Blaine didn't see Kurt for a whole week after that.

He kept to his own business, investing himself in work as he'd always done, and managed to restore his reputation by promptly and smoothly closing a missing persons case. Things should have been going perfectly, but Blaine couldn't stop thinking about Kurt.

What--were they, anyway? Their relationship had been inappropriate from the start, Blaine had known that, but he'd let it go on nevertheless. Am I really that desperate? he thought bitterly as he sorted files at his desk. Am I so lonely and horny that I'm willing to jump in bed with a teenager who's been dead twenty years?

The thoughts were gone as soon as they arrived. Thinking about Kurt that way didn't do the boy justice at all. Kurt was--incredible. Despite the horrors he'd seen and the murders he'd committed (though Blaine had a hard time thinking of them as murders--murders were what he dealt with every day, murders happened to the innocent), Kurt remained the purest soul Blaine had ever known. He thought about the boy's smile, his laugh, the way his eyes could go from so cold to so soft in a nanosecond... He thought about the way he'd protected Blaine from Daniel, comforted him, cooked for him... He thought about the way Kurt's skin felt, so fucking soft and smooth--

He sighed heavily, kneading his forehead as Mike walked into the room. "Still on for tomorrow night?" asked his friend, handing him a cup of coffee.

Blaine was silent for a moment, wracking his brain. Tomorrow night, tomorrow night... Oh. The New Year's Eve party.

"Yeah, definitely," Blaine replied. "I'll be there."

"All alone?" said Mike, raising his eyebrows. "Man, that's so depressing. You and I should hit the bars soon, see if we can score you some--"

"It's fine, Mike," said Blaine rather sharply. "I'm fine, thank you."

"No you aren't," said Mike firmly, leaning against his desk, coffee in hand. "You're a mess. I know I tell you every day, but you look like shit, Blaine. I know you're drinking again--"

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"Right, and that's why you look like you're going to fall over right now," Mike drawled. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I just think you ought to try and get out there again, meet someone. You might think the life of a loner suits you, but I know better. You're happiest when you've got someone to take care of, someone who'll take care of you."

"Thank you, Doctor Love," Blaine mumbled, but he felt a dull ache in his heart. Mike was right, he knew that. But Blaine didn't want to log onto a dating site, go to a singles bar, a gay club. He didn't want anything like that.


He woke up to the sweetest music he'd ever heard. Tugging a shirt on with his pyjama pants, he stepped out onto the balcony of his apartment, where Kurt stood singing with his back to him.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the song until it was done, then stepped up behind Kurt.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "That was The Beatles, right?"

"Mmhm," Kurt replied, and turned to smile at Blaine. "My mother loved them. Whenever I heard them playing in the house, I knew she was in a good mood." He looked back out over the city, watching a few birds flutter up from the street below. His hair fluttered in the wind, and Blaine watched him, breathless.

"Kurt..." he said softly after a long moment. "I should tell you... Thank you."

Kurt looked up at Blaine again, brow furrowed in polite confusion. Blaine stepped closer, feeling foolish for some reason he couldn't pinpoint. It was easy to feel like a clumsy, awkward human next to someone like Kurt.

"For protecting me, from--from Daniel," Blaine continued, his voice soft. "I couldn't--" He shook his head, shivering. "I just..."

Saying nothing, Kurt just reached out a hand, touching Blaine's face softly, sweetly. There was silence between them, but it spoke more than words ever could. Kurt trailed cool fingertips over Blaine's cheek, mimicking tears, then drew them back.

"Come watch the birds with me," he said softly, and moved to the railing again. Blaine walked up behind him, hesitated, then wrapped both arms around Kurt's small waist. The boy leaned back against him, and they watched the sun rise together.


"Blaine?" asked Mike after a moment. "Did you hear anything I just said?

Blinking, Blaine looked at his friend and vaguely realized he'd been talking. "Uh--no, not really, come again?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "There's this guy Tina knows-- I wanna introduce you to him. He'll be there at the party, and I'm pretty sure he's into guys."

"You know, that's not my only criteria," said Blaine dryly.

"Well, no offense, but you've lost the right to be picky," said Mike, and patted Blaine on the shoulder as he walked out. "I'll see you then, all right? Eight o'clock. Dress nice."

"Yeah, okay. See you then."

--

In the time leading up to the party, Blaine researched everything he could about Robert Callahan. A large part of him kept asking Why bother?, but he shut it down by reminding himself that Kurt simply had no one else to help him. Regardless of how he felt about Blaine when he did, the boy would be back--and Blaine had to be ready for when he did.

Unlike with Lisbeth, there was plenty of information about Callahan readily available. He was a rather high-profile cardiologist, after all, with an excellent reputation and a flawless track record.

Except, you know, for the fact that he assisted in the brutal rape and murder of an innocent boy, Blaine thought, stomach twisting in anger as he printed out an article.

While he waited for the document to print he got up and went to the kitchen for a beer. As he wandered into the living room to drink it, he spotted a small object on his couch that hadn't been there before. Frowning, he moved toward it, and reached down to take a soft, tattered brown teddy bear into his hand.

Liza, he thought, and set down his beer, lowering himself down onto the couch with the bear in his hands. He stared at it for far too long for it to have been entirely sane, his thoughts drifting, oscillating between the past and the present.

In the past, he'd helped ghosts out of a sense of duty, an obligation to serve the dead in ways he couldn't help the living. He'd only ever seen the ghosts of his parents once--he assumed they'd moved on from there--and he'd taken it as a sign, an indication that his gift was meant for more than he could understand at such a young age. When he'd met the little ghost girl in the park. he'd agreed to help her without even thinking about it, not really-- He remembered approaching the girl's father to tell him that she'd died, and how the man had immediately chased him away, grief-stricken and infuriated. To this day Blaine wondered if he should have just kept quiet.
Becoming a detective could have been a vocation, an obligation born from a subconscious desire to please his parents--or else it could have just been a way for Blaine to try and dig further into his gift, try and make it mean something, and in turn give himself some sort of direction in life. The more Blaine thought about it the more pathetic he felt, and he leaned against the back of the couch, unconsciously holding the bear closer.

Kurt.

Kurt should have been just another lost soul for Blaine to try to guide, another attempt to scratch away at his gift, his curse and find its purpose-- But he wasn't. Kurt was different in every possible way. Kurt didn't need a hand to guide him, words to calm him. Kurt didn't need a savior. Kurt's soul burned with more life than Blaine had ever seen, passion and drive and determination that towered over the boy's small frame. Kurt was complicated and angry, beautiful and terrifying, frail and impossibly strong.

Kurt was everything Blaine wasn't.

Yet, for all the power the boy seemed to possess, he had chosen Blaine--not only as someone to help him, but something more than that. He thought about the way Kurt had tried to hold his hand in the park that one day, had curled up against him in the hospital as his father passed--and then what had happened after, the heat and desperation and loneliness--

Was that all they were? Two lonely souls from both sides of life who happened to run into one another? If so, was there really anything fundamentally wrong with that?

Staring down at the bear, Blaine smoothed his thumb over its tattered fur, the button eye that was threatening to pop off.

He sat like that for a while.

--

Blaine found it highly ironic that the first snowfall of the season would occur on the day of his journey to Mike and Tina's townhouse for the party, and he played his Roxy Music album on repeat as he navigated the steady onslaught of white. He arrived an hour behind schedule, and shook the snow from his curls before stepping up to ring the doorbell.

A very round, very cheerful Tina answered the door, and her smile was infectious. Blaine leaned over to give her a hug, wrapping his arms around her enormous middle.

"Still hanging out in there, huh?" he joked, and she laughed.

"I'll probably be induced," she replied as she welcomed him in and took his coat. "But I wanted to hold out just a little longer, so she can be a New Year baby."

"Hey, look who showed up!" came a jovial voice from down the hall. Mike immediately grasped Blaine in a firm hug, and Blaine saw a tall man approach from behind his friend. He was handsome and well-dressed, but his good looks were slightly marred by the pompous smirk he wore.

"Come on into the kitchen, I'll get you a drink," Mike was saying. "Oh, and-- Blaine, this is Sebastian. Sebastian, Blaine."

Blaine offered his hand pleasantly for Sebastian to shake, and the taller man's smirk didn't budge as he took it. Blaine wondered what his problem was.

"I'll get drinks--you two get to know each other," Blaine heard Mike say, and realized unpleasantly that this must have been the guy Mike was trying to set him up with.

"So, Detective Anderson," Sebastian drawled as Mike disappeared into the kitchen. "I've heard a lot about you. You're the one that found that missing woman a few years ago, right?"

I've done a bit more since then, Blaine thought, but he nodded. Sebastian grinned, sipping at his merlot, and Blaine saw his eyes dart up and down Blaine's body in a display that couldn't have been meant to be discreet. And Mike was 'pretty sure' he was into guys?

"Very admirable," Sebastian continued, raising his glass. "As a defense attorney I can respect that, the work you do. Keeps me employed."

Blaine wasn't sure if Sebastian had meant that to be a joke; regardless, he didn't laugh. He merely excused himself for the moment, wandering toward the hors d'oeuvres. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he'd do anything to get away from Sebastian.

That proved far easier said than done. Hours passed and he found himself desperately needing a cigarette, and he was willing to step outside in the snow to have it. Thankfully, the cold made sure he'd be alone as he stepped out the door to the backyard, and he was grateful to find that the snow had stopped falling.

The backyard was a sight to behold. It was a sizeable stretch of land surrounded by wooden fence on all sides, peppered with clusters of pine trees all draped with strings of colorful lights. A blanket of white had settled cleanly over everything, and Blaine enjoyed the peace and quiet as he lit up his cigarette, stepping away from the house and into the snow.

He smoked quietly for a few blissful moments until he saw something moving in the corner of his eye. Having moved away from the noise of the party, he could hear a faint humming, sweet and melodic and haunting.

As it grew clearer Blaine realized that it was singing, a singing voice, and he knew it all too well. He lingered near the side of the house, smiling as he watched Kurt materialize from a distance. The snow had started lightly falling again, and Kurt was dancing around in it, spinning and singing and laughing. The boy twirled and caught snowflakes on his tongue, dressed in white, a sheer silvery shirt loosely falling over his shoulder as he danced.

"You're not cold?" asked Blaine softly after the song was done, and Kurt turned to look at him for a long moment before extending his hand. Blaine walked tentatively forward and took it, and found that it was warm--much warmer than the boy's skin had ever felt before.

Blaine looked back up at Kurt's face, surprised, and Kurt smiled--and then he disappeared.

Startled, Blaine looked around, then gasped as he felt something cold and wet hit the back of his head, knocking off his hat. It took a moment for him to recover--but when he did, he was laughing despite himself, scooping up a handful of snow to throw back at Kurt, who was hiding near a pine tree.

With a whirl Kurt was gone again, just as Blaine packed another snowball. "That's not fair!" he laughed, just as another snowball hit him in the knee. "Hey! You little--"

Kurt laughed, and Blaine heard the sound nearby-- He retaliated by grabbing the boy around the middle, holding him tight. "I've got you," he murmured in Kurt's ear, breathing him in for a second--the feel of him in his arms, his warmth--and then he was gone again.

Alone again for the moment, Blaine stepped toward a nearby oak tree to pick up his hat. He brushed the snow off of it and put it back on, and in doing so noticed Kurt perched on one of the branches above him. Blaine sighed, leaning against the trunk of the tree, watching as the snow fell steadily around it.

"Kurt," he said softly as the boy hummed softly above him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to chase you away."

"You don't need to explain," said Kurt lightly, dusting snow off his sleeve. "I'm dead, you're alive. You have standards, I get it."

Blaine laughed despite himself, but shook his head. "It's not that," he said truthfully, staring at the multicolored lights as they spread beautiful colors over the blanket of snow. "I think I'm-- I'm scared. You know how my last relationship went, and you're--"

"Dead? Too young? Damaged goods?"

"--perfect," said Blaine, closing his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. "You're perfect. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's damaged goods. But maybe we both are."

Things were quiet for a second, and Blaine realized Kurt had disappeared again. Instead of sitting on the tree branch, Kurt was sprawled out on the snow near a cluster of pine trees, the lights shining brilliantly over his skin. He made a snow angel as Blaine approached him, staring up at the branches splayed above him, and Blaine moved to lie down next to him. The snow was cold and bled into the fabric of his coat, but Blaine didn't care.

"The lights are so beautiful," said Kurt softly, reaching up to touch one.

"You're beautiful," said Blaine.

"That's so corny," laughed Kurt, and Blaine rolled over. He positioned himself on top of Kurt, looking down at him, shielding him from the falling snow. Gently he leaned down, nuzzling the boy's neck, praying that he wouldn't disappear again.

"I don't know what changed," Blaine murmured against Kurt's startlingly warm flesh, gravitating toward it. "But being without you-- I don't think I can do that. I don't know how I did it before."

He pulled away slightly, biting his lip, and found Kurt's intense eyes fixed on him, saw the dazzling lights reflected in them.

"I don't know what I want," he continued, speaking as though reaching in his stomach and tearing a piece off, bearing it raw and bloody before the boy underneath him. "Or how I feel. I just know that--you're mine. You're just mine."

Kurt's lips turned up softly into a smile, but he didn't speak. Instead, he closed his eyes for a few moments, black lashes splaying against his pale cheeks. Somewhere--from inside the house, probably--people had started counting down. Oh, right. It's New Year's Eve, Blaine thought vaguely, but all he could see was Kurt. Kurt was everything.

'Ten... Nine... Eight...'

"It's scary," Kurt said finally, "when I close my eyes. I can't close them for too long or else I fall somewhere dark. It's like dying all over again."

'Seven... Six... Five... Four...'

Pain wrapped around Blaine's heart and he nodded, leaning close. "Then just look at me, baby," he whispered softly, so close now that his lips were brushing Kurt's. They were so soft. "Just look at me..."

'Three... Two... One!

Their lips met just as the shouts of 'Happy New Year!' were drowned out by distant fireworks, and Blaine couldn't tell if they were real or in his head. He kissed Kurt slowly, lying there in the snow, hidden away in the branches of the pine tree. Kurt's mouth was like nothing he'd ever tasted before, the cleanest purest taste he could think of, untouched by anything--and God, he thought, he'd never consider this boy damaged goods, there was nothing damaged or broken or ugly about him, nothing at all...

If there was a world outside the kiss Blaine didn't know about it. Kurt was responding with soft, sweet, curious little kisses, his tongue playfully darting in every so often, a temptation. Blaine played along for as long as he could, then forced himself to pull away slowly.

"Will I see you tonight?" he asked, trailing his knuckles against Kurt's cheek. His answer was an impish little smile, and then his hand fell forward in deep snow.

Kurt was gone.

Blaine felt a stab of frustration that lasted all of a second, then shook his head, laughing. Slowly he got to his feet, brushing off his clothes, then turned to head back toward the townhouse. As he rejoined the party, he tried not to look as though he'd finally felt happiness for the first time in years.

"Hey, where you been?" asked Sebastian as Blaine walked back in, stomping snow off his shoes. "You missed the countdown."

"Oh did I?" said Blaine distractedly, absently wandering toward the punch bowl to spoon himself a cup. Sebastian followed him, smirk still stubbornly in place.

"Lucky for you I don't mind being a little late," said Sebastian, stepping close to Blaine and leaning close, invading his personal space.

Blaine took a step back just in time for the punch bowl to somehow move several inches across the counter top, squeaking as it went--all before tipping over, splashing all over Sebastian's expensive-looking jacket. The tall man swore loudly as Tina rushed toward him with towels, thankfully creating enough fuss so that Blaine's laugh went unnoticed--

--and so that he could watch Kurt, whistling innocently as he moved away from the counter top, giving Blaine a fey smile before disappearing again.

--

"Dr. Robert Callahan."

Blaine handed Kurt the stack of papers he'd printed, and Kurt held them delicately, paging through them slowly.

"You take a look at those, okay?" Blaine told him from where they both sat on the bed. "I'm gonna shower, all right? I'll be right back, promise."

Standing under the hot water did wonders for his aching muscles, and Blaine wondered if this was what it felt like to get old. He'd forgotten, really, when he'd been out in the snow with Kurt the night before, and everything had felt so pure and new. Those two words hadn't been a part of his life for a long, long time.

Dressed in his pyjamas, Blaine walked back into the bedroom to find Kurt naked on his bed.
It took every ounce of self-control he had not to stand there and gape. "Kurt," he sighed heavily, walking toward where the boy lay on his front on the bedspread. He climbes onto the bed beside him, but he didn't lie down.

"Yes?" said Kurt innocently, and Blaine gave in for the moment. He reached out a hand, trailing it slowly over Kurt's back--the smooth skin, the sharp shoulder blades, the sweet curve of his spine. His fingers lingered on the scar there, tracing it slowly. He let them trail back up, and Kurt arched into the touch like a cat, practically purring.

Blaine leaned in, pressing gentle kisses against Kurt's shoulders and the back of his neck. "You're beautiful," he said again, murmuring against the boy's skin, as if he couldn't get enough of it. "But..."

He pulled away, lying down on his back beside Kurt, and reached up to trail his fingertips over the boy's cheek. "I think we should wait a little longer, sweetheart," he said softly.

"For me?" said Kurt, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"For me," Blaine replied firmly.

Sighing, Kurt acquiesced, rolling over and tugging the blankets over himself. Grateful that the distraction was, for the most part, gone, Blaine got up from the bed again to start rummaging through the closet. Kurt watched from where he was burrowed in the bedclothes, wide-eyed and curious as Blaine pulled a large box from one of the shelves.

"What are those?" Kurt asked as Blaine pulled out two framed photos and set them on his nightstand.

"Pictures of my parents," Blaine replied. "My mom and dad, right here. See them?"
Kurt wriggled closer to take a look, still wrapped up in the blankets. Only his head and fingertips were visible, really, and it was adorable. Blaine smiled despite himself.

"It'll be the anniversary of their death in a couple days," he continued. "I only put their photos out for that. Otherwise I just..." He shrugged. "I guess I'm not all that sentimental."

"How'd they die?" asked Kurt as Blaine climbed back up onto the bed. He lay down on his back, holding out his arm so Kurt could curl up against him. He held the boy close, pleased to find that he still felt warm to the touch.

"Drunk driver," Blaine muttered, trailing his fingers through Kurt's hair. "It's stupid, right? I wanted so bad for it to be some evil villain that I could track down, get my revenge, but... It was just some teenage girl who drank too much at a party and slipped on the ice."

"It's still horrible," said Kurt, looking up at Blaine from where he was curled up against the older man's chest. Blaine leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

"I know," he said softly. "But I was so young. I grew up so bitter. I loved my grandparents, but..." He shrugged again.

There was a long pause, then Kurt asked, "Have you ever...seen them?"

Blaine hesitated for a while before answering. "Only once," he said. "They appeared to me only once. I think they were trying to comfort me one last time before--"

"Before moving on," Kurt finished.

Blaine nodded before falling silent, just closing his eyes and holding Kurt. He couldn't describe the way the boy made him feel--the sheer comfort that came from having a warm body pressed against his own. It was probably pathetic, Blaine thought, but he latched onto it anyway, breathed in this boy who had stolen his heart so easily and so completely.

"You'll see them again someday," whispered Kurt after a long stretch of silence, and Blaine merely nodded, cuddling him closer.

He hoped so.

--

On the anniversary of his parent's death, Blaine took Kurt to find Robert Callahan.

It had stopped snowing and the sun was shining brightly as Blaine drove well out of the city toward the other side of town. The scenery went from a forest of tall buildings to a stretch of greenery giving way to an upper-class development, and Blaine felt odd departing the urban climate he knew so well.

The sense of discomfort grew as they drove into the development, slowly approaching Robert Callahan's townhouse, and Blaine realized it had nothing to do with homesickness. It had been one thing to venture into the middle of nowhere in pursuit of Lisbeth, but this--

This was a normal, friendly neighborhood. He could see a bundled-up couple walking their dogs, an elderly man taking out the trash, a teenage boy shoveling leftover snow off the driveway, and--children. Children were everywhere, joyfully playing with what was left of the snow, sliding around on the ice, laughing...

Blaine saw a group of them--two little girls with long brunette hair and an older boy--depart from where they'd been bulding a snowman to run back into their house. Blaine slowed down and checked the directions he'd written, and he felt his stomach twist horribly. He stopped the car.

"What is it?" asked Kurt, frowning. Blaine had gone horribly pale.

"He has kids," he said softly, shaking his head, brows knotted together. "Callahan has kids."

"And?" said Kurt, raising his brow, looking both confused and frustrated. Blaine took the car out of park again, turning around in a cul de sac.

"What are you doing?" Kurt said incredulously, holding on as the car jerked sharply.

"I'm not doing this," said Blaine, shaking his head. "I'm not-- How insane would it look if I just went in there and Callahan ended up dead? I won't get off with a murder charge again. No, I-- I'll just park the car in that other development, wait for you."

Kurt fell silent as Blaine pulled the car around and drove it to the next development over, parking it near a few trees. He lingered after Blaine shut off the car.

"You're not...gonna leave, are you?" asked Kurt after a long silence.

"No," Blaine sighed, his stomach twisting again as he saw another child traipse by. "No, baby, I just-- Christ, he has kids."

"I don't care if he has kids," said Kurt, frustrated. "Did you forget what he did to me, Blaine?"
"No," Blaine repeated, holding his head in his hand. "No, just-- Please, just go do it. Make it quick. I'll wait here for you, all right?"

Kurt hesitated for a long moment, then Blaine blinked and he was gone.

Blaine took a deep, deep breath, trying to hold himself together. His chest kept on tightening though, and he felt like he couldn't get enough air, and Christ what was he doing? What were they doing? There had been that reprieve, those moments of sweetness that had distracted him from everything, and now he was thrust back into it, and--

Karofsky had been an evil rapist. Lisbeth had been cruel and without remorse. Watching them die hadn't been easy, but--but this was different. This was in this man's home, that he shared with his family-- Blaine's hand flew to the door handle for a split second as he very nearly left the car to run to Callahan's house, to warn him somehow, before sense returned and he remembered just why Kurt was doing this.

He turned the keys so he could flip on the radio, desperately searching for a way to distract himself. No matter what song he turned to, however, he could keep the memories from flooding his mind.


"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--"

He ran away from his grandfather then, stumbling toward his parents's hospital room, trying to budge his way inside. His mom and dad had to be there, sick and hurt but alive, waiting to see him-- He'd make them feel better, he knew it.

"Mommy? Daddy--"

"Get him out of here," he heard someone hiss, but not before he struggled past a nurse to get a glimpse of his mother's face.


Blood.

Blood.

Kurt had materialized in the passenger's seat again, and he was covered in it. That wasn't how it had been before. David had died a fair distance away, as did Lisbeth--so why was Kurt covered in blood this time?

And why was Blaine panicking at the sight of it?

Silent for the time being, he started up the engine, driving out of the development and back onto the road as quickly as he could. He was sure police cars would be arriving there shortly, and he wanted to be as far away from the area as possible.

They drove for at least an hour in silence before Blaine finally spoke.

"What did you do?" he asked, his voice quiet and strangely monotone. Callahan had deserved it, whatever it was, he told himself. Seeing Kurt covered in blood was a sickening reminder of what his body had looked like in those photos, after all.

Kurt settled back in the seat, breathing slowly, looking pale and shaken but justly satisfied. He was silent for a long moment before said, "I ripped their heads off."

Blaine's heart stopped. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, causing the wheels to screech horribly, and turned on Kurt. "Their?"

"Robert Callahan," said Kurt softly. "And his wife, Ellen. They were both on Lisbeth's list. They both had the arrow tattoos. So they both had to die."

Another horrible silence descended upon them, and Blaine could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

'I ripped their heads off.' How? Had he done it in the house? Had the children been there? Christ, had they--had they walked inside the house just to see their parent's bodies, their disembodied heads lying on the kitchen floor, eyes still open, mouths lolling--


"Get him out of here," he heard someone hiss, but not before he struggled past a nurse to get a glimpse of his mother's face.

Blood. it was covered in blood, and gashes, and her eyes were open and glassy-- The nurses were covering her with sheets, why were they doing that?

He was being pulled away, or maybe he wasn't. He might have been screaming; he didn't know anymore. Nothing existed in his world except for his mother's face, raw and bloody, her eyes staring--blank, when they should have been fixed on him, crinking with a smile, telling him everything was going to be all right...


"Go," said Blaine. "Leave. Now."

Kurt stared. "What? Why?"

"Just go!" Blaine shouted in a strangled voice, and a in a split second Kurt was gone. Nothing remained. no bloodstains on the upholstered seats of the car, and Blaine could have been yelling at nothing. Maybe he had been.

Starting up the car, Blaine dragged his hand through the tears on his face before turning on the ignition.

--

Blaine started drinking as soon as he got home.

He polished off his last case of beer, then started in on the half-empty bottle of vodka he'd stashed in his bedroom. One shot, and then another, and he could no longer see straight. The world swayed before him, his mind hanging somewhere he couldn't reach, and he waited for the apathy to come.

It didn't.

Regardless of how many times it happened, Blaine never grasped the concept that he was an angry drunk, that alcohol amplified his emotions rather than dulled them down. Several vicious arguments with Daniel were a testament to that--and yet Blaine always found himself reaching for the bottle as a crutch, as the only thing that took his anger and pain and did something with them.

He stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and-- Christ, he was drunker than he thought. Swaying, he grabbed hold of the wall to steady himself as he tried to focus on getting to the end--but there was nothing at the end. It was all black, and someone was standing there blocking his way.

"Kurt," he growled. "Move out of the way."

There was no response, and Blaine vaguely wondered if he was actually seeing Kurt at all. The figure of the boy drew closer, though, and Blaine felt his anger rise. He didn't even know why.

"Move!" he repeated, raising his voice--but then Kurt's hands were on his arms, steadying him, and he could hear Kurt's voice over the sound of his head pounding.

"You need to sit down," Kurt was saying. "You had too much, okay? Come on..."

"Jesus," Blaine groaned as his world swayed. He felt vomit climb up in his throat and he swallowed it back down, and he let Kurt guide him into the living room before he realized what he was doing.

Kurt lowered him into a chair and turned away, and Blaine abruptly seized the boy by the wrist, dragging him back.

"I tol' you t'go," he slurred, squeezing Kurt's wrist way too hard. "Why're you here, you-- You killed--their parents, m'parents..."

He was obviously babbling, and Kurt recognized it as such. The boy reached down to try and wrench his arm free from Blaine's grasp, but then Blaine just grabbed the other wrist and held it just as tightly. There was a split second of stillness before Blaine was moving, anger flying up from where he'd set it loose, overcoming him, completely obliterating his senses. Somehow he ended up on the floor, pinning Kurt with his body, his hands ripping at the boy's clothes.

"Blaine, stop!" Kurt might have been crying out, but Blaine wasn't listening. His hands groped and pulled, tearing Kurt's shirt open roughly.

"This is what you want, isn'it?" Blaine was growling, his hand now clumsily working at his own belt buckle. "What you always fuckin' want--"

He couldn't see anything but a blood-soaked face, staring eyes, and the picture he had on his bedside table, that he'd completely forgotten about because of this boy, this goddamn kid who was killing people and ripping their heads off and Christ, this stupid kid that he loved more than his parents more than Daniel more than his own worthless life and maybe that was what was making him angrier than anything else--

Lost in his own head, he didn't see that he was alone on the floor now, on all fours over the living room carpet, tugging at nothing--and then there was a sickening thud as something collided with the side of his head. Hard.

The pain didn't arrive until a split second before he blacked out.

--

He woke up in his bed, and to a dull, throbbing ache in his skull. Immediately he retched, throwing up over the side of the bed, and when he looked up he saw Kurt kneeling by his bedside table. The boy was bathed in soft blue light, and Blaine wondered what time it was.

It must have been hours later, he realized, but then his brain fractured into throbbing pain again. Groaning, he fell forward, burying his face in his hands. He felt cloth beneath his fingertips, and realized that it was wrapped around his head-- Bandages. Kurt must have--

Kurt wasn't paying attention to him. Blaine was shocked he was still there. Sickening shame crawled in his stomach, threatning to make him throw up again, and he felt tears prickling in his eyes. Christ, I'm a fucking monster. What did I-- Jesus, what was I doing--?

"Oh Jesus," he whimpered out loud, and he threw up again. He sobbed in between retches, overcome by pain and confusion and bitter self-loathing. Once he was through he curled on his bed, covered in tears and snot and vomit, tangled up in misery.

Despite this, Kurt still hadn't said a word. Through the haze of his tears Blaine saw the flickering of candles that he hadn't noticed before, glowing over Kurt's face. The boy was still kneeling, and Blaine realized that it was in front of the picture of his parents.

His stomach twisted. "Kurt..."

Kurt didn't look at him. Instead he folded his hands, focusing on the picture. And then he began to pray.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson," he said softly. "I'm-- My name is Kurt. I'm dead too, but I can't come see you. You've moved on to somewhere I can't reach, but if I could I'd tell you that your son misses you very much. Today is the anniversary of your death, and I'm honoring you the only way I know how. I don't believe in God, but..." He inhaled slowly, releasing the breath with a small sigh. "I believe you're somewhere good. And we haven't forgotten you. We never will."

Blaine was silent, stunned, as Kurt nodded once and blew out the candles. After another brief moment, he finally looked at Blaine.

"I knocked you out with a beer bottle," he said plainly, in that strangely candid way he always seemed to talk. "I guess they're good for more than just making you act like a stupid animal."

"Kurt," Blaine croaked, covering his face with one hand. "I'm so... Christ, I'm so sorry."

"I know," said Kurt, getting to his feet. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned with towels, using them to sop up the vomit on the floor.

"I clean up your vomit way too much," he said idly as he worked. Blaine couldn't think of a single word to say.

Silence stretched on as Kurt cleaned, and finally he left again and re-appeared with a glass of water and an ice pack. He placed the former item on the nightstand and the latter against the side of Blaine's head. Blaine winced as the cold made contact with what was presumably a fairly substaintial wound, considering how concussed he felt.

"Should've hit me harder," he grumbled as Kurt held the ice pack against his head, and Kurt sighed.

"Probably," he said softly. "I will the next time you drink and lose control, how's that sound?"

"M'never gonna drink again," Blaine replied, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Kurt's hand. "Jesus, never. God, Kurt, I..."

"Shh. Lie down," Kurt ordered, and Blaine complied, wincing as the world spun around him again. He felt the mattress give beside him as Kurt sat down, and was vaguely aware of the boy checking his eyes and vitals as he lay there swimming in guilt.

The sun was rising, and everything went quiet again. Blaine didn't sleep, and Kurt didn't move from where he sat on the edge of the bed. The city was slowly waking up around them, but they were somewhere else--somewhere dark and tucked away, somewhere only they knew.

"Kurt," was the first word Blaine spoke in what felt like hours, his voice raspy and low.

"Hm?"

"Thank you...for praying for them."

"You're welcome."

The silence fell again, trailing past dawn. There was nothing left to say.