The man was twisted horribly, splayed on the sidewalk outside the apartment building, eyes open and staring at nothing.

Blaine had been bent at the knee, examing the body from all angles as photos were snapped of the crime scene from all sides. Gently lifting the man's sleeve, he saw a number of oddly-shaped scars etched across the skin, and he recognized them as words--Sanskrit, actually, and there appeared to be several layers of them.

He heard footsteps approach and heard Mike's voice. "I'm gonna ask the tenants a few questions," he said, and Blaine nodded.

"By all means," he said, getting to his feet. "But I'm calling this a suicide already."
Returning to work shouldn't have felt as awkward as it did. Blaine slid into it naturally, regaining his old confidence easily, but it was difficult to shake the feeling of being scrutinized. Even Mike seemed slightly skeptical of him, and Blaine wondered how long it would be before that ended, and he could restore his reputation completely.

When he returned to the precinct later that afternoon he found an officer waiting for him in his office. The man was in full uniform, and was tall and broad with close-cut brown hair and a face that was normally good-natured but had turned quite surly.

Finn Hudson. Rachel's husband. Blaine's eyebrows lifted. "Can I help you, Officer Hudson?"

"Yeah." said Finn, and his voice was surprisingly harsh. He stepped closer, and Blaine could see his face more clearly-- He looked upset. "What's this about you opening up my brother's case? They caught the guy twenty years ago. Can't you leave well enough alone?"

Blaine was for a long moment, utterly nonplussed. Brother? "I beg your pardon?"

Finn shook his head, frustrated. "Kurt Hummel. My stepbrother."

Blaine felt his heart drop. Kurt had never mentioned having a brother. Honestly, Kurt hadn't mentioned anything about his life at all. It was horribly ironic, Blaine thought with a surge of guilt, that they'd spent more time discussing Kurt's death than they ever had his life.

"What were you trying to do?" Finn pressed on, clearly frustrated by Blaine's lack of response. "Going to see that Karofsky guy-- Did you learn anything?"

There was a terrible, terrible moment in which Blaine wrestled down the impulse to be honest--to tell Finn the truth, that his brother hadn't found justice yet, that three of his killers were still on the loose... Doing so would complicate everything, set it all back--and worse, disrupt the frail peace that Finn had undoubtedly been clinging to for twenty years.

Blaine couldn't bear to bring Kurt's family any more pain than they'd already experienced.

"No," he said simply. "I thought I had a lead, but I was wrong. Your brother's killer is dead, Officer Hudson. I'm sorry that I--"

"Save it," muttered Finn, and he turned on his heels and left. Blaine let his pen fall on the desk, and he sighed heavily. It was going to be a long day.

--

Dr. Rachel Hudson's office was well-lit and friendly as usual, and Blaine exhaled deeply upon entering it, shedding his coat and lowering himself on the couch opposite her chair. Rachel smiled at him in greeting, flashing pink lipstick and impossibly white teeth. If psychology hadn't been her chosen profession, Blaine was certain Rachel would have gone into show business; she'd succeed with her smile alone.

"It's nice to see you, Blaine," said Rachel, folding her hands and crossing her legs. "It's been a while. Busy with work, I take it?"

"Actually no," said Blaine, quirking a smile. "I've had a bit of time off, actually. That'll be why you haven't seen me-- I've been too busy relaxing."

Rachel laughed. "You seem more relaxed. Has the medication been helping, then?"


"What are those?"

Blaine could hear Kurt's voice behind him, but he was somewhere else. He hadn't seen Daniel--it had only been his own reflection in a window, but the jolt had been enough. Sweating and shaking, he scrambled to find his bottle of pills, and wrestled off the lid. It flew from his hands, landing with a clatter into the bottom of the sink.

"Blaine, what are you taking? Blaine!"

The pills had spilled every which way, and Blaine scrambled to push them into a pile on the counter before desperately grabbing two of them and shoving them in his mouth. Kurt had grabbed onto his arm, shaking him as he seized a glass of water and downed it.

"Why aren't you answering me?" Kurt was saying, and Blaine abruptly wheeled on him. The boy recoiled, looking frightened, but the intense look on Blaine's faced passed within a moment.

"Sorry," he said softly. "It's all right, Kurt. It's just my medication." Which I deliberately hadn't taken so I could call the ghosts. I'd begged Rachel for these and I didn't take them so I could voluntarily see what I'd been running from for years. So I could see Daniel--

"Don't... I thought..." Kurt looked genuinely distressed, and Blaine finished the sentence in his head. He reached out and patted Kurt gently on the side of the head.

"I'm not going anywhere, kid," he said softly. Not yet, anyway.


"Fine. They've been working fine."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "That's wonderful to hear, but I can't help but be skeptical, Blaine. You've been fidgeting a lot, and you keep on touching your index finger."

Blaine jumped a little and looked down at his hands, and sure enough, he found his hand wrapped tightly around his index finger. It pushed deep into Daniel's forehead, into the bullet hole, inside-- He released in quickly, feeling faint all of a sudden.

"A new tic, I guess," he said with a very forced laugh.

"Blaine," said Rachel softly. "Are you sure nothing happened? You haven't seen anything that's causing you anxiety? No...spirits?"

For a long moment, Blaine fought with himself. It would be so easy to tell her everything from the beginning--about Susan, about St. Teresa's, about Kurt. About Karofsky, about Lisbeth. About Daniel.

Instead, he leaned forward, tearing away his hand from his index finger again and folding his hands before him. "Well, something happened," he said. "Your husband talked to me today."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "And?"

"He seemed really upset," said Blaine, and sighed, crossing one leg over the other. He made sure to look agitated, as if his meeting with Finn had really gotten to him. It had perturbed him, certainly, but mostly because he wasn't sure why it happened. "He jumped down my throat out of nowhere."

"Oh," said Rachel, biting her lip. "Well, he's going through a rough time, with his father in the hospital. I'm sure you must have heard."

He hadn't. Blaine's eyes went wide and he quickly righted himself, unwilling to let his alarm and curiosity show. "Oh, no--I didn't. I'm sorry about that."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry he took it out on you," said Rachel, looking slightly uncomfortable. She cleared her throat, assuming the professional demeanor she'd had before. "Is that all you'd wanted to talk about today?"

Not really. I've watched two people die. I helped it happen. I saw my dead fiance. I have a young dead boy sleeping in my bed with me every night and like hell I don't feel something when he's there, something that hasn't been there in years and it fucking terrifies me--

"Yeah," he said softly, and smiled. "Yeah, that's it."

--

Blaine took the long way home, needing to clear his head. When he finally returned to the apartment, the thoughts were all but punched out of head by the rich, inviting scent of cooking food. Confused, he stepped into the kitchen area--only to find Kurt surrounded by pots and pans, humming quietly as he cooked.

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, confused and pleased despite the pain that stabbed through his heart at the sight. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Kurt wryly, raising an eyebrow. "I made you dinner. Chicken cacciatore. You had all the ingredients, so I assume you like it?"

"Yeah," said Blaine with a strained sort of smile, moving to sit at the table. Kurt already had a plate made for him, Christ-- The boy placed it before him, then stood there anxiously for a moment before Blaine realized he was waiting for him to take a bite. He did so tentatively, then raised his eyebrows.

"This is delicious," he said, and truly meant it. Kurt's face lit up with a brilliant smile, and Blaine couldn't take it anymore.

"Kurt...sit down with me?" he said softly after a moment, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Kurt looked pleasantly confused as he lowered himself in the chair opposite Blaine's, and Blaine sighed.

"Look... I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just--say it," said Blaine, hating that he had to do this when Kurt was finally something like happy. "But it's... It's about your dad."

The smile disappeared so quickly from Kurt's face that it was almost comical. "What?"

Blaine ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "I heard it from your brother's wife today. Your dad's in the hospital. She didn't say what for, but--but I thought you ought to know."

Kurt was quiet for a long time. His eyes looked intense, but not in the way Blaine usually saw them. There was something deeply emotional there, deeply protective and loving, and Kurt shook his head.

"His heart," he said softly, his sweet voice almost a whisper. "It's probably his heart."

Falling silent, Blaine just watched Kurt, eager despite himself to hear what the boy had to say about his family. He was interested in what Kurt's life was like, what kind of a person he'd been before the darkness had changed everything.

"I didn't know Finn got married," Kurt continued, watching his own hand as it opened and closed on the wooden surface of the table. "I hope he's happy."

"His wife is great," Blaine assured him, smiling a little. "She's my therapist, I know her really well. He's happy, I promise. It's just--you know, he's upset about your dad."

"I want to see him," said Kurt suddenly, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. Blaine could see the boy's eyes begin to moisten, and reached out to cover the small, trembling hand with his own. "I want to see my dad."

"We'll go," said Blaine softly. "I'll figure something out. Okay? Let's just-- You went through all this trouble to make this for me, why don't we just have dinner together?"

"You know I don't eat," said Kurt miserably, and Blaine squeezed his hand.

"Then just sit with me." Blaine replied. "I'll make everything okay. I promise."

--

It had been a bit of a job to track down Finn the next day. Blaine had his own work to do, after all, and Finn didn't work in the same department he did. Then, of course, there was the issue of Mike--and honestly, keeping things discreet in general. It seemed hopeless until Blaine was on his way out, and caught sight of Finn walking toward his car.

"Hudson!" Blaine called, his heart leaping into his mouth as he ran toward him. "Finn! Wait up--"

Finn turned and gave Blaine a bemused look, and Blaine plodded up to him, panting from the impromptu sprint. "Hey," he said breathlessly. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"Uhh, I'm married, dude," said Finn slowly and Blaine let out a shocked laugh.

"Oh, no--no, it's not like that," he babbled, waving his hands. "I just-- I wanna apologize for what I did, for opening up Kurt's case again. This'll really help clear my conscience. Just a half hour of your time?"

"Yeah," said Finn after a moment, shutting his car door after just having opened it. "Sure. You'll drive?"

"Sure," said Blaine, exhaling deeply in relief.

He headed straight for his favorite coffee shop, just a mile away from his apartment. It was buzzing with the usual crowd--workers on their lunch break, college kids, the occasional elderly couple. The windows were broad and let in plenty of sunshine, which Blaine liked. He bought two medium drips and took a seat near one of them, offering Finn the spot opposite him.

"So, uh...this is awkward," Finn mumbled.

"I... Finn, I really am sorry," said Blaine carefully. "I didn't mean to upset you, or drag up any bad memories or anything. I'm really torn up about it."

"Obviously," Finn replied, but he was smiling. "It's cool, dude. You were probably just trying to help or--whatever. I know you didn't do it for some kind of weird reason."

The smile went away almost as quickly as it had came. Finn's eyes were intense as he looked at Blaine across the small coffee table, and Blaine had to remind himself for a moment that Finn and Kurt weren't actually related by blood.

"Did he say anything?" Finn all but demanded. "That Karofsky guy. Did you get anything new out of him. or was it the same old bullshit?"

Blaine opened his mouth and closed it again, nonplussed. Finn sighed in frustration, sitting back in his seat.

"I always thought it was bullshit," he grumbled, staring out the window. "That he got put in the crazy house, that was that. He deserved the death penalty."

"If it's any consolation, he died a horrible death," said Blaine darkly.

Finn nodded, then took a hurried sip of his coffee as if just remembering it was there. A cloud passed overhead, obscuring the crisp sunlight, and Finn watched it sweep over the shop, a faraway look in his eyes. There was silence between them for a long time, in which Blaine was sure they thought about the same boy for entirely different reasons.

"I almost wished it would have been about something more," Finn said suddenly, surprising Blaine. "I didn't want to think that Kurt's life would just end because of some crazy pervert. But shit like that happens, I guess. The best people die and the sick bastards keep on living."

His face twisted up angrily as he stared at his cup of coffee, and Blaine wanted to tell him how much he understood, how much he knew. He kept silent, though, hoping Finn would go on to talk about his stepfather.

Instead, Finn fell silent again, focusing on his coffee. Blaine began to drink his own, and nearly spat it out when he saw Kurt standing next to their table. He tore his eyes away, hoping Finn didn't notice, and watched from his peripheral as Kurt lifted one hand to gently touch the hair on the back of Finn's head. The look on the boy's face was pained, horrible to behold, and Blaine couldn't look anymore.

The silence carried and Finn finally stood, and when Blaine looked back at him Kurt was gone. Blaine rose as well, disappointed that their coffee excursion had been a bit shorter than he'd preferred--there was still the drive home, though. All he needed was for Finn to say the name of the hospital where his stepfather was, and he'd go from there.

It was either a stroke of luck or something horrible when Finn's phone went off on their way out of the shop-- All Blaine knew was that one moment Finn was talking quietly on the phone and the next he was urging Blaine to drive him to Shell Valley hospital three towns away.

"Is it just up here?" Blaine asked as he drove as fast as he could, narrowly avoiding three red lights on the way.

Finn nodded, looking distressed. "Yeah. Shit, my mom said he flatlined. He flatlined, dude-- What if he dies?" He clapped a hand on his forehead, pale and sweaty. "What am I gonna do if he dies? What am I gonna do?"

Blaine didn't answer. He couldn't. All he could think about was Kurt.

--

The next hour was a blur. Blaine stood awkwardly nearby as Finn and his family comforted one another, the atmosphere tense and thick as the doctors did what they could for Mr. Hummel. They managed to stabilize him, but Blaine didn't let himself feel relieved just yet. He'd seen too much tragedy in his life to hope for a miracle.

He sat there in the waiting room an hour later, well away from the Hummel-Hudson family. Rachel had joined them, and he saw her throw him a glance from where she stood at her husband's side. He didn't meet her eyes.

Time dragged on, and Blaine sat there until he ran out of magazines to read. He got to his feet and began to walk, needing to stretch his legs. The hospital had grown quiet as they tended to do in the evenings, and Blaine got an odd chill as he thought about the last time he'd been in one.



"Blaine, come here."

His grandfather's eyes were wet with tears as he held out his arms, scooping Blaine into them and setting the small boy on his knee.

"Are mom and dad okay?" Blaine asked.

He hadn't been sure what was going on. He'd cried a little when his grandparents told him that his mother and father were very hurt, but had eventually distracted himself at the hospital with toys and coloring books. It was boring, but he'd been sure his parents would be okay. The doctors would fix them-- That was their job, right?

"The doctors did everything they could," said Grandpa, and Blaine shook his head. This couldn't be right. They couldn't be--


Blaine was pulled from his thoughts when he passed by an empty room and saw Kurt.

The boy was standing at the window, the soft light surrounding his figure, illuminating it. Blaine walked tentatively into the room, unwilling to startle him. He saw that Kurt was holding something in his arms--and upon closer inspection saw that it was a tattered stuffed animal, a teddy bear.

"Liza," said Kurt softly, suddenly. Blaine was silent, wondering what would come after that, and Kurt turned slowly to look at him.

"My teddy," Kurt explained, holding out the bear. "My dad gave it to me when I was three. They buried me with it."

Pain wrapped around Blaine's heart and he stepped closer, wanting to reach his arms around Kurt and hold him. He held back, giving the boy his space. He realized suddenly that the window was open, letting in a cold breeze that ruffled the thin white curtains.

"My body wasn't on display at the funeral, for obvious reasons," Kurt went on, holding the teddy close as he looked back out the window. "They made a little shrine instead, of pictures of me, and keepsakes." He pressed his lips together, his eyes wide and full of animal pain. "My dad cried so much. Finn led him out, because he just--broke down. I knew it would be too much for him, especially since he'd already lost my mom."

Blaine stepped closer, and tentatively put his hand on Kurt's shoulder. He winced. "You're so cold," he whispered, and pulled Kurt close. "Why are you always so cold?"

"I don't know," Kurt whispered, lying his head against Blaine's chest. He was quiet for a long time, just letting Blaine hold him, and then--

"After my mom died, my dad was my everything," Kurt said softly. "I was such a strange kid, such a handful, but even through high school--he always supported me. When the kids would call me names like--like queen or fag...when they'd throw me into lockers or push me around, he--he'd always be there. It was hard for him, having a son like me, but he did it. He was always cheering me on, no matter what."

Blaine felt Kurt begin to tremble in his arms, and he held him tighter just as he heard a flatline-- Shouting followed, and the sound of footsteps, and Christ, Blaine's life was full of the strange and the paranormal but never had anything seemed to surreal to him before. He stood in the empty hospital room, just holding Kurt as the boy began to cry in his arms.

"He's dying, isn't he?" Kurt whimpered, and Blaine just held him closer. The rest of the hospital was quiet, so the sounds from Burt Hummel's room rang loud and clear. He heard the shouts of 'one--two--three--clear!', the steady beeping from the heart monitor, the sound of Rachel's weeping in the distance. All the while he held Kurt tightly as the boy trembled harder and harder, whimpering like a frightened animal.


"W-wait-- They died? They're dead?"

"That's right, Blaine. It was real quick, the doctor said--"

"No! N-no, my mommy and daddy aren't dead! They wouldn't do that, they wouldn't leave me all alone-- I'm not listening to you!" He covered his ears, shouting as loud as he could. "I'm not listening to you! You're a liar and I hate you, I hate you--"


It was over, and Blaine's arms were empty. He looked around the room, vaguely panicked, and moved back out into the hall. There was silence but for soft voices and weeping from Burt Hummel's room, and there was a sudden loud THUD as Finn drove his fist into the wall.

Rachel intercepted Blaine before he could reach him. "You can head home," she said softly. "I'll take care of Finn. Thank you for driving him here. You've done more than enough."

Unable to speak, Blaine just nodded. He turned to leave. On his way out he passed a male doctor--presumably Burt's cardiologist--and caught sight of the nametag. His senses, well-honed from his career as an investigator, zoned in on Callahan.

Callahan.

Blaine turned. "Excuse me, sir," he said softly. "Could you tell me the time?"

The man looked confused but raised his wrist to check his watch--and sure enough, Blaine saw an arrow tattooed on the inside of it, small and black and vivid. Ordinarily he'd be struck blinded by his good luck--but as it was, he could only register it with vague detachment.

"Seven-thirty," said Callahan, then turned away. Blaine nodded and continued his journey outside the hospital, resolving to keep his discovery to himself until later.

He didn't need to search the hospital to know that Kurt wasn't there. He had gone.

--

"You've got something wrong, Blaine. Your parents are gone, but you're not alone. You're not alone, you hear me? And you never will be."

--

Blaine finished off another case of beer and lay back in his armchair, staring at the television without really watching it. Football had slowly dwindled from an obsession to a distraction in his mind over time, and now it was nothing but blurry shapes moving across a screen. He closed his eyes and felt himself drift off for a moment, then forced himself to stand up and walk to his bed.

He hadn't seen Kurt at all since he'd returned from the hospital, and he had no idea if he'd come to bed tonight. The thought made him feel vaguely lonely, but he was drunk enough that he'd sleep soundly by himself.

In his heart Blaine knew that Burt Hummel had moved on. Kurt must have known it too, for all the grieving he had done. Burt was there, the world that Kurt couldn't touch, couldn't see through a window like he could the world of the living.

Kurt would never see his father again.

Sighing, Blaine lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, holding himself back from falling into memories again. Instead he rolled to his side, took his pills and closed his eyes.

He drifted to sleep and back again, and felt a solid presence behind him when he woke. There wasn't the telltale warmth of a living body--just cold, as if a piece of the room at night broke off and lay beside him.

"Kurt?" he mumbled, his sleep-addled mind unable to process anything other than the boy's presence.

Kurt didn't answer. Instead, Blaine felt the boy's hand slide over his shoulder and down his arm, grasping his hand. Blaine rolled over, blinking his eyes, adjusting to being awake. The room was still dark--he'd only been asleep for a few hours.

"You okay?" he asked Kurt, his voice raspy, but Kurt remained silent. He just took Blaine's hand and settled it against his own face, sliding it gently down to his lips. Blaine's own lips parted as he lay there, drunk and half-awake, watching Kurt as the boy took one finger and slid it between his lips slowly.

It was fascinating. The inside of Kurt's mouth felt warm and wet, and Blaine felt a shiver roll over his body. He was in a daze, too out of it to speak, and he struggled to drag up the words to ask Kurt what he was doing or why he was doing it or to stop him-- But God, why would he stop him? Why would he do anything to stop Kurt taking that hand and sliding it over a pale length of neck, the perfect curve of a shoulder, slip it inside the collar of his shirt--

"Jesus, Kurt," Blaine slurred, unwilling to admit that his mind had taken this path several times long before his hand had. Kurt didn't know how often Blaine had thought about touching him like this, about holding and caressing and bending that sweet body of his, devouring him like a beast. Kurt didn't know because he wasn't supposed to know, this wasn't supposed to be happening--

"Do you want to fuck me?" Kurt whispered, though his tone of voice was all wrong. It was all desperation and pain, Blaine vaguely registered as Kurt's hand moved, sliding down Blaine's abdomen and touching the front of his pants, ghosting over his length--

"I-- Kurt," said Blaine, pulling away abruptly. "Kurt, I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but this won't-- We can't do this, all right?"

"Why not?" Kurt demanded, kneeling on the bed, his shirt sliding off his shoulder and revealing glowing skin that Blaine ached to touch again. "I see the way you look at me. I know you touch yourself and think about me. Don't act all noble, like you're trying to protect me or something--"

"Kurt, you're sixteen--"

"So what?" said Kurt shrilly, and he wasn't playing at being seductive anymore. Instead blood beaded around his eyes were tears should have been, his expression wild with such pure unadulterated hurt that Blaine would have done anything to make it go away. "Are you afraid you'll hurt me? Do you honestly think you can hurt me any more than I've already been hurt, Blaine?"

Blaine was at a loss for words. He just stared at Kurt, watched the beads of blood slide down over the boy's pale cheeks, and resisted the urge to brush them away.

"Kurt," he said finally, feeling utterly stupid. "You're beautiful. You're perfect, I just..."

"You just what?" Kurt demanded, his eyes cutting through the darkness and straight through Blaine's breastbone, peeling layers off his heart. Blaine felt tears begin to build in his own eyes, and he shook his head.

"I don't want to ruin you," he said at last, and there was silence. Kurt got to his feet, brushing the bloody tears off his cheeks with his fists, looking horribly young. When he turned to look at Blaine, though, there was something deeply ageless about him. Something dark, something broken.

He said, "I'm already ruined."

There was a horrible pause in which Blaine couldn't think of a single thing to say, and he waited too long. Kurt got out of the bed and went for the door, and Blaine couldn't tell if he were leaving the room or leaving the world for a while.

Both prospects hurt far too much.