Blaine’s on his way home when he hears the screams. It’s late. So late, in fact, that he knows he’s going to have to run if he wants to make it back before the porter closes the gates, effectively locking him out of Jordan College. Blaine doesn’t particularly fancy the idea of spending the night wandering the streets of Oxford, partly because he doesn’t want to listen to his roommate Santana’s suggestive comments about what might have kept him out all night, but also partly because of the rumours that have been going around for the last few weeks about what happens in the streets at night. Some people are saying that the Gobblers have come back, others say it’s rogue Gyptian bandits, and some even speak of vampires. The only thing they can agree on is that the streets are dangerous at night and that people, grown people, have been disappearing, their echoing screams the only evidence of these invisible crimes. Personally, Blaine thinks it all sounds suspiciously like horror stories told to keep children inside at bedtimes. Besides, there haven’t really been any disappearances as far as he knows. Of course, there was that dead Gyptian they found floating around in the river, but that was weeks and weeks ago, and Gyptians have long-lasting family feuds that flare up occasionally, so the authorities on land have learned not to intervene and simply put up notices advertising when and where the body can be collected by the family. It usually works well. The dark streets still feel a little sinister, though, so while Blaine doesn’t really believe the rumours, he doesn’t linger after dark, either. Not until today, anyway, and now somebody is screaming.
Blaine takes off running in the direction the screams are coming from and his d�mon streaks past him, her dog form graceful and so much faster than his two stumbling human legs. She calls back to him, telling him which way to take, and he’s running so fast that he doesn’t see the man until it’s too late and he collides with a stout chest, almost knocking them both to the ground. Blaine gasps out a hasty apology, and, taking in the man’s uniform labelling him as a police constable, simply grabs him by the arm and tugs him along. He doesn’t seem to need an explanation, seeing as the screams are getting louder, but then, suddenly, they stop. Now it’s only the sound of their feet against the cobbled street and their panting breath in the dark. The policeman’s d�mon, a heavy-set Doberman, starts growling and Blaine feels his own d�mon’s anxiety flaring up. She must have stopped running, because she isn’t tugging at their bond to make him run faster, so they must be close. Then they round a corner and Blaine sees him.
There, on the ground, is a boy around his own age. He’s clearly unconscious, because his d�mon is spread out beside him, completely immobile as well. She’s a beautiful white ermine, but there are red stains in her fur to match those on the boy’s clothes. The constable and his d�mon take off down the street in pursuit of the attackers, but Blaine has eyes only for the boy on the ground. He’s pale in the harsh light from the streetlamps; almost too pale, and he would look serene if not for the bruise on his cheek and how still his d�mon is. He seems heart achingly fragile, and Blaine just stares, afraid to even touch him.
Eventually, the policeman returns empty-handed. He drops a remark about the streets not being safe at night, but he looks frustrated. Then he crouches down beside the boy sprawled on the ground and checks his pulse, turning his head to see if he has any bleeding head wounds, and checking for broken bones. When he’s satisfied that the boy is relatively unharmed, he looks up at Blaine.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asks, and Blaine finally tears his eyes away from the boy’s face.
“Blaine Anderson, sir,” he croaks, “I’m a student at Jordan.”
The man nods. “Do you know him?” He gestures to the unconscious boy. Blaine shakes his head.
“Hmm,” the constable hums, “well, I can’t really bring him back to the station, you see. We’re full because some idiot started a tavern brawl and they all beat each other senseless. And I couldn’t really put him in a cell anyway, because he hasn’t broken the law. And we’d be hard pressed to find somewhere that’s open at this time of night. All the inns have taken to locking their doors at night.”
This doesn’t sit right with Blaine. They can’t just leave the boy in the street. His attackers might come back.
“He can stay with me. My roommate won’t mind, I’m sure.”
The policeman is quiet for a moment before humming his agreement. “Come on, lad,” he says, bending down and cradling the boy to his chest, “show the way and I’ll carry him. You look like you could snap in two trying to lift a stick.” The Doberman has picked up the ermine by the scruff of the neck and is carrying her very carefully so as not to hurt her. Blaine leads the way and tries to prepare mentally for his conversation with the porter. The man already dislikes him and he’s not going to be pleased to be dragged out of bed at this time of night.


Just as Blaine suspected, the porter is less than pleased to have his night disturbed like this. In fact, it takes the combined efforts of Santana’s verbal abuse – and Blaine has never been happier that their window faces the street or he would never have been able to wake her at this hour – Blaine’s wheedling pleas, and the police constable’s unimpressed stare, to convince the man to open the gate and let them in. He looks even less happy when Blaine tells him to go find the matron and send her to their room, but his protests die in his throat at another look from the policeman. The soft snarl from the Doberman only makes him retreat faster, and Blaine can’t quite hide his smirk.
Once inside the room Blaine and Santana share, the policeman, who’s introduced himself as “Constable Maynard, and this old gal is Catarina”, gently deposits the boy on Blaine’s bed, tells them to let him know when he’s awake and then leaves the room with a muttered “Goodnight”. With the mysterious boy occupying his bed, Blaine resigns himself to sleeping on the floor. He’s just trying to get comfortable, wrapped in the spare blanket, when Santana sighs and says, as though she can’t quite believe she’s being so generous, “Get off the floor, you tiny moron.”
She doesn’t even bother to explain, but as she’s disappearing out the door, her d�mon, a sleek, black cat named Xanthos, fixes his amber eyes on Blaine.
“We’ll stay with Brittany. You can sleep in our bed tonight, but if you tell anybody, we will do things to you in your sleep. Nasty, embarrassing, painful things, understand?”
Blaine nods. He knows better than to reveal how sweet Santana can be. Waking up to dead mice on his pillow and Xanthos staring at him every morning of his first week cured him of that.
Five minutes later, there’s a knock at the door, and Blaine stumbles over to find the matron, Ms. Pillsbury fussing with her sleeve cuffs, waiting to come inside. He lets her in and she makes a beeline for the boy on the bed, medical bag in hand and her mouse d�mon riding on her shoulder.
Blaine hovers in the background while she examines the boy, not wanting to disturb, but too fascinated to look away entirely. His pulse quickens a little when she removes the boy’s shirt to look for internal injuries, and he has to take several deep breaths. Then his d�mon nudges him, gives him a reproachful stare and he guiltily averts his eyes from the boy on the bed, giving him some privacy. After a while, Ms. Pillsbury sighs and gets up, and Blaine deems it safe to look again. The boy is tucked under the blanket, now, and there’s a plaster over the cut on his cheek.
“He has sustained some bruising, but nothing that won’t heal on its own.” Ms. Pillsbury says. “His d�mon looks like she’s been bitten by a large cat or maybe a small dog, but it’s nothing deep and Chip cleaned it with disinfectant, so it should heal nicely.” Here, she shoots her d�mon a fond smile. “He has no head wounds and shows no signs of head trauma, so I don’t think he was knocked out. Be sure to let me know if he’s nauseous when he wakes up, though.”
Blaine is confused, but it’s his d�mon who voices their concern.
“But if they didn’t knock him out, how come he’s unconscious?”
Ms. Pillsbury’s face falls, but she looks the Border Collie straight in the eye as she answers.
“I think somebody touched his d�mon.”


The next morning, Blaine is roused from a strange dream about frog overlords, and at first he’s so groggy he’s not sure what woke him up. Then his d�mon speaks again.
“Come on. He’s waking up, Blaine.”
That does the trick. Blaine is out of bed in seconds, and he almost trips over his own feet trying to get to the other bed. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and watches as the boy struggles to wake up. The ermine is already awake, but clearly still groggy, and she clings to her boy, groaning softly and nuzzling at his throat. It takes a lot of effort for Blaine not to reach out and grab the boy’s hand. Instead, he just watches and waits until finally, finally, the boy sighs and opens his eyes.
They’re so blue, and Blaine realises too late that he’s staring, but he can’t stop, because the boy has beautiful blue eyes and silky brown hair that catches the early morning sun in a way that just shouldn’t be allowed when Blaine’s own hair looks like a family of sparrows nests in it.
The boy opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a weird croaking sound, so Blaine fetches him a glass of water and tries not to stare too much as the boy swallows mouthful after mouthful, making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. When the glass is empty, the boy looks much more awake, and Blaine offers him a tentative smile.
“Better?”
The boy nods. “Very much. Thanks.” Then he lets his eyes wander around the room.
“Um. Where am I?” he asks in a wary tone, and Blaine doesn’t miss the way his d�mon looks ready to bolt at any sudden movements, so he tries to sound as harmless and reassuring as possible.
“At Jordan College. This is my room, well, mine and Santana’s. I would have taken you home, but I don’t know where you live, and it was dark when I found you and you were unconscious. So I just brought you here.”
The boy seems to lose himself in thought, so Blaine takes the opportunity to look at him some more. He’s interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared and he finds himself under the piercing gaze of the boy’s d�mon.
“You know it’s bad manners to stare, right?” she demands. “We don’t even know your name.”
Blaine can feel himself blushing.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to be rude. My name’s Blaine, Blaine Anderson, and this is – “
“Santana, yes, we know.”
Blaine shakes his head.
“No, no. Santana’s my roommate,” he corrects her, and then adds. “My… frightening roommate. This is Perenelle, or Nellie, as I call her.”
Then, the boy finally speaks again.
“It’s nice to meet you, Blaine and Perenelle. I’m Kurt Hummel and this is Calliope, or Callie, for short.” And he reaches out a hand for Blaine to shake. The ermine, Calliope, jumps down to sit on Kurt’s lap and then she’s leaning forward to sniff at Perenelle, or maybe touch noses the way d�mons sometimes do. Whatever her intention, she’s completely unprepared for the big, wet dog tongue that meets her face two seconds later. She makes a sound like an angry cat and flies up on Kurt’s shoulder, her small form seething with indignation.
Blaine feels like sinking through the floor with embarrassment. Kurt’s laughing, though, and between giggles tells his d�mon “Well, it serves you right for being so impolite,” so maybe it isn’t so bad after all. Blaine just really wants Kurt to like him. Luckily, Perenelle has the decency to adopt an apologetic look, and her mumbled “Sorry” seems to placate the other d�mon somewhat. Blaine has never been more grateful for the power of puppy eyes. When Kurt finally manages to control his giggles, he turns soft eyes on Blaine.
“We’re not used to kindness from strangers,” he explains. “We’ve learnt to be suspicious, and sometimes we get very defensive. You were only trying to be nice and we apologise for our rudeness.” His d�mon nods solemnly and it is that more than anything that loosens the knot in Blaine’s stomach.
“It’s alright,” he says, smiling. Still, his heart clenches at the thought of what could have happened to make kindness from strangers seem like such a foreign concept to this boy and his d�mon.


Kurt, it turns out, did not know his attackers. He has no memory of ever seeing them before, and, as it was dark and they were masked, he can only really describe them in terms of their size, what their voices sounded like, and what forms their d�mons had. Blaine listens to his account of the attack and then takes him to the police station. At the front desk, he asks for Constable Maynard, and soon Kurt is being led away to give his statement by a kindly-looking secretary in her fifties. Blaine lingers in a chair, not quite willing to just go home. He knows he isn’t needed anymore, and he should really be in class, but the thought of leaving and possibly never seeing Kurt again makes something turn in his stomach, so he stays. It’s been about ten minutes when he notices that he’s not alone. There’s another boy by the now vacated front desk, pacing the floor, a harried look about him. He’s very tall, but has a sort of good-natured air about him, and his Golden Retriever d�mon keeps wagging her tail, even though she sometimes stops to whine. It’s as if the boy isn’t sure if he should be there, but he’s clearly worried about something.
Just as Blaine’s getting up – staying any longer will probably label him firmly as a creeper – he overhears a snippet of the boy’s conversation with his d�mon.
“ – I know, Rox, but Kurt’s just not the type of guy to stay out all night, and if he did, he would tell us first.”
“Well, maybe we should just have asked those men, then,” the d�mon replies. “Mrs. Richardson said they’d been asking about him.”
The boy scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. Didn’t you see them? They’re not Kurt’s kind of people. I don’t think he even knows them. They looked… shifty.”
At this, Blaine can’t contain himself. He approaches the pacing boy and stops in front of him, clearing his throat so the boy will notice him.
“Excuse me,” he begins, “but I noticed you mentioned somebody named Kurt?”
The boy shoots him a suspicious glare, but his d�mon gives a polite wave of her tail, so Blaine figures it’s okay and continues.
“Is he about my age, with brown hair, blue eyes and an ermine d�mon?”
The boy’s face lights up and he nods eagerly.
“Yes, that’s him! He didn’t come home last night. Have you seen him? Is he alright?”
It takes Blaine a while to calm the boy down and explain to him that yes, Kurt is fine, is in fact at the police station this very moment, but no, Blaine doesn’t know when he’ll be done talking to the police and yes, Kurt has already seen a nurse and he spent the night at Blaine’s. At this, the boy, who’s introduced himself as Kurt’s brother Finn and his d�mon as Roxie, narrows his eyes at him before asking bluntly, “What, like, for sex or something?” making Blaine blush and stutter horribly. He’s only just finished telling Finn about finding Kurt passed out in the street, when Finn spots something over his shoulder and whoops. Before Blaine can ask him what’s going on, he’s galloped past him to sweep a ruffled-looking Kurt into his arms, completely ignoring his squeals of protest.
“There you are! I was so worried when you didn’t come home, and then your boyfriend told me you passed out in the street!”
What little of Kurt’s face that’s actually visible behind Finn’s shoulder looks puzzled, but then he spots Blaine, who’s rooted to the floor and dark red at this point, and understanding sweeps over his features. He fights his way out of Finn’s grip, wincing when he hits a bruise, and shoots a warning glare at Roxie, who looks like she was caught trying to sniff his bottom, then crosses his arms, the very picture of patient exasperation in the face of brotherly stupidity. It would be very convincing, too, if his ears weren’t bright red.
“Blaine isn’t my boyfriend, Finn,” he scolds. “He found me after I’d collapsed in the street and brought me back to his place because he’s actually a decent person, not because he wanted to have his wicked way with me. I’m sure you’ve made him very uncomfortable, so you should apologise.”
“Now,” he adds, when Finn looks like he’s still trying to work out if Kurt just insulted him. Blaine gets the feeling that subtleties are probably not Finn’s strong point. Finn, wisely, does as Kurt says and apologises, and Kurt is mollified. His eyes turn mild and he mumbles something about it being nice that Finn worried so much, anyway.
Blaine is starting to feel very awkward indeed, so he clears his throat.
“Well, it was nice meeting you both and I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I’m sure you’ll want to go home and rest, but if you need me, you know where to find me.”
He makes to turn around, but Finn waves his arms in agitation.
“No, man, wait!” He grabs Blaine by the arm. “Kurt should probably stay with you right now.”
Blaine thinks that Finn’s lucky Kurt’s too surprised to say anything, because he can almost see a barbed reply brewing in Kurt’s head. Finn, it seems, sees the respite for what it is and continues.
“There are some really suspicious looking blokes asking about Kurt, from what I saw, and I overheard them talking to Mrs. Richardson – the landlady,” he explains to Blaine as an aside. “They know where you live, Kurt, and I don’t like how they just showed up the day after you were attacked.”
Blaine privately agrees that it can’t be a coincidence, and from the way he blanches, Kurt seemingly thinks so too. Something must be done. Kurt cannot go home with Finn. It takes very little to convince Kurt to stay with Blaine for the time being, and Blaine schools his face into what he hopes is a concerned, caring expression, because he’s secretly fighting the urge to dance. Kurt is going to stay with him. For at least a couple of weeks! This gorgeous boy is going to live with him in his dormitory, and he doesn’t care how much Santana protests, she is just going to have to find somewhere else to sleep, and that’s final! He happily zones out of the conversation, the last thing he registers being something about a way to bring Kurt some of his own clothes, which is, apparently, a very important task.


Santana is suspiciously accommodating about the whole thing. She puts up a token protest, but then happily resigns herself to her temporary exile. She even goes as far as helping them bring some of Kurt’s wardrobe back, which is a feat, because Finn has thought out a ridiculously elaborate scheme they have to follow in order not to reveal to Kurt’s new whereabouts to his shady pursuers. Blaine is actually having fun hiding and lying in wait, but his jaw drops when he sees the size of the trunk Finn is hauling behind him. The thing is enormous and could hold all of Blaine’s clothes and Blaine himself. Finn catches his stunned expression and gives him a knowing, sympathetic look. It takes the combined efforts of Blaine, Santana and Santana’s friend Brittany to get the trunk all the way back to the dormitory and when the thing is finally inside, the three of them simply flop down on Santana’s bed, too tired to do anything but watch Brittany’s hummingbird d�mon flutter around the room lazily. They stay like that until Kurt returns from Ms. Pillsbury’s office where he was summoned for a check-up. He beams at the trunk now occupying most of the floor space, but then Santana lets out an appreciative whistle and he jumps.
“Well,” she drawls, “I suppose that explains the sudden fit of gentlemanly helpfulness. He’s pretty, Blainey-boy. Very pretty.”
Blaine fights back the very un-gentlemanly urge to strangle her and is, luckily, saved the trouble of having to answer her, as Brittany has leapt to her feet and stuck out her hand.
“Hi! I’m Brittany, and this is Oswald.” She gestures to her d�mon. “He likes flowers and rainbows and Mr. Xanthos’ fur.” She shakes Kurt’s hand, not at all deterred by the confused look he’s giving her. Instead, she adopts a careful, cheery tone as she asks, “What are your names?”
“Um… I’m Kurt, and my d�mon’s name is Callie. It’s… er… nice to meet you, Brittany.”
She beams and points to Santana.
“This is Santana,” she informs him, “and Mr. Xanthos,” she points to the d�mon, who’s currently curled up in the windowsill, soaking up the afternoon sun, “and that’s Blaine. He’s Santana’s friend who’s a boy, but he’s not her boyfriend. He doesn’t like girls like that, only as friends.”
Kurt, to his credit, takes the unconventional introductions in his stride, smiling and nodding at Santana and Xanthos and explaining that he already knows Blaine. Before they all leave for the dining hall and dinner, Blaine pulls Santana aside.
“You can’t tell anybody about Kurt, alright?” he whispers. “And make sure Brittany keeps quiet too. Remember, he’s here because somebody attacked him, and they’re looking for him, so we have to be really careful.”
She gives him an uncharacteristically understanding look, nods, and slips out the door to catch up with Brittany. Santana may be many things, but Blaine’s glad he’s got her as his ally in this.


It takes them a couple of days to work out a routine, because Blaine is a morning person and Kurt is very much not. There’s an incident one of the first days when Blaine is a bit too enthusiastic and stumbles on Perenelle, who is also just a bag of energy in the morning, accidentally dumping a glass of water in a sleeping Kurt’s lap, and after that, they’ve learned that the key to coexistence is to steer clear of each other until Kurt has had at least two cups of coffee. He’s a student at Jordan just like Blaine, but because he normally lives off-campus with his brother, he doesn’t know anything beyond the classrooms and lecture halls. The dining hall is a revelation, the crypts are a mystery to him, and when Blaine takes him to the small building that houses all the newest apparatus in experimental theology, his eyes go wide in awe and wonder in a way that makes Blaine feel fluttery and light. They go there after their morning classes, and time stands still in that golden, dusty room where the sunlight reflects in the many polished brass and glass surfaces of delicate instruments. It’s there, in the sanctity of that quiet, rich room, that Kurt opens up and tells Blaine about his family. He tells him how a slow, painful disease claimed his mother when he was eight, and Blaine’s heart aches for him. Even more so when Kurt goes on to describe how the other children taunted him. How it escalated to bullying and even physical abuse, before he finally broke down and told his father. How just half an hour with his father was enough to convince the headmaster to take the matter seriously.
“Phoebe, my dad’s d�mon, is a bear,” he giggles. “You should have seen Master Figgins’ face when he saw her! He looked like he was going to faint!”
Kurt’s laugh rings out like a bell in the quiet room. He continues to tell Blaine about how his father met Finn’s mother, a sweet woman named Carole, and how they married just a couple of years ago. Blaine tries not to be too obvious about his staring. It’s difficult, because Kurt gets really animated when he’s talking, gesticulating and making the cutest faces. Whenever he’s telling a particularly funny or embarrassing story, Calliope always hides her face in his hair and it’s all Blaine can do not to coo.
Instead, he talks about his own family, about his parents, who spend most of their time on their country estate, and haven’t once been to see him since he moved to Oxford. He knows they’re proud of him for going to Oxford University, even more so for getting into Jordan College, but he also knows that they spend quite a lot of their energy working for the Church, so the pride is always marred by something else. They know he will never bring home a wife and give them grandchildren. They will have to rely on Cooper for that and Cooper, despite being the first-born and therefore the heir apparent, is not exactly the best person to manage such wealth and power. Blaine sometimes thinks his parents must have been terribly disappointed with their children. They wanted little lordlings and instead they got a self-obsessed twat with no common sense, and a bookish boy with dangerous leanings.
He talks about Cooper, who, despite being almost ten years his senior, is Blaine’s closest friend and biggest ally against the bullies of the world. Blaine doesn’t tell Kurt how he knows exactly what Cooper is willing to do if somebody hurts his little brother. It’s not a pleasant story and he doesn’t want to make Kurt uncomfortable. Instead, he shares little anecdotes, like the time Cooper convinced him there was a ghost in the attic, or the time they built a tree house, or that one glorious day when Blaine dumped a pint of ale on Cooper’s head and their parents placed him under house arrest because they thought he was drunk.
Kurt laughs and cheers, and Blaine feels like he could be happy spending the rest of his life making Kurt smile.
Apparently, he’s not exactly subtle about it, because the next moment Kurt is blushing and looking away, and that night, after dinner, Santana pulls him out in the hall and gives him her best judgmental face. Which is saying a lot, as it’s Santana.
“Is something going on between you two that I didn’t catch?” she demands, tightening her grip on Blaine’s arm just as Xanthos jumps up to settle himself on her shoulder and join her in staring.
Blaine tries to look confused and a little insulted, but the look he gets tells him that he’s not fooling anybody.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, in his most dignified voice.
“Oh please,” Santana scoffs, “you’re eyeing him like he’s some dessert you’re not allowed to eat.”
Blaine deflates a little.
“I know. I… It’s just that he… He’s just so… him.”
Santana snorts.
“I can’t explain it, Santana. You know how I get when – when I like somebody. Kurt is – “
“Calm down, mini man,” Santana chuckles. “I could tell when I first saw him. He is very pretty.”
Blaine allows himself a moment to agree wholeheartedly with that assessment before registering the jab at his height and pouting. Santana continues.
“As pretty as he is, though, you can’t start something with him. You know that, right?”
Blaine wants to argue, but the thing is; Santana is right. Kurt depends on him for shelter and safety, so for Blaine to pursue him romantically would be wrong. Kurt might feel pressured into agreeing, might think that it’s a condition for his continued protection. And Blaine could never do that. Kurt is such a strong, independent boy, and he would never want to take advantage of him like that. It would break him, because right now Kurt doesn’t have the luxury of choice. He sleeps in Blaine’s room because he must and because there’s nowhere else he can go. Blaine sighs.
“I know, Santana. I’m not going to take advantage of him or anything. I’ll – I’ll keep quiet about it and wait it out. Maybe, when this is all over, I can ask him out, but I won’t do anything now. I… I’ll be his friend.”
“Good boy,” Santana nods.
“It’ll be hard, though,” Blaine continues. “Maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe we should switch rooms for a while. I can room with Brittany and you can – “
“No.”
“But – “
“No, Blaine. I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should, er, you should face your fears. Yeah.”
Blaine frowns.
“But I’m not afraid of him. What – “
“Yeah. Headfirst, brave soldier.”
“Santana, you’re not really making any sense.”
She pushes him pack towards the door to their room.
“I’m rooming with Brittany. Go back to your pretty boy.”
And she turns around, stalks down the corridor and disappears from view, leaving a very confused Blaine in her wake.


Blaine was not wrong when he said it would be difficult to be nothing but a friend to Kurt. A couple of days after his conversation with Santana, he’s walking back to his room when he hears singing. It’s not a song he knows – he thinks it might be a Gyptian ballad – but it could be in Arabic for all he cares. What strikes him is the voice. It’s high-pitched and melodic and it flows through the air like a siren call, and, like a sailor of the ancient world, Blaine is drawn to it. As he gets closer, he realises that it’s coming from his room, but he never connects that haunting voice with the boy in his room. He makes to get inside, but his feet falter in the doorway. Kurt is standing in the middle of the room with his back to the door, which is Blaine’s luck. He’s singing that cheerful ballad, and even though he’s standing perfectly still, there’s an energy about him, radiating off his body like the song is nothing short of his life force. Like he might die if he stops singing.
He’s not completely motionless, though, or rather, not all of him is, because his d�mon is moving in time with the music. Dancing, Blaine’s stuttering brain supplies, and Blaine is frozen to the spot, because it is simultaneously the strangest and most beautiful thing he has ever experienced. Calliope is sinuous, her long body graceful and quick in its movements and she all but flows from place to place. Blaine reaches down to touch Perenelle lightly, because he can feel her fascination with the other d�mon. She lets out a low whine and the singing stops, the ermine whipping around and then flying up to perch on the shoulder of her boy.
There’s a telling blush rising on Kurt’s cheeks, so Blaine does the only thing he can think of; he applauds. This, of course, has Kurt blushing even worse, but it also puts Kurt visibly more at ease; his poise loosens a little and he looks less like a cornered animal. He does a little mock-bow and Blaine wants to hold him so badly, and maybe kiss him. He settles for showering Kurt with compliments about his singing and tells himself he’s only doing it so that he can see just how red Kurt’s ears can get.


They’re on their way back from the police station and what proved to be a completely pointless meeting with a heavily moustached sergeant, who seemed to think Kurt’s attackers might be Gyptians from the Fens, when Kurt suddenly freezes. He grabs Blaine’s arm so suddenly that Perenelle yips in surprise, drags him bodily across the street and forces him into a doorway that hides them almost completely. Blaine starts to say something, but Kurt silences him with a hand over his mouth, and peers nervously around the edge and down the street. Blaine can feel his heart pounding where their chests are pressed together, and if he weren’t so on edge, he would probably take the opportunity to appreciate the closeness and the way Kurt is breathing almost directly into his ear in little adrenaline-fuelled pants. However, Kurt’s nerves are contagious and Blaine’s too distracted to do anything besides trying to keep quiet and out of sight, because as far as he knows, only one thing would make Kurt react like this; he must have spotted one, or maybe more, of his attackers. They stay completely still in the doorway while Calliope slithers up to hide and observe from the roof. After about a minute she reappears, gives Kurt a significant look and a nod, and something in Kurt’s shoulders relaxes. Blaine really wants to ask what that was about, but Kurt’s face is still white, and Calliope stays very close to him, so he thinks his questions are better left for when they’re safely inside again. Kurt seems very eager to get back, too, so they make their way back to Jordan in silence, only stopping briefly at a market stall to buy a sweet bun for Santana, who has been very loud lately about how they don’t appreciate the sacrifice she’s making for them. Personally, Blaine just thinks she’s trying to milk the situation for all its worth, but if that problem can be solved with cream buns, then he hardly thinks it qualifies as problem at all, so he gives in to her blackmail.
Santana opens the door to Brittany’s room wearing something that looks suspiciously like a sheet, but Blaine is too wise to address it. He hands over the bun and gets one of her rare, genuine smiles. Then, Brittany’s voice sounds somewhere behind her and the moment is over. The door slams in their faces and Kurt looks so affronted that Blaine has to swallow a laugh. It’s always interesting to observe the effect Santana has on fresh people, and Kurt is not one to hide his indignation.
Back in their room, though, Blaine’s good mood falters. He doesn’t want to pressure Kurt, but at the same time he really wants to know if he should be worried about gangs of goons turning up unexpectedly. Kurt looks miserable, though, so Blaine settles on an open question, trying to test the waters.
“Are you alright?”
Kurt gives him a tight smile.
“I’m fine.”
Blaine is unconvinced and Perenelle arches an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?” she asks, and it’s clear she wants to say more, but Kurt interrupts.
“I said I’m fine!” he snaps.
Blaine and Perenelle share a look, then sigh and let it go. As they get ready for bed, Kurt avoids looking at them, and Calliope is already curled up on the pillow. The silence is new and oppressive, and Blaine doesn’t know how to break it without sounding falsely cheery. He sighs and turns over and tries to fall asleep. Instead, he’s left staring at the wall for the longest time.


He’s woken by screams. At first, his sleep-muddled brain thinks someone is actually being murdered right in his room, but then he turns over, almost rolling out of the narrow bed, and it becomes clear. Kurt is having a nightmare. He’s thrashing about in his bed, completely tangled in the sheets, screeching like somebody is trying to slit his throat. Calliope is kicking her legs and snapping at the air, a snarl joining her boy’s screams. Blaine scrambles over to the other bed and falls to his knees. He grabs Kurt by the shoulder and shakes him until the screaming stops and Calliope peers up at him, wild-eyed and scared. Not even hesitating a little bit, he wraps his arms around the now shaking boy, cradling him as his gasping breaths hitch and turn into sobs. They sit like that for the longest time, Blaine rocking slightly back and forth and making comforting humming sounds. At one point, he looks around for Perenelle only to find her curled around Calliope protectively, and the sight sends a funny jolt through his stomach that he doesn’t have time to think about at the moment.
Kurt’s harsh sobs gradually subside, but Blaine keeps his arms in place until Kurt pulls back of his own accord. He looks utterly miserable; scared, tired and red-faced from crying. His eyes are a little swollen, too. He’s still the most gorgeous boy Blaine has ever seen. He sniffles a bit, but rejects Blaine’s offer to talk about it.
“It was just a nightmare, Blaine,” he mumbles into the handkerchief Blaine’s handed him, before blowing his nose noisily. “Everyone has them every once in a while. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Blaine hesitates. He doesn’t want to upset Kurt further, and it’s technically not really his business, except for how connected he feels to Kurt. He tries his best not to sound like he’s prying.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “I mean, you seem really upset, and if I can help at all…”
Kurt shakes his head and lies back down on the bed, this time facing the wall.
“There’s nothing you can do. I’m fine.”
Defeated, Blaine retreats to his own bed and buries himself under the blankets. He lies awake, listening to Kurt’s breathing becoming slow and quiet, signalling that he has drifted off again.
“You’re not fine, though,” he whispers into the darkness.


The days that follow are trying and full of a stiff awkwardness that has never been there before between Kurt and Blaine. Every single night Blaine wakes up to Kurt screaming and thrashing. He consoles him, brings him a glass of water – all that screaming can’t be good for his voice – and listens to his breath evening out again, as if he’s afraid Kurt might stop breathing if he doesn’t keep vigil. Maybe he is, a little.
When Kurt’s nightmares have been persistently recurring every night for a fortnight, Blaine decides to put his foot down. Whether he likes it or not, Kurt is going to tell him what’s going on, because Blaine absolutely hates the look of fear on Kurt’s face when he wakes from one of his screaming fits, and Blaine needs to know if there is any way at all that he can help make it go away. He’s just constructing some very weighty and, hopefully, persuasive arguments to make Kurt talk, when the boy himself comes back from the bathroom and sits down on his bed. He doesn’t crawl under the blankets and go to sleep straight away as he usually does, though. Instead, he’s staring at his clasped hands, as if steeling himself for something unpleasant. Blaine’s half expecting Kurt to say he can’t stay with him anymore, and it feels like his heart has crept up into his throat, making it difficult to breathe.
“Blaine,” Kurt starts, “you’ve been really great.”
Something heavy drops into Blaine’s stomach. It sounds a lot like Kurt is trying to say goodbye. He swallows a lump and tries not to look too dejected. Kurt continues.
“I mean, you’ve let me live with you, taken care of me and – and comforted me these last nights without asking anything in return. You’ve been nothing short of wonderful and I’m so sorry for snapping at you and making everything weird these past few days. It’s just… it isn’t easy for me to talk about, and I don’t want to put you in danger, either.”
Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up, and he can’t help the surprised noise that escapes him. Kurt gives him a small smile.
“If… if you still want to know about that – that man and why I have these nightmares, I’ll tell you. You deserve to know, and I think, at this point, you probably need to know, too. A-and it’d be nice to have somebody who understands.”
Blaine can only nod, and Kurt looks happy, relieved. He gets up, crosses the room, and sits down on Blaine’s bed, close enough that their thighs are touching, and Blaine has to tell himself to concentrate on what Kurt’s saying, and not the sparkling, buzzing point of contact, or his brain will turn to goo and he won’t hear a single word.
“The man we saw on the street that day,” Kurt begins, “is – well, I don’t actually know who he is. I mean, I don’t know his name, but I recognise his face and his d�mon, and from the way he dresses, it’s pretty clear that he’s part of the Church. And… he’s… he’s dangerous, Blaine, very dangerous. That’s why I hid us. I don’t know if he knows what I look like, but I didn’t want to take the chance. And I was scared. Because the last time I saw that man, he had just killed somebody and was rolling the body out into the river.”
Blaine’s jaw drops and he has the sudden, arbitrary thought that he must look stupid like that. Then the facts catch up with him.
“You,” he tries, but it comes out raspy and hoarse, so he clears his throat and tries again. “You saw somebody being murdered?”
Kurt bites his lip, and nods. He’s very pale, and Blaine blames a sudden bout of mild insanity when he reaches out to clasp Kurt’s hand where it’s resting on his thigh. Kurt squeezes back, though, so Blaine thinks it must have been the right thing to do.
“Yes,” he whispers. “I can’t be completely sure, but from the clothes he was wearing, and the way he was talking, I think he was a Gyptian. And he had the most beautiful d�mon. She was a bird, a tropical bird, mostly black, but with a big, colourful beak almost half the size of her body, and I saw her disappear just like that. One moment she was there, and the next she vanished. And the man fell to the ground, dead.”
Blaine is speechless, but he waves his hands for Kurt to keep talking.
“I had been hiding down by the docks.”
At Blaine’s expression, he shrugs, offers a mumbled “bullies”, as if that explains everything, and continues.
“So, anyway, I had been hiding down by the warehouses by the docks, and that’s where I saw it happen. It was just two men, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were gesticulating a lot, and it looked like they were arguing. One of them, the priest of whatever he is, said something that made the Gyptian really mad, so he stepped forward and grabbed the priest. I had to duck down a moment, because they were facing my way, but when I looked back, the Gyptian had him by both his arms. The priest really didn’t like that; he was yelling and it looked like the Gyptian was trying to calm him down. Then the priest kicked him and he fell to the ground. He kicked him again and again and I had to look away. When I could look again, the Gyptian wasn’t moving, and the priest was rummaging around like he was looking for something that the man carried on him. I don’t know if he found it, but he did find a knife. And he used it. He didn’t even hesitate. I mean, the Gyptian was probably already dying, but I guess he wanted to speed it up, so he stabbed his d�mon and when she disappeared, he rolled the body out into the river, looked around and left. I don’t think he saw me.”
Blaine frowns.
“But if he didn’t see you, why are there dangerous people after you? I mean, they came to your home, looking for you, didn’t they? And – and why were you attacked in that alley if nobody knows that you saw?”
Kurt bites his lip. He looks the very picture of anguish.
“Because,” he says, “I did something really stupid. It was a horrible mistake and I never should have been so stupid.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to see the body.”
“You… WHAT?”
“I saw the notices they put up and I was so curious. I think mostly I wanted to go because I hoped it would be someone else. I mean, if it wasn’t the man I’d seen, maybe I could convince myself that I had dreamed the whole thing, or that he wasn’t really dead, or… I don’t know. It didn’t work, of course, because it turned out to be precisely him, and I‘d been stupid enough to give my real name at the front desk. I’d made up some story about having a Gyptian friend disappear and thinking that it might be him, but the damage was done. I showed up, gave them my real name, and asked to see the murdered man. It can’t have been long before that information reached the priest. I don’t know how, exactly, but maybe there was an informant, or somebody from the police is secretly working for the Church. I don’t know. I just know that four days after I went to the police station, I was attacked in the street at night, and would probably have been killed if it hadn’t been for a very brave, sweet and, frankly, unfairly handsome boy, who found me and brought me home.”
Blaine shifts on the bed, grateful for the dim light from the lamp, because he can feel his cheeks heating up at the compliment. Not that he at all dislikes the way Kurt’s painting him as some sort of white prince, but fair’s fair, and he did not get Kurt home single-handedly.
“I had help, you know,” he points out. “I’m not sure I could have carried you all the way to Jordan by myself. I had help from Constable Maynard.”
A blank silence greets his words. Blaine chances a glance at Kurt and is shocked to see that all the colour has left his face.
“A police constable,” he finally gets out, and his voice is no higher than a whisper. “A police constable knows where you live.”
“Um.”
“Blaine, the police know where you live, and they know that a boy of my description stayed with you after getting attacked in the street! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I mean, I only went to the police station in the first place because I thought if I gave a false name, they wouldn’t know where to find me, and now you’re telling me that they can link me to you and that they know where you live! Did you tell them your name, too?”
“Um,” Blaine struggles to remember. The thing is; he thinks he did tell Constable Maynard his name, but he doesn’t want to admit it, because Kurt’s already looking panicked. His silence seems to be answer enough, though, because Kurt jumps off the bed, looking about as calm as a wild animal in a trap.
“We have to go,” he hisses, opening his enormous trunk and throwing things pell-mell into it. Blaine is about to protest, when there’s a knock on the door. They both freeze, looking at each other in horror. Complete silence. Then, Santana’s whispered voice sounds from the other side of the door.
“Blaine! Open the door, quick!”
Blaine jumps off the bed to let her in. She looks uncharacteristically worried, and she wastes no time, grabbing them both by the elbow and hauling them out the door, down one corridor, then another, and another, before dragging them into an empty classroom and shutting the door, leaving Santana’s d�mon, Xanthos, outside to keep watch with his keen cat eyes.
“The police are looking for you,” she half-whispers, eyes wide and wary. “They are asking about you, Blaine. They’re coming for you, and they won’t say why. I don’t like the look of this at all. And Blaine; every single one of them had a gun! Brittany’s distracting them right now, but you two have got to get out! Go hide somewhere!”
Kurt just nods, grim-faced, as if he’s already mentally preparing their escape route. Blaine just feels sort of numb. He looks Santana in the eyes, willing her to believe him.
“We didn’t… we didn’t do anything. Kurt’s innocent, and they want to – “
Santana pats him on the shoulder, looking a bit more like her old self and rolling her eyes.
“Well, obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be risking imprisonment to help a couple of criminals, no matter how cute they were. You two, on the other hand, wouldn’t hurt a fly, and I actually quite like you when you’re not being, you know, clingy and lovey and stuff. But we can’t stay here and wallow in love, Blainey-boy, so get out, okay? The police came by the east wing, so steer clear of that. You can use the passage to the servants’ quarters and get out through the kitchens.”
He hugs her tightly, taking her completely by surprise, then goes over to crouch by the door and listen for Xanthos to give them the all clear. He hears the half-meowed “Okay, go,” grabs Kurt by the hand and tugs him along, moving as quickly and quietly as he can. Behind him, Kurt’s panting, but he still manages to whisper.
“Which way are we going?”
“This way,” Blaine responds, steering them towards a staircase. “I know a shortcut.”


He loses track of how long they’ve been running and hiding. The late evening has turned to night, which means they’re less likely to run into someone who might give them away. However, it also means that it’s harder to see where they’re going, and they can’t risk lighting a lamp. There’s another thing as well. As it’s night, probably a little after midnight to be precise, they have nowhere to go. Every inn, pub and guesthouse will have closed their doors, and the only establishments still open are the kind that attracts a rather questionable clientele. They might actually happen upon Kurt’s attackers in such a place. In other words, they’re stuck. Luckily, Jordan is huge, and Blaine has a plan.
“We have to hide and wait till morning,” he whispers when they’re taking a breather behind a column in a large hall in a part of Jordan he’s never been to before. Kurt looks at him, wide-eyed, and Calliope cocks her head at him in doubt.
“We can’t go outside right now,” Blaine explains, privately thinking that the police probably planned it like that. “They will most likely have people stationed at the gates, so we should find somewhere to hide, and then, in the morning, we can sneak out and start looking for somewhere to stay.”
“Okay,” Kurt nods. “So, where should we stay for the night?”
Blaine deliberates for a moment, but it’s Perenelle who brings the answer.
“The air dock”, she says. “It’s secluded so we’d be able to hear them coming from a long way off, nobody’s going to be there at this time of night, and we’ll be able to see when the sun has risen. Even if we fall asleep, we’ll probably wake up with the sun in our eyes.”
Blaine grins.
“That’s an excellent idea, Nellie,” he agrees. “Nobody will think to look for us there, and if we need to, we can escape to the roof. Brilliant!”
He starts to take a step forward, but is stopped by Kurt’s hand on his arm, and turns back in confusion. Before he can say anything, though, there are soft lips on his mouth, and Kurt is kissing him like he might die if he ever stops. It takes Blaine a moment to catch on, but then he’s kissing back, his hands coming up to clutch at Kurt’s shoulder and tangle in the hair at the back of his head. Kurt’s hair is silky-soft, his skin warm to the touch. His mouth is a little clumsy, but so soft and eager and warm that Blaine thinks he might never recover from this. He might, from this point on, have to live with having melted goo for a brain, but that is a sacrifice he is willing to make, if it means that Kurt will kiss him like this again.
He has no idea how long they’ve been kissing, but when Kurt pulls back, it feels like aeons have passed, or maybe just seconds, and it’s not nearly enough. He’s brought back to his senses when Perenelle nips him on the hand.
“What… um… why… I mean…”
Kurt’s face has turned a lovely pink colour, and his d�mon has crawled up to sit on his shoulders and is now hiding her face in his hair. Kurt clears his throat, not lifting his gaze from the floor.
“I just… I just really wanted to try that while I had the chance,” he gets out. When Blaine says nothing – gooey, melted brains are apparently not very good at constructing understandable English sentences – his eyes widen in panic and he adds, “I mean, as a sort of thank-you for, you know, still being here… helping me…”
“Wow,” Blaine rasps out, and that single word sends the colour high in Kurt’s cheeks again. “That was… wow.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” snaps Calliope, and Blaine finally manages to take a step backwards and start thinking about the easiest way to the air dock. He’s been there a couple of times, because Cooper sometimes comes to visit him, and he loves travelling by zeppelin. Blaine likes the train better. Once, when he was little, he saw a zeppelin crash, and ever since he’s been, if not exactly afraid, then certainly wary of them. They might be fast and come with a great view, but he feels safer closer to the ground.


It takes a little bit of guessing and retracing their steps, but they finally get to the air dock and, as predicted, it’s deserted. It’s also beautiful with its high, arched windows, vaulted ceiling and ornate brass doors, and Kurt can’t hold in a little wistful sigh at all that beauty that so many people never get to see. The rest of Jordan does have a certain dignified, masculine grace, but it’s also cluttered, dusty and old; nothing like this open, light elegance. Kurt fits in up here, Blaine thinks, in a way that he never will in the stuffy, noisy classrooms.
They agree to sleep in turns, and Blaine volunteers to take the first shift as a lookout. It’s for his own sake, as much as Kurt’s. He couldn’t sleep now if he tried, pumped full of adrenaline as he is. If he’s being completely honest, he really wants to replay the kiss in his mind until he can figure out what Kurt meant by it.
He ends up having a whispered conversation about it with Perenelle, and it goes on for so long that he’s taken by surprise when the first tentative beams of morning sun light up the high windows. They’ve talked all through the night, and, frustratingly, he’s no closer to a solution. Perenelle’s last remark about how he’s going to have to ask Kurt himself, if he wants a definitive answer, is starting to sound more and more appealing. He goes to wake up Kurt when the sunlight is strong enough to cast little shadows from his eyelashes on his cheeks, because if he doesn’t wake him up, he’s afraid he’s going to do something crazy, like curling up against him and going to sleep, or maybe kissing him, and that would just be creepy.
They take in the sprawling form of Jordan College, looking out through the windows, and Blaine spots a policeman at the South Gate, so they decide that, since none of the gates are likely to be safe for them to go through, they will take to the roofs. Blaine remembers a particular hidden-away little corner near the servant’s quarters, where it might be safe to jump from the roof and down in the street below. Kurt looks a bit worried at the prospect, but doesn’t protest, and then they’re off.
The climb on the roof goes surprisingly well. There are broken shingles and patches of moss everywhere, so it’s easy to get a grip, and the roofs are a criss-cross of odd angles where the different buildings meet. Only once does one of them skid and slide a little; Kurt loses his footing on a loose shingle, but manages to cling to a chimney before sliding down. He lets out a gasp, but straightens, visibly steeling himself, before continuing. The rest is a slow, clumsy dance along the gutters, chimneys and ends of buildings. They finally find the servant’s quarters and the short stretch of wall very close to the ground. Blaine goes first, just in case, and finds that somebody has, very kindly, placed a large cart right along the wall. They only have to slide down the gently sloping roof to land right on it. He reaches out in time to catch a very nervous Perenelle in his arms, and then they climb out of the cart altogether, calling to Kurt to follow. He looks even less pleased than Perenelle, but slides down with a grace that shouldn’t be possible, given that he’s moving about on the roof of a building, lands in the cart, Calliope safe in his arms, and climbs out.
“My bottom hurts,” he complains, when he’s back on the ground. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that slide tore a hole in my trousers.”
Blaine keeps his eyes strictly on the cobbled street to avoid accidentally looking to see if Kurt really has a hole in his trouserbottom. They look for policemen, but the tiny passage is empty, so they sneak out into the busy street beyond. Blaine feels his spirits soar. They’ve actually done it! They’ve managed to escape from Jordan College, from under the noses of the police. Finding a place to stay seems a positively easy task in comparison. They just need to think up some good fake names, and then they’ll be able to find a room at an inn while they plan what they are going to do next.
Emboldened by their success, he reaches out and takes Kurt’s hand before turning left around a corner. He collides with someone with enough force to send him stumbling, almost falling, and rights himself to apologise to the woman in front of him. The very tall, austere-looking woman, who is wearing a police uniform, and looking at Kurt as if she would like to eat him.
“Well, well,” she says, smirking in a way that sets Blaine’s teeth on edge. “If it isn’t Kurt Hummel, friend of the Gyptians. And you must be the Blaine Anderson they’re combing Jordan College for.”
Blaine’s mouth goes dry.
“We-we’re not,” he stutters. “You must have us confused with someone else. We’re just out for a morning stroll.”
She gives them a pointed look.
“In your pyjamas?”
“Oh, um…”
The policewoman sighs, grabs them by the arm and steers them down the street, away from Jordan.
“You two are coming with me. And don’t worry; nobody will know where you are. I’ll make sure.”


She takes them to a tiny old inn in Jericho that looks like it could do with a good cleaning and some fresh paint, leads them to a table in a secluded spot in the back, and orders a large glass of some questionable brownish pink substance for herself and nothing for them. After taking a closer look at the thick, sluggish liquid, Blaine decides he’s probably grateful for that. She hasn’t spoken to them since finding them in the street, but now she takes a big gulp from her glass, and fixes them with a pointed stare.
“Well,” she says, setting down her glass and belching. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve taken you here, or possibly, what I do to keep my hair so straight and shiny.” She eyes Blaine’s curls with a sneer. “But while I would never reveal my secret hair care formula, I might be able to help you, if you give me something in return.”
“We don’t really have anything,” Blaine says, trying really hard not to feel unnerved by the way the woman’s d�mon, a large scarab beetle, is sort of staring at him. He didn’t know beetles could stare. “And we don’t even know who you are.”
The policewoman sighs, like they’re being deliberately stupid.
“The name is Police Inspector Sue Sylvester, and this is Phil.” She gestures to the beetle. “You can call me Inspector Sylvester. Call me ‘miss’ or ‘madam’ or ‘Sue’ and I will castrate you, do you understand?”
They nod, and Blaine can’t prevent himself from laying a hand protectively over his groin. Inspector Sylvester continues.
“And I don’t care about your measly possessions. I don’t want your money. I want information. I want to know why half the police force is looking for you two snot-nosed nancy-boys, who haven’t broken any laws, except perhaps the laws of style.” Here, she eyes the bowtie pattern on Blaine’s pyjamas in disgust. “No, I want to know what makes you so special, and why a member of the Church thinks you’re dangerous enough to warrant sending out half the force to look for you.”
Kurt looks queasy. The colour has left his face, and he has his arms wrapped protectively around his middle.
“Which member of the Church is that?” he gets out.
“Father Ben Jaan, of the Society for the Veneration of the Holy Spirit.”
“What form does his d�mon take?”
“She’s some sort of large cat, though which exactly I can’t remember.”
“A lynx,” Kurt whispers, face ashen. “She’s a lynx.”
Inspector Sylvester lifts an eyebrow.
“You know him?”
“Um, not really, no. I’ve seen him, but never talked to him.”
Inspector Sylvester scoffs.
“Well, he knows you. Or rather, he knows of you, and he’s very interested in meeting you. Now, I may not like you, but I absolutely hate the Church, and by extension this fellow. Plus, he just rubs me the wrong way, so I have a proposition for you two: I will help you in whatever way I can, if you tell me what it is about you that has the good Father Ben Creepy so scared of you.”
Kurt eyes her distrustfully. He has good reason to, Blaine thinks. Inspector Sylvester may say she has nothing to do with the Church, but without some sort of proof that she’s actually going to keep her word, they have no way of knowing if she’s simply part of a ploy to get them to confess something, or to gather information for the police before handing them over to the Church for whatever punishment they deem fit. Inspector Sylvester heaves a great sigh.
“Okay. You want proof? You’ll get it. I have a very particular interest in that Gyptian they fished out of the river a couple of weeks ago. The one you came in to have a look at,” she points a finger at Kurt. “His name was Dirk Kraajenzank, and I’ve known him since before his d�mon settled. He used to play with my sister and me all the time when we were kids. You see, my older sister, Jean, she was special. She was the sweetest, bravest, wisest person I have ever known, but she was born with a chronic condition that made her different; that made her stand out, and not in a good way, according to my parents. She had Down syndrome, so she looked different, she developed differently, and of course her d�mon never settled.
Our parents were so ashamed of her. They were afraid people would talk, and that what she was would affect them and ruin their reputation, so they decided to hide her from the world, to protect her, but also to protect themselves from the talking and gossiping. And so they sent her away to live with a Gyptian family, the Kraajenzanks, who took great care of her and loved her as if she were their own. They never let her condition define her, and I never saw her happier than when she was with them. I used to go and visit them as often as I could, and Dirk, Jean and I would play on their boat until I had to go back home.
She cried so much when Dirk’s d�mon settled, because she thought he wouldn’t want to play with her anymore. She was scared he was going to abandon her like our parents had, but of course he didn’t. I was afraid it would be even worse for her when Phil here settled, but she didn’t live to see that. She got pneumonia and died when I was twelve. The Kraajenzanks weren’t invited to the funeral – they probably weren’t even allowed there – and after that I was never permitted to visit them again. I lost not only my sister, but a whole loving family as well.”
Blaine’s throat feels tight with emotion, and he blinks furiously against the burning in his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Kurt wiping his tears on his sleeve.
“That,” Inspector Sylvester continues, “was the last I heard or saw of the Kraajenzanks until a few weeks ago, when I happened to be at the station when they were bringing in Dirk’s body, and I recognised my old friend. They were putting his death down to a family feud, not an uncommon thing among the Gyptians, and I might have believed them if I didn’t know better. I’ve never known the Kraajenzanks to be involved in any feuds, and Dirk didn’t have the typical injuries you normally find on feuding Gyptians. You see, in order to preserve their honour, Gyptians settle their feuds with knives, so when we fish them out of the river, they’re riddled with stab wounds. Dirk didn’t have a single scratch on him. No, what he had were bruises. Lots and lots of bruises. He looked like he’d been kicked around, and then somebody had bashed the back of his head in. That’s not the way a Gyptian fights, so he must not have been killed by one.”
At this, Blaine glances over at Kurt, who’s looking pale again, chewing on his lip. He reaches out under the table and gives Kurt’s knee a reassuring squeeze, making him jump, but smile weakly at Blaine. Inspector Sylvester barrels on, oblivious.
“I gave my opinion, made inquiries, but I was met with a wall of silence. Nobody wanted to talk about it, and my superior, Superintendent Figgins, refused to investigate the matter. But then you,” she points to Kurt, ”turned up, and the entire station was suddenly buzzing about the strange kid who wanted to see the dead Gyptian. And I heard the names Kurt Hummel, Dirk Kraajenzank and Father Ben Jaan in whispered conversations. I was very curious, of course, so I dug around a bit.
It turns out the good Father Ben Jaan has been having a bit of trouble with the Gyptians. Apparently, he can lay claim to some land in the Fens through his very impressive ancestry. He has Gyptian blood as well, which, if possible, makes the claim even stronger, and he’s been trying to get it recognised. But the Gyptians living in the area are unwilling to leave, which is apparently one of the conditions for having his claim recognised. They might be persuaded if offered suitable compensation if it weren’t for the fact that the foremost Gyptian family in the area strongly oppose the move. Can you guess which family that might be?”
“The Kraajenzanks,” Kurt breathes out, his face lighting up in understanding. Inspector Sylvester nods, her expression grim.
“Exactly. Now, it’s terribly convenient that the head of the Kraajenzank family happened to turn up floating face down in the river just weeks before the claim is up for review, don’t you think?”
They don’t answer, but they don’t have to. The connection is glaringly obvious. One thing still bothers Blaine, though.
“You said you’d heard people talking about Kurt, Mr. Kraajenzank and Father Ben Jaan, but how did you know about me? How did you know where to look for us?”
Sue suddenly looks smug.
“Well,” she smirks, “I had a few drinks with a colleague of mine, a couple of days ago, a Constable Maynard, and he told me an interesting story about finding a little elfling in the street and taking him to Jordan College to stay with a student there. He even gave me your name. He is so talkative when you get a few beers in him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You might want to plug up that open mouth in the future, Chuckles. Anonymity protects. Porcelain over there was wise to use an alias the second time he came to the police station.”
“But,” Blaine points out, “you weren’t at Jordan. You were outside the gate, at least two streets away, when we ran into you.”
“Yes,” Inspector Sylvester agrees. “Well, I didn’t actually know when they were going after you, or I would have swept through those smelly dorms like a plague.”
“So you just found us by chance? You got lucky?” Blaine demands.
“Oh please,” she scoffs, “luck’s got nothing to do with it. It was always going to happen. I’m Sue Sylvester; I don’t need luck, I’m already a winner.”
Kurt catches Blaine’s eye and gives an exaggerated eyeroll. Blaine grins. Constable Sylvester is rude, blunt, and very full of herself, but he can’t help but like her for her dedication and loyalty. And he kind of envies her her confidence, to be honest.
“So,” she says, fixing steely eyes on Kurt, “why is Father Ben Jaan so interested in you? And why did you come to the police station to see Dirk’s body? I don’t believe for one second that you have Gyptian blood, and the ‘friend of a friend’ story you fed the idiots at the station was pathetic, so don’t even bother. I want the truth. What did you do?”
Kurt gulps, but then seemingly steels himself.
“I saw him kill the Gyp– Mr. Kraajenzank. I saw him kill him.”
Inspector Sylvester’s eyes go wide, as if given an unexpected treat. Kurt continues, even though his voice wavers a little.
“I don’t think he saw me properly then, but coming to the station was stupid, and I think he’s been looking for me ever since. I don’t think it can be a coincidence that I was attacked that night. I was lucky Blaine was there, or who knows what might have happened.”
Blaine is silent while Kurt tells Inspector Sylvester everything he can remember about the murder. She’s demanding, asking about every little detail, and that’s how Blaine finds out that the bullies Kurt was hiding from have been tormenting him for a long time now, that they sometimes throw him in the river, and that one of them, possibly the biggest one, once cornered Kurt in a dark alley and kissed him before threatening to kill him if he ever told anyone.
It makes Blaine feel helpless, knowing that Kurt’s up against so much, and that there’s so little he has done – so little he can do – to make it better for him. He’s surprised to find a warm hand closing around his, and looks up to find Kurt looking at him. He looks strong, proud, and Blaine thinks that maybe he doesn’t really need his help, but he wants to give it anyway. He wants to see him smile again.


It takes most of the day, but by evening, Inspector Sylvester has found them a safe place to stay. Now that she has a witness, she can finally go after Father Ben Jaan, but that means that, until he’s actually tried and sentenced, Kurt and, to a lesser extent Blaine, are not safe to wander the streets. They stay with friends of Inspector Sylvester, another Gyptian family, where they’re given a warm welcome as soon as the circumstances of their situation are explained. It’s stuffy and claustrophobic in the little boat, but every evening there’s music. Sometimes it’s Gyptian folk songs, sometimes it’s old ballads, but it’s always a lively affair. The family’s daughter, Rachel, is quite taken with them both, and makes them sing with her every chance she gets. She also keeps flirting with Blaine, and he doesn’t know how to turn her down politely. This creates an awkward tension between the three of them, because Blaine still can’t get the kiss out of his head, but Kurt’s acting like it never happened and being as cool and reserved as it’s possible to be without crossing over into impoliteness. It’s really quite impressive how he manages, considering they’re in each other’s company constantly, except for when they have to go and relieve themselves.
The tension finally snaps when Rachel tries to kiss Blaine when they’re practising a duet. He stumbles backwards in surprise, trips over a chair and goes crashing to the floor, bringing the table with him. He manages to sit up, and at the look of hurt on Rachel’s face, he blurts out: “I like boys!”
There’s a stunned silence. Then, Kurt begins to giggle hysterically, and it’s not long before they’re all laughing too hard to breathe properly. When they’ve caught their breaths somewhat, Rachel fixes Blaine with a shrewd look.
“Just boys in general, or do you like a boy?”
His tomato red face is answer enough, and he can’t help but note that Kurt looks very pleased about the whole thing.
From then on, things are easier, and they’re surprised to find themselves very sad when Inspector Sylvester drops by to inform them that they’ll be free to go by the end of the week. The very next day, Kurt is escorted to the police station to give testimony, and when he returns, he looks exhausted, but relieved. They don’t sing that night, but they talk a lot. About the past, what they want for the future, and what they definitely don’t want. Rachel wants to sing and act, and she hugs them tightly when they tell her she’ll be great.


As promised, by the end of the week, Inspector Sylvester shows up, looking like the cat that got the cream, and announces that Father Ben Jaan has been found guilty and given a long prison sentence. There are hugs and tears – Blaine has never been strong on that front – and then they part, with many promises to visit. They’re almost back at Jordan when Blaine finally gathers the courage to take Kurt by the hand and pull him aside. His palms are terribly sweaty, but he knows that if he doesn’t get it out now, he might miss his chance, so he takes a deep breath.
“Kurt,” he says, mentally congratulating himself when it doesn’t come out embarrassingly squeaky. “I want you to know that it’s been a pleasure getting to know you, and I’m really glad it was me who found you that night. I-I… I really like you, and maybe we could… I mean, if you wanted, we could go out some time. If-if you’d like. You don’t have to, though! Really, it’s only if you want to.”
Kurt’s silent for a moment, and then he flings himself at Blaine, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him like a desperate man. Blaine clings on for dear life, feeling his brain go gooier by the second, but not caring in the least. Kurt pulls away with a wet, squelching sound to rest his forehead against Blaine’s.
“There’s nothing I want more,” he whispers, his breath fanning over Blaine’s lips. Then he dives back in. In the alley behind them, their d�mons curl up around each other.