“Wait!” yelled the dark haired boy. “Take me with you!”

W-what?

*

Hot, bitter tears fell from Kurt’s eyes.

Why would he lead me on?

I’ll get him back.

I’ll make him pay.

*

For the second time that night, Kurt was rendered speechless.

Did he just ask to come with me? No, I must have misheard. He can’t just go with me. Why in the hell would he ask to go somewhere with Death to begin with?

“You…you can’t come with me.”

Blaine’s face fell. “Why not? You were going to take me anyways.”

“Yes, but…but…if you would have died I would have taken you to Other World. You never reached the point of no return. I can’t take you.” Kurt took several steps toward the direction of the door.

Blaine hadn’t the slightest idea what Other World was, nor the point of no return, but he didn’t care.

“Please, take me.” He prompted, once more.

Would it really be all that bad, taking him with you? Oh, stop, Kurt. You know what the law says. You know that taking him would end badly for both of you. But, it isn’t as though a case like this has ever been heard of before. It isn’t as if the Roys are smart enough to enforce the laws on Death itself…

“No. I’m sorry. I just…I just can’t.”

Just as Blaine began to protest, a loud clatter shook the house, followed by the sound of an angry (and clearly intoxicated) male voice

 “You heard me, whore! Get up! Where’s Blaine?” he slurred.

The boy’s eyes grew double their usual size and fear flooded his face. He looked at Kurt, silently pleading for a way out; for an escape.

“I…I c-can’t take…”

In that very moment, time stood still. Death melted into the gaze of his victim and saw such a pure innocence there that direct eye contact with the curly haired boy was almost painful.

He’s too soft…no, he’s much too human to stick around with the likes of me. I’d have to keep him hidden, and there’s no telling what he’d see when I helped people pass on. I couldn’t put him through that.

“Blaine! C’mere! Now!”

He can’t handle being around me. He may think he can, but he can’t. He’s safer here…

“I said come here! I swear to God, you little faggot…”

Tears welled up in Blaine’s huge, pleading eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak yet emitted no words.

He’s going to hurt him. The monster is going to hurt his own son just because he’s different.

Images of David Karofsky flashed in Kurt’s mind; Books strewn in the Junior hallway due to a violent shove into metal lockers, new and fashionable jackets ruined due to humiliating dives into the dumpster behind the cafeteria, and threats of death that force him to run to someone who only knows how to tear people down. He couldn’t let any of that happen to someone so innocent. Not even if he was Death.

“Get your stuff.”

Blaine’s head shot up in disbelief. “What?”

“You can’t very well come with me without your stuff.”

“Y-you’re letting m-me come?” The boy’s voice choked, making Kurt cringe.

“Yes. Hurry.”

Drunken footsteps sounded against wooden stair steps.

Blaine dove for his (expensive looking) cedar door and locked it in a thankfully successful attempt to delay James Anderson. He snatched a black duffel bag out of his closet and hastily began packing.

“Blaine.” Kurt prompted.

The dark haired boy froze and turned in his direction. “Y-yes?”

“You do understand that taking you…keeping you with me…it won’t be easy. And it won’t be safe. I’m not safe.”

For the first time that night, Blaine smiled. “It’ll be a hell of a lot safer than staying here.”

*

Kurt ran.

He ran longer and faster than he ever knew possible.

He didn’t know how he ended up on the tracks.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there.

He chose not to be aware of the train rushing towards him, completely oblivious to the life they were so very close to taking.

*

“Is there any other way out of your room?” Kurt asked. James Anderson had been banging his colossal first against the door for the past five minutes, thus marking that certain exit off the option list.

“Not really…I mean, there is the window, but it’s not a short drop. Can’t you, like, apparate? Or something?”

Kurt suppressed a laugh. “I’m Death, Blaine. Not Harry Potter.”

The boy’s cheeks flushed. “Window it is, then.” He muttered.

*

The train was coming closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Yet, Kurt sat.

Lightly humming one of his favorite songs and waiting for the end.

*