The third time the lights flickered in the Hummel-Hudson house, Kurt went upstairs to make sure Carrole had a backup plan for dinner if the power went out. Blaine used the moment to assess and prepare Kurt's room. He'd always known, since he first visited, that it could never be a viable retreat; but Kurt owned enough flammable substances, heavy objects and other things that could be improvised as weapons that Blaine assumed this would be the best place if a stand became necessary. In the few moments Kurt was gone, Blaine let his mask drop and rushed to subtly rearrange things to be easier to grab in a hurry. He was suppose to be done by the time Kurt got back.

"Blaine?"

A long time ago, Blaine had overheard an anecdote his father that had included the question 'I mean, how do you explain to your boyfriend that your rearranging his vanity so his hairspray will be on hand to use as a flamethrower?'. Back then, Blaine had thought it was a ridiculous story, no realistic basis at all. What were the odds he wound end up living that exact moment?

He didn't have to explain though. To his surprise, Kurt didn't ask. "Oh, Blaine." Kurt took his hand. Blaine let himself be led to the edge of the bed and set down. The Kurt sat behind him and started massaging his neck and shoulders. Kurt's grip was weak but his touch was precise and sure and Blaine melted. "You're more tense than I've ever seen you." Kurt observed. His voice dropped to a quietly furious tone and the question Blaine should have expected. "Does your dad really scare you this much?"

It was a fair question. Blaine wasn't sure of the answer. He had a good memories of his father, no one could hate that smile. He also knew what Jack did, the life he led. Blaine ahd grown up knowing too much about the universe. He'd held a real, albeit unloaded, gun when he was four years old. He'd gone on 'adventures' at least once a month where he dealt with a pseudo crisis for the past eleven years. He was a soldier, a child of time they'd been called once...and it was Jack's fault. Did his dad scare him? "No. It's just...trouble tends to follow him."

He'd hoped, in all this, that one particular question wouldn't be asked. So of course, Kurt took the opportunity to ask "What kind of trouble?" There was no way to answer that honestly without explaining far too much. Blaine fell silent, hoping Kurt would just forget the question and let it go. "Blaine?"

On the other hand, there were cover stories. "Dad works for the British Government. Special Ops." Close enough, maybe. Not enough of an answer for Kurt, who was watching him with quiet confusion. Blaine felt the uncertainty, and guilt began. He owed Kurt better than this, owed him the whole story. Except Blaine had gone and fallen in love with a skeptic who would never believe him. He'd even hoped Kurt would never have to believe him, but now, with Jack here, memories of monsters several times Blaine's size, bright lights in the sky, a sick green glow and so many buttons overwhelmed him. He hadn't actually known then, he hadn't understood. He couldn't make Kurt go through anything like that. Jack was a threat, because with him came crisis.

Reluctantly, Blaine pulled away from the magical massage and took Kurt's hands in his. Kurt's eyes reflected more confusion than Blaine felt alright causing him, and just a little bit of fear that Blaine wanted nothing more than to protect him from. Still...

"Kurt..." he began, squeezing soft, pale hands between his. "No matter what happens tonight, no matter what I'm about to tell you, you need to know more than anything how much I love you."

Kurt squeezed back. "Blaine...you're scaring me. This feels like it's turning into some mean joke."

"I'm sorry." words were ahead of thoughts now, because if he thought about what he was doing he'd realize what a bad idea it was. "I swear though, on whatever you want me to swear on, everything I'm about to tell you is true."

"Just tell me." Kurt asked breathlessly.

The lights flickered again, and Blaine explained everything.