Quick AN: Slavery still exists on every continent of our world. The average cost globally is $90USD. If anything in this moves you, please go to freetheslaves dot net (U.S. based organization, four star Charity Navigator rating) or to antislavery dot org (U.K. based).

Carole excused herself, explaining that she needed a cup of tea and some time to process all of this. She sat down at the kitchen table, as the steam from the cup drifted past her face. She wasn't at all surprised that Kurt had bought a slave to save his life, or that Burt had committed himself to help. They were both vocally anti-slavery and more, Burt's gruffness and Kurt's bitchiness both hid very susceptible hearts.

As she thought about it, she wasn't even that surprised any more that they were helping to smuggle slave freers out to independent states. Once Burt committed himself to something, he was in it all the way. It was a bit harder for her to understand Kurt, but there was a lot of anger churning under his haughty exterior. This was another way that he could hit back at a society that wanted him to hide who he is.

She had to face her own reactions, though. She loved Burt beyond any kind of reason or sense. It wasn't only the teens that saw the entire world and half themselves swirl and dissolve into one other person when they fell in love. The idea that he was risking his life and freedom felt like somebody had slipped a knife between her ribs, aimed at her heart.

She could lose Burt to this. She knew that if she walked out now, she'd recover, some day. But if she stayed, and let love deepen and entangle itself into every part of her life even more than now, and then he were killed or caught, could she endure that?

She realized that her tea was room temperature now, but picked it up and drank it anyway. She just couldn't decide. She went over to the sink and rinsed her cut, looking outside to see Finn and Kurt and Burt still talking. Finn positively seemed to be glowing with excitement. The implications hadn't hit him yet, but she knew she had to be there for him when they did. She heard an unexpected sound from the living room and turned around, then realized that she'd forgotten entirely about the slave that Kurt had purchased. It made her feel utterly terrible that she'd forgotten his name. It began with a "B," that much she remembered.

She went into the living room and saw a dark-haired boy go into the office. "Hello, I'm-" She broke off at the immediately alarmed look on his face as he turned as quickly as he could to face her. Kurt and Burt had both warned her that he was still terrified, but somehow she'd thought it must mean only that he was jumpy or shy. "I'm Carole," she continued, warmly. "I'm Finn's mother."

He remained standing, looking at the floor. She couldn't see more of his bandaged face, but could see the casts on his foot and hand and the splinted fingers on the other hand. "Were you going back to bed?" she asked. "Do you need a hand with anything?" His confusion and hesitation were breaking her heart, especially when she saw that he momentarily looked at her and then away, as if he was afraid of making eye contact.

Well, Finn had gotten in more than enough childhood injuries for her to know how to help him physically. She pulled the sheet and blankets part way from the bed. "There, if you sit down, you can get your leg back up and then we can get you covered again." He did as instructed and she carefully tucked the covers over him.

"I'll bring you some tea, sweetheart, just a minute. Do you want sugar or milk?" He didn't answer, and she decided that given how underweight he looked, she'd put in both. She plugged in the electric kettle and made enough for two cups.

"Here you go, but be careful, it's hot." She cleared a corner of the desk near the bed and put both mugs there. He cautiously reached for the one nearest him, the one with the very wide, large handle that she thought would be easiest. "Do you want me to help you with that?" She had to stop asking questions, she told herself, holding the mug for him until he'd drunk enough that it was lighter.

He started coughing and she realized that there weren't any tissues in the room. "I hate to say it, but I will anyway. Men! I'll get you some tissues and a wastebasket." She retrieved them from the bathroom and pulled several tissues from the box to hand to him.

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed as another coughing spate was so strong that it seemed too much for his frail body. "My poor baby," she murmured, smoothing the hair from his face. He still hadn't said a word to her, she realized. She adjusted the pillows behind him. "There, if you want to sit up, that will be more comfortable. Some more tea? That can't have made your throat feel good." He seemed to be letting down his guard a little and when she saw him steal another cautious glance at her, she smiled encouragingly. She helped him finish the tea and then she put an arm around him while lowering the pillows again so he could lie down.

"I'll stay here a little until you're asleep." She touched his hair lightly and as his breathing became heavier, she found an unhurt spot on his forehead to kiss. "Sleep well, sweetheart, you're safe here."

She got up after a few minutes and left. Burt was in the living room and without a word, held her tightly. "That poor boy, Burt. We'll never let anybody hurt him again."

Over the last days, Blaine had been recovering steadily. Even if his cough wasn't any better, his fever was lower each day and even the infected cuts were starting to heal. He was walking more easily and was better able to feed himself as his broken fingers were clearly less painful and he was able to move the splinted fingers. He had also begun to eat more and Kurt had been genuinely impressed with Finn's idea that they make sure to eat every meal that they could as a family, with Blaine. He still kept his eyes lowered and avoided talking as much as possible, but Kurt reminded himself that it would take time.

Tuesday night, though, the conversations were strained. They had agreed that Blaine didn't need to know about Burt and Kurt's "poker games," but not being able to speak about tomorrow made everything awkward. Kurt could sense Carole's and Finn's worry and he also sensed something else from Finn that day, something that almost seemed like resentment, but Finn hadn't said anything, just shot both him and his father the occasional sullen and hurt look.

He hadn't had a chance to get Finn alone to ask him what was going on. Finn had football practice, he had come home right after school, and by the time Finn was back, Carole was already home and they were making dinner together. He'd even tried to catch Finn alone but Finn had avoided all of Kurt's probably unsubtle attempts to talk one on one. After they had finished eating, Burt gave Blaine the evening's dose of medications and gently shooed him back to bed, since the pain killers made him so drowsy.

Kurt volunteered himself and Finn to clear the table and put the dishes into the dishwasher. Once in the kitchen, he cornered his older brother, put his hand on his hips, and demanded to know what was wrong.

"I don't know, Kurt, why don't you tell me what's wrong with me?"

"What?"

"So you and Burt are going off tomorrow to help get slaves free and you don't even ask me?"

"Finn-"

"I said that I was going to be a real brother to you and keep you safe, remember?"

"So you're mad that Dad and I aren't asking you to put yourself in danger? Finn Hudson, that's very sweet and very disturbing."

"Don't make a joke out of it. I know you think that I'm stupid but I still should get to help you."

"Finn, look, it's not that anybody thinks you're stupid," Kurt sighed, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down.

Finn pulled out the chair opposite. "So what is it, then?"

"It's your mom. If anything happens to Dad or me, or both of us, that's two people gone from her life. If anything happens to you...Finn, do you even know what happens to somebody who violates the Property Amendment?"

"You go to jail, right?"

Kurt shook his head. "Lethal force is legal, so anybody catching you, police or not, can kill you for it. If you're arrested and convicted, you get sold yourself."

"No way." Finn was immediately indignant. "They can do that?" He thought about it a moment and then added, "So that means that you and Burt could end up slaves? Why do you do it, then?"

"Because of Mom. She was politically well-connected, her family was really rich, and she was starting to get seriously involved in the opposition to the Amendment. Then she met Dad, and they got married. I was their little surprise, she didn't think that she could have children. She got out of politics for a while because I was premature and needed a lot of care for a while. She was worried about the death threats she'd gotten before, too, she was scared that something might happen to me, or that Dad would be left alone with an infant. She started getting back into it when I got older, the death threats picked up again, and then the car accident...the police said it was an accident, but..." Kurt swallowed. "It got personal for Dad after that, as the saying goes. And for me, too, once I asked him the same question you did."

Finn sat quietly digesting all of this. "So that explains why your dad got so mad when you bought Blaine."

"Yeah, handing money to the industry that probably killed my mom, but..." Kurt sighed. "Now you see why we didn't ask you to join us tomorrow."

Kurt had a difficult time getting to sleep that night. The talk with Finn had gotten to him more than he thought, he kept hearing Blaine coughing, and he was worried about what the evening would bring. Five card stud meant that it would be a large group coming in, at least fifteen. That meant there would be a lot more risk. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep Finn from coming and trying to help. It should be easy enough to lose Finn if he tried to follow them, but sometimes Finn's tenacity could produce some surprising results.

He tried all of his usual methods of falling asleep, including deconstructing the knitting in Rachel's latest animal sweaters, which was usually the killer app for sleep, but nothing worked. He gave up and went upstairs for some warm milk. He hadn't heard Blaine coughing for a while so he crept up as quietly as he could, using his flashlight to avoid turning on a light and waking the other boy. He heard a tiny rustling noise in the kitchen and instinctively swung the flashlight to illuminate that corner of the kitchen. Blaine was crouching near the door, one hand in the wastebasket, and some scraps of leftover food in his lap. He looked up and froze as the light hit his face.

"Blaine? Were you taking food from the wastebasket?"

"I'm..I'm sorry, I woke up and I was hungry and...I didn't think it would be wrong!"

Kurt took several deep breaths, then realized that Blaine was still staring at him in alarm and that he'd better say something. "Blaine, don't you know by now that you don't have to do things like that any more? That if you want food, you should just help yourself? Or if you want, just ask me or Carole to make it for you?" Blaine's expression was definitely "I can understand the words but have no idea what you're saying" and so Kurt came closer, then got on the ground next to him.

"You're not a slave any more here and you're not even a guest any more, you're family now." Blaine looked away swiftly, almost as if he were rejecting the notion and Kurt sighed. "I wish you would say what you're thinking."

He barely heard the response. "What I'm thinking? That I don't deserve it. That it's wrong for me to be like this." Kurt had never heard bitterness and self-loathing like that before, but his mind whipped back to Blaine's previous statement that he didn't deserve it.

"Why not? What could you have done to mean that you deserve to eat from a wastebasket?"

"I killed my father, for one."

"What happened?"

Blaine spoke in a harsh, clipped voice. "I was nine. His enemies had set him up as having funneled money to terrorists. That was a family penalty, not just a personal penalty crime. They arrested us both. They kept us separate and told me that he wasn't going to confess and that that meant the death penalty for him. They said that I was too young for any serious penalty, that I would just get a year in custody and re-education but that if I testified against him, if I said at the trial everything that they told me to say, that he had friends who would get him off." Blaine's voice changed and became young and vulnerable again. "They lied, Kurt. I testified against him and they gave him the death penalty. He was executed two days later. One of the guards let me see him. Oh, God, Kurt, he said that he understood what happened, that I had been tricked, that he loved me and would always love me..." Blaine buried his face in his hands and Kurt edged closer. "After he was executed, they sold me. I deserved it, I was the one who killed him, I let them trick me..."

"But Blaine, he forgave you..."

"I didn't deserve it, don't you see? Why can't you see that?"

"You were nine years old, you were scared and confused, people tricked you, and you think you deserve what happened? You don't, Blaine, you don't." Cautiously, he pulled Blaine to his feet, letting the leftover food fall to the ground, and sat him at the table. "I'm going to have some warm milk, does that sound good to start?" Blaine didn't respond, so Kurt poured milk into two mugs and added several spoonfuls of honey. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and pulled out another mug. "Hello, Finn." "How do you keep doing that?"

"Finn, nobody else in this household walks like you. I'm making Blaine and me some warm milk and then putting something else together for him. Blaine, I froze some of my famous pecan waffles last time I made them, how does that sound?"

"You really should try them, they're great," Finn agreed enthusiastically. "If I'd known there were any in the freezer, I'd have eaten them."

"That's why I didn't tell you," Kurt said, tartly.

"You should totally put one of those almost runny eggs on top."

"You are so good at making things sound appetizing, I don't know why restaurants don't hire you to write menus. Blaine, Finn means with a lightly poached egg."

Kurt pulled an apron over his pajamas and put the mugs of milk in the microwave to heat as he pulled out another pan for the eggs and extracted the waffles from the freezer. "That is so not fair," Finn complained as he saw that Kurt had written "Tofu" on the package.

"I wanted to save them in case we had a special occasion. The three of us on our first joint refrigerator raid counts. You getting hungry is a very ordinary occasion."

Kurt carefully watched Blaine, who seemed to be relaxing slightly at the banter between the two of them. He was still thinking through what Blaine had told him. After Blaine's trauma and enslavement, it wouldn't take much to make him believe that it was all his fault and that he deserved whatever might happen to him. He swallowed hard at the thought that there was something bad enough to make even Blaine try to run away from the way an owner treated him. He put the mug of warm milk in front of Blaine with a gentle, "Here you go," and cut the finished waffles and egg into slices that would be easy for him to pick up with a fork.

Finn kept chattering about his favorites among Kurt's recipes to Blaine, and even though Kurt was certain that Finn hadn't overheard the earlier conversation with Blaine, he was being absolutely perfect, saying things like, "You have got to have him make you that one," or "If you want him to make that one, there's this one grocery store we've got to go to to get that lemony stuff. I kind of got kicked out of there for asking 'what's that' a few too many times, but they still like Kurt."

"They didn't kick you out for asking what it was, they kicked you out for freaking when you found you sampled duck tongue and thought that you were cheating on Rachel with a duck by eating it because it was kind of like kissing."

Kurt was certain that Blaine actually snickered at that.