Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Blaine stared glumly at the rapidly-emptying club. He'd been waiting for Kurt all night. But he wasn't there. He hadn't even performed in the last number. It was like he had vanished.

And he had been hoping so badly to see him, to talk to him. Listening to him sing had been like….like nothing he'd heard before. It was the first time he'd seen him perform and felt like he'd really seen Kurt- not Padgett, but Kurt.

"Honey, we're closing," a waitress said as she passed by. "You can come back tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded, reaching for his coat. His heart sank down to his shoes. This was it. It was over. It didn't matter what he felt, or what he thought Kurt was trying to tell him. Kurt was with Sebastian, and there was no going back.

He slipped his coat over his shoulders and headed out the front doors, dodging a couple kissing sloppily under the awning. His chest ached. Light cool rain drizzled over his head; he didn't feel like pulling his hood on.

Just as he was climbing into the front seat of his car he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He fumbled for it, hitting talk and pressing it up to his ear as he turned his key in the ignition.

"Hello?" he said absently, tucking it under his chin as he started to pull out for the parking space.

All he heard was a faint raspy mumble, but it made his heart skip a beat. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the caller ID on the screen. It was an unlisted number- no clue where it was coming from. But he couldn't deny his gut instinct.

"Kurt?" he breathed. "Kurt, is that you?"

He couldn't hear anything. He threw the gearshift in park and pressed both hands to the phone, holding it tighter to his ear.

"Kurt, what's wrong?" he said, his voice rising. "Are you okay?"

He heard a faint inhale.

"Can you come get me?"

Blaine's heart thudded in his chest. Kurt sounded like a lost child, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Of course," he said. "Of course I can, where are you?"

"I…I can see a street sign," Kurt said, his voice small. "I'm at the corner of Dunbrook and Fourth. I'm at the phone booth in front of the old bike shop, the one with the boarded-up windows."

"Okay," Blaine said, clutching his phone in one hand as he shifted gears and peeled out of the parking lot. "Okay, I think I know where that is. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm…I'm okay, I think, I just…" Kurt took a deep breath. "I want to go home. I need you to take me home."

"Okay," Blaine said. "I'll take you wherever you need to go. Just…are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm-"

The phone call cut off, leaving a blaring dial tone in his ear. Blaine swore, dropping the phone in the cupholder and turning his jeep sharply around the corner. He felt like he was going to be sick. Something was wrong. He'd seen it Kurt's eyes while he was performing, he'd felt it when he'd touched him briefly when they passed in the middle of the club, he could hear it in the childlike tremble of his voice. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.

He only got lost once, taking the wrong turn on a one-way street, but he drove as fast as he could to the vacant bicycle shop, squinting through the dark and the rain as his windshield wipers worked overtime. It was hard to see and harder to concentrate; he switched off the radio and tried to focus on the wet street, searching for the phone booth.

He turned onto the right road and slowed down, searching for Kurt. There was no one there. The booth was empty, the phone dangling on the cord and swinging lazily, and the shopfronts were dark and silent and empty.

He slapped his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "I don't understand," he muttered under his breath. "I just don't-"

"You son of a bitch! I was going to give you everything, and this is what you decide to do?"

The stinging sound of someone getting slapped.

"You're nothing, you hear me? Fucking nothing! I could snap my fingers and get anyone I wanted!"

A soft thud, and then a laugh.

"Really? You're going to fight back? How fucking adorable. I could break you, you know. I could snap you in half and-"

Blaine was out of the car before he realized what he was doing, the keys still in the ignition and the door hanging open. He darted into the alleyway, his shoes skidding on the glossy wet pavement, but he ran anyway.

Kurt was pressed up against the rough brick, a red mark rising on his cheekbone, his blue eyes wild and his teeth bared. Sebastian stood over him, pinning him, his mouth drawn in a leer. "Face it, Kurt Hummel, there's nothing you can do," he said. "You can fight back all you want, honey, but at the end of the day, I'm going to get what I want, and by the time we're done you're going to come crawling back, because you don't have anywhere else to go."

Kurt drew his arm back and punched Sebastian across the jaw, making him stumble back just a little, but Blaine could see him shaking in the dim light from the street lamps. He wasn't strong enough to stand, much less defend himself.

"Kurt!" he shouted. "Sebastian, get your fucking hands away from him!"

Sebastian turned sharply, letting go of Kurt, and Blaine saw red. He struck out, punching Sebastian with all his force square in his solar plexus, and Sebastian fell back, wheezing. "You're not going to win, you bastard," he seethed through his teeth, and kicked him in the ribs. "Don't you dare touch him. Don't you dare come near him!"

"I can fight my own battles," Kurt said, but he was gasping hard for breath and blood was dripping from his nose. "I don't...I don't need..."

His eyes rolled back in his head and he lost his balance, collapsing forward. Blaine caught him in his arms, letting him fall against his chest, and felt Kurt's fingers weakly tangle in the shoulders of his coat. "I've got you," he said. "It's okay, baby, I've got you."

"Are you shitting me, Blaine?" Sebastian grunted as he pushed himself off the ground. Wet dirt was smeared over his clothes and face and he tried to brush it away. "This is seriously what you want? You'd choose a fucking stripper, a fucking homeless kid, over me?"

"I'm not choosing him," Blaine said, raking his fingers through Kurt's wet hair, his arms beginning to prickle as he tried to support his weight. "I already did."

Kurt's breath was light and fluttering against his neck, and it was starting to scare him. Hot blood dripped onto the collar of his shirt, and Kurt was gasping, his fingers barely holding onto him. Blaine sank down to the wet pavement, cradling him on his lap.

"It's okay," he murmured, trying to shield him from the rain. "It's okay, Kurt. I'm here. I've got you."

Sebastian kept talking, yelling with that horrible off-kilter, too loud tone he always got when he'd had too much to drink, and Blaine ignored him. "He's not worth it," he whispered in Kurt's ear. "Don't listen to him. He's not worth it. I'm here."

Kurt's fingers tightened, just a little, like a child struggling to keep from falling, and Blaine held him close until Sebastian shouted his last obscenities and stormed away. He stroked Kurt's hair, letting him press his cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. "He's gone," he whispered at last. "He's gone. You're safe."

Kurt struggled to sit up, wet blood smeared across his face. His makeup was running, his mascara streaking down his cheeks but his lips still deep rosy red. He was so pale, the moonlight making his skin look whiter, and Blaine helped him to his feet. The dazed look in Kurt's eyes was beginning to make him nervous.

"Kurt, what's going on?" he asked, his fingers wrapping around Kurt's upper arms. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Kurt lifted his chin, his wide blue eyes barely meeting his gaze, and all he could do was shake his head. His wet hair was plastered his forehead, rivulets running over his pale cheeks and smearing what was left of his makeup. "I'm…I'm not okay," he whispered. His shoulders shook under his grip. "I'm not okay, Blaine, I'm not, I'm not okay."

Kurt was shivering, Blaine realized, shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering. His clothes were drenched and sticking to his rail-thin body. He didn't have a coat, and one of his shoes was badly torn. "You're soaked," Blaine said, stripping out of his warm North Face jacket and tucking it around Kurt. "Come on, we need to get you out of the rain."

He took Kurt by the hand and led him to the car. Kurt clutched his fingers in a daze, his hand trembling in Blaine's gentle grip. Blaine had to support his weight to help him into the car, and when Kurt's cold hand fumbled on the seatbelt, he reached across to buckle him in.

He ran around to the front seat and climbed in, slamming the door behind him. "Where do you need me to take you?" he asked, turning on the overhead lights. "Is there-"

His voice trailed off. Kurt huddled in the seat beside him, the collar of the jacket turned up over his ears, his slim body shaking. Blaine reached over and stroked a lock of wet hair off Kurt's forehead. "Hey," he said gently. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe."

Kurt hid his face in his hand. "I messed up," he said. "I messed up, and nothing's ever going to be okay, and-"

Blaine took Kurt's cold hand and squeezed hard. "Things can get better," he promised. "I know it. I'll help however I can." Kurt still sagged in his seat, his eyes downcast, and Blaine impulsively pressed his lips to Kurt's palm. "Your hands are like ice."

"I'm cold," Kurt murmured.

Blaine reached over and switched the heat on full-blast. "Where do you want me to take you?" he asked, trying to massage some of the icy stiffness out of Kurt's fingers. "We'll go anywhere you want."

Kurt closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, the sound choked and thick. "Highlands, in the north side of town," he murmured, rubbing his cheek against the plush seat cover. "The house is…6303.…Braemoor.."

"Okay," Blaine said, taking a right turn, "Okay, I can do that. Is it your house, or your friend's house, or-"

"Finn's house," Kurt managed to eke out before he broke into a harsh, painful sounding cough. "It's…it's…"

He coughed hard into his cupped hands, pulling away sharply. "Hey, it's okay, I'll get you there," Blaine reassured, squeezing Kurt's shoulder. "Just lie still, okay?"

Kurt kept coughing until he suddenly doubled over, spitting wetly into his palm. Blaine jumped. "What's wrong?" he said, his voice rising higher than he intended. "What's wrong?"

He pulled Kurt's hand away from his mouth and nearly lost control of the car. "Oh my god," he breathed. "You're bleeding."

Kurt stared at the dark little spots on his shaking fingers, dazed. "I think I'm sick," he murmured.

"I think you are," Blaine said, startled. He folded Kurt's fingers into a loose fist and squeezed it lightly. "Lie down, lie down." He stretched across Kurt's knees and lowered the seat so he could lean back. "You're still shaking. Are you still cold?"

"I'm always cold," Kurt mumbled, huddling into a tighter ball, his knees tucked up to his chest.

"We'll be there soon," Blaine said. He touched the back of Kurt's forehead tentatively, the way his sister always did when she checked for a fever, and drew back sharply. "You're burning up."

"I'm sorry," Kurt murmured, holding his bloodstained fingers closer to his chest.

Blaine stopped at a red light, his heart thumping wildly. Kurt was sick. Kurt was dangerously sick. "Maybe I should take you to a hos-"

"No," Kurt said sharply, sitting up a little. His damp hair fell against his forehead. "No, no, I'm okay. I don't need to go to a hospital. I don't, I can't, I just…just take me to Finn's house."

"Okay," Blaine said helplessly, gripping the steering wheel tightly and staring blankly at the rain-dark street. "Okay, I won't take you to a hospital."

Kurt fell back against the seat, breathing heavily. Blaine drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and before he could change his mind, he pulled out his phone, fumbled at his contacts list, and thumped out a text message.

have kurt bringin him 2 ur house really sick

The car behind him honked impatiently and he dropped his phone as he stepped on the gas pedal. Kurt jerked up, startled like a deer in headlights, and Blaine squeezed his knee lightly.

"It's okay," he soothed. "We're almost there, baby. You're going to be okay."

Kurt said nothing as the sketchiness of downtown faded to smaller suburbs, and then even smaller residential streets. Blaine's stomach ached. Kurt was getting quieter and quieter, except for the ever-present coughing. Finally Blaine reached over and took his hand, linking their fingers together, and Kurt squeezed back, just a little.

Blaine took a sharp right onto a sleepy side street, his heart skipping a beat. "We're on Braemoor," he said, raising Kurt's limp hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "We're there, just tell me what side of the street the house is on."

But Kurt never answered, and he didn't need to, because as he inched down the street, scanning the white mailbox numbers in the rain, he saw Finn standing in the driveway of a blue house with light blazing out of every window, the door behind him open.

Blaine pulled crookedly into the driveway and parked, already reaching for his seatbelt. "Kurt, it's okay, we're here," he said, but Finn had yanked the passenger side door open, making the car ding noisily in protest.

"What's wrong?" Finn demanded, cupping Kurt's cheek in his huge hand. "What's going on?"

Kurt coughed hard, blood flecking his lips, and Finn scooped him up in his arms to pull him out of the car. "C'mon, Blaine, let's get him inside," he said sharply, and Blaine tugged the keys out of the ignition and followed him into the house, not even bothering to lock the doors.

Rain pelted Blaine's face as he jogged behind Finn. Kurt looked so small in Finn's arms, frighteningly small, and it seemed like he didn't even have enough strength to lift his head off Finn's shoulder. Blaine reached up and touched Kurt's forehead lightly, brushing a strand of hair away, and it seemed like a light sparked in his brilliant blue eyes for just a moment.

A pretty blonde girl stood in the doorway of the house, arms crossed over her chest as she watched them like a hawk, and she took a step back as Finn carried Kurt into the living room. "He's drenched," she said sharply. "Finn, put him down on the couch and get some dry clothes from your room."

Finn obeyed, setting Kurt down carefully, his long thin legs folding under him, and ran up the stairs. The girl closed the door and eyed Blaine coolly. "You're the boy from Dalton," she said.

"Blaine Anderson," he said, reaching out to shake her hand and quickly rethinking. "I'm…Kurt…we're friends. We're friends, and he called me, and-"

Kurt doubled over on the couch, coughing into his hands, and the blonde crossed the room quickly to kneel beside him, helping him out of Blaine's soaked jacket. Blaine hung back, anxious and awkward, and watched Kurt's lashes part softly, just a little bit, as his coughing fit subsided for a split second. The blonde girl stroked his hair, watching his face anxiously. Kurt swallowed hard. "Quinn," he croaked.

"Lie still," she soothed, wrapping her fingers around his. "Finn will be back in just a second, okay?"

Kurt's narrow chest heaved. "Where's Blaine?" he rasped.

Quinn glanced back at him over her shoulder and Blaine took a step forward. "I'm right here," he said. "What's wrong?"

Kurt pulled his hand away from Quinn's and reached towards him. Blaine leaned over the back of the armrest and squeezed his hand tightly. Quinn picked up a box of tissues from the end table and began to silently clean the blood and makeup from Kurt's face. He submitted quietly to her gentle touch, allowing her to tilt his chin so she could wipe the blood from his neck and jaw. She washed his face clean, until all that was left was shadowing around Kurt's brilliant eyes. For this first time, Blaine could see the soft freckles on Kurt's nose, and it was so unbearably human that he had to squeeze Kurt's hand harder.

Finn ran down the stairs. "Here," he said, tossing a thick towel towards Quinn. "Get him dried off before he freezes to death. I've got some clothes for him."

Quinn helped Kurt sit up, her hand splayed across his lower back, and tugged at the buttons of his shirt. He tried to help, his fingers shaking, and Finn stepped in to help. Blaine held tightly to Kurt's hand as they pulled off his cold wet clothes, stripping him down to his slim-fitting boxer briefs, and draped the towel around him.

Quinn dried off his wet hair, rubbing it gently with the thick towel. Kurt closed his eyes, still shivering, a little blue around the lips, and Blaine stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. "He's shaking really bad," Finn said, and he sat beside Kurt, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Kurt said nothing, just closed his eyes and leaned into his shoulder like he was exhausted. "Let's get him dried off and dressed first," Quinn said, still messing with Kurt's soaked hair. "Blaine, can you help me? Finn, hold him up."

Blaine let go of Kurt's hand and picked up the clothes Finn had brought- thick fleece pajama pants, a long sleeved shirt, and wool socks. "I can dress myself," Kurt said, almost snapping at them as he reached for the shirt. He pulled it on, but slowly. Blaine handed him the pajama pants silently, but once he was dressed Quinn lifted his legs onto her lap and pulled on the socks. The clothes were laughably too big for him, the hems hiding his ankles and the sleeves covering his hands.

She cupped his hand in hers and used a corner of the damp towel to wipe the blood off his fingers. "Do you need something to drink?" she asked.

"Just some water," he murmured, leaning back against the arm of the couch. His eyes closed slowly; the skin around his eyes was thin and pale, the blue veins standing out starkly. Finn got up and walked towards the kitchen. "If I can just…stay here for a little bit…I'll go. I'm sorry. I didn't think this through."

"You're not going anywhere," Finn said, thrusting a plastic cup of ice water into his hands. Kurt drank greedily, water dripping down his chin, and Quinn brushed it away with her thumb. "I've already called my mom and she's on her way home, she got off work early. You're not getting out of this."

Kurt sighed heavily, dropping his cheek against his hand, and curled up in a tighter ball. "I'm freezing," he said through his teeth.

Quinn picked up a fleece blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him, then paused and touched his forehead. "I think you're running a fever," she said.

"I just have a cold," Kurt murmured.

"You're coughing up blood," Blaine said. He took both of Kurt's hands in his. "I've watched you, Kurt. I've watched you get thinner, and sicker, and weaker, and…please. Just let us help, okay?"

Kurt paused, looking up at him with wide startled eyes, and then just sank back against the couch like a chastised child. Finn reached over and brushed the back of his hand against Kurt's cheek. "He's burning up," he said. "Shit, I hope my mom gets here soon." Blaine squeezed Kurt's hands gently, feeling the faint light thump of his pulse in his thin wrists. Finn opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then tried again. "Kurt…what happened? Where've you been?"

Kurt just looked at him, his white lips slack. "Where's your aunt?" Quinn pressed. "Why isn't she taking care of you? Is she hurting you? Is she abusive?"

"I can't…I can't tell you," Kurt whispered, looking down at his hands clasped in Blaine's.

"Look, Kurt…something's wrong," Finn said. "We all know it. It's just…you won't talk to us. You haven't talked to us since your dad died, not really, and-"

"I can't," Kurt said, closing his eyes. "I made a mistake." He tried to sit up. "I need to go. I'm sorry. I need to go…"

Blaine tried to make him lean back down; Finn tried to press back on his shoulder. But Kurt was still trying to pull away, to struggle to his feet, yanking his hands away from Blaine's grip, and Blaine's heart thudded in his ribs. Kurt couldn't do this. Not now. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

But the front door open and an older woman, kind-faced with slight lines around her mouth and eyes, walked in, closing the door behind her. Kurt froze like a deer in headlights.

The woman set down her work bag and umbrella, her eyes trained on Kurt. Blaine rocked back on his heels, just watching. She crossed the silent living room without saying a word, sat down on the edge of the couch, and pulled Kurt into her arms.

Kurt stayed frozen for a split second, and then all of a sudden he slowly began to lean into her, his eyes closing. Blaine couldn't help it, he just reached up and stroked Kurt's damp hair lightly, trying to help soothe him.

"Mom, he's sick," Finn whispered. "Something's wrong."

Carole held Kurt close, letting him lean onto her shoulder like a tired child, and rubbed his back. Kurt sank into the comfort of her hug, his eyes closed tightly.

"My boy," she murmured, rocking him against his shoulder. "My sweet boy. Oh, honey."

A shudder ran down Kurt's spine, making him shiver violently, and Blaine pressed his cheek against his hair, willing for things to be okay, for things to get better.

"Carole, I'm in trouble," Kurt burst out. "I'm in trouble, and I don't know what to do."

She hugged him tighter, stroking steadily up and down his shaking back "Don't worry about it," she entreated. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay. We'll all help you, all right? You're going to be okay."

Kurt nodded. His hand crept out a little, seeking Blaine's, and Blaine grabbed his fingers tightly in both of his, kissing his knuckles and rubbing warmth into his icy skin.

Carole rocked back on her heels and eyed him critically. "Sweetheart, you're skin and bones," she said, running her thumb down his cheek. "And you're running a fever. Finn, go upstairs and get the thermometer, and Quinn, could you go heat up some soup? Something that'll be hot and easy for him to swallow." She turned to Blaine and raised an eyebrow. "And you are-"

"Blaine," he said, holding his hand out awkwardly. "Blaine Anderson. I'm a friend of Kurt's."

She eyed their clasped hands. "Friends, or-"

"Well, we're sort of…kind of…" Blaine stammered. "Friends. We're friends."

Carole looked like she wanted to press further, but Kurt coughed quietly into his hand and that caught her attention. "Sweetheart, how long have you had that cough?" she asked. "You sound awfully congested."

"I think I got a cold back around…January, maybe. Or February," Kurt said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And then it just…didn't get better."

"It doesn't sound like a cold," she said. "More like bronchitis. Maybe pneumonia."

Finn pressed the thermometer into her hand. "You need me to get anything else?" he asked.

"Not right now- thanks, honey," she said, uncapping the thermometer and sliding it between Kurt's lips. "Hold that steady."

Finn sat down on the arm of the couch, arms folded across his chest, frowning. "You never told me you were sick," he said.

"I haven't…said a lot of things," Kurt murmured.

The thermometer beeped and Carole checked it. "A hundred and two," she said, setting aside. "All right, honey. You're going to stay here for the night and I'll take you to the doctor in the morning. Tell me your aunt's number, I'll give her a call so she won't worry." She stood up, patting Kurt's shoulder. "Although if she let you end up like this, I might end up just giving her a piece of my mind instead."

The last hint of color drained from Kurt's face. Carole frowned. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand. "Tell her," he whispered.

"Tell us what?" Finn asked.

Kurt swallowed hard, tried to speak, failed. He looked up at them, terrified. "There is no aunt," he said in a tiny voice.

Carole froze. Finn just stared at him. Blaine looked down at his fingers laced through Kurt's.

Kurt tried to take a deep breath, but it rattled in his throat. "There is no aunt," he repeated, small and pitiful. "No one…no one wanted me, after my dad died."

"So…what, you've been living by yourself?" Carole said, sitting back down beside him. "All by yourself in that big empty house."

"The bank took the house."

"When?"

"Months ago."

"Then where have you been living?"

"In my car," Kurt confessed, and his lips began to tremble.

Carole covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my god, Kurt…" she breathed.

Blaine rubbed Kurt's slim fingers. "The bank took the house," he said again. "I couldn't…I couldn't pay the bills, there were just too many, and paying for the funeral…I couldn't. The garage got bought out, and the bank took the house, and…I got a normal job, I did, I tried, but it didn't pay very much at all."

A tear escaped and slid down Kurt's cheek; he swiped at it impatiently with a shaking hand. "I found a job that paid better," he said, his voice tight and pitched too high. "A lot better. I was going to…to save my money, and graduate from high school, and then once I had the money and my diploma I was going to get access to the college fund that my parents put up for me, and between that and the money I saved I could afford to go to school and just…forget about everything, and-"

"Where were you working?" Carole asked in a low voice.

"I was making a lot of money," Kurt pleaded.

"Honey, where?" she pressed.

"Stripping," he whispered.

The room fell silent.

"I didn't know what else to do," he begged. "Everything got out of control, and I didn't know what to do, and…my dad would hate me now. If my dad knew what I've been doing, and my mom, they would hate me, just like-"

He choked off midsentence and started to get up, breaking away from Blaine's grip, but Finn moved faster than he thought possible and grabbed Kurt tightly, wrapping his arms around his waist in a hug. "No one hates you," he said fiercely. "Nobody hates you. Especially not…god, Kurt, your dad could never hate you, ever."

He sagged in Finn's grip, his knees buckling, and Carole crossed to him quickly, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "It's going to be all right, Kurt," she said, and Kurt's face crumpled as he started to cry.

Finn lowered him slowly to the ground, sinking down beside him, and Kurt huddled on the floor with his face hidden in his hands. Carole pulled him onto her lap, rocking him gently against her shoulder. "It's all going to be okay," she kept murmuring as she stroked his damp hair. "Sh, sh, sh. It's all going to be okay."

Kurt clung to her, his face buried in her shoulder, sobbing fiercely. Finn reached out a shaking hand to touch his back. Blaine sat in stunned silence on the couch, his folded hands pressed to his mouth. His stomach hurt just watching them, listening to the raw terror in the sound of Kurt's sobs. He looked so young, curled up on the floor like that, and with a sickening clench of his heart it finally sank in that Kurt was young. For so long he'd seen Kurt as that polished, glossy performer, but behind all of that he was just a sixteen-year-old child, scared and alone and hurting.

It took a while for Kurt to settle down again, but Carole seemed to be nothing but patience. Even Finn just sat still and quiet beside them, his hand rubbing lightly across Kurt's bony back. Kurt's father and Carole were going to get married, Blaine remembered, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. They didn't see Kurt the way he did- they saw him as a son, a younger brother. He was family. Their prodigal.

Kurt's crying faded into a light cough, and Carole wiped his tears away with her thumb. "Don't you worry about anything, sweetheart," she said, her voice thick. "You're going to stay with us, and Finn and I will take care of everything, all right?"

Kurt nodded slightly, his blue eyes bloodshot, and Carole kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, my baby," she sighed. "My poor baby." She kissed him again and rubbed his upper arms gently. "Let's get you to bed and get you something to eat, all right? We'll take care of everything else in the morning."

Kurt nodded again. "He can sleep in my room," Finn said, standing up and lifting Kurt easily. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Blaine," Kurt said, his voice cracking a little. "Can Blaine stay? Please?"

"Of course, sweetheart, Blaine can stay," Carole reassured him.

Blaine got up from the couch, his chest aching, and followed them up the stairs. Finn's room was small and cluttered, but the narrow twin bed was neatly made. Finn set him down gently and lifted the blankets back. "You all right? Are you cold?"

"'mokay," Kurt said, shivering a little bit.

Finn pulled the blankets sloppily over his legs, then paused and kissed the top of Kurt's head. "I'm glad you're okay," he said. "And…and don't leave again, all right?"

Kurt nodded. Finn squeezed his shoulder and left quickly, brushing past Blaine with his head down. Blaine took a step towards Kurt. He looked worn out and thinner than ever. "How're you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Tired," Kurt said, leaning back against the pillow. "Mostly just tired, I guess." He held out a tentative hand. "Could…could you…"

Blaine took his hand and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Everything's going to be all right now, I think," he said, smiling at him. "They love you so much. They want to help you."

"I don't deserve it," Kurt said dully. "I've messed up so much. I don't deserve to-"

Blaine covered Kurt's lips lightly with his fingertips. "Don't say that," he said softly. "Nah-uh. You deserve to get better. Now matter how much you think you've messed, you can always come back."

Kurt regarded him solemnly, his large eyes very blue in the half light, and after a gentle pause he closed his eyes and kissed Blaine's fingertips.

"Hey, I brought you something to eat," Quinn said, nudging the door open with her hip. "It's just soup, but it's hot." She placed the bowl down on the nightstand and eyed him carefully. "I have to go home, but…you're going to stay here, right? With the Hudsons?"

He nodded. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, brushing his hair thoughtfully off his forehead, and left.

Kurt tried to pick up the bowl, but it was too heavy and shook in his hands. "Here, let me," Blaine said softly. He balanced it in his hands as Kurt took a small, cautious spoonful. After that first bite he started shoveling it into his mouth like he was starving, soup dripping down his chin. Blaine wiped it away gently.

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled. "I'm…I'm hungry."

"It's okay," Blaine said. He set the empty bowl down on the nightstand. "You were hungry a lot, weren't you?"

Kurt nodded, pulling his knees into his chest. "Blaine?" he ventured.

"Uh-huh?"

Kurt chewed on his thumbnail. "What's supposed to happen after this?" he asked, his voice strained and quiet.

Blaine slid closer to him on the bed. "What do you mean?" he said.

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know what's going to happen now," he said. "And I don't…I don't think you'll want to stay. Not with me."

"Hey," Blaine said softly, tilting Kurt's chin up. "You can't push me away. Not now. I'm not going anywhere." He ran his thumb along Kurt's lower lip. "As long as you want me, I'm here."

Kurt watched him thoughtfully, his gaze softening. "Could you kiss me?" he asked in a small voice. "Not…not Padgett Price, but…me. Just me."

"I would love to kiss you, Kurt," Blaine said, and he smiled as the light began to shine in his brilliant blue eyes. He cupped Kurt's face in his hands and leaned in close as Kurt's fingers tangled in his dark curls, his breath soft and warm against his cheek, and captured his lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

Two years later…

Blaine shifted a little in the warm cocoon of their bed. It was still dark out, but there was just the faintest promise of early-morning sunrise hinting on the horizon.

He eased up a little bit against the pillows and smiled down at his sleeping boyfriend. Kurt's cheek was pillowed on his shoulder, his fingers curled up against Blaine's collarbone. Blaine shifted a little till he could touch his lips to the back of Kurt's hand. Kurt sighed in his sleep and nestled closer to his warmth.

Blaine studied Kurt, watching the steady rise and fall of his bare chest as he breathed deeply. He was beautiful, even more beautiful than he'd been on the stage back in the old days. Funny, he didn't even really think of that anymore, of how they met. That had faded away quickly, as soon as Kurt told the Hudsons about what happened. Everything happened so fast after that- Carole applying for and receiving custody, Finn rearranging his room and making space in the house for Kurt to live with them, the tangled up process of getting control of Burt Hummel's frozen accounts and putting them into Kurt's name. And of course there was the long road of recovery for Kurt, once he was diagnosed with pneumonia and given a long-term course of antibiotics.

But they'd had each other. It was unspoken between the two of them, but somehow…Blaine just never left, and Kurt never asked him to go. That first spring together, that on-edge, touch-and-go couple of months, eased them into a quiet summer filled with lazy, easy kisses and a chance to get to know each other- for real this time. By the time their senior year began in the fall, Blaine was at McKinley with him, Kurt was stronger and healthier and happier, and they were inseparable.

Blaine traced Kurt's soft fingertips, marveling again at how lucky they were, how lucky he was. Kurt's soft hair brushed against his cheek and he kissed him lightly, trying not to wake him.

But Kurt roused just a bit, blinking up at him sleepily. "Hi," he murmured.

"Good morning," Blaine smiled. "You can go back to sleep. Your first class isn't till ten."

"Yours is at eight," Kurt countered sleepily. He nuzzled at the curve of Blaine's jaw. "Want me to make coffee?"

"How can you get out of bed when it's so cold out?" Blaine said, wrapping his arms around Kurt and hugging him to his chest. "Let's just hide here forever until it stops snowing outside."

"But I like the snow," Kurt said. "It's Christmas in New York, Blaine, how could we not love it?"

"When it's ten degrees out and you want to leave our bed to make coffee," Blaine said, nuzzling the tip of his nose against Kurt's. "Stay here and keep me warm. Stay, stay, stay."

"Fine, but if you won't let me get up and make coffee, then I'm going to be grumpy," Kurt warned, but he snuggled closer to him.

"I'll make you some," Blaine said. He smiled thoughtfully, brushing a lock of hair out of Kurt's eyes. "I love you."

Kurt smiled up at him, sleepy and angelic. "I love you too," he said.

He leaned up to kiss him, his soft lips slightly clumsy in his drowsiness, and Blaine tucked the thick duvet tighter around his slender frame as he kissed him back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"You're perfect," he murmured against Kurt's soft lips, and he felt Kurt smile.

Author's Notes:

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end!

Y'ALL I FINISHED A STORY SOMEONE CUE THE TICKER TAPE PARADE AND START THROWING CONFETTI BECAUSE IT'S A MIRACLE!

I can't believe how far this has come. It started off as a drabble on Tumblr that turned into a oneshot, and then it turned int a multichapter, and now...it's finished! It's done!

SOMEONE GO TELL DAX SHE CAN FINALLY READ SOMETHING I WROTE!

I think I'm really happy with this one. Hopefully the end is just schmoopy enough without being too schmoopy. But Kurt needed some love and catharsis after all of this. And Blaine had a nice character growth arc too, I feel. In the very beginning he was very innocently spoiled and selfish, not because he's a bad kid but just because he's never had to think about anyone else, and by the end he's standing up for Kurt and taking care of him. And that makes me happy. Hopefully the character growth was as successful to you as a reader as it is in my head.

Yeah. I'm just really happy.

And if you haven't listened to the song "Poison and Wine" by the Civil Wars, go listen to it. It's basically the theme song for this story.

Special thanks to Zoey, Vale, Margaret, Boog, and Christina for their love and encouragement and beta-reading through this whole process. And thank you to everyone who's loved my sweet stripper!Kurt and left reviews.

And also, I'm freakishly proud of myself for finishing something.

Now that this is done, it's time to edit and update Goodnight, so I hope you'll stick around for that!