A very prolific response to this prompt from LJ: In an alternate universe where slavery is perfectly normal, Kurt who is opposed to the idea of owning another person walks by a slave market and sees a trader about to kill a boy his age (Blaine), because he is too sick (nothing permanent, maybe pneumonia or something) and too bruised (from his past owner) and generally in no condition to bring in any money. Kurt can't just walk away, so he stops the guy and buys Blaine and takes him home and nurses him back to health.
Note: Much more of a Hudmel family story than anything, only pairing so far is Finchel and probably it'll more or less stay that way.
"We're late, Kurt, we can cut through." Rachel urged him to cut through the outskirts of the slave market.
Kurt grimaced and she looked abashed but determined. "I hate it, too, but we've both got dates tonight for once, and I don't want to be late."
"Wait, what's that?" Kurt stopped to listen, tilting his head. "I heard..."
Rachel thought she heard it, too. A tiny but beautiful voice, but broken by coughing and hazy through what sounded like tears. "Kurt," she warned. "If it's somebody here, then..."
Kurt was already leading her. He stopped at one of the vendors but looked confused. There was no sign of anybody singing, but he heard coughing again.
"Excuse me, was that somebody singing there?" Rachel couldn't believe that Kurt was actually talking to a slave dealer.
The dealer eyed him sharply. "Yeah, that's one of mine, but trust me, you don't want him." Rachel was sure that the dealer had calculated the value of Kurt's clothing and accessories down to the fraction of a cent. "I've got better singers. That one I was going to sell for organs but just got the word that there's a surplus. They won't take the sick ones, so I'm just going to put him down when I get a minute. I've got some good singers out here."
Kurt said firmly, "I'm curious about this one."
"Come on in, then."
"What's his name?" Kurt asked and the man shrugged.
The dealer gestured at a boy not much older than they were, perhaps fifteen or sixteen at most. He was lying in a fetal position, chained at the ankle. He was shivering, coughing, and Rachel suspected that the occasional bits of song were from delirium. "He's not even that sick, but it's not worth it to treat him."
"Why not?" Rachel asked, surprising herself.
In response, the dealer pulled away the thin sheet. The boy's body was covered with bruises and welts. But what horrified Rachel the most was when he turned to try to reach for the sheet again. His face, which she realized would have been handsome, was covered with deep, recent gashes.
"Yeah, if he were healthy, I could have sold him cheap or for organs, if he were just sick, he'd be worth treating, but as it is," the dealer shrugged again and pulled his gun from the holster.
"Wait," Kurt said thoughtfully. "Rach, don't you think that Dad might enjoy him? As long as he has a day or two left in him? What do you think?"
Kurt's eyes met hers in a flash that told her as clearly as if he'd shouted it, "Work with me on this."
"It's an idea..." she managed to say. "Excuse us a moment."
"Kurt, what the hell are you thinking? You'd buy a slave? You hate it and the trade and you'd give them money?"
"Rachel...I know...but he's going to die, he's going to be murdered right in front of us. I...I can't let it happen."
"This doesn't change the system, it supports it!"
Kurt didn't even answer her, but his eyes returned to the shivering boy. He seemed more alert now and was sitting up, hugging his knees. "Rachel, I know it's every kind of wrong, but..." Kurt's eyes were pleading for forgiveness. "He doesn't deserve to die like that."
She looked at the boy, too. She knew that leaving him would fuel nightmares for months and sighed. "All right."
Kurt strolled back. "How about five for him?"
"Five?" The dealer looked insulted.
Kurt shrugged. "It's that or nothing. Except the cost of the bullet."
"Twenty."
"Twenty? I could get somebody healthy for that. Somebody who would last Dad more than a few days. Six, max." Kurt started to walk away.
"Eight."
"Let me take a closer look, then." Rachel watched the boy cringe and Kurt stood up after a moment. "Seven."
"Fine."
As Kurt called a cab, Rachel called Finn to postpone their date. She left her fervent apologies on his voice mail, explaining that she was with Kurt and be there when he got home and they could go out from there.
Kurt pulled his coat off and helped the boy into it as they eased him up and into the cab as it arrived. Kurt turned to him. "Shhh. I was lying about my dad. Nobody's going to hurt you, I promise. We'll take care of you." He paused. "I'm Kurt and this is my friend Rachel. What's your name?"
"Blaine," he whispered, and started to cough again.
"We're going to take you home and get you more comfortable," Kurt assured him. Blaine had awakened a tenderness in him that he couldn't explain. Kurt turned away for a moment as his cell rang.
"Hello?"
"Kurt, where are you?"
"Oh, God, Mercedes, I'm so sorry. Somebody's sick, I had to-" Another spate of coughing from Blaine made the excuse sound much more convincing, he thought wryly. "Can we reschedule? Please?" "Fine, but you owe me, white boy."
"Okay, I've got to go now. I'll call you later."
Kurt hung up and noticed that Blaine had closed his eyes. It had been easy enough to appease Mercedes, at least temporarily, he thought, but now he had to explain to his father. -
Kurt felt everything he noticed like a punch in the stomach. How easily and clearly he could feel Blaine's ribs as he and Rachel helped him into the house. How Blaine was still shivering like he'd never get warm as they sat him at the table. How his face didn't look merely disfigured but defiled by the deep cuts, surrounded by dark, crusted blood. How he looked so patient and exhausted and shattered.
"Do you want to have something to eat first or do you want to get cleaned up first?" Blaine looked hesitantly at Rachel and finally asked, "Could I have something to drink? Some water?"
Kurt quickly filled a glass. A box of straws Finn had demanded caught his eye and he put one in, then handed the glass to Blaine. He caught Blaine's hand, seeing how shaky it was, and helped him put it on the table. Blaine started sipping and then desperately gulping the water. "More?"
"Yes, please." At the next gulps, he started to cough again, but this time bending over helplessly, fighting for breath in rasps that sounded like whistles. Kurt and Rachel leaned over him, exchanging helpless glances as they tried to soothe him.
"Here, I'll make you some hot lemon and honey," Rachel said. "That always helps when I've got a cough." Kurt stayed bent over him, very lightly rubbing his upper back. Blaine finally sat up again and his eyes searched Kurt's. Kurt wondered what he would have looked like before he was battered and sick, and his imagination filled in vibrant coloring and brilliant eyes. Rachel handed him the mug and he helped Blaine wrap his hands around it and bring it to his mouth. Kurt was desperately anxious to make the sick boy more comfortable. He was afraid that even with the proper care, Blaine might die. But he was going to fight for Blaine's life, he and Rachel, and if Blaine died, at least it would be with some dignity, clean, warm, and fed, in caring arms, he silently vowed.
Rachel started opening the refrigerator and taking out ingredients. "I'll make dinner, Kurt, if you help Blaine shower or take a bath or whatever he wants." She turned and looked Blaine over quickly. "I think your clothing would fit him better than Finn's."
Kurt supported Blaine down the stairs into the basement and asked, "Bath or shower?" Blaine looked at him questioningly and Kurt wondered what was happening in his mind. Was he afraid of expressing a preference? Or had he never been asked anything like that? Or, and this felt like another kick to the gut, had whatever he'd endured affected Blaine's mind? "Either is fine," he added, gently. "If you're tired, I get get a shower seat for you." Blaine nodded and Kurt opened the linen closet and set the seat up.
He realized that Blaine was too exhausted to clean himself so he would have to help. He reached for his robe and started to take off his own clothing, then heard Blaine's gasp. Kurt turned back to him and saw paralyzing horror in Blaine's posture and eyes.
Kurt instinctively crouched next to Blaine to make himself lower and smaller. "Blaine," he soothed. "It's okay, you're safe. I'm not going to touch you or lay a finger on you except to take care of you. Whatever happened to you, it's over. I promise, okay? You're sick and exhausted and hurting, but I promise you we're going to help you. Rachel, my family, my brother, my dad, we all hate slavery." He was going to keep his mouth shut about exactly how much. "I nearly didn't buy you because it was giving money to a dealer. But I couldn't let you die there. Not like that." Blaine was still staring at him, but his eyes weren't terrified any more, or worse, resigned. Kurt couldn't read them, so he kept talking, not even sure if Blaine was taking in the words, but hoping that if he wasn't, his tone was reassuring him. "We're going to take care of you, help you get better. I swear, nobody here will hurt you."
He straightened out a little. "I can help you clean up, or do you want me to leave you to it? I want to stay in the bathroom to make sure you don't fall, but I'll stay down here where you can see me. Or I can help you wash, you might want some help with your back."
Blaine nodded. "All right, I'll help you with that," Kurt answered.
He adjusted the water to a soft, warm spray, not much harder than a light rain, and Blaine soaped himself with some difficulty. Kurt carefully rubbed around the welts on his back, trying to wipe away dried blood but not break any of the scabbing. A few of the cuts were red and swollen, as were others on his arms, chest, and face. They were infected, but at least it didn't look like they were turning into sepsis. Kurt was thankful to feel Blaine relaxing slightly at his gentle touch and quiet, soothing monologue as he kept talking, "I don't understand, how could anybody hurt you like this. There, does that feel better? Just a little more, I'm going to get your sides here, tell me if I do anything that hurts. Rachel's making dinner, she only cooks vegan but she does a good job, just don't tell her that I told you so, okay? There, that's done. Okay, I don't want to open any of these cuts, so let's just wrap you in a couple of towels, careful standing up, you might get dizzy, there, that's good, here, you can sit down here, I'll just pat you dry here, through the towel, okay?"
Blaine's skin was still discolored from bruises, but at least it looked healthier now, with the dried blood and grime gone. "Okay, let's get you into the bedroom. You can lie down while I get some ointment and bandages on anything that's still open." Kurt felt another surge of relief that Blaine hesitated only a moment before allowing Kurt to help him to lie on his stomach. The hot water must have helped with his breathing; while he'd coughed frequently, he wasn't fighting in agony for breath.
Because Blaine had been sitting, Kurt hadn't seen how viciously injured his buttocks were. He was fairly sure that it wasn't just cuts but burns, and some of them looked as though they curved around to his groin. Kurt steeled himself, finished bandaging him, and then, not wanting to see the full extent of Blaine's injuries, rolled him over. Yes, those were definitely burns, and he couldn't help but keep looking up to the cuts on the boy's face.
"Blaine, I don't want to pry, and you don't have to tell me, but what happened? Who did this to you?"
Blaine was absolutely silent and after a moment, Kurt assumed that he wasn't going to answer, but then Blaine said, quietly, "I tried to escape."
Kurt waited for Blaine to say more, but he didn't continue and Kurt wasn't going to make him feel that he had to do anything. A thought kept pulsating in his mind as insistently as a second heartbeat. "This could have been you, this could have been you, this could have been you." A boy his own age, obviously sexually abused, tortured for trying to escape, and then waiting in the slave market to be killed, for organs or because he wasn't profitable...Kurt felt the tears well in his eyes as he carefully spread an antiseptic ointment over a gash crossing Blaine's cheek.
He blinked the tears away and saw Blaine staring at him again, but this time with an expression of wonder. "You're crying?" Blaine whispered. "You're crying for me?"
Kurt couldn't find any words, so nodded. The moment broke at the sound of steps coming down the stairs, which made Blaine flinch instinctively. The door opened and Rachel came in with a bowl and glass. "I thought you might want to eat in bed, rather than at the table," she smiled at Blaine.
"Thank you," he answered, looking down.
"It's lentil soup, I hope you'll like it. I brought you soy milk but there's almond or rice milk if you want it."
Blaine took the bowl so awkwardly that Kurt held it for him. He was equally awkward with the spoon, wincing as he tried to hold it, and Kurt looked suspiciously at the bruises on his hands. "Can I help you with that?" Blaine clumsily handed him the spoon and Kurt carefully fed him. After the first few spoonfuls, he had to coax the next few into Blaine, and then could tell that he truly couldn't eat any more. "Do you want us to let you rest now?" Blaine looked hesitantly at them both, as if he were trying to guess what response would be safe, and then said, almost under his breath, "I'm very tired."
"Of course," Rachel said, soothingly. "Do you want the light on or off?"
"Off, please."
Kurt took the bowl. "Call if you wake up and want anything. Sleep well, Blaine." He was going to resist brushing his hand through Blaine's hair or even kissing one of the small unmarked places on his cheek. He couldn't do that, not now or ever. The thought was as sad as it was unexpected, he realized, as he followed Rachel up the stairs.
-
Blaine still didn't feel warm. Kurt had put a thick, soft blanket over him, and the soup had been hot, but he was still shivering and his fingers and toes, especially, were still frigid. He raised his hands to breathe on them, but even that helped only for a moment.
Who were they? Why were they being kind to him? Or was this some kind of game? He didn't think it was his owner, since he had never been subtle or devious in his punishments, but his dad's enemies might do this, even if his dad was long dead. Or if it wasn't a game, what did they want? He raised a hand to his face and felt a sudden shock at touching soft cloth bandages rather than the ridged cuts.
He was so tired that he couldn't think clearly, but his mind was so restless and his chest felt like it had been stuffed with wet towels. He gripped the soft blanket tightly, letting go only when his fingers hurt intolerably. He wanted to feel warm, he wanted the pain to stop. Maybe they hadn't wanted to help him by taking him away from the market. It would have been a quick bullet in his head and everything would have been over. At best, he'd have been with his family again. At worst, he wouldn't have been in any more pain.
But then...Kurt's eyes shone with tears for him. His hands had been so gentle and his voice was so comforting. Rachel's eyes had been so soft and her mouth had been so tender when she looked at him. Maybe there was enough kindness in the world to make living better than dying.
Just as that thought nearly soothed him into sleep, he heard loud voices from above. Shouting, even the sound of a chair being scraped angrily along the floor. He pressed himself more deeply into the mattress, though he knew it would be no refuge.