A.N. With a lack of source material I thought I'd put this fic off for a while but I figure I might as well try to continue as I do love the idea of Klaine!Misery. To write this chapter I took a lot of help from the movie screenplay, which is the only thing I have to keep me on the right track until I finally get my hands on the book or movie again. The way that it's going to work is that most of the early chapters will be following closely with the book and movie (basically setting the scene and situation) then, as the story takes on it's own form, I'll be able to deviate further and further from the safety net of the original. That means the ending could be quite different. I'm excited!

Speaking on the 'sexual content' possibility, the opinion of those who have reviewed is that it would probably be best if there was no sexual acts as there were none in Stephen King's novel or the movie. Basically the fan is obsessed with the book's protagonist and just harbours deep awe for the author, minimal sexual undertones. Light flirting, but that's as far as the obvious clues go. However my awesome reviewers who have told me their preferred route have also stated they would happily read Klaine!Misery sex if it was done right i.e. not just for kicks, but properly backed up and adds to the story's overall creepy atmosphere. SO - as it stands right now (it may change...) generally there will be no sex, just a lot of creepily flirtatious come ons by Blaine and if I can develop the right added plotline only then will there be sexual content. Of course, if you readers object to this or desperately want to help me develop that part of the story you are free to contact me by message or review. I am always very eager to talk dark!Klaine, and can always do with a reader's perspective.

In response to messages and reviews:

yes, Blaine will have an equally dark past which will seep in throughout the fic and Kurt will discover the horrifying truth. Also, don't worry! I will strive not to neglect any of my other fics - as of right now, this is secondary to 'A Little Unwell' and will be on an even kneel as the Funny Games sequel. I've never considered 'Carrie' as an idea – intriguing! I'll definitely think about it, I loved the book and the movie versions. I only doubt my ability to write dark!Kurt... This fic will go back and forth between book, movie and my own version. Just whatever suites best for the scene, I guess. Yes, I totally recommend you read/watch Misery - It's so creepy and the character of Annie (who will be Blaine in this fic) is one of the best villains I've ever come across. Mr King is a genius.

Lose Yourself in the White

'I'm your number one fan...'

Kurt scrunched his eyes shut tightly but the spinning wouldn't stop. His head was pounding and spinning. Spinning. God, what has he doing - riding a rollercoster?

'There's nothing to worry about.'

There was that voice again. He couldn't quite remember if he knew the person it belonged to nor could he recall anything they said. But he remembered the voice. Soothing. Pleasant. A hint of something Kurt couldn't put his finger on. Still, he tried to reason through his constant spinning, the voice was not worried. It had just told him not to worry - hadn't it? Is that what it had said? He couldn't remember exactly but was pretty certain it implied he was okay.

'You're gonna be just fine.'

Yes! Whatever he was thinking before, he was sure that statement just backed it up. He's going to be fine. But why? What happened? Where was he? Who were they? Kurt wanted to ask so much but he couldn't hear himself speak. When he tried he was punished with a striking pain deep in his skull, like his brain did not want to use whatever part of it that was responsible for talking. Nevertheless, Kurt tried. Still nothing. Inside, he gave a blubber of a cry which of course couldn't be heard anywhere other than his subconscious. His heart tugged in sorrow at how little he understood. The very brain which had composed book after book, astounding word after another, could barely piece together a sentence. Had his mind even remembered he had a father, the young man would have been sobbing inwardly for his dad.

'I'll take good care of you.'

The voice told him, and he listened. He believed. He had to. The spinning was still causing him so much distress but at the voice's soothing promise the pain dulled as the white-ish vision in front of his closed eyes darkened to a deep grey before going completely black. Kurt fell into yet another deep sleep as the voice whispered into his ear like velvet.

'I'm your number one fan...'

All this white was making Kurt nauseous. He wasn't completely certain, but he thought his eyes were opened. Still, all he could see was white. It was moving in small circles - wait, how could he know if it was all the one colour? - it's texture shifting under his squinted gaze. After a period of time which Kurt could not determine himself, the white seemed to lock into place. It was a ceiling. He was looking up at a ceiling! Kurt blinked and the same sight clicked into view almost immediately, with minimal blur.

'Where...?' He slurred, his voice sounding drunk and sluggish. He swallowed in an attempt to clear it up. He turned his head to the right and found a wall. And a window, it seemed. The outside was shining too bright for Kurt to look too long at it but two things of which he could be certain was that, wherever he was, it was sunny out and that the land was - yes, as was the custom, it seemed! - white. The wall, though, it had some type of warm tone to it with indistinguishable patterns that were too complex for Kurt to decipher right now. He winced as he turned his head round, this time to the left. It was there he met the gaze of his carer.

'We're just outside Silver Creek,' The man replied in a slow and calming voice. Kurt could not make out all the features of the man's face but he could tell he was young. His hair was dark - possibly black - and his eyes were bright swirls and warm in colour. His blushing dark lips were softly pulled into a small smile. Great, Kurt inwardly groaned, either my mangled body is on display in front of someone so gorgeous - in which case, shoot me now - or I'm so messed up I'm delusional and creating angels to care for me...

Kurt's groan did finally surface but it was weak and far more pitiful than the self-conscious one in his head. He attempted to sit up but his body seemed frozen. No, it was trapped. By now he had deduced that he was in a bed and it seemed he was tucked up tight. It was probably for the best, though, because if the ache in his spine was anything to go by he surely would have regretted moving himself. 'I... How long?' He finally gasped.

Kurt moved his head as far as it would allow towards the man and managed to catch sight of an I.V. bottle, with clear medicine dripping down a tube, no doubt leading to the needle poking into his left arm. He couldn't see it but his other arm was wrapped up in bandages and secured in a sling. The man - could he be his doctor? - leaned down on the bed near Kurt's head, his chin resting on his folded arms. 'You've been here two days.' He licked his lips, his kind eyes never leaving Kurt's confused gaze. 'You're going to be okay.' With the man a little closer, Kurt was able to see long thick dark lashes which fluttered each time the stranger blinked. Kurt was practically jealous in his awe. 'My names Blaine. Blaine Anderson. I'm-'

'My number one fan...' Kurt finished for him, earning himself a pleased grin from the man. Now all that...gibberish from before was beginning to make some sense.

'That's right. I'm also a doctor.' Blaine Anderson leaned back and brought forward his hand to Kurt's mouth. 'Take these. They'll help.' Kurt felt two pill-shaped objects drop onto his tongue. A warm hand cupped the back of his neck and a cool glass of water pressed itself against Kurt's lips. Closing his eyes yet again, Kurt let himself be a good patient as the man helped him swallow. He grimaced as the pills slid down his throat; he was never very good at taking those things. Normally he choked on the first attempt. For a brief moment he thought he could feel fingers lightly stroke the sensitive skin just above his collar but it seemed those last few minutes of consciousness were all his body was willing to allow for now. Happy that he was at least knowledgeable in the fact he was passing out again, Kurt let the darkness overwhelm him.

This was not a hospital.

It was a silly thought made even sillier when Kurt's first clue was not the lack of equipment, doctors, nurses, patients, beds or noises, but instead - according to his nose - it did not smell like a hospital. Not a stranger to wards or bleach-ridden corridors, Kurt gave himself a break despite the fact he was embarrassed for just assuming his location. From the looks of it he was in a house. Or a cabin. A large wooden home - there, that covered it. After hearing some movement above him during his restless night's sleep, he also guessed there was another floor above in addition to the one he was on. His room had one doorway leading out into a hall, and almost immediately to the right of that door was another which opened to outside. Kurt must be on the first floor, then.

A vague memory of a totally white window now made sense: aside from a thin cast of blue sky, all he could see was snow. To his credit he could make out the differences, though, such as snow covered ground, snow covered trees, snow covered mountains. The only excitement that window ever got was when a daring bird would tarnish its simplicity with its pesky form flying by. The bedroom was far more interesting: Kurt considered it 'The Room of a Thousand Styles'. The Moroccan rugs and red-orange-cream colour scheme was inviting and seemed to heat up the place through his eyes. The honey-brown floorboards were perfectly imperfect; a little chipped but with so much character. The corner almost opposite Kurt's bed hosted an out of place white marble chest of drawers with flowers etched across it's surfaces making it seem like it belonged to a rich old woman with ball gowns inside. A tall, well-stocked bookcase graced the other wall and Kurt would eventually make out his complete Darcy Brown series along with a separate collector's edition set taking pride of place atop a simple writing desk. Kurt couldn't help but admire the array of silk canvas artworks dotted around but it could not detract from the simple issue that this was not a hospital.

'Kurt?'

'Hmm?' Kurt's head swayed a little as he looked towards the voice.

Oh, Blaine Anderson was here! When had he come in? Had he ever left? Kurt tried to focus, but it seemed it wasn't all that convincing. Blaine's concerned eyes came closer. 'Do you remember who I am?'

'Yes.' Kurt replied with a somewhat confident nod. It seemed he was to elaborate on his answer. 'You're Blaine Anderson.'

Blaine grinned. 'Glad to have you back in the land of consciousness.' He stepped forward to press his hand down on Kurt's forehead. 'Now open up.' Kurt could see in the man's palm two orange capsules.

'What are those?' Kurt coughed. He didn't want to seem resistant, so as he spoke he shuffled up and then opened his mouth. Blaine's hand lightly cupped under his lips and the pills fell onto his tongue.

'They're called Novril,' Blaine explained as he poured Kurt a glass of water. 'They're for your pain.'

'Thank you,' Kurt offered with a weak smile after swallowing them down. Blaine held his gaze only just long enough for Kurt to want to break it. Kurt thought back to what had led him here. Oh...the crash. 'Why am I not in hospital?'

A defeated sigh left Blaine's lips. The man stood up and began gathering into his lap a bowl with a soaking cloth inside. 'The blizzard was too strong. I couldn't risk trying to get you there.' Squeezing out excess water from the cloth, Blaine sat down on a chair by Kurt's bed and shifted it forward. Kurt let out a slight gasp as the freezing cloth met his forehead. 'I tried calling,' Blaine continued, 'but the phone lines are down.'

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to decide if the coldness was doing him any good. 'What's wrong with me?'

'What's wrong with you is you almost died.' Blaine replied with a hint of laughter. 'We'll worry about one thing at a time. The main focus right now is getting this fever down. You were very disoriented before but I think it's broken. You'll hopefully be clear of it soon.' Kurt opened his eyes and found the man a little closer than he remembered him being a minute before. There was something in his stare - no, gaze. Those soft hazel eyes were always gazing. Blaine smiled and Kurt's heart fluttered at how subtly perfect a smile can be. 'You're pretty darn strong. I took you off the drip yesterday; I didn't think you needed it anymore.'

Startled by this statement, Kurt turned to his left and found that Blaine was right; the drip was gone. How is it he could take in the room around him with so much detail but fail to notice he was no longer hooked up. 'Oh...' He twisted around without thinking and an agonizing jolt struck his insides. 'Ah!'

'Shhh, shh, relax.' Blaine's hand was soft as it firmly pushed Kurt's head down onto the pillow. 'Don't tire yourself out-'

'I really need to go to a hospital,' Kurt moaned after releasing a whimper.

'What you need,' hummed Blaine soothingly, 'is rest. C'mon, now, close those eyes for me.'

Part of Kurt did object to his returning to the 'dark' so soon after waking up but, whatever part of Kurt that was, it certainly was not attached to his stamina. Almost immediately after his eyelids shut over, his weakened limbs seemed to grow very heavy and his mind rolled over and turned off the light.

The fever did indeed pass, as Blaine suspected, within a day. A credit to the young man's persistence, of course. Although now sweat-free, Kurt still struggled with keeping himself conscious and his hours upon hours of dreamless sleep were dark and heavy. To wake up into a somewhat alert state took a frustrating amount of time.

On a positive note, Kurt was able to retain more and more of what Blaine said to him. Feeling like he was back in front of one of his college professors, Kurt tried to mentally note every shred of information offered to him as he swallowed down another two orange pills. They weren't as hard to take as before. 'Tell me again,' Kurt said, nudging the glass of water away with his nose. 'When can I expect it to stop hurting? My legs, I mean.'

Blaine considered him with a sympathetic grin and shifted from his seated position on the edge of Kurt's bed. 'It won't hurt forever, Kurt, I promise.'

Kurt frowned. He had been hoping for a more specific answer. 'Will I be able to walk?'

'Of course you will.' Came the confident response. At least that was something. 'And your arm will be fine too.' With his thumb carefully slipping under one of the folds as if checking the bandages, Blaine rearranged Kurt's elbow. By now, Kurt was used to these little pickings even if it still caused him some uneasiness. He had been unconscious when the bandages had last been changed and he did sort of fear the time he would eventually have to face it being done again in front of his very eyes.

He was also getting used to Blaine. With seemingly nowhere else to be but by Kurt's bedside, there was plenty of time for examining. The young man also seemed to be in his mid twenties although his eyes were as expressive as a child's. He was a great deal more masculine than Kurt (who had slimmer, daintier features and a matching figure) with broader shoulders and toned chest and biceps which admittedly caught Kurt's attention more often than he was proud to admit. His hair was indeed black, just long enough for its tousled, curl-defined texture to be noticeable. Kurt was rather curious to know how it would feel running his long thin fingers through that mass of soft blackness. Even the faint outline of stubble seemed spot-on. The only physical downside Blaine seemed to have been his clothes. Even as an almost-penniless teenager, Kurt had been down with fashion. He would save up every cent from his allowance and any birthday money he was given, and hunt down bargains that he could accessorize to produce a drop-dead, catwalk-worthy outfit. In recent years, though, it had been easier - what, with all the money he had at his disposal - to keep himself trending and with such ease came a sense of boredom. Still, it seemed a wardrobe's like Blaine's would downright offend him. The man seemed addicted to wool. And corduroy. And wool. Nothing necessarily wrong with them on their own but together with no designer label in sight it was a huge fashion faux pas. That particular day, Blaine donned a pair of dark brown cord pants and made-for-warmth-and-not-looks snow boots. A neatly pressed shirt was visible beneath a thick woollen vest and tucked inside the vest pocket was a pair of thick-rimmed, wide-lens reading glasses. As he considered him now, Kurt couldn't help but find his style - or lack thereof - endearing. It was like a failed attempt at 'geek chic'. Clearly no one had ever shown Blaine the inside of a Vogue magazine...or a department store.

Kurt made himself stop mid-analysis when he considered that he was in no fit state to judge another's appearance. 'And your shoulder,' Blaine continued, causing Kurt to come back to reality, 'It was badly dislocated. It was a little stubborn but I finally popped it back in.' Kurt nodded and tried to look impressed but he was more than a little anxious at the mere thought of someone popping his shoulder back into place. 'But what I'm most proud of is the work I did on those legs. Considering what I had in the house, I doubt a team of surgical staff could've done better.' Without warning, Blaine turned around and whipped Kurt's blanket from the bottom of the bed, revealing the patient's legs to him for the first time. Kurt gasped in horror. It wasn't that he hadn't known they were in such bad condition or that they had been bound up (after all, he could still feel) but he hadn't been expecting to see the lower half of an Egyptian mummy where his lower limbs should have been. Each leg was splintered with thin steel rods that strongly resembled hack-sawed remains of aluminum crutches - no doubt to keep them set and in place, safe from accidental shifting - held together by tape. From his knees up, Kurt was still swollen and badly bruised. They throbbed under his watch. Kurt just lay back in stunned disbelief. 'It's not nearly as bad as it looks.' Blaine said easily, a lazy finger flicking a stray thread from his right shin, 'You have a compound fracture of the tibia in both legs. The fibula in the right leg is fractured, too. I could hear the bones moving, so it's best for your legs to just stay immobile.' With that, Blaine swept the blanket back over Kurt's legs and he gently began tucking them underneath the shocked boy. Kurt half-noticed Blaine's smoothing hands shamelessly spreading out firmly across his lap before sliding under his rear, securing the sheets. 'And as soon as the roads open, I'll take you to a hospital. In the meantime, you've got a lot of recovering to do. Everything you need is right here.'

'I... Thank you.' Kurt found himself saying in a small voice. Blaine grinned and sat back down beside him. No, now he was a little closer to Kurt's head. His upper body's shadow fell on Kurt and the young maimed man looked up. This person undressed him, Kurt finally realised. Blaine took off his clothes. Studied him. Worked on his naked body. His fingers have been more places than Kurt knew, and he would have known Kurt would not remember anything with his fever and his disorientated state of mind. Stop it, Kurt! He ordered himself. How dare you be anything less than fucking grateful! This man saved your life and you have no reason to suspect him of being anything less than one hundred percent professional. Get over yourself! The heavily reprimanding tone caused Kurt to feel ashamed for his anxiousness. 'This is your home?' Kurt found himself asking, perhaps in an attempt to distract himself from some ripples of guilt.

Blaine nodded. He seemed quite proud of his abode; Kurt couldn't help but be curious of the rest of the house. 'Yes. On my own, normally. I like it; it's peaceful. And it's therapeutic.' Blaine took Kurt's unsuspecting hand in his, causing Kurt to raise his surprised eyes. 'I just want you to know, Kurt, that I consider it a privilege to look after you and an honor that my house is where you'll regain your strength and health.'

The words were so kind, so compassionate that Kurt felt it only appropriate he respond with the most gracious smile he could muster with his level of energy. However he could not deny that something about the situation, his savior, this home and the treatment which troubled him. Something which didn't seem right. I'm a suspicious, ungrateful shit, he told himself as an excuse, but the notion would not shift. All he needed was more time...

A.N. And so the seeds are sown. Enjoy this 'creepy but seemingly harmless' Blaine while you can. I am so desperate to get to Crazy!Obsessive!Dangerous!Blaine right now but so much has to be done before. :,( I hope you've enjoyed this introduction to Blaine and his darling home. Please REVIEW or PM with thoughts, comments and questions!