AN: I feel very productive.
Warnings: The usual, mostly, with some voyeurism and very brief mention of cannibalism just for the hell of it.
Also, and I probably should have mentioned this last chapter, but as we know by now Blaine put something in Kurt's drink. It was some heavy shit, so if you are sensitive to that type of thing, you should know.
How Cleveland's Ohio State Prison manages to be both humid and freezing Blaine doubts he'll ever know. He asked once and got food thrown on him, and right before he was due to meet Kurt, too. He really does not need Kurt thinking he's got anything other than total control. He never did take care of the guy who did it, as he'd been distracted with cleaning himself at the time, and after his visit he'd been much too distracted with thoughts of his Kurt.
Maybe he can squeeze Victor Ramsey in on Tuesday…
He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. No. He can't risk Tuesday.
"Anderson!"
He's been expecting a call, so he doesn't ignore the guard like he usually does. He typically refuses to acknowledge anyone other than Charles, simply because it unnerves the man, but this is much too important.
It takes them five fucking minutes to get him to the damn phone, but he's gotten used to their inefficiency by now, so much that it's only a minor annoyance at this point.
He glares at the oaf who thrusts the phone roughly into his hands, before taking a deep breath and adopting a smile. If it's who he thinks it is, he'll be much more frustrating this way.
"Hello?"
"Listen you fucking little bastard, you stay the hell away from my boy."
Blaine's smile becomes more genuine at the angry whisper.
"Mr. Hummel," he greets pleasantly. "I see Kurt got his present."
There's yelling on the other line, a lot of it, and he can pick out Burt and Finn each. There's a few other boys too, ones he can't recognize. He can feel himself getting annoyed. The yelling goes on for a minute, and he can hear the phone be grappled over. He sighs, holding the phone away from his ear with distaste. With one final pass the yelling increases and a door slams.
"Blaine?"
He smiles. There's his boy, soft but undeniably angry.
"Hey, sweetheart. I missed you."
"Why is my father screaming at you over the phone?"
He laughs a little. Straight to the point, as always.
"They didn't give you your present, then? I put a lot of effort into that."
He can almost hear the trepidation in Kurt's voice as he answers.
"What was it?"
The first present Blaine sends is nothing special.
He goes to that florist on Cadence Avenue, the one within the lovely old house that has a crappy inside. There's a metaphor in that, and he's always been fond of metaphors.
The flowers are simple, purples and whites and deep red.
He gets them to put in some blackberries.
Kurt woke up after his night at Scandals in a bed that definitely isn't his.
His head is throbbing and his body feels fuzzy and he can't figure out why, just knows that he feels funny and then heaves over, emptying his stomach.
When he sits up is when he realizes that the deep blue sheets he's tangled in aren't his. He panics, trying to scramble out, but he just ends up tripping himself and ending up on the floor, his head pounding even more.
Burt hears the fall from just outside the door, where he keeps lingering despite Carol's insistence that he's just putting stress on his heart by doing so.
He finds his son on the floor, and he'd been planning to yell and bang pots around like his parents did when he'd come home wasted. Kurt's face, though, it's not right.
"Buddy?"
Kurt looks up at him, eyes watering, and he's much too weak because he doesn't think he can yell when the kid looks like that.
"Dad?" he asks, and shit, he sounds like he's about to cry. "Daddy, I don't know what happened."
Now he is crying, and it's so unlike him that something that blonde punk with the stupid hat that came stumbling through the door at two o'clock in the morning with his only child giggling and falling over had said before he'd gone for his rifle and the kid took off.
I think someone might have maybe drugged him.
He'd been pissed at Kurt for drinking so much, but it was starting to look like something else might be going on. He's not sure if he prefers this over the kid developing alcoholism or not.
It doesn't take him too long to transfer him down the stairs and to the couch in the living room. The kid can't even walk, so he has to carry him, and won't he get an earful for that later.
Your heart dad. Your back dad. Overly concerned little shit, he thinks fondly. It's going to get annoying dealing with that 24/7, since Kurt is never leaving the house again.
Ever.
Kurt doesn't regain his senses until nearly nine o'clock that night. It's been a day of tears, hallucinations, and an extremely awkward few minutes in which he's refused to let go of Sam. Burt doesn't know what to make of it exactly, but he's lost his anger for Kurt (which he realizes is stupid because the kid was obviously somewhere he shouldn't be, but they can talk about that later) and redirected it to that blonde kid and whatever complete dipshit that had tried to prey upon his little boy.
He still watches carefully as Kurt sits in on whatever videogame Finn and Sam are playing, trying to see if he'll say something about the ordeal. He wouldn't hear about anything Kurt remembered if he didn't hover.
"'M not sure if it was some date-rapey thing that you had a bad reaction to, or some horrible mixture of ecstasy and cocaine or what, but it wasn't good, dude," Finn mumbles from around a mouthful of twizzlers.
"It wasn't that bad," Sam offers. "Except for the part where you kinda molested me."
"Oh, God, say I didn't," Kurt pleads, and Sam looks down.
"Well, it was mostly a lot of hair action, because you didn't have the control to work my jeans open."
Kurt just buries his face in his hands and makes a sad little sound.
"Please tell me I didn't do anything else."
They're quiet for a minute, until Finn breaks the silence with a solemn voice.
"There was a lot of back and forth, between you being all cuddly and sensical-"
"Sensual," Sam mutters under his breath.
"-and screaming, like in a horror movie."
"Let's just say your dad had the right idea when he soundproofed your room," Sam says. "You almost had a breakdown, you know."
"Yeah, once you started freaking out you wouldn't shut up unless either he was holding you or you went all bipolar and decided to try deducing Sam."
Kurt's too busy being horrified to correct him.
"Don't worry," Sam assures the moment he sees the look on Kurt's face. "I was the only one you tried to seduce, so nothing gross and incesty happened." He smiles, probably trying to be comforting. "If I was gay I'd so bang you, if that helps."
It really, really doesn't, but Kurt says thank you anyway.
Kurt goes to bed soon after, torn between humiliation and fear. Someone did this to him.
He tries to think back to the bar now that he's alone in the quiet with his right mind. He doesn't have the most confidence in many of the patrons, but he does of Bernie, and he can't think how anyone could have done this to him. Chandler had been the only one to handle his…
Oh.
There's a tight arm around his waist, and hot breath on his neck. He feels like he's floating, flying, and then it all goes blank.
B.
But he couldn't have, could he? He didn't make the drink, Bernie had.
But, his mind supplied, he did pour it down your throat while keeping you blindfolded.
God, he's so stupid. And naive.
And he's pretty sure he threw up in Chandler's Kia.
His eyes pop open.
Chandler. Shit, his dad probably tried to kill him.
It takes him forever to find his phone. He doesn't want to know why it's on top of the coat rack by the stairs, but it is. It's almost out of battery when he gets it, but there are six new messages.
Kurt! Ok, ONE, you did not tell me your father is a mirror image of Neapolitan Mastiff, and TWO, you better not die.
Since you're an angel, you wouldn't gain anything from going to heaven. And I'd miss you.
And you live with too many large men who would track me down and shoot me.
-Chandler, 12:37 AM
Seriously though, don't die. LY!
-Chandler, 12:38 AM
He smiles. Chandler always makes him smile. He scrolls through the other messages. One's from Mercedes, freaking out because apparently Sam can't keep his mouth shut.
The other three are from a blocked number.
8:00 tonight. Scandals. ~B
-BLOCKED, 3:17 PM
Kurt, baby, you really don't want to ignore me. ~B
-BLOCKED, 9:37 PM
Alright, angel, I'll play. Just don't expect to win. ~B
-BLOCKED, 10:03 PM
He just stares at the phone. He thinks he can recall something about his mystery man promising to text before running off, but he can't be sure.
He knows he shouldn't encourage this, he really does. He should call Chandler, apologize for whatever he did and let himself be drowned in musical references and compliments. Actually, what he should do is show someone the texts and get to the bottom of this mess. Sam could probably trace the number; he knows all sorts of complicated computer stuff, something about being a spy.
He texts B instead.
How'd you get my number?
-Sent at 11:09 PM
You were a little out of it, sweetheart. ~B
-BLOCKED, 11:11 PM
He can feel anger rise up in his throat.
Besides, I had to contact you to tell you about our date, which you did not attend.
-BLOCKED, 11:12 PM
Perhaps I'd have been able to reject you earlier and save your time if you hadn't drugged me.
-Sent at 11:14 PM
It would have saved a tank of gas. I hope you know there is a hole in the ozone layer that is a bit bigger just because of you.
-BLOCKED, 11:15
Joking aside, I am very upset about this. I don't like having my time wasted, Kurt.
-BLOCKED, 11:16
Kurt shudders at that one. This man, B he supposes, just goes from light-hearted to cold in a minute, probably less. It's nerve-wracking.
Then I'll quit wasting it.
-Sent at 11:19 PM
Blaine's been sitting in his car for over an hour when Kurt finally bothers to remember about him.
Kurt's house is really very nice for a public school student. Why he hasn't been sent to Dalton like every other well-to-do boy in a decent proximity is a mystery. Daddy must be self-made, probably one of the good ol' American boys.
It's going to be delightful fucking with him.
Blaine decided during their conversation to screw around with this one. He's more clear-headed now that he's had time to consider the situation and it's the logical conclusion. He'd long ago decided to keep from getting involved with a kill, but Kurt is worth it. Yeah, he'd been pissed, hell, way, way more than pissed- when Kurt blew him off, but with the help of a little stress relieving throat cutting, he's talked himself out of setting the boy's house on fire.
He's a sassy little bitch, but Blaine appreciates that. Kurt is fun.
And he's getting shit for his sexuality. It'll be so, so easy to make his death look like a suicide. He won't have the fun of cutting him all up-
God, he'd look so pretty, that pale skin against the dark red blood
-but this could be a brand new kind of torture. If Kurt falls for him, which, you know, he will, then he'd never see it coming. He'd trust Blaine with his life and not until the last moment would he realize that Blaine is the last person he should trust with his anything.
The look of betrayal on his face would be perfect.
Blaine wonders how they should meet. Well, how they'll meet again, but it'll feel different. He could enroll at McKinley, but he already has a hard time not slaughtering the idiots at Dalton. He'd go crazy trying to keep from killing the little mullet sporting shits.
The light comes on in one of the top floor bedrooms and, bless the various Norse gods, it must be Kurt's room.
He looks upset, pacing back and forth, and Blaine's fairly certain that's his phone in his hand. His suspicions are confirmed when Kurt chucks it across the room before running his hands through his hair.
Blaine sits up straighter the moment he realizes Kurt's just grabbed a pair of clean pajamas. The boy in the window unbuttons his jeans and begins to tug up his shirt, and Blaine just might have made it to heaven.
"Isn't he gorgeous, John?" he asks the occupant of his passenger's seat. "Just look at him," he says, turning the man's face so that Kurt's window is directly in front of his face.
He wishes he's brought binoculars, because Kurt's pretty face is difficult to see from his vantage point.
But then Kurt's head snaps towards the door and he nods before leaving the room.
"Damn," Blaine mutters, slouching back in his seat. He'd have liked to see if Kurt's arms looked as good as they'd felt.
And he'd have loved to see that virgin ass he's got, waiting to receive it's first cock.
"Oh well," he sighs. "You win some and you lose some, right, John?"
He turns to his passenger.
"You know," he says casually. "I'm glad we met, Jonny. You really helped clear my head." He grins at the body.
"Kurt owes you a boyfriend."
The prison is loud, but Blaine can clearly make out his boy's voice on the other end of the line. Hell, he can even make out the banging on whatever door Kurt's locked to keep their conversation private.
"Blaine, please stop with the presents."
"Why? You love presents."
"Not if they're inappropriate and you use them to harass my father."
"Daddy doesn't want you in a thong?"
"It isn't funny, Blaine!" Kurt sighs. "Look, Blaine," he whispers. "They don't know about me seeing you, and if they find out I'll never get to talk to you again. Please don't ruin this."
"I'd never let anything ruin us," Blaine assures softly. "I'll send something nice next time."
"No, Blaine," Kurt insists, exasperated. "Don't send anything at all."
"Why shouldn't I give you things, Kurt?" Blaine argues. "It's not like I have anything better to do with my money."
"It upsets them."
"You care about them too much," Blaine says with a huff. "You never even try to stand up for me."
"You fed them people!"
"They were quality people."
Kurt hangs up the phone and Blaine swears at him, more violently then he usually would, but he is just about had enough of Kurt's 'family values' shit. All the boy thinks about is pleasing daddy and his dumbass step-brother.
Why should they get so much attention? Kurt is his goddamn angel, and who else could possibly take better care of him? Did either of those overly-burly bastards ever kill for him? He doesn't think so!
He'd have gotten rid of them long ago if he didn't think Kurt would never forgive him for it.
He takes a deep breath.
It's cool. Kurt will get over them eventually; Blaine will fuck him until he forgets about everyone else, even if it takes days, years.
He'll make Kurt see who he should be worried about pleasing.
"So, Anderson," Charles says pleasantly. "How's Kurt doing?"
"Bite me, Charles." He resists the urge to kick the table in front of him. "Fucking bite me."
AN: I am quickly coming to adore Charles. And shout out to everyone who's reviewed, because you guys are freaking sweethearts.
Sweethearts who read about murderers.
My kind of people.