Kurt hated cars.

Well, more specifically, car engines. He was absolutely fine at driving.

After the most recent Karofsky debacle, Burt had decided that Kurt wasn't sufficiently safe driving home alone, so had taken again to chaperoning Kurt to and from school. This had led to Kurt feeling utterly guilty for the slightly restricted weekday opening hours of the Hummel garage, so he had insisted on helping Burt on overnight jobs in his free evening. It was only now that he was beginning to regret his decision, standing in oily overalls with grease on his face and all up his arms and so unable to fix his hair.

He'd learnt about cars at an early age, of course, helping his dad in the garage's infancy. Kurt was often glad of the car knowledge that he had, though, when it had come to defying stereotypes throughout his school career. But now it was all but useless and had led him to spending his Monday evening coated in several layers of grime, he thought moodily, fighting the umpteenth urge to touch his face.

It had long ago become dark outside, and Kurt felt slightly like a character in a horror movie. He tried to shrug off a horrible sense of foreboding that was sitting unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach and to fully concentrate on his work. Besides, he knew his dad was just through in the office, sorting out some finances. They'd head home to Finn and Carole once they were both done.

He nearly leapt out of his skin, then, when he heard a tap on the window.

Kurt spun around. A couple of windows ran down the side of the garage – they were, technically, open to the public, and the front of the shop was shut – and they had no curtains, meaning that the mysterious tapper could see in, and see Kurt. But, in the darkness, Kurt couldn't see out.

His heart thudding painfully in his chest, Kurt slowly set down his tools and turned to face the window fully. He saw a dark shape, distorted by the glass, and a single finger as it tapped sharply again on the pane.

It couldn't be Karofsky – could it? He wouldn't really come back...

"Dad!" Kurt shouted urgently.

Burt stuck his head out the door of the office. "What's up, bud?"

Kurt nodded in the window's direction. "There's someone outside," he said.

Burt's face hardened, before disappearing back into the office. He emerged a moment later with a shotgun.

"Dad!" Kurt cried in shock.

"Relax, it's not loaded," Burt said quietly to his son, striding over to the window and throwing it briskly open. He brought the gun up to his shoulder. "Who's there?"

"Woah, don't shoot!"

Kurt found himself running forwards at the voice. "Put it down, Dad!" he exclaimed, batting his father out of the way. He leant on the window frame and peered out into the cold, dark air. "Blaine?"

Blaine appeared sheepishly into the light, his uniform scruffy, shoes muddy, and eyes red.

"Oh my... Blaine, what happened? Why are you here?"

Blaine shook his head, still warily eyeing Burt's gun. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I didn't know where else to go. I tried ringing you, but it went to voicemail, so I turned up at your house and Finn said you were here..." He sniffed dejectedly, eyes on the floor.

Kurt said, "hang on," and hurried to unlock and open the door, waiting for Blaine to walk around to it before shutting it behind them. Burt nodded to Kurt and returned to his office.

It was odd to see Blaine so upset. Usually it was the other way round, and Kurt had no idea how to be the shoulder to cry on. "I'd offer you a hug," he said, "but I'm covered in – "

Kurt was cut off by Blaine all but launching himself into him, pulling him tight and burying his head and Kurt's shoulder. Kurt scolded his heart for leaping. It was a moment later before Kurt realised that Blaine's shoulders were shaking with tiny sobs, which were muffled by the material of Kurt's overalls.

Ignoring the senses screaming at him that he was ruining Blaine's uniform, he returned the hug, wrapping his arms close around Blaine's shoulders. He decided that talking wouldn't help right now, so the two boys stood together in silence for a few minutes, before Blaine took a deep breath and allowed Kurt to guide him to a few chairs lined up against a side wall.

"Was your dad really gonna shoot me?" Blaine asked, sounding as though he was trying to raise the mood.

Kurt laughed obligingly. "No, it wasn't loaded. It's just for show, mostly." He sighed. "We both sort of thought you were Karofsky," he added quietly. He looked up at Blaine. "Why are you here, Blaine?"

Once Blaine had explained what had happened, Kurt pulled him in for another hug, guiltily relishing how right it felt to sit with his arm around Blaine, Blaine's head on his shoulder.

"So, what now?" Kurt asked quietly.

Blaine shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to go back home," he murmured. "But, god, Kurt – he was so mad. I don't think I've ever seen him so mad before."

Kurt patted his friend's shoulder supportively. "I'm sorry, Blaine," he whispered. "I wish I knew what to do."

"Me too," Blaine admitted miserably. "But they're so set in their ways – there's no way they're going to accept me." He shook his head, and Kurt felt it rub against his shoulder, the material dampening under Blaine's tears. "And I thought my mum at least understood, but – " He broke off and sniffed. "It's not fair."

"I know," Kurt sighed.

Feeling that there was nothing really more to say, the boys lapsed into silence again.

"You could stay over at mine?" Kurt suggested.

Blaine laughed hollowly. "I think that might just make things worse."

Kurt "hmm"ed dryly and frowned, resting his head on Blaine's own. "Well, anything I can do, just let me know."

Blaine wound his arms around Kurt's waist and exhaled heavily. "Thank you, Kurt."

"You're welcome," Kurt said automatically. "Wait – what for?"

"Just... being here," Blaine admitted. "I don't have many friends who'd let me crash their dad's workplace on a dark night."

Kurt laughed a little.

Blaine sighed. "I'd better go," he said quietly.

Despite every nerve in Kurt's body protesting, he nodded. "Okay."

They both stood, Blaine pulling Kurt close one more time before letting go, and letting himself out.

It was only once Blaine had gone that Kurt let his sadness turn to anger, and he threw a nearby screwdriver across the room. Then he fell back onto the chair, put his head in his hands, and cried.