AN: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and commented. Hope you guys still like where this is going:). I appreciated the alerts/reviews/favorites:).

Eight

A soft, melodic voice woke Blaine from a dreamless sleep. The stark blackness scared him. He'd always had extremely vivid dreams. Waking to nothing but darkness sent a shiver down his spine. Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead. It hurt. Blaine tried to roll away from it, but firm hands prevented him from moving. A heavy blanket covered his legs.

"Blaine." Kurt's tired, strained voice finally reached his ears. "It's okay. You're running a bit of a fever."

He opened his eyes, discovering a queen size bed and drab blue walls. A television hummed quietly in the background. "Where are we?"

Kurt sighed, relief flooding his eyes. "You're awake. We're in a hotel in Monroe, Michigan. The roads were shut down yesterday. They haven't reopened since."

"Blizzard." He remembered, grateful as a glass of water touched his lips. "Arm hurts."

Kurt had wrapped a fresh bandage around Blaine's arm. It felt swollen, sore, and heavy. His head throbbed with his aching limb. The Warblers were nowhere in sight, which seemed unusual. "Where are they?"

"Who?" Kurt blinked at him, holding out a styrofoam cup. "I think you should try some soup. It's from the diner downstairs. They're still serving guests, at least."

"Wes, David." Blaine sat up, regretting it instantly. "Wes?"

"I think he means the ghosts." Burt peered at him from the other bed, a confused look on his face. "What, you can't see them right now?"

"No!" Tears sprang from his eyes. "Why can't I see them?"

"Blaine." Kurt set the soup down, gently cupping his face. "Please, it's alright. Look, maybe it's just a temporary side effect or something."

The panic continued to well inside his chest, but he nodded once he saw how exhausted Kurt looked. Blaine ate the soup slowly and out of sheer obligation. It sat uneasily in his stomach. The quiet hotel room seemed almost foreign. At first, he'd feared and hated his psychic abilities. The ghosts had terrified him. He had spent hours, days, and weeks digging through pages of mental illness conditions online, expecting to find one about seeing ghosts. Then Angelo had demanded his attention. Once he had accepted that he was not crazy as he'd feared, the ghosts became his distraction. Eventually, they turned into his friends.

Most people dreamed about being a better person, helping others, and finding a calling in life. Blaine had all of that at his fingertips. Healing other people's wounds made him feel amazing. He'd learned that he could be a better human being than what society expected. The television flicked on and off obnoxiously. Blaine stared at it, smiling when the channel changed to an old I Love Lucy rerun.

"David." He beamed, coughing roughly as he finally accepted some juice from Kurt. "At least I know you guys are here."

Kurt stared at him, looking at the television with a pinched expression on his face. "I thought it kept doing that because it was broken."

"No." Blaine slowly dipped a plastic spoon into the lukewarm soup bowl. "David has a thing for electronics. He wanted to be an engineer."

"Is it weird?" Kurt implored, sinking onto the bed beside him. "Seeing the ghosts?"

Blaine thought about his answer for a long time. "Not anymore."

Kurt didn't respond. Turning his head to the side, he found the countertenor asleep. Burt sighed turned off the light. "Finally. I'm pretty sure my kid hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. Too busy looking after everyone else."

"I don't mind." He finished the awful soup and laid back down. "Maybe the roads will reopen soon."

Burt flicked off the light next to the bed. "I'm completely useless."

"They did it." Blaine admitted, shivering as he thought about Judy. "They made you sick."

"Yeah." The older man huffed, shifting in his bed. "I sort of put things together once I talked to your grandmother."

"How is she?" Blaine wondered what she was like, and why his mother had stopped talking to her. "I've never actually met her."

Burt considered his question carefully. "I'd say she's a spitfire. She mostly talked to Kurt. I think she knows a lot more than she says she does. I could hear it in her voice. She knew who my son was."

"Was she nice?" Blaine figured she had to be more understanding than his mother.

"She seemed to be." Burt's breaths slowed as he closed his eyes.

The quiet unnerved him. Blaine drifted in and out of sleep. The pain made it difficult to focus for long periods of time. His arm itched and burned. Heat coursed through his body in unpredictable intervals. Cold followed hot. He'd reach for the blankets, trying to keep himself warm, only to kick them away minutes later. A deep ache settled into his bones.

Time lost all meaning. Blaine drank water and other replenishing fluids whenever Kurt pressed a glass to his lips. Burt made him choke down soup. Painkillers and herbs frequently found their way into his trembling hands. It took more effort than it should have to swallow them. When the bed started moving, his stomach followed suit. Blaine fought nausea for countless hours. Music constantly filled the small space. Clutching the blankets around his body, he wondered when the mattress had become so uncomfortable.

Occasionally, worried conversation reached his ears. Blaine ignored it, wishing for relief from the terrible nausea. It only subsided when the bed stopped moving. Kurt would usually help him use the bathroom. He could barely walk, and usually had to close his eyes so he didn't throw up all over the ground. They always took him outside. Burt usually claimed him as his son to the man standing behind the hotel counter. During each journey back indoors, Blaine often wondered why the lobby looked exactly like a convenience store.

The scenery didn't really matter. He huddled under the blankets, bursting into tears as the bed started to move again. The nausea returned full force. Kurt sat beside him, too exhausted to join his father on the other bed, and noticed his friend's distress. "What's wrong?"

"His fever's not spiking again, is it?" Burt worried from a distance. "I thought I told you to get some rest, Kurt. I can't have you collapse on me!"

"He's crying." Pulling the blankets down, Kurt rested his head on Blaine's chest. "He's getting worse, Dad."

"We'll be in Canada soon." Burt sighed. "He'll be in better hands once we cross the border."

Blaine gently gripped Kurt's hands, grateful for his presence. The other boy closed his eyes. Watching his friend's chest rise and fall, Blaine smiled. The nausea wasn't so bad anymore. He began to feel better. The chills subsided, his headache dissipated, and his arm throbbed less. Blaine smiled at Kurt as he began to drift into a peaceful sleep.

A familiar hallway came into sight. Students chatted loudly, excited to be missing class for an impromptu performance by the Warblers. The choir members were popular partly because they usually convinced the faculty to let them have random concerts in order to "prepare". Blaine spotted Kurt's curious face at the front of the crowd and smiled. The Warblers opened Teenage Dream with ease and class. Blaine lead them through the song, confident he had captured Kurt's attention.

Kurt clapped and grinned through the whole performance. He took him by the hand again, leading his friend out into the commons for a cup of coffee. They talked about fashion and bullies. Neither boy mentioned ghosts or magic. Kurt sang Don't Cry For Me Argentina. Blaine listened to his voice. They went for coffee again afterwards and ended up in a scenic park.

The swings squeaked as they pumped their legs, flying through the air during a magnificent Ohio sunset. Blaine laughed. The grass felt cool and moist against his back. Kurt rested beside him, content softening his features. Blaine's heart constricted at his beauty. Leaning forward, he pressed a light kiss on Kurt's lips. A surprised gasp caught his ear, but Kurt responded and kissed him back. They pulled away from each other when something rustled the bushes.

"What was that?" Blaine sat up, blushing madly. "Did you hear that?"

Angry dark eyes bore into his soul. Nick barreled out of the tree line, rage pinching his face. "Kurt is mine!"

Kurt let out a cry of anguish. Blaine jerked violently, knocking his elbow against the car's door handle. "Kurt?"

"Here." He squawked, rubbing his eyes and turning a blunt shade of red. "We were dreaming?"

"Yes." Blaine smiled tensely. "I'm sorry Nick interrupted it."

When he saw Kurt's confused look, Blaine explained the situation. How Nick had possessed Dave Karofsky's body months ago and betrayed him so he could have Kurt. Kurt paled, but let him finish the sordid tale before he added his inner thoughts to their quiet conversation. "He wants to sleep with me on prom night. That's how he's going to build his connection to me, isn't it?"

"I don't know for sure." Blaine admitted. "But it really looks that way. I'm sorry he did this to you, Kurt."

"I don't want to sleep with him." Tears flowed down Kurt's cheeks. "I don't want to be bound to him forever."

At a loss for words, Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt and let him cry. "We'll be safe with my grandmother."

"He kissed me." Kurt sobbed. "He harassed me. Knowing that he was gay and bullied in his past just makes it worse. How could he do this to me?"

"Ghosts tend to focus on one thing at a time." Blaine repeated the explanation Wes had given him years before, hoping it wouldn't confuse his friend. "A lot of times it has to do with whatever they felt unsatisfied or haunted by while they lived. Sometimes they focus on things that frustrated them. Their discontentment grows and they become obsessed with it. Then they can turn violent."

"Nick isn't really a ghost." Kurt huffed, horrified. "He's-in a lot of ways-living again!"

"But he's not supposed to be." Blaine ran a hand through his curls. "I knew Nick pretty well when he was living. Nick was a lot like you in some ways. Strong, courageous, and intelligent. He struggled with bullies, his parents weren't supportive, and he died violently. Nick is still channeling all of those feelings. Even if he did get to stay alive permanently, he'd still focus on what bothered him before."

"That doesn't make me feel any better." Kurt swiped away tears, gently taking his hand. "You kissed me."

"You kissed me back." Blaine smiled wistfully. "It was only a dream."

"I wouldn't mind if you did it again." Kurt whispered. "No interruptions here."

"What about your dad?" He stuck a thumb towards the driver's seat, where Burt sat listening to an audiobook as he drove through the night.

"You're right." Disappointment tainted Kurt's hopeful tone. "We should wait."

Not wanting to let the opportunity slip by him, Blaine reached for Kurt's face and pulled him into a kiss. "You healed me."

"I did?" Kurt squeaked between kisses. "I don't even know how I did that."

The kissed passionately, only stopping when Burt finally noticed the commotion in the backseat. Blaine withered under his hard stare and managed to meet his gaze with a false bravado. The older man said nothing about their kiss. Blaine stared into Kurt's eyes as they held hands. They stayed quiet for the remainder of the trip, too exhausted and scared for further discussion about their feelings or their uncertain future.

Dawn arrived uneventfully. A dirt road stretched for miles, leading the way to old farm houses spread out along its edges. Wheat fields surrounded their car. A lake sparkled under the early morning light. The large, spacious red house nestled between rolling hills stood out. It had a distinctly Victorian design to it. Tall cottonwood trees and weeping willows surrounded the property. Grapevines crawled up every brick wall. A greenhouse sat behind the covered and hidden patio.

Blaine regarded the house carefully, feeling its age and history instantly. The Warblers waited for them at the cast iron gate. Wes stood on the edge of the property.

"Wes." Blaine greeted happily, relieved he could still see his friends. "Where are the others?"

"Blaine." Wes grinned. "We'll be here, waiting for you. Unfortunately, I can't go beyond this point."

"Why not?" He ignored Burt and Kurt, staring at him curiously as he spoke to his dead friend. "I just started seeing you again."

"I know." Wes eyed the property warily. "But there are rules. And spirits are very reluctant to cross into sacred burial ground."

"My grandmother lives on sacred ground?" He asked, incredulous. "Are you kidding me?"

"No." Constance York confirmed haughtily, staring down Wesley Montgomery. "Spirits are forbidden here. You are pushing your luck, Wesley."

"He's my friend." Blaine defended, not understanding her defensiveness. "He won't do anything."

"Perhaps he will, perhaps he won't. Hard to tell with this one." Her gray hair flapped in the gentle breeze. "Blaine. It is good to see you. Come inside, and we'll get to know one another. Thank you, Burt, for bringing them here."

"You're welcome." Burt eyed the gargoyle statues perched on the roof. "Nice place."

"I feel like I'm in a Bronte novel." Kurt remarked quietly, clutching Blaine's hand. "I really don't want to be Heathcliff and Catherine."

"I think we're more of a Harry and Sally." Blaine replied, though he felt just as nervous as Kurt looked. "She'll help us. I know she will."

The interior held many unique treasures. Antique furniture, countless knick knacks, abstract art, and plants created an interesting portrait of Constance York's life. Blaine noticed some pictures hanging on the wall. A lot of them featured his mother. He didn't know anyone else, though he did find several familiar baby photographs. Constance lead them into the sitting room. "We can talk in a while. You're safe here. Not from everything, mind you, but the coven won't be able to find you. You're hidden away from them at the moment. I'll make you some breakfast."

"Would you like some help?" Burt offered instantly, even though he seemed completely worn out.

"If you would like." Constance enveloped Blaine in a hug. "Honey, I am happy to have you here."

"Thanks." Blaine returned her embrace, finally releasing Kurt's hand. "For helping me."

"Of course." His grandmother paused, regarding him for a long moment. "Blaine. There is much you don't know. I need to speak privately with Burt first, before anything else is discussed."

"We'll go upstairs." Kurt agreed readily, curious. "We can sleep for a while. I'd love a shower."

An image of a naked, wet Kurt filled Blaine's mind. He stared after him as he made his way up the back staircase. "Coming?"

Nodding, Blaine hurried up after him. "Grandma?"

"Yes, dear?" She beamed, pointedly ignoring Burt's hooded look.

"Where are we staying?" Blaine hadn't felt this welcomed and accepted in a long time. "And I'm sorry we couldn't be together before now."

"Third door on the right." Constance waved them upstairs. "You come back down when you're ready, you hear?"

Burt choked out a strained, terse cry. "Kurt."

"Yes dad?" Kurt blinked uncertainly. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Constance insisted. "Nothing. I'm sure your father is just tired."

"Just." Burt sighed. "It's just-I love you."

"I love you too." Kurt smiled, reaching for Blaine's hand. "We'll be back down later."

The room turned out to be spacious, well lit, and decorated in light colors. Blaine flopped down onto the large bed. It didn't really matter that only one bed occupied the room. Kurt made a beeline for the restroom and closed the door, leaving him alone on the bed. After a while the shower turned on. He didn't sleep since he'd spent the past few days completely zoned out due to his fever.

Imagining Kurt underneath the hot water did things to him. In the past, Blaine had always fantasized about Nick or one of the random guys in the magazines he hid in his dorm. The showers at Dalton intimidated him just like the ones at St. Catherine's had and he never could gather the courage to go in there with other boys. He showered at night. The water ran persistently, its rhythm enticing his body.

Unable to control himself any longer, Blaine rose from the bed and robotically walked towards the showers. Something powerful and strong pulled him there like a magnet. The door opened without any trouble. Normally, he would never even dream of doing such a thing. Blaine walked inside even though his instincts screamed at him to turn around and leave.

The shower curtain flew open, revealing a very naked Kurt Hummel. Blaine's mouth dropped. Kurt's arms curled around his torso instantly. Wet lips brushed against his own, eager and willing. "Blaine."

"Kurt." Blaine climbed into the bathtub, not caring that he was still fully dressed. "Kurt."

They kissed one another deeply. Kurt lifted the hem of Blaine's shirt and carelessly removed his shirt. He stripped without a second thought. Their bodies collided once more, desperate to touch and caress. It occurred to him that he had never done anything close to this before. Blaine smiled, love blossoming from every fiber of his being. The feeling consumed him.

Touching Kurt gave Blaine a natural high. Their limbs entwined and their bodies shook with pleasure. It wasn't until he'd come down that he realized what had just happened. The water had gone cold. Kurt stared numbly at the ground. "Did we really just do that?"

"Yes." Blaine pulled a towel off the rack, handing it to Kurt. "We did."

"Oh." Kurt quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, sinking down to his knees. "I've never done that before."

Blaine blinked at him, worry creeping into his gut. "Kurt. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't." Standing up once more, Kurt grimaced. "It's just. That wasn't exactly how I imagined my first hand job."

"Hey." Blaine stepped forward, helping him out of the tub. "Come here."

Wrapping the trembling boy in a tight embrace, Blaine led him back into the bedroom. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you into anything."

"You didn't." Kurt leaned his head on Blaine's shoulder. "I think it's my fault, Blaine."

"How?" He frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's the magic." Kurt bit his lip. "I like you."

"You do?" Blaine smiled. "I like you too."

"I know you do." Kurt replied. "I liked you from the moment I met you. Blaine, when I found out that you were trying to save me, I just-I don't know. Fell. I fell hard. No one else even tried except Sam and Quinn, and they did what they could. I think you may have picked up on some of my feelings when we fell asleep in the car."

"And you healed me." Blaine remembered. "I don't care, Kurt."

"What?" Kurt blurted, incredulous. "You should care."

They curled around each other. Blaine contemplated going downstairs to eat and quietly got up from the bed. Kurt slept peacefully under the blankets, content to miss a meal so he could finally rest. Pulling on a clean shirt and lose pajama pants, Blaine made his way towards the stairs. Voices caught his attention. He dropped to the floor and laid on his stomach. Constance York and Burt Hummel argued quietly in the sitting room.

"You can't seriously be thinking that this is a good idea!" Burt sounded angry. "Those two boys upstairs are terrified of what's going to happen to them."

"The seeds are already there." Constance spoke with patience and understanding. "You saw them together."

"Yeah." Burt agreed, turning his head. "Hungry, Blaine?"

"Uh." Blaine stood and blushed, ashamed at being caught. "Sure."

"Blaine!" Constance grinned. "Here, have some eggs."

The hot food smelled wonderful. Blaine thanked his grandmother graciously, digging into his meal without hesitation. Apparently being attacked by Elizabeth had seriously affected his appetite. Kurt came downstairs by the time he'd started on his second plate. Blaine stared adoringly at him, smiling and watching him move around the kitchen. The boy was beautiful. Stoic grace dominated every step he took, his blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and he had a lovely smile.

"Blaine." Burt coughed awkwardly, frowning at him. "Maybe you ought to slow down there."

"Burt." Constance glared, clearly annoyed at the older man for something. "Let the boy eat in peace. Kurt, are you hungry?"

"Actually, yes." Kurt shyly smiled as he caught Blaine staring. "I think I'd like to do nothing but sleep today."

"Then do it." Burt suggested, something unidentifiable in his words. "You deserve it."

"You'll be safe here." His grandmother promised. "We have much to talk about. But it can wait until later. You boys need to rejuvenate."

"Sure." Blaine readily agreed, his focus entirely on Kurt. "I could sleep."

Their conversation turned light, their problems temporarily forgotten. Blaine could not remember feeling quite this happy before. Everything was different. Kurt stared at him subtly sometimes, but always averted his gaze whenever Blaine found him looking. As Kurt sat down, Blaine grabbed his hand under the table.

"The eggs are amazing." He beamed, love bombarding his heart. "Just like you are."

"Blaine." Kurt squeaked and blushed. "We're at the table."

The delicate, soft hand did not pull away from his grasp. "Are we?"

"Did you even notice my dad and your grandmother heading downstairs?" Kurt seemed uncertain, though he smiled faintly. "My dad is tired. I should go check on him."

"Stay." Blaine tenderly cupped Kurt's cheek, relishing the feel of skin under his fingertips. "You should relax."

"Blaine." Kurt leaned closer, all of the fight leaving his body. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Sure I do." Blaine captured Kurt's lips in a soft kiss. "You move me."

"Oh." Kurt mumbled against his mouth. "Do that again."

They kissed desperately, never interrupting their intimacy as they made their way haphazardly upstairs. Blaine loved Kurt with everything he had. It didn't matter that they had barely knew each other. Something inside him trusted Kurt completely. Blaine wanted to cherish him, hold him close, and keep him safe. Their bodies collided more forcefully than they had earlier that morning.

Kurt responded the most to gentle, loving touches. Blaine picked up on it immediately and took his time. The other boy's skin tensed, then relaxed into each stroke. Kurt murmured happily beneath him. When he reached for his shirt, Kurt froze and pushed his hands away. "Stop."

"What's the matter?" Blaine withdrew his hands, upset that he had made a mistake. "What did I do wrong?"

"Blaine." Kurt breathed into chest, wrapping his arms around his body. "It's not you. Really, it's not. It's just. I don't know how much of this-thing between us is influenced by my-my loneliness."

"I love you." Blaine blurted, not caring of the repercussions. "I know I love you. Can't you feel it?"

"Yes." Kurt kissed his cheek. "What are we even doing?"

"I love you." He repeated dumbly, unable to comprehend Kurt's hesitation. "What do you want to do?"

"Kiss me." Kurt replied, biting his bottom lip. "I want this more than anything I've ever wanted before. That has to count for something, right?"

"Anything you want." Blaine promised, smiling as he kissed Kurt again. "Kurt. You saved my life."

Later, after they had orgasmed together again, Blaine contently lay entwined with Kurt. The morning passed into afternoon. They stayed in bed together. He drifted in and out of sleep, not wanting the day to end. Eventually two quiet voices dragged him back to reality. Burt and Constance stood at the doorway, watching the two boys sleep.

"It's working." Constance sounded relieved. "They are bonding."

"It seems a little rushed." Burt sipped from a steaming cup of coffee. "Shouldn't they do all of the normal teenage stuff first?"

"As much as I wish they could, they just don't have the time." His grandmother smiled wistfully. "While Kurt has remarkable power, he can't force anyone to do anything against their will. His raw power can influence them, but in the end, everyone makes their own choices. Finn exploded at Kurt last year because he didn't reciprocate Kurt's feelings. Blaine is lonely, looking for acceptance, and most of all, love. They both are. Their feelings may be brought to the surface sooner than most normal relationships, but it's nothing they don't already feel on some level. That's the beauty of magic. It just speeds things along."

"And you're sure this bond thing will help them?" Burt took another drink. "'Cause I thought that's what this Nick character already did to my son, against his will."

"Nick bonded with Kurt out of fear." Constance explained patiently. "And he bonded with Blaine out of pity. Powerful emotions, but nothing is quite as strong or powerful as true, uncensored love. Nick hasn't had the opportunity to take Kurt's innocence. If Kurt gives it willingly to Blaine, then the bond he has with Nick is completely broken."

"I don't want to think about my son's innocence." Burt admitted brokenly. "It's been hard enough knowing that my flesh and blood is some sought after prize."

"I know it's hard." Constance wrapped her calloused hand around Burt's trembling fingers. "Bonding with Blaine will be the best thing for him. Not only will they develop a deep, powerful relationship, it will help them. I promise. Kurt can choose not to give Blaine that part of himself. He can. It may be more challenging for him to fight Nick, and the coven, but he does have choice here. He can wait for as long as he wants."

"And it will save Blaine." Burt grunted, turning his gaze to the boy feigning sleep. "Don't pretend you're not invested in this."

"Of course I am." Constance frowned. "Blaine is my grandson. His bond with Elizabeth can only be broken if he forms a stronger, healthier bond with someone he truly loves. If Elizabeth gets to him again, Blaine will become nothing but a shell. He'll be powerless to stop the spirits from using his body. It's a terrible thing."

"You were a Knave, weren't you?" Burt gently hugged her, comforting her as she cried.

"Don't you get it, Burt?" Constance's voice changed, turning slightly muffled. "I still am. If I leave this house-the property-I am vulnerable to spirits."

The two adults shut the door, moving their conversation elsewhere. Blaine thought about the conversation he'd overheard. Kurt slept soundly beside him, oblivious to the stipulations attached to their feelings.

"I love you." He whispered into the afternoon breeze. "And I'll wait for you. I don't care if you decide you don't want to do this. You saved me, Kurt."

"Blaine?" Kurt blinked blearily at him. "Dave-Nick-I had a dream."

Tears cascaded down his pale cheeks. Blaine pulled him close, mumbling reassurances into his ear. "What did you dream about?"

"Prom." Kurt sobbed. "I dreamt about Prom. He-he."

"Shh." Blaine rocked him gently, wishing he'd never befriended Nick. "I won't let him hurt you."

A phone buzzed on the nightstand. Blaine instinctively picked it up, accepting the incoming call. Nick's thick voice cut through his lingering contentment. "Blaine. You touch him, and you'll regret it."

"Nick." His breath hitched. "Leave us alone. Haven't you done enough?"

"Kurt is mine." Nick spat. "I want you to bring him back. Now!"

"No." Blaine gasped, horrified at the prospect. "Never!"

"If you don't." Nick laughed cruelly, hitting something in the background. "I'll kill them."

"Who?" Blaine hated how weak he sounded. "Nick, stop this!"

"Say hello to Grayson." Heavy, pained panting filled the air. "And Santana. Finn, why don't you give them a shout?"

Bile and nausea leaped into Blaine's throat. Someone-it sounded like a guy-screamed.