December 12th, 2026

Light flurries of snow swirl through the air as Blaine comes up onto the sidewalk from the subway tunnel, bag slung over one shoulder and a to-go coffee in his hand. He checks his watch to make sure he isn't late and heads for his usual shortcut through Times Square. With Christmas only two weeks away, the city is glowing everywhere one can look – red and green lights decorate every tree and every storefront offers festive sales. This year, Blaine is going to Wyoming to spend the holidays with his boyfriend's family (which is nerve-wracking since Roger's family owns a ranch and Roger has warned him that they're excited to see all the things his "prep-school ass" doesn't know how to do). But for now, both he and Roger are tied to the show.

Scratching at his short beard (which he isn't allowed to shave, since the director he's working with thinks it adds to his character's image) Blaine checks his watch again, more out of habit than actual anxiety. He knows he has plenty of time to get to the theater without the hair and makeup staff throwing a fit. As he skirts around the base of the infamous Times Square Christmas tree, he gazes up towards the tree's tip, feeling dwarfed by the sheer number of lights that sparkle brightly even in the daytime.

Unfortunately, walking through Times Square without watching the path ahead – especially any time in the vicinity of Christmas – usually ends in a collision, and it's only a couple of seconds before Blaine crashes into someone standing at the base of the tree. His coffee spills backwards over his own hand and sleeve, burning him.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry, I wasn't— Ow," Blaine stammers, trying to wipe the hot coffee off his skin.

"Don't worry about it," the victim of his inattentiveness replies, adjusting his coat, which luckily has been spared of any coffee stains. "You okay?"

Blaine freezes mid-nod, staring at the man's face. "…Finn?!"

The man blinks. His jaw bears a five o'clock shadow and he's aged quite a bit, but Blaine is certain.

"…Um," says Finn, clearly trying to figure out whether Blaine is actually someone he knows or just one of New York's countless homeless crazy people. Then he blinks again, his jaw dropping. "Holy crap," he says. "Blaine?!"

"What are you doing here?" Blaine exclaims. "Last I heard you were going to Ohio State. God, it's been what, fifteen years?"

"Something like that," Finn grins. "I didn't recognize you with the beard, man."

Blaine shrugs and explains that he has to keep the scruff for work, rubbing at his chin self-consciously. He can't blame Finn for not recognizing him immediately – not only does he have facial hair, but he's gotten over his obsession with hair gel and his hair now sits messily on top of his head in a free-ish tangle most days.

"I'm just in town to see a couple shows," Finn explains. "Kind of a Christmas present for my wife and, uh…" He trails off for a second, then shakes his head and shrugs. "Well, it's nice to get back to Broadway, even if it's just watching."

"You're married? To… Rachel?" Blaine remembers that Finn and Rachel had gotten engaged shortly after they graduated high school, but it had ended in tears before they'd gotten a chance to even consider a date for the ceremony. Rachel had moved out to Los Angeles and had been in a few TV shows but Blaine hadn't been in contact with her since high school.

Finn snorts and shakes his head. "No, not Rachel," he answers, pulling out his wallet and holding it open so that Blaine can see the photo inside – a pretty redhead and a small boy clutching a toy Elmo.

"You've got a son, too?"

Finn grins widely. "He's three. My mom and Burt are taking care of him right now, though."

"Wow, Finn… you've got a good life. I'm happy for you."

Finn smiles fondly at the photo one last time before putting it away. "So, what about you?"

Blaine flaps a hand. "Well, I'm not married, but my boyfriend and I work together, so we see a lot of each other. I'm on stage, he's in the wardrobe department."

"That's awesome! Which show?"

"American Idiot."

"No way! We're seeing that tomorrow night!"

"You should've called me; I could've gotten discount tickets."

Finn shrugs. "Yeah, well, since Facebook went bankrupt it's been harder to keep track of people. You know how it is."

Blaine nods in understanding. "Life gets in the way," he says. He shifts his weight to his other foot. "How's Kurt?" he asks, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Did… did he ever get better?" Did he put himself back together?

Over the years Blaine has spent less and less energy wondering about Kurt and if he was all right – if he'd gotten better or worse or stayed the same. But now that Blaine is staring Kurt's stepbrother in the face, the worried curiosity is renewed and impossible to ignore.

The smile melts off of Finn's features, and Blaine feels a painful twisting in his stomach, like he's preparing to be punched in the gut.

"Blaine…" Finn starts quietly, his head hanging a little. He's no longer looking Blaine in the eye and instead is studying the concrete under their feet.

Blaine tenses. "What?"

Finn lets out a long breath, raising his head to gaze up at the gigantic glowing tree towering above them. "Kurt's gone."

Blaine blinks. "What?" he repeated.

"He's gone. He – he died. I-I'm sorry."

Blaine wishes he could say he's completely surprised. "H-how? When?"

"It's… really a long story," Finn tells him apologetically. "It wasn't suicide, though."

Blaine is honestly not sure if that makes it better.

Finn pushes back his sleeve to look at his watch. "Crap," he says, glancing over his shoulder and scanning the crowds. "Look, Blaine, I'm meeting someone here right now. I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to say goodbye."

Blaine nods silently, not moving from where he's standing.

"Blaine? Are you okay?" There's a pause, and then, "Sorry, dumb question."

Taking a deep breath, Blaine forces himself to remember that Kurt was just an old high school boyfriend whom he hadn't seen or spoken to since the eleventh grade. And prior to that, he'd only known Kurt for a little more than a year.

"Blaine, don't you have somewhere to be?" Finn says gently, snapping Blaine's attention back to the present.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Blaine tries to joke, but it falls flat since he can't keep his voice light.

"No, but like I said I'm meeting someone here," Finn replies evenly, and Blaine feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Tell you what," Finn says, pulling out his wallet again. He withdraws a business card and presses it into Blaine's hand. "That's all my contact info. Call me tonight; I'll buy you a drink and we can talk then."

Blaine nods, dazed though he's not entirely sure why – after all this isn't really that much of a surprise. Even if one were to discount Kurt's first attempt at suicide and all the dangers his alters had posed, Kurt had still had a mile-long list of people who hated him for reasons that had nothing to do with his illness.

"I… guess I'll see you around, then," Blaine says, clutching Finn's card in his hand a little more tightly than necessary. At this point, he will be late to the dress rehearsal. Roger's going to give him an earful.

Finn claps Blaine on the shoulder. "It was really good seeing you," he says earnestly.

Blaine's about to say goodbye, but someone appears from the crowd behind Finn and walks up. "Okay, I got the tickets for Les Mis and American Idiot—"

The man stops when he sees Blaine, and Blaine feels as if the ground has suddenly dropped out from under his feet. He wants to glare at Finn and demand to know why he lied, but he's shell-shocked and he can't do anything except stare.

Kurt is standing right there beside Finn, taller than Blaine remembered. There's no sign of illness or exhaustion on his face, no circles under his eyes (which are a strangely unfamiliar shade of blue), and he's thin but not unhealthily skinny. Blaine can see a little more than half of Kurt's anchor tattoo over where the scarf is loosely hanging from his neck.

Kurt shifts awkwardly, uncomfortable with the look on Blaine's face. "Uh, Finn?" he says, his spine straightening and his shoulders pulling back almost defensively. "Who's this?"

If Blaine wasn't still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Kurt is here – oh my god oh my god oh my god – he would have seen Finn's cringe.

"J-just…" Finn stammers, caught in the lie. "Just an old friend." He rakes his fingers through his hair. "From high school."

"Oh!" Kurt smiles. He holds his hand out for Blaine to shake. "Hi. I'm Andy."

Blaine feels as if his heart is being slowly sucked down into his stomach.

"Um, Andy…" Finn stops him with a hand on Kurt's arm. He says something more, but Blaine can't hear it because everything sounds like it's underwater, and Kurt's hand drops back to his side. He glances at Blaine a second time, then nods to Finn and backs away, shoving his hands into his pockets and saying something about getting a coffee. He vanishes into the crowd.

Finn turns back to Blaine, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, listen—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Blaine demands breathlessly, all thoughts of rehearsal forgotten as if they'd been absorbed by the crowds around them.

"Look, man—"

Blaine shakes his head. "I don't – I don't understand."

"Blaine," Finn says loudly, his voice snapping Blaine's attention into focus. "Listen, I don't have time to talk right now; we're supposed to be meeting my wife soon. Just… call me tonight, and we'll go out for a drink and talk. Okay?"

Too stunned to do anything else, Blaine nods, swallowing a gulp of cold air.

"Okay," Finn says. "I'll see you tonight, then."

Before Blaine has time to process anything, Finn is gone.

It's only after what has to be at least a full minute that Blaine looks down at the business card in his palm:

Finn Hudson – Guidance Counselor
Marion-Franklin High School
Columbus, Ohio – (614) 365-2941
Go Red Devils!

After the day's rehearsal has let out (late), Blaine immediately leaves the theater and walks up 6th Avenue until he reaches West 56th, ignoring the bitter cold and leaving the Times Square Christmas tree behind without a second look. He finds the Kipling Pub nestled in between a salon and an Abercrombie & Fitch outlet and ducks inside, his heart thudding in the pit of his stomach.

The pub is crowded and a little noisy inside, but it doesn't take long for Blaine to spot Finn waving at him from booth at the back. Finn's on the phone as Blaine slides into the bench opposite him and orders a Samuel Adams from the waitress (there's already a beer sitting in front of Finn). He shoves his coat and bag into the corner of the bench next to him.

"…Hannah, it's just drinks with a friend, okay? Nothing crazy," Finn is saying, mouthing 'Sorry!' at Blaine as he holds the cell to his ear. "No, I'll definitely be back by then. …Yeah, okay, love you too." He hangs up with an apologetic shrug, dropping the phone into his jacket's inside pocket. "She gets a little nervous in big cities."

"That was your wife?"

Finn nods.

"How'd you two meet?" Blaine inquires, though he's pretty sure that Finn knows as well as he does that he's just afraid of asking for what he really wants to know.

"Uh, college," Finn answers. "Psych 101." He takes a sip from his beer.

Blaine falls quiet until the waitress sets a large foaming glass in front of him. He turns it slowly on the table with his fingertips, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Why did you lie, Finn?" he finally musters the courage to say.

Finn sighs, setting his drink down with a solid thunk. "I didn't."

Blaine frowns, more confused now than ever.

"Kurt's gone, Blaine," Finn says again. "I told you the truth."

"I don't understand."

"He's gone." Finn looks almost desperate, like he's begging for Blaine to suddenly comprehend so that he doesn't have to explain. "He… he started showing up less and less, and then he just… didn't come back. We haven't seen him in almost ten years."

Blaine shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for half a second. "B-but how is that possible?"

"I don't know, but he's been Andy for ages now."

"The other alters are gone?"

Finn scratches his temple, propping his elbow on the table. "No, some of them still show up sometimes, but… it's really rare now. The last time he transitioned was in March." He shrugs like it's not a big deal. "He's about as stable as he's ever going to get."

Blaine's skull feels drained. "He's not in the hospital?"

"No, he hasn't needed that since I was in college. He's got his own job and apartment and everything; we don't even lend him money."

"What does he do?"

"Freelance writing for a bunch of newspapers," Finn replies, sounding way more casual than is warranted. "He works from home."

"That's… good, I guess." Blaine doesn't know what else to say, so he falls quiet. The beer glass is cold against his fingertips, but his neck and shoulders feel hot.

After a minute, his phone beeps in his pocket and he digs it out, almost grateful for the distraction. A text from Roger illuminates the screen:

Hey where are you? You looked upset all day. Should I be worried?

Crap. He completely forgot to tell Roger he was going out after rehearsal, and now he feels like an ass.

"Sorry, just give me a sec," Blaine says to Finn, quickly typing out a response.

It's ok, I'm fine. I'm having a beer with a friend but I'll be home before midnight. Sorry I forgot to tell you – I'll talk to you when I get back.

He puts his phone off to the side, finally taking a gulp from his beer. It slides down his throat and sits in his stomach like lead.

"Finn, why were you trying to get rid of me?" Blaine forces himself to ask. "You could have just told me what was going on before Kurt showed up. I mean… it couldn't have been any worse, right?"

Finn swallows, looking down at the surface of the table. A muscle in his jaw tightens.

"What?" Blaine presses.

"Blaine, you—"

"What aren't you telling me?"

Finn lets out a heavy breath, his jaw clenching again for half a second. "Andy is short for Anderson."

Blaine stares at him. "…What?"

Finn remains silent, his mouth tight.

"He— I don't understand."

"Alters are sometimes based on real people, Blaine. It happens."

This… this is too much. Blaine's stomach is churning now, and his skull feels like it's just been electrocuted. "S-so… he's me?"

Finn shakes his head. "No, no, it's not— There's similarities, yeah, but…" He rakes his fingers through his hair. "I don't know; it's complicated."

"But… why?" Blaine has to ask.

"I don't know," Finn says honestly. "None of us do, but whatever reason Kurt had for creating Andy, it had to have been a good one."

Blaine wants to throw up. "N-No, I meant… why me?"

Finn pauses, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You made Kurt feel safe."

Hannah yawns as she knocks on the door to Andy's hotel room adjacent to hers and Finn's, pulling her hair back into a messy bun. Finn's still out for drinks with some old friend he said he'd run into, and she wants to call it an early night. "Andy?" she calls. "I'm going to head to bed."

There's no answer, and for a moment Hannah wonders if Andy decided to go out with Finn after all (she'd suggested it earlier but Andy just said he had a few articles to work on).

"Andy," she repeats.

She hears a strange thud from inside the room and frowns, a bad feeling suddenly tugging at the base of her skull. "Andy? Are you all right?" she calls, a bit louder. "Hello?"

Andy doesn't respond.

"Open the door, Andy," she orders, hoping he's actually there. She does understand that Andy doesn't technically exist, but she's known Finn's brother by that name for so long that she can't think of him as anyone else, even if the other people in his head show up on occasion. Hannah sends a quick prayer skyward in the hopes that Andy is still Andy, but from the way he's behaving, she doesn't think so. She can't imagine why a switch would have been triggered here and now.

"Andy!" she demands, jiggling the handle. She tries to think, and then remembers that Finn kept the extra key to Andy's room with him just in case this happened. She doesn't know if Finn has the key with him now, but she rushes back to her room to check anyways.

The key card is lying on the desk by the bed, and Hannah huffs in relief as she grabs it and hurries back down the hallway.

Swiping the card through the sensor, she pushes the door open and finds Andy sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. He's bent over with his head in his hands, as if he's suffering a migraine or he thinks his skull is about to burst.

"Andy?" she says. "What's wrong?"

Hannah circles around the room toward him, but he doesn't seem to hear her.

Reaching out, she puts a hand on his shoulder and repeats his name, only to have him leap back as if her touch had electrocuted him. He's on his feet now, breathing hard and his eyes wide in panic.

"It's okay!" Hannah promises, her hands raised. "You're okay."

Andy's eyes are glassy and confused, jumping around the room as if he's afraid of the very wallpaper. "Wh-who are you?" he stammers out, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar, pitched slightly higher than usual.

"Hannah," she says gently, her heart racing in her chest. "I'm Hannah, remember?"

He shakes his head.

Whoever she's speaking to now must be a personality she's never met, and that terrifies her. Finn told her years ago what to do if this ever happened – just act as calmly as possible, don't scare him, don't push him, don't touch him. She keeps her distance.

"What's your name?" she asks slowly, hoping for a name she's heard before.

He doesn't answer, hugging his chest and glancing out the window as if he's afraid it's going to break. He's still having trouble breathing.

"Can I get you some water? Anything that'll make you feel better?" she offers.

His eyes turn back to her, threatening to spill over. Hannah feels oddly like she's sitting on top of a bomb. When he speaks, he can't keep his voice steady.

"Where's my dad?" he wants to know, his ribs shuddering.

Hannah freezes. The only alter she's ever heard ask for Burt is Tyler. This isn't Tyler. "H-he's back at home," she stutters.

He doesn't seem to understand her. "Where's my dad?" he repeats.

"He's at home." Hannah chews on her lip. "Do you want me to call Finn?"

"F-Finn's here?"

"Yes, he is."

He sways on his feet for a brief moment, his eyes sliding shut. Hannah's starting to think that this is something she needs Finn's help with. Andy's never acted like this before; at least, not that she's ever seen.

"Andy?" she says again, although she's not sure what to call him at the moment.

He straightens up, his eyes opening as he blinks at her. "Crap, did I transition?" he asks, glancing between her and the door. His voice is back to its usual pitch.

"Y-yeah, you did," Hannah stammers.

"Crap," he repeats, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "Who was it?"

"I don't know."

Andy blinks in surprise. "You're serious?"

"Yes," Hannah insists. Her heart is still beating too fast. "I – I thought it was Tyler at first, but he didn't know who I was."

Andy stops, his brows pulling together and his eyes widening slightly. "I think you need to call Finn."

Finn returns to the hotel just past ten-thirty, sweeping the snow out of his hair as he takes the too-slow elevator up to the sixth floor. He got the call from Hannah just as he and Blaine were leaving the pub and rushed back to the Hyatt as quickly as the taxi allowed, and now he half-runs down the sixth-floor hallway until he comes to Kurt's room, rapping on the door with his knuckles.

Hannah opens the door, already in her pajamas with her hair tied up.

"Hey, is—"

"He's fine, he's okay," Hannah assures him quickly, stepping aside to let Finn pass.

Finn brushes by her, not bothering to take off his coat. Kurt is sitting on the end of his bed, leaned over with his elbows propped on his knees. "What happened?"

Kurt straightens up, rolling his shoulders back. "I'm okay, Finn," he promises, but he sounds tired. "I switched, and Hannah says it might be a new alter."

Finn turns back to Hannah, who's leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over his chest. "Are you sure?"

"No, not at all."

"But he didn't know who you were?" Finn asks, raking a hand through his hair in confusion. This shouldn't be happening. Kurt is stable. There hasn't been anything new since Andy appeared for the first time, and that was nine years and seven months ago (but who's counting?).

This vacation should have consisted only of Finn, his wife, and his brother enjoying the sights and sounds of New York. It was a Christmas present from Burt and Carole and is meant to be enjoyed fully. And yet in one day, Finn has to explain Andy's existence to Blaine Anderson, of all people, and deal with a new alter on top of that.

Hannah shakes her head. "No. He just asked for Burt."

Finn lets out a heavy breath, dropping into the chair by the desk and unbuttoning his coat. "Damn it," he says, because it's the most appropriate response he can think of.

"Finn…" Kurt starts, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't think it's a new alter."

Finn frowns in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… nothing feels different."

"Andy, this alter had no idea who Hannah was," Finn protests, gesturing to his wife, who shifts her weight nervously away from the wall. "She's met everyone else, so—"

"She hasn't met Kurt."

Finn freezes, his brain stem twisting at the base of his skull. "Andy, Kurt is gone."

Kurt makes a face. "You don't actually believe that, do you?" he demands, his tone turning harsh.

"He hasn't shown up in ten years!"

"People don't just disappear from their own heads, Finn," Kurt insists like he's offended, raising his voice to match Finn's.

Finn huffs, his lungs feeling a little too empty. "Okay, let's say you're right," he snaps, throwing his hands up. "Why would Kurt just suddenly come back like this? Why now? Where's he been?"

"Damn it, I don't know!"

"Guys, just calm down!" Hannah nearly shouts. Finn swallows and sits back, praying for the static in his nerves to go away. "Look, whether it was someone new or it was actually Kurt, chances are he's going to show up again. So what do you want to tell Burt and Carole?"

Kurt blinks in surprise. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would we keep any of this from them?" Finn agrees.

Hannah presses her lips together, tugging anxiously on a stray lock of hair. "Do you really want to tell Burt that Kurt might have come back, just to have Kurt never show up again?"

Finn exhales, feeling heavy. Hannah has a point. Burt might still work full time but his health isn't what it used to be and a blow like that would cripple him. "Crap," he says.

Kurt doesn't speak for several minutes, appearing deep in thought. Finally he runs a palm over his forehead, sounding almost guilty as he says, "I don't think we should tell them anything at all."

"Really?" Finn asks, because he can't quite believe that his brother would want to be that dishonest.

Kurt jaw tenses for a moment as he studies the carpeting. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't a new alter," he says. "And on the off-chance that Kurt doesn't come back again, I don't want to put Burt through that. He's already had to deal with me taking over."

Hannah bites her thumbnail, staying quiet. Finn pulls his fingers through his hair as he considers Kurt's argument.

"Okay," he says at last. "We don't tell my mom or Burt. But we need to pay close attention in case this happens again."

Kurt nods in agreement.

"I think we should probably get a good night's sleep," Hannah interjects quietly. "It's been a long day."

Finn stands up, finally taking off his coat and hanging it over his arm. He feels stretched out and fatigued, and he wants to wake up tomorrow morning and realize that this was all a dream.

"You going to be okay?" he asks.

Kurt nods. "I'll be fine."

Finn takes a deep breath, bidding Kurt a good night and following Hannah back to their own room next door.

He spends the rest of the night praying.

Blaine takes longer than is probably necessary to make it home to his apartment in Brooklyn, not sure if he's grateful that Roger waited up for him. He drops his coat onto the rack by the door, and goes immediately to the fridge for a beer. It's past midnight.

Roger drops the book he'd been reading and gets up from the living area couch. "Hey, you okay?" he asks, frowning in concern.

"Rough day is all," Blaine brushes him off, tossing the bottle cap into the trash.

Roger leans against the counter. "What's going on? You were completely out of it at rehearsal."

Blaine takes a dragging swallow from the bottle. "I, uh… ran into an old ex."

"Oh, yikes," Roger says, his eyebrows waggling like it's something to gossip about. "What happened?"

Blaine tugs his fingers through his curls. "I don't know."

Roger cocks his head to the side, seeming to pick up that Blaine doesn't want to joke about this. "Is that who you went out with?" His tone is curious but not accusative, which Blaine's glad for. Roger was never the territorial type.

"No, I went out with his brother."

"Why his brother?"

Blaine sniffs, lacking the vocabulary to explain this. Roger's watching him with an openly worried expression, and Blaine realizes with a start that Roger is roughly the same height as Kurt, with a similar flop of brown hair sticking up from his head. And even though Roger's facial features are entirely, completely different, Blaine suddenly feels nauseous.

"Blaine, what's going on?" Roger asks again, reaching over to squeeze Blaine's forearm.

"You, um… you remember I told you about the boyfriend I had in high school? Kurt?"

"The one who turned out to be crazy?"

Blaine bristles at that, slamming his beer onto the counter. "I never said that," he snaps. "I never said he was crazy."

Roger flinches, pulling his hand away. "Okay, I'm sorry." He frowns at Blaine for a minute, more worried than before. "And… you saw him?"

Blaine rubs his eyes. He's too tired for this. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I saw him."

"…Is he okay?" Roger hesitantly asks.

Blaine doesn't answer. "Let's just go to bed," he sighs instead, a hand on the back of his neck. "It's late."

Blaine's heart sits in his throat as Roger pulls their rental car to a stop by the curb in front of 59 Spencerville Road. He stares out the window at the house, surprised at how different it looks even though there haven't been many visible changes since the last time Blaine saw it. The porch bench is gone and there's a small plastic child's playground in the front yard, and Carole's garden has been expanded, although the leafless rosebushes are currently covered in a dusting of snow. Lines of sharp icicles hang from the porch trellis and from the edges of the roof.

"You sure you want to do this?" Roger says, resting his hands on the top of the steering wheel.

Blaine swallows. "Not at all."

He's spent the last week focusing on work and Christmas shopping with Roger without much time to think in between – which he's been glad for – but now that they've stopped in Ohio to visit Blaine's family for a day before heading to Wyoming, Blaine's mind can't stop reeling. His conversation with Finn replays in the back of his head again and again, and he hates it because it's Christmas and he should be concentrating on spending time with his family and his boyfriend and not worrying about something that's got nothing to do with him any more.

To be honest, Blaine doesn't even know why he asked Roger if they could make a stop by Kurt's old house.

"You know you don't have to, right?" Roger offers.

Blaine unbuckles his seat belt, nervously wiping his clammy palms on the knees of his jeans. "I'll be back soon."

Roger reaches over to give Blaine's wrist a comforting squeeze. "I'll be waiting right here."

"Thanks," Blaine says as he forces himself to step down out of the car. He shivers in the December chill, his breath fogging in front of his nose as he walks up the shoveled path to the front door.

He rings the doorbell once and waits on the porch with too much air trapped in his lungs.

The door opens, and Burt is suddenly standing there with an expression somewhere between surprise and apprehension. "Blaine?"

Blaine attempts an earnest smile. "Hi, Mr. Hummel."

Burt half-laughs, clapping Blaine on the shoulder. He still towers over Blaine, though the last fifteen years are written obviously into his face. "Jesus, kiddo, how the hell are you?"

"I'm good," Blaine assures him. "Just passing through, visiting my family. I'm actually catching a flight out in a couple hours, though."

"Well, it's really great to see you," Burt says honestly, a grin making the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Finn and Hannah told me they ran into you in New York. Sounds like you're doing all right for yourself."

"Yeah…" Blaine nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. His heart's still beating a little too fast in the tips of his fingers. "I, um… I was actually hoping I could see Kurt— uh, Andy— for a minute. Is he here? I don't know where his apartment is."

Burt's smile fades, his mouth twitching slightly. His arms cross over his chest. "Blaine, are you sure?'

"Look, Finn told me everything when we were in New York," Blaine says quickly. "I know what to expect."

Burt shakes his head. "No, I know what Finn told you. I'm not worried about Kurt; I'm worried about you," he replies frankly. "I know what Kurt meant to you."

"I'll be fine," Blaine promises. "I just want to see how he's doing."

Burt's mouth twitches again, and he lets out a sigh. "Okay. He's actually in the garage right now with Dylan. Take the path around; you can just walk in the door."

"Thanks."

"And hey, kid," Burt stops him as he turns to leave. "I'm really glad I got to see you."

Blaine swallows. "You too, Mr. Hummel."

"See you around."

Burt disappears back into the house as Blaine steps off the porch. He glances nervously toward the car, where Roger waves to him from the driver's seat, and walks along the pathway to the garage. There's a smaller door off to the side, next to the car entrance, and Blaine prays for his heart to slow down as he turns the doorknob and tentatively steps inside.

Blaine almost freezes to the spot. Kurt is bent over the open hood of an old car, wearing cargo pants and an oil-flecked white tank top. A little boy who Blaine recognizes from the picture Finn had in his wallet is sitting perched on the bumper, twisting a wrench around a bolt in the engine under Kurt's guidance.

"That's it, pull on it as hard as you can," Kurt coaches, his hand over the boy's fingers. "Good!"

The door clicks shut behind Blaine, and Kurt's head snaps up, blinking in surprise.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, I'm not sure if you remember me—" Blaine stammers, taking a step forward.

"Oh, Blaine, right?" Kurt straightens up, taking the wrench out of the little boy's hand and dropping it back into the toolbox. "We met in New York."

Blaine nods. "Yeah."

"You were great in American Idiot, by the way," Kurt says. "Your performance of Whatsername was phenomenal. Really."

"Thanks."

Kurt pulls the rag off his shoulder and wipes his fingers. The little boy remains sitting on the bumper, openly staring at Blaine. He's got the same dark, spiky hair as Finn and when Kurt lifts him off the car and sets him on the floor, he immediately wraps his arms around Kurt's leg, shying away from Blaine (although he's still staring). His stubby fingers clutch at the fabric of Kurt's cargo pants as Kurt's hand rests on top of his head.

"So… what are you doing here?" Kurt asks, absentmindedly rumpling the boy's hair.

Blaine rubs nervously at the back of his neck (he's sweating, even though it's not that hot in the garage). "I, uh… I was visiting my family. My boyfriend and I are on our way to Wyoming, and I just thought I – I'd stop by and say hi. Your dad— Burt told me you were out here."

Kurt nods, his mouth tightening briefly before he glances down. "Dylan, why don't you go find Grandpa," he suggests, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "See what he's doing."

"I want to work on the car!" Dylan protests, craning his neck to look up at Kurt.

"Later, okay? Go wash your hands and hang with Grandpa for a bit." He gives Dylan a little push, and Dylan glances one last time at Blaine before running up the steps the door into the house.

"Is this your car?" Blaine asks once Dylan is gone, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Yeah," Kurt nods proudly, giving the bumper a solid pat before he leans back against it. "1967 Pontiac GTO. Always wanted one." He shrugs. "I don't have a garage at my apartment, though, so Burt and Carole let me keep it here."

Blaine swallows, unsure of what to say.

Kurt scuffs the concrete floor with the toe of his boot. "Finn told me you were a friend of Kurt's, you know."

"…Oh?"

"I'm sorry, this must be really weird for you." Kurt's mouth crooks to the side like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't.

Blaine lets out a pained chuckle. "Bit of an understatement, yeah."

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have introduced myself so bluntly when we met," Kurt says, propping his hands against the car on either side of him. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Blaine replies, even though in the back of his head he's thinking it's really, really not.

There's an awkward silence, because Blaine honestly doesn't know what he can or should say and he could probably have thought this through more…

"Was… there anything you wanted to talk about?" Kurt prompts.

Blaine inhales slowly, suddenly feeling like his heart is beating too slowly. "Is there any chance that Kurt will come back?"

"Yeah, of course." Kurt's answer is sincere, but there's still something else that flits over his face.

"Really?"

Kurt shrugs. "You can't just erase someone like that," he says as if it's common knowledge. "It's impossible."

Blaine frowns. "Then why—"

"Look, um… Blaine," Kurt cuts him off, scratching at his temple with an oil-stained finger. "At this point, if Kurt somehow manages to come back, he's going to need a lot of therapy. You won't want to see him like that. It'll be hell all over again, whether or not he comes out of it in one piece."

"How do you know?"

Kurt gives him a look. "Why else would I be here?"

Blaine clamps his lips shut, his stomach twisting.

"Blaine, what happened to Kurt… some people can handle that stuff," Kurt sighs, sounding almost apologetic. "Some people can't. There's no shame in that. But I can promise you that if Kurt didn't need me, I wouldn't be here." Kurt bites his lip, looking sorry for what he's saying, but he continues. "I'm here so that he can function. And he does. And he knows it. But… he doesn't want to be himself."

There's a sharp rock in Blaine's throat, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it. "I don't understand."

"That's okay," Kurt says, instead of trying to explain.

Blaine looks back at the door for half a second, biting the insides of his cheeks. "Maybe I should go…"

"It's up to you."

Blaine tries to breathe without the air constricting in his chest, but it's a difficult task. The atmosphere feels thin. "I guess, then…" he starts, his voice wavering. "Goodbye." He turns toward the door before he allows himself to stay.

"Hey, Blaine," Kurt calls as Blaine pushes the door open. He stands up off the car.

Blaine feels like the shard in his throat is ripping his esophagus apart, but he stops.

"If Kurt wakes up, I'll have him give you a call," Kurt promises.

Blaine doesn't know if Kurt is telling the truth or not, but he nods and gives Kurt one final glance before swallowing everything he wants to say and stepping back out into the cold.

We're through with the past but the past isn't through with us.
Magnolia