The walk was awkward for both of them, and despite his nerves Blaine knew that at least until he had a clearer picture of what was going on that he had best leave the other man alone. His companion didn't seem all that friendly and he couldn't help but think that he might have used up every last bit of his luck by this point. Then again there was a possibility that this this good looking stranger was going to dismember him in an even darker alleyway than the last one had chosen, of course. Blaine wasn't entirely convinced that that wasn't the direction this whole thing was going in and that would be much more Blaine's luck.

Blaine couldn't help being curious about his saviour. The man had to be somewhere around his age, and was incredibly handsome. Blaine knew that he couldn't be new here, or else he wouldn't have been able to handle Ronnie as he had. Somehow he didn't seem like he belonged in this place. He didn't know how to explain it, but the only way he could really describe him was to say he was beautiful.

As they continued to walk, Blaine started to feel heavy with all that had happened throughout the day starting to hit him. He was incredibly thankful for the row of houses ahead of him coming to an end- surely they had to be reaching their destination soon. Of course that was assuming that the man wasn't going to rob him, murder him and toss his body out into the desert sand beyond the row of shacks. Blaine couldn't help it if his thoughts were getting a little dark. He was exhausted, scared and starving. Today hadn't exactly been one for the books.

They stopped in front of one of the smaller shacks, a flickering light attached to the trim around the front door. The dwelling looked almost exactly like all of the other homes in the row but for one difference that Blaine couldn't help but appreciate- the door was beautiful. Contrasting to the rest of the building around it, it looked like it had been carefully crafted by hand by someone very skilled. It was patched together with random building materials like every other piece of the shack but someone had taken the time to artfully arrange the pieces to form a pattern.

It shocked Blaine out of his reverie as the stranger unlocked and opened the door. Grabbing an old lantern from inside the door and lighting it, he gestured for Blaine to join him as he entered the home. Blaine couldn't help it, he was conflicted. He could turn away, head back towards the tavern where there were people. He could ask again about work, although it might be too late and the tavern patrons might be too drunk at this point in the evening to help him with that. His judge of character hadn't been very good lately, so even though every fiber of his being was telling him to go into the shack with the stranger, he couldn't help but want to do exactly the opposite, perhaps just to spite himself.

"Look, I'm tired, you're tired. Either come in or walk away. If you're not particularly irritating, I won't murder you. That's as close to accommodating as I plan to be," whispered the stranger, again gesturing to Blaine to get into the shack. He looked side-to-side as he spoke, as if he was expecting an audience.

"When you put it that way, I'm suddenly extremely comfortable," sighed Blaine, reluctantly shuffling up the steps and into the shack, jumping a little at the loud scraping sound of the stranger bolting the door behind them.

The taller man sat down at a desk on the other side of the room, carrying the lamp with him as he walked. He sighed loudly, placing the things that he had been carrying on the desk. Blaine noticed that the satchel he was carrying looked a lot like the one he had been given, but it was a lot older. He had also had a pouch attached to his belt which he placed beside the bag on the desk.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" asked Blaine quietly, taking a seat on a cot on the opposite side of the room from the other man.

"Yes, but I doubt that will stop you," sighed the stranger.

"You helped me because…?" He couldn't help it, he really wanted to know. He had never seen this man in his life and Blaine definitely didn't have anything of value that this man could possibly be after.

"First day here, right? Get some sleep. You can take that cot. I'll be over here," said the other man, crawling into a bigger cot not far from his desk.

"How long have you been here?" Blaine asked quietly, eyeing the other man as he settled under the thin sheets on his cot. The look he got in response was dark enough to cause him to flinch.

"Long enough to know that the wrong questions can easily get you killed."

"Asking them or answering them?" He knew the stranger was probably impatient with him, but he couldn't help it. Snark was in his nature.

"Take your pick." Blaine couldn't help but wince at the harshness of the other man's tone, which didn't escape his companion's notice.

With a sigh, he continued, "Look, I don't know what it was like where you came from, but learn to shut your mouth or someone will shut it for you. To clarify, not a threat. I meant it when I said that I wouldn't hurt you. But seriously, just sleep, OK?"

The look on the man's face was soft, almost understanding despite the harshness of his words. Blaine decided he wasn't scared of him, not really. But he knew when to shut up, snark aside. The other man was obviously not up for banter tonight. He couldn't help it really- this was who he was, dire straits or not. But still, he really didn't want to push this guy any further. This tall, thin, soft spoken stranger is probably the only reason he was presumably going to survive the night. And despite the filth here, the murderers prowling in the dark and people willing to buy and sell him for soup, he really did want to survive.

He was so quiet Blaine almost didn't hear him over the sound of his own rambling thoughts. "Sorry," mumbled the stranger, toying with a small knife that had been on the desk beside his bed. "I know you're in a shit situation. We all are. I just- I haven't had someone here in a while. I'm not great with new people, you know."

"You don't say."

Blaine felt his face flush as the stranger looked up at him, a smirk on his face. It was the first time he had seen the man smile, and Blaine couldn't help but feel a little bit better for seeing it. His blue eyes flicking in the light of the lantern as he snuffed it out. Blaine watched as he pulled the blankets up to his chin.

"I do mean it though," he continued, turning to face the wall. "You really need to watch what you say to people here. You're in a world of liars and thieves. Except nobody believes shit and there's nothing good to steal."

"I'm not sure I-"

The stranger continued, still facing the wall. "Information is as good as cash here. If people know things about you, they have stuff to use against you. And they will use it against you. Seriously, kid I-"

"I'm probably the same age as you. And I have a name, it's Blaine."

The stranger turned back over and looked at him, unimpressed. "And there you go with more information. Honestly, you should get some rest. I solemnly swear not to murder you while you sleep." The stranger was looking at him again, with a mocking hand over his heart as he spoke.

Blaine smiled as he settled more comfortably on the cot, pulling the thin sheet up to his chin as he started to finally relax for the first time all day.

Once both men were fully settled under the covers, Blaine couldn't resist pushing his luck on more time. "I know, questions suck. But- Can you tell me your name? I will solemnly swear to not sell any information to the highest bidder just as you so kindly promised to not gut me while I sleep."

"Fair enough. I'm Kurt."

He couldn't explain it. This place wasn't comfortable, or safe, or warm. The strange man on the nearby cot wasn't all that warm or personable. But for the first time in months, Blaine felt like he might actually get a good night's sleep.

"You still didn't tell me why you helped me. Or how come that psycho chick didn't murder you? Do you out-psycho her or something?" asked Blaine the next morning over breakfast. The food wasn't anything fancy, but even a small amount of plain oatmeal tasted like heaven to Blaine after the food from the last few weeks.

"Do I look like I out-psycho her?" asked Kurt playfully, pushing his oatmeal around the bowl.

"You're dodging the question."

Kurt sighed, pausing for a while before answering. He seemed troubled by it and Blaine didn't want to push his luck, but he really needed to know.

"Ronnie and I have an understanding. I wouldn't say I out-psycho her. I helped her a while back, and in return she doesn't try to gut me like she does most things she thinks are pretty," replied Kurt.

"Seems like a pretty good deal for you."

"I know that I thought so," said Kurt drily, picking up both empty bowls from the table and putting them in a large basin before settling back down at the table.

"You still didn't answer the 'why' of it all," chided Blaine. "I mean, what's it to you if some random guy gets murdered on his first day here?"

The other man paused again, almost as if he was deliberating on something. Blaine knew that he was asking a lot of questions (which was apparently bad) and he knew he was putting Kurt in an awkward spot. There just had to be some sort of reason.

"Psycho-chick had a good point."

"Oh?"

"You do kind of have a lost puppy vibe going on," replied Kurt coyly, winking at him for emphasis. Blaine couldn't help but blush at the wink. This guy was incredibly handsome. Blaine knew that he was still dodging the question, but it really didn't seem like he was going to get anything but sarcasm out of him. At least not yet.

It had taken him a while to fall asleep after learning Kurt's name last night. Despite his body being absolutely exhausted, his mind was still whirring at an insane pace as he tried to make sense of the last few hours and the seemingly safe, warm bed he was now in. Part of that was trying to make sense of what little information that he knew about his saviour. He hadn't talked to him long, but Blaine was comforted by the fact that once they were off the street and safe inside he had gotten more and more personable. The easy banter between the two of them at breakfast this morning was even more encouraging- this man was a nice person. He tried to act tough, but he did seem to be a good person. Then again, Blaine's ability to judge who was and wasn't trying to murder him wasn't exactly one of his top qualities.

Still, Blaine was about eighty percent sure Kurt wasn't preparing to murder him and that was most certainly progress.

"Lost puppies aside, I guess I should probably hit the tavern," mumbled Blaine, motioning to get up. He was surprised when Kurt grabbed his forearm and held him to the table.

"Why in the world would you want to do that?" asked Kurt shortly, giving Blaine a concerned look.

"Work?" replied Blaine in a confused tone. Maybe the tavern wasn't open in the morning or something. Or maybe this place was like taverns in some provinces where it was taboo to be seen there before noon. Based on the patrons of Woodburn he had seen so far, he doubted that drinking in the early morning was frowned upon.

"The tavern is dangerous. People like Ronnie prowl there, even in the day. And work is hard to come by as it is," explained Kurt.

"Then what do I do? Is there somewhere else I can look for work?"

Kurt considered for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip as he directed his gaze to the table in front of him. He jerked his head up, staring directly into Blaine's eyes as he spoke. "Help me with my stuff. You can stay here, I'll feed you and give you a place to stay."

"Your 'stuff'. That doesn't sound vaguely ominous at all," snickered Blaine.

"Sorry, didn't realise you had other places to be," responded Kurt. "More important things to do, etc. I hear Ronnie is prowling for a new play thing."

"I think I'll pass on that, thanks. I'm reasonably fond of my limbs attached the way that they currently are," remarked Blaine. "Seriously, though. What exactly do you do?"

Kurt remained silent for a few moments as if he was carefully considering something. "A little bit of everything, I guess? A jack-of-all-trades, I guess you would call me. You've heard that before?"

"Sure, but what exactly does that mean in a place like this?" Blaine couldn't imagine this place really had that many 'trades' going for it.

"Remember when I told you information is king here? That's kind of my business."

Blaine frowned. He didn't like the idea of selling secrets. In a place like this it seemed like it was too easy a way to make oneself a target and Blaine really had no intention of standing out from the crowd here. And honestly, he and gossip hadn't really had the best track record.

Lost in thought, Blaine hadn't noticed that Kurt had sensed what his silence might mean. "Look, I'm not in the business of screwing people over, if that's what you think. There are people that do things like that here, though. But I don't exploit anyone or anything. I like to think that I'm in the business of making people happy."

"Excuse me? Not a chance," spat Kurt, clearly irritated, his face still slightly red. "'Happy' doesn't always mean that."

"Sorry... But still I'm not sure I follow," responded Blaine sheepishly. It was a little hard to believe that there was really actual ways for anyone to be 'happy' here in any real way.

"I find out what people want. I try to make it happen, within reason. Not anything messed up or anything… Like I wouldn't give Ronnie a head in a box to sleep with or anything, but I like to think I make people's existence here a little more tolerable. I know everyone, including the guards. I can get things brought in when I need to, get messages out if they aren't violent or crazy."

"You bridge the gap," realised Blaine, suddenly pretty impressed. Kurt had to be one hell of a people person. Based on his brief experience with the guards on his first day here, he couldn't imagine being able to charm a smile from them, never mind charm them into smuggling goods into a secure compound.

"I guess you could say that. The guards trust me, I guess. They trusted my parents too, so that helps," replied Kurt with a sad smile.

"They did this too?"

"Not so much. My dad was a master craftsman. He could build anything. Metal, wood, anything. My mom worked with textiles. They were good people. I guess I'm trusted to do this because the guards liked them so much. It also kind of keeps the peace. Psychotic killers are less murdery when they're happy," responded Kurt matter-of-factly.

"I'm in."

Kurt smiled broadly, shaking his hand firmly.

Blaine tried to ignore the somersault that his stomach did at the contact. This was about survival. Blaine had to keep himself focused on that fact.