Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

Summary: Blaine Anderson watches Kurt for twelve years before he says hello. SupernaturalAU/Vampire!blaine

Chapter 2: Closer

Driven by the strangle of veins
Showing me no mercy, I'd do it again
Open up your eyes
You keep on crying, baby, I'll bleed you dry
The skies they blink at me
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea
And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer

"What the fuck are you playing at, St. James?" Blaine spits, pressing his arm into Jesse's neck. It has taken him three nights to hunt the vampire down, inquiring at dive bars he knows that Jesse is associated with. He'd finally gotten a decent tip at a pub called Jay's and found himself in a shady nightclub in the heart of Columbus. The memory of the night at the Italian restaurant and Kurt is still amazingly poignant. "This isn't just some kid. Do you know what happened last night? I almost made a snack of the human," he spits out the word, "you ordered me to watch like a hawk. I can't exactly do that if I'm the one that he needs to be kept away from." He can still hear the scream, feel his fangs lower. "What. Is. He?"

"Nothin-" Jesse can't get the word out before Blaine applies more pressure to his throat, cutting him off with an unattractive gurgle.

"I want the truth, Jesse. This doesn't happen to me. I don't-"

"Loose control like that?" Jesse spits out, eyes locked on his. "Why do you think I wanted you to work for me? Any other bloodsucker within fifty feet of him would rip his throat out." He grips Blaine's arm with his hand, digging his claws into the flesh. Blaine's eyes widen, his grip slackens and Jesse drops to the floor, keeping his balance and immediately readjusting his shirt and tie, feeling at his neck. His eyes meet Blaine's and there's a sharpness to his glare.

"You knew there was a catch, Blaine. You aren't stupid. I wouldn't have wasted a favor like you owe me on something as ridiculous as a human kid" He snarls, madness in his eyes. "And what are you doing? Chasing me across Ohio? Leaving him to fend for himself? You're doing a fantastic job, you fucking idiot. "

Blaine's eyebrows are furrowed together, questions spinning through his head. Sure, naturally he's pulled to humans (some more than others) but he hasn't lost control of himself like that since he was a youngling.

Blaine reaches out quickly and grips Jesse's arm tightly as the other vampire turns to walk away.

"But what is h-" His question is cut off as the back of Jesse's hand slams into his cheek, cracking the bone and sending him flying into the wall. Before Blaine can shake himself from the stupor, Jesse grips him by the neck, picking him up and forcing him against the dirty brick behind him. Jesse's pupils engulf his irises, and Blaine stares into the dark with a measure of animalistic terror gripping him. Jesse is older than him, stronger than him.

Jesse's breath is cold, he leans in and his lips brush viciously against Blaine's ear as he speaks. "Look, Blaine. I know you consider yourself some sort of paragon of virtue because you stay out of our politics, so there's a lot you don't know about this world. You are so. very. young," he punctuates the words strongly, a drag of his tongue over his fangs," by the standards of our kind. Jeremiah kept you away from all that, instilled some sort of unbearable sense of justice in you, and taught you to wipe your ass with a damned silk scarf, as if your were better than us. But understand me when I tell you this: I let you off the hook. You're useful; you have a good head on your shoulders. Jeremiah's particular method of rearing has made you into more than a valuable asset to me. I stuck my neck out for you and your maker. So do as you're told and don't bother your pretty little head over Kurt Hummel. Now get back to Lima."

Jesse St. James is gone before Blaine hits the floor.

Blaine Anderson is many things but a pushover isn't one of them. He's undeterred by Jesse's threat - even egged on by it - and he wants to know why Kurt Hummel does this to him. He knows Google isn't going to help him with this particular search so he starts asking around in Columbus when he goes to feed. He takes it slow, with simple and vague questions about any kind of rumors swirling around The Underground. He figures Jesse has set up eyes to watch him so he chooses sketchier joints, the ones with matrons that lightly scoff and roll their eyes when Blaine throws out the name Jesse St. James. The humans he feeds from have been in the business a lot longer, some are strung out on drugs or so addicted to the bite they've given up families and homes, but the vampires he meets tend to forget him easier and their tongues are looser.

Despite that, he hears nothing about a kid in Lima, Ohio that has a knack for getting under Blaine's skin.

So Blaine takes a job at a bar in town. It's closer to the Hummel residence than his own apartment, only a few miles away from it, which means he can keep a closer eye on Kurt (hypothetically, of course, he's relying on his other senses from this distance). He's vaguely worried that, although it is his job to watch after Kurt, his thoughts are bordering on obsessive. His hours at the bar give him something different to focus on for the night while also giving him an excuse for his over observant neighbors when he comes home in the wee hours of the morning, while business men and women are just heading out for their workday.

He's pleasant enough with the customers, he even enjoys a few of them, but all in all they're a dim group of middle aged, working-class men that have never been out of Ohio. They wear overalls and trucker hats and order the same pitcher of beer every night and talk about the work day with the boys. Blaine has now been in Lima for seven months. He sees the years stretch out ahead of him, filled with useless redneck chatter. And Kurt Hummel.

Liza Hummel died two weeks ago. Since that night, Blaine has been feeling uncharacteristically anxious. The memory of Kurt's influence still baffles and haunts him, but he knows that it's deeper than that. He gets a creeping idea in the back of his mind that this emotion isn't just his.

He's proven right when he's at work, drying a pint glass with a cloth. He reaches up to place the glass on its shelf when a wave of sadness hits him like a train. He doubles over, the glass shattering on the floor. Tears are already streaming from his eyes and he has no idea where they're coming from. He feels a large hand on his back and faintly hears his boss asking if he's all right.

"Fine, just need a minute, bad food," he mumbles, stumbling from behind the bar and out the employee entrance. He hits the pavement on all fours, bits of asphalt in his hands as he lets out a heart-wrenching sob. He can see it now – Kurt curled up in his bed, a bottle of perfume uncorked and staining the white sheets amber. He's screaming incessantly about his mother - where's my mother? why can't she come back?- and his skin is red and blotchy from crying. Blaine shudders, ripping his thoughts away from the boy and trying to focus on what he sees in front of him: the dimly lighted parking lot, spotted with trucks. There are cicadas in the trees around him and a light but warm breeze rustles the leaves. The sadness is ebbing away and he gasps for air; for relief. It's gone as quickly as it's come and he's back in his own body but he can still feel Kurt Hummel's despair throbbing at the edge of his mind.

Blaine sits back on his knees, hands running through his hair, inhaling and exhaling deeply. The tears are cold on his cheeks. This isn't like anything he's felt before. Even as a youngling, when his senses went haywire just trying to cope with the change, he had never been so honed in on one human before.

He collects himself and stands, wiping away the tears and straightening his shirt as he heads back inside. His boss looks at him worriedly but Blaine is already washing his hands.

"I'm fine."

Kurt is ten.

Blaine has spent over two years in Lima. He's grown accustomed to the simplicity of the town. For the first months he was bored out of his mind, but somehow he's managed to carve out a niche for himself that doesn't completely evolve around Kurt.

Well, Blaine would really like to think this. But the facts are there: two years of watching over a kid and he has to stop himself from labeling himself as a stalker.

It's true that Blaine has been around for much longer than the average lifetime. Two years hardly feels like much time at all. But by now Blaine has picked up on the boy's habits. Frankly, he feels like a creep when he watches Kurt flick a hand through his bangs and knows that this means he's upset. Or when he lifts his chin, and locks his jaw open when he's annoyed at someone. On the nights that Blaine spends on the Hummel's property, he watches him sketch at the kitchen table or act out a musical he's watching on TV.

He feels a fondness for Kurt now. He's watching the boy as he grows up. Lately, he's been tortured by the idea that Blaine has no way to comfort the boy when he's hurt, or praise him when he's happy. He wants to be there for Kurt, instead of watching him from the sidelines. But Kurt has no idea that he exists. And Blaine is sure that if Kurt got even an inkling about him, the boy would be terrified.

Blaine hasn't been to the Hummel residence in four nights so he decides it's time to check it out again. He arrives just in time to see Kurt scoop up his Power Rangers and Ken dolls. The boy calls to his father as he heads out the door. It's just after the sun has set as Kurt sets off down the street toward the playground. Blaine watches him from the trees as the boy walks in and out of the halo of street lights. The playground is a simple, fenced-in affair with a couple of bright lights around the perimeter. There's a jungle gym and a rusty metal slide. Kurt takes off for the Merry-Go-Round, hopping on top as it spins a little. He sits in the middle, amongst the metal handlebars, and plays with his dolls.

Blaine leans against a tree, and smiles softly, amused. Kurt is certainly creative. The story lines he comes up with are ridiculous and full of drama. Blaine has actually grown to like these play sessions, to watch the child relax and laugh. The vampire feels a tug of warmth; of affection. He's a bit shocked at himself. When exactly did his mark start growing on him like this?

The mood is ruined when a round black boy shows up. Kurt notices him approach the Merry-Go-Round, gathering his things but maintaining eye contact and lifting his chin.

"What do you want, Azimio?" The other boy just laughs, grips the handles of the Merry-Go-Round and runs a quick circle around Kurt before stopping it abruptly. Kurt's holding onto the center rails like a vice.

"Nothin', Kurt," he says in mockingly high voice. "What have you got there?"

Kurt doesn't answer him. He stands shakily and turns away from Azimio, trying to get off the opposite side of the play ground equipment. But he stumbles as Azimio jerks the bars again, back and forth. Kurt can't keep his balance and his knees collide with the metal disc painfully. He scrambles off before the bully has time to rotate the Merry-Go-Round further and takes off running across the playground.

Blaine is watching from the dark, glaring at the other boy with a snarl on his lips. It'd be so easy to rip the little fuck's head clean off his-

Kurt drops his green Power Ranger. He realizes a little too late and once he turns around to get it Azimio is walking up to it. The dark-skinned bully picks it up, tossing it between his hands.

"I think I'll keep this, Hummel. My brother says a fag can't like Power Rangers anyway."

Blaine is shocked. Shocked that he just heard that from the mouth of a ten-year old. Azimio looks smug; Kurt looks confused but still angry. Blaine realizes that neither of them are likely to the know the true meaning of the word. Azimio must have picked it up from an older sibling and spat it out like a parrot. Blaine feels rage bubbling inside him as Kurt turns in a huff, taking off toward home with one less doll. Azimio slips the figure into the pocket of his hoody and laughs on the way home.

Azimio Adams gets a visitor later that night. He wakes up to a scratching sound against his window. He isn't afraid, he's not some girl like Kurt, but he still burrows himself deeper in his covers and casts large eyes to the window. The scratching grows louder before it stops. Azimio peeks out from the covers, relieved as he looks at the empty window.

And then the window starts to slide open, ever so slowly up and away from the sill. Azimio gasps and rips the covers off (courage be damned, he is not getting eaten by some gutter clown) and he charges toward the door. He stumbles over his Playstation in the darkness - he's big and tough and doesn't need a nightlight- but before his body collides with the floor he feels hands clutch around his stomach, pulling him upright. He's only able to open his mouth in preparation to scream before his mouth is covered by a hand and he's pushed against his closed door.

The boy has never seen something this terrifying. It's dark, but his eyes have already had a little while to adjust and he can see the outline of a face. The moon casts its light on a mop of curly, dark hair. The man's brows are furrowed and he's snarling like some animal, lips drawn back and teeth clenched together. Azimio starts screaming against the hand at his mouth when he notices the elongated fangs.

Holy shit, it's a monster

Azimio starts flailing and kicking and screaming but he can barely move because the arms holding him are like steel and his screams are muffled and weak. But the man pushes fiercely against his stomach and suddenly Azimio can't breath enough to scream.

"Alright, kiddo, listen to me for a second." The voice is deep like a growl. Azimio just stares at him, mouth opening and closing like a guppy. The man smirks, an evil quirk of the lips before he continues, "You took something from one of my friends today. I don't like it when people take things without asking. I also don't like when worthless shits like you push around other kids for fun." Azimio can barely register what the monster is saying. He watches his mouth move like he's trying to follow the words but the real thing he's looking at is the set of fangs that keep disappearing and reappearing from behind his gums. "Where's the green Power Ranger?"

That gets Azimio's attention. The- the what? This is about that stupid doll? He raises his arm shakily, pointing at his bedside table where he threw the doll. The monster turns his head to look but before Azimio can blink he's snapped his attention back to him. His eyes are all black, like Azimio's cat when he's stalking a mouse.

"Azimio," - what the hell, how did he know his name, "Azimio, Azimio..." the monster is chuckling now, dark and low and Azimio is crying at this point, "I could kill you." And now he's screaming again, shaking his head, bawling and pleading. He doesn't want to get eaten, he doesn't, he's sorry-

"But I'm not going to." But the monster's movements are contrary to his statement. He takes his hand from Azimio mouth and grip tightly around his neck. The bully sputters, gripping at the hand with both of his smaller ones. He's trying to gasp in air as he's lifted by his neck.

"Pay attention, Azimio. This is important." The boy can barely look down. His vision is swimming when he meets the darkened eyes of his attacker.

"I want you to take that doll back to Kurt Hummel and apologize to him. If I find out that you say one more word to him after that, I'll rip your tongue out so that you can never speak again. Is. That. Clear?"

Azimio frantically nods his head. The monster drops him in a heap on the floor. His throat is burning so much that he can't scream. By the time his mother finds him, woken by the thump of her boy as he'd hit the floor, Blaine is long gone.

Kurt is fourteen years old now. He has a healthy layer of baby fat and he's started making custom bow ties. Blaine checks on him every other day or so and keeps his senses aligned with him. The connection hasn't really grown over the last few years, but it somehow seems more solid. Blaine often experiences a jolt of sadness while he's reading or doing chores. The waves come quickly and wash away and Blaine knows that it isn't his own emotion. Occasionally there are ridiculous moments of joy, and Blaine stops what he's doing to embrace it. A repeat like the night at the bar - when he was so overcome with Kurt's emotion - has only happened twice again. Both were fits of overwhelming sadness; both on the anniversary of Liza Hummel's death. But the first time he experiences terror is a Sunday at twilight.

It starts in his dreams, as his body and mind begin stirring. He's forced to sleep by the cycles of the sun. On any other day, as the sun sets he can feel his body and his mind begin to stir, slowly waking as the sun sinks below the horizon.

Today is different. Instead of a calming, almost meditative awakening he feels himself frantically trying to pull himself into the waking world. If his heart was beating, he'd sure it would be frantically whirring in his chest. He tries to push himself up but can't, and is trapped in his state of unrest. He can feel himself becoming more terrified has the time passes, his arms and legs beginning to register as he twists in bed. As the sun sets, he shoots upright in bed, letting out a cry. For a moment he can't remember where he is, seeing flashes of a wood. He puts his shaking hands to his face, rubbing his eyes and trying to calm his mind. That's when he realizes there is nothing for him to be afraid of.

It's Kurt.

Blaine is out the door without hesitation, fear thrumming at the back of his mind. His own is now lingering with Kurt's. He can feel the child's footsteps and lurches forward as Kurt tumbles over his own legs. Blaine throws open his car door and revs the engine, tearing out of the parking lot with a squeal of wheels. The neighborhood kids playing basketball in the street clamor out of the car's way, staring after him. Blaine is being tugged forward, left, right. He makes it out of Lima Heights and hears a scream in the back of his head, slamming on the brakes and pulling of the road. He abandons the car with the door still open, the ding-ding-ding disappearing quickly as Blaine takes off on foot, through the woods and straight toward Kurt.

It takes nearly three minutes, despite his speed, to begin to see familiar landmarks. He realizes that he's heading toward Kurt's house. The terror is getting stronger as he rips his way out of the woods and onto the street in front of the Hummel residence, anxiety creeping into his limbs.

The scream he hears this time is not in his mind.

The front door cracks off its hinges as Blaine rips through it, wood splintering across the floor of the living room. The house is a wreck. The couch is ripped and thrown against the wall, the glass coffee table shattered. His nostrils flair as he takes in the scent of another vampire. The musk makes him want to spit. He snarls as his fangs descend. It takes him a moment to see the open sliding glass door, leading into the darkness of the backyard.

Another scream, farther back in the woods. The Hummels own a good three acres, with undeveloped land beyond. A few lower branches are cracked and strewn about the yard. Blaine bounds passed them, the scent of Kurt invades him as does the pungent odor of a hunter. He can hear the ripping and shredding of trees and the footfalls of the tiny human ahead of him. He bounds into a clearing and locks eyes with a demon.

It's the first vampire Blaine has encountered while watching Kurt. Seven years of relative quiet is suddenly ripped out from under him. He takes in the snarl, tensed claws and fangs of the one before him. Kurt is just beyond him, crawling away. The adrenaline has distracted him, he doesn't notice that the monster chasing him has stopped and set it's sight on the new competition.

The vampire's lips stretch back in a feral smile, darkened eyes glistening with amusement. He's dressed in sweat pants and a Buckeyes shirt. "This one's mine, asshole." he growls out. Without a second's hesitation he runs toward Blaine, straight forward, trying to grab the other vampire around the middle.

Blaine's eyes narrow. With that kind of approach, he knows that this vampire is just a kid who has no idea what he's up against. Blaine easily dodges, jumping to the side, pushing off a tree back in the direction of the bewildered youngling. He slams into him, grabs him by the hair and tears into his neck. His opponent lets out a screech as they slam into the forest floor and it's the last sound he makes as Blaine rips through his neck. The bones in his neck crack viciously and the vampire's head is torn from his body, the sound like fabric ripping.

It's over, faster than it started really. Blaine stands above the body, spitting out the acrid blood of his opponent as he tosses the head away. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve, knowing that he'll need to collect and burn the remains later. He senses movement behind him and turns to see Kurt.

The boy is deathly pale, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes as he struggles to gulp in air. Blaine himself is struggling to ignore the rush of blood through the tiny veins. He holds himself ridged, struggling to stay focused on his task. He slips up and lets out a snarl, swallowing audibly and inhaling the scent of Kurt. It's divine, scrumptious and he wants more than anything to rip through the boy's pale skin into the blue veins at his wrists. He's been careful around the boy since that day four years ago but he knows his pupils are expanding dangerously as he gazes on prey.

Blaine focus is shaken as the boy snaps back to reality, suddenly scrambling back desperately. Blaine steps forward and Kurt lets out a strangled sob,

"No, no, no, stay away from me," he forces out, breath coming in quick gasps. Blaine halts, gets a handle on himself as he feels more than sees the boy blacking out. He's kicking away slower, his mumblings of "no,no,no,no" becoming more segmented as he hyperventilates.

"Please," he gasps out, eyes rolling back into his head, "don't-"

And that's it. The fourteen year old falls backward and the wood is filled with silence except for the distant barking of the neighbor's border collie. Blaine wipes his bloody hands on his pants as he walks forward. Kurt's pulse is slowing quickly and Blaine finds it easier to suppress his hunger. He scoops the boy up in his arms. He weighs nothing, a sack of blood and bones. Blaine thanks the stars that the only cut on him are the palms of his hands, dangling along as Blaine walks back toward the house, stepping over the corpse.

He's quickly within the house. He holds tight to Kurt with one hand as he turns the couch back on it's legs with the other, placing the boy softly onto it. Kurt has tears and dirt all over his face, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Blaine's eyes shift from his face to his hands, smeared with bits of rock from outside and blood. Blaine takes Kurt's right hand in his, palm up, and brings it within inches of his mouth without thinking. He inhales deeply, blown away by how desirable even this tiny amount of blood is. His own mind is alarmed, but despite the internal warning he can feel his mouth opening slightly, breathing in more deeply. His cold breath hits the boy's skin and his own body aches. He moves closer, his eyes fluttering closed as he licks his lips. Just a bit...

He hears a car pull into the driveway, and headlights flicker through the window. In the same instant, Blaine's eyes snap open, he drops Kurt's hand, and pulls himself back. He's across the room and out the back door before he can register what's happened. He hides in the darkness as the car stops and the door opens. It's Burt Hummel, the smell of engine grease mingling with his sweat. Blaine hears him curse and it's followed by quick but heavy footsteps and the call of Kurt's name. He barrels through the ripped open front door and stills, taking in the destruction before spotting his son on the couch.

Blaine leaves then, quietly heading back toward the grips the disemboweled head by the hair and tosses the body over his shoulder and heads back the way he came. He keeps his senses tuned for any other threats as he makes his way back to the car he abandoned.

The road he parked on is a dark two-lane, shrouded in woods and rarely traveled. Just before he reaches his vehicle, he spots an old trailer. It's clearly been abandoned for years. The ceiling is caved in and kudzu creeps up the sides. He uses little force to get the door open and throws the body inside. He senses nothing as he reaches the car, reaching into the still open door and opening the glove compartment. He takes a lighter from inside and heads back to the trailer.

There's a soft glow from the flames ahead as he slides into the drivers seat and closes the door. He leans back against the head rest, rubbing his face with his hands as he lets out a breath and sits in the silence.

Burt Hummel will be on the way to the hospital now. Police will be at the house. Someone will call the fire department soon enough and they'll presume that the trailer fire is an act of teenage arson.

All of this is in motion outside of the car, but within Blaine just sits in silence and wipes his tongue slowly over her bottom lip, tasting the smallest hint of blood from Kurt Hummel's palm.

The next night, Blaine perches himself in a pine tree in the Hummel's backyard. There's yellow caution tape set up around the woods and house. Burt is in the kitchen, pacing, his hand gripping the phone like he could break it.

"Yes, yes, there was a lot of blood- what? NO, no it wasn't Kurt's blood- well, I don't know who it belongs to, there wasn't a fucking trace of the fucker-"

He's been at it for hours, call after call, expletives to insurance and family and police. Kurt is tucked into bed, although Burt had to cradle him while he cried himself into a restless slumber.

Blaine is worried about the trauma it will cause and how that effects his job here. He's already called Jesse. The phone call was tense and terse. Jesse asked question after question and Blaine begrudgingly answered without asking questions of his own. The vampire thanked him for telling him, told him to keep a closer watch on Kurt while the stench of dead vamp was still all over the yard, and hung up before Blaine could say anything else.

Why was the vampire here in the first place? Blaine wonders, watching over the Hummel house. The same question from years before bubbles up again, overwhelming his thoughts with theories. He closes his eyes and reaches out to Kurt, feeling the familiar and wonderful warmth of the boy who is currently curled up in his bed. Blaine unconsciously runs his tongue over his lips, convincing himself that it's because he's thinking, not because the memory of Kurt's blood covered palm is fresh in his words ghost from his lips as he sighs,

"What are you, Kurt Hummel?"

YEAAAAAHHHH, PEDO CREEPY STALKER BLAINE. And look, some action!

Holy moly! So many hits and reviews! DUDES, have you ever checked the traffic stats? IT'S SO FUCKING COOL. There are people from Peru, and Denmark and Israel, Korea, Slovakia, Romania, Iceland, Lebanon and more IT'S SO COOL. The geography nerd in me is freaking out. Can't believe fanfiction connects us all :') (hahahaha, okay, so not so melodramatic but still reaaally awesome). If you review, let me know what country you represent! (sorry, I'm nothing if not a dork)