!” an indignant voice rose from the crowd. “He did not just say..."

"Shhh!"

"Yeah! Shut up, Tana!"

Kurt heard the McKinley Crew arguing behind him. They seemed to be split – some of them thought he had a right to be mad, some of them thought he was an ungrateful bitch. Kurt didn't know who exactly stood where in the argument and he didn’t care. He wasn’t one of them and he refused to ever be. Kurt climbed into his car and slammed the door. His hands shook as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. He fumbled them and they fell jingling to the foot well. He leaned over, groping in the dark beneath his feet, nails scraping along the rough carpet, tears falling freely in the safety and solitude of his car. Eventually he gave up, rested his head on his gear shift, and bawled.

'Close,' Kurt thought, shaking his head, his whole body crushed under the weight of his permanent reality. He had been so close. Good luck getting what Wes owed him. That alone was a couple of thou down the drain. Sure, he didn't like to be pawed. He didn't like the jokes. He didn't like Sebastian's advances, or the quiet simmer in Karofsky's eyes that chilled him to the core. He didn’t like waiting for the day Monster snapped and showed his true colors. But he wouldn't have had to put up with it for too much longer. At the end of the year, he would have had all the money he needed and then he would have been gone. Lima, Ohio would be a speck in his rear view mirror on his way to New York. Now, as he sat in his car, too pathetic to even leave, he watched all those dreams crumble.

Kurt heard the soft click of his door open, but he didn’t look up. Sure fingers reached between Kurt's feet and grabbed his key ring, setting it gingerly on his leg. Kurt knew who it was and he didn't want to face him. He slowly moved his hand and settled his fingertips on the key ring, closing his fingers around it, relaxing with its comforting weight in his grasp.

"For what it's worth," a soothing voice said, "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I'm really sorry."

Blaine stood up and put a hand on Kurt's shoulder, squeezing gently, hoping that Kurt would turn and look at him, chew him out some more, anything. When Kurt didn’t move, Blaine carefully shut the door. Kurt waited for a moment before he sat up, not bothering to wipe his eyes. He put the key into the ignition, ignoring the figure standing stoically to his left. He turned the key, started the engine, and drove away.