Hey there! So, I've recently read some fabulous Klaine Slave!AU and I thought I'd give my hand at this. This isn't going to be a very long story, I think, but I hope you enjoy it! Review if you like, I love to know what you think!

Blaine always hated the slave auctions.

He tried to keep his gaze adverted as he followed his parents, gut twisting at the smell of unwashed bodies. They weren't crying. It had always been the thing to freak him out. He could see one slaver beating his slaves, but the emotionless, blank face never left. No matter what the punishment, the slaves were not allowed to cry out or break face. Punishment would be harsh, even death if the masters so chose. It made him sick. His father would always point out the prized slaves, egging him onto buying one of them. Blaine always took one look at them and rejected the idea completely.

The sellers had the slaves set up on stages, the women and children first. Each slave was holding a placard, stating their age, health status and any skills they had. Children were always the most expensive, prized, his father said. After all, you could break them in. Women were next. The younger they were, the more expensive, especially if they were virgins. Blaine swallowed hard as he saw a girl near fifteen being led away by a man about fifty, a smug look on his face. Those unfortunate enough to be virgins were often used as sex slaves – something frowned upon by the law but certainly not outlawed. And then there were the men. Used for housework, yardwork, mills, anything one could dream of, they were a dime a dozen. His mother had said this morning that she needed two more, prompting the trip to the McKinley Slave Auction.

That and today happened to be Blaine's seventeenth birthday. According to law, upon someone's seventeenth birthday, they were legally allowed their own slave. It didn't matter how many times Blaine had protested that he didn't want or need one, his father was adamant. He was an Anderson and must hold up appearances. And that meant buying a slave, whether he really wanted to or not. Blaine kicked at a stone, watching it roll off into the distance as his dad gave an irritated sigh.

"Blaine, stop acting like a child. I don't see what's wrong with you, it's just a slave. There has to be someone that you like here that catches your attention." Edward Anderson said with a severe look at his youngest son.

Blaine shot him a petulant glance which the older man missed due to his wife, Gloria Anderson, tugging him away. Blaine wandered away from them, hoping that maybe if he could escape them for the time being. He didn't understand why he was being forced into this when he obvious he didn't want one. They were still human. Sure, the law said that the moment they had been sold into slavery by a parent, relative, spouse, or prison that they no longer had any rights, but that didn't change the fact that they were still human. And no human should be treated as such.

He hated when his parents regaled tales of their first slaves. His father often told him about the "milky whiteness" of the girl's thighs and the "full ripeness of her breasts". Edward Anderson didn't care that Blaine didn't want to hear this, being both gay and reluctant to hear anything of his parents' sexual lives. Gloria Anderson sighed many times over her first slave, who had died after a beating her father gave him when he broke a plate. Blaine was always equal parts sickened and horrified by these stories, but it was common. An owner had the right to do whatever they wanted to their slave. Whether it be use them for sexual purposes, work them, or beat them to death, it didn't matter. Slaves had no rights.

Their lives meant nothing.

Blaine was drawn out of his thoughts by a sound out of place at the market. Looking around, he realized that he had wandered into the Broken category of slaves. Some slaves were punished so severely that they were considered broken by the government – basically making them worthless due to the fact the masters had often beaten any usefulness out of them. Blaine had always done his best to stay away from this hearbreaking part, but somehow, he was drawn here.

It took him a moment to figure out what caught his attention but when he figured it out, he inhaled sharply.

Crying.

A boy was curled up in a corner a couple of feet away on the nearby vendor, lying on ratty blankets, crying. The boy was extremely pale, his naked body covered in bruises and cuts, his hair so dirty there was no way you could tell what colour it was. And Blaine could help but be drawn by him. Tears were rolling down his cheeks slowly, his whole frail looking body shaking with the sobs. Blaine found himself kneeling by his side, reaching out with one hand to touch him. The boys' eyes fluttered open weakly, a soft whimpering sound escaping him, curling in on himself. Blaine was about to say something when a voice startled him from his thoughts.

"You don't want that one, boy. That one is too Broken to ever be fixed."

He glanced up at the vendor, and then chose to ignore him. He reached out with one hand to touch the slave's cheek. The reaction was instantaneous. Blue-green eyes flew open and the slave moved into a kneeling position, head on the dirty floor, shaking and cowering. He didn't say anything, just trembled as he waited for – for what? A blow? An order? Blaine felt sick, letting his eyes travel along the boys' body. Most of the bruises and cuts were healed poorly, but quite a few were still new. One of them, across his back, was bleeding and oozing – infected. No one would take care of that. Blaine knew that they'd just leave him here to die.

Something inside of him screamed in protest, and Blaine found himself on his feet, looking at the vendor. "How much."

If Blaine had told the vendor that the sky was green he couldn't have looked more surprised. The vendor gazed from the slave, to Blaine's determined face, obviously uncertain. There was no way the slave was worth much, but all vendors were out to make a prophet. Then again, everyone knew who Blaine Anderson was – the Anderson family was famous in Ohio for their music. There was no way he was going to cheat him out of anything.

"Just take him." The vendor said with a sneer. "It's not like he can do much anyway. I almost feel sorry for you, he's going to die within a fortnight."

Blaine said nothing, reaching down and touching the slave's cheek. He was still in that kneeling position, forehead pressed to the ground, sobs shaking his body. "Can you stand?" Blaine asked gently.

Immediately the slave tried to get to his feet – and nearly collapsed. Blaine caught him, nearly falling off balance when the pale boy recoiled away from his touch. His entire body was shaking and Blaine knew that there was no way he could stand. So he did the next best thing and scooped him up, holding him close and carefully to avoid the cut on his back. The boy shivered in his arms, looking up at him through wide, frightened eyes.

"Do you have a blanket? Or something for me to cover him with?" Blaine asked the vendor, who wordlessly handed him a scratchy old wool blanket. The vendor filled out the necessary paperwork, handing him the golden neck cuff that all owned slaves wore, and Blaine was off.

Blaine wrapped the blanket as best he could around the slave, walking away, holding him close. "What's your name?" he asked gently.

Slaves were usually stripped of their names unless stated otherwise. Blaine wasn't about to call the slave "boy", like his mother did, or "slave" as his father did. For a moment, he thought the frightened boy didn't hear him, or wasn't going to say anything. Some of the Broken, he had read, had been broken so badly that they lost the ability to speak. He was going to despair when a soft, melodious voice spoke.

"K-Kurt, master, if it pleases you."

If it pleases you. Like he wouldn't be pleased with the slave – no, Kurt's – name. Blaine smiled down encouragingly. "My name's Blaine. I promise you're safe. I'm going to take you home and we'll see how badly you're hurt. I'll fix you up real quick, okay? You're safe."

Kurt's expression didn't change – pale and frightened, eyes wide and distrusting. How many owners had the poor boy had to give him that expression on his face? Blaine shifted him in his arms and Kurt let out a pained whimper, biting his bottom lip. Blaine immediately felt guilty – he hadn't meant to bump any of the bruises or cuts, but the boy was littered with them.

"I'm s-sorry, Master, p-please forgive me!"

Blaine blinked at the boy in his arms, momentarily confused as to why he was apologizing. Kurt's hands had raised into a defensive gesture and it felt like Blaine had been hit in the stomach. He expected to be beaten. For being in pain. Blaine felt his heart break a little bit and he had to swallow hard before he could speak.

"Kurt, look at me." The order was gentle, but an order nonetheless. Kurt lowered his hands, sea coloured eyes raising to fix on a spot on Blaine's face – his chin? Forehead? Anything but his eyes. It wasn't what Blaine wanted, but it would do for now. "I am not going to hurt you, okay? I'm going to take you home and get you cleaned up. You're safe with me, I promise." Kurt's expression didn't change. How could Blaine make him believe him? "I will take care of you, I promise, little dove. Believe me."

Kurt studied his face, obviously searching for… something. He must've found it because his body relaxed fractionally and he nodded, dropping his gaze again, his head slowly, timidly, moving down to rest against Blaine's shoulder. A tiny victory. Blaine tightened his grip on the boy, still disbelieving that he had done this. But now that he had him, he was going to protect him.

At whatever the cost.