A.N. It's unacceptable that it's taken this long to update a fic which essentially has a full plot already set out in front of me. I'm sorry for the delay, hopefully I'll keep on better track. I've been so focused on Funny Games – by far my most popular fic right now and I'm loving writing it – but I am determined to enjoy this story too since the original was perfect (aside from it not originally being Klaine...). For any Funny Games II readers, there is currently a poll on the top of my profile page for registered users to vote on a plot element: I need a little help as I had a storyline but it seems many want something different. For Misery only readers, I promise I will strive to update regularly. I'd love to have this finished before I move back to Scotland because who knows how much time I'll have there! Thank you so much for your supportive reviews! I will quote part of one, though, as it makes me laugh whenever I think about it: 'Fuck Blaine. With a cactus. Bastard.' Couldn't agree with you more.

Burn Burn Burn

Blaine had promised to be gentle with Kurt as he washed his sweat-ridden body clean, and Kurt had to admit the man came through on his word. His smooth hands calmly undressed him. Kurt asked for Novril. Blaine then carried him bridal-style across the room to a prepared metal tub of warm soapy water. Kurt requested Novril. Blaine then tucked himself behind the tub edge and drew his baby-soft sponge down Kurt's front and round to his back. And Kurt whined, and begged for Novril. Yes, Blaine was being so incredibly gentle with him but it didn't stop the piercings of agony which shot through the wounded boy's body whenever he moved, tensed or breathed the wrong way. Blaine hummed into his moist-from-bathwater ear, leaning forward whilst pressing his chest and crotch into the tub so that all that separated him from Kurt's naked frame was the thin tin wall. 'Soon, I promise.'

Breathing harshly, Kurt tucked his chin to his collarbone and willed himself to ignore how painful and shameful it all was. The sponge was easing its way between his legs now, then it ran all the way up and graced his face. Small soap suds dotted his cheeks. A few minutes later, the water grew more lukewarm and Blaine made a quiet comment of him wanting to get Kurt out before it got cold.

'I managed to save you from hypothermia before, it would be terrible if I was the reason you caught it now.'

Towels were spread out on top of each other along the bed. A dripping Kurt was carried back and laid on them before being covered in another three or four. Blaine wanted him to dry under the warmth of his bed blankets and cosy fluffy cotton. 'Blaine, please,' Kurt panted, feeling a little more at ease under so much cover yet no less relaxed. 'Please – the Novril.'

'Shhh. Soon, Kurt, I promise.' A hand ran through Kurt's soaking wet hair and then yet another towel graced him as Blaine rubbed his hair damp. 'There's just a couple more things I need to do first. I'll be right back, I just need to put a few things in the oven for you-'

'No,' Kurt interrupted. 'No food, painkiller first.' Blaine stopped halfway to the door and turned back to give him a considering look. 'Please, ' Kurt finished, with as much energy as he could.

Blaine continued to stare as if he was trying to work something out. Then, at last, he murmured softly 'Okay, Kurt. If the pain is that bad, I'll get you some Novril.' Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. 'But only after you do this one thing. Wait there.'

Had Kurt not been infuriated by the doctor's stalling, Kurt may have managed to sarcastically retort something along the lines of how many other choices he had besides waiting where Blaine left him. Alone in his bedroom again, Kurt closed his eyes and tried to control himself. It was strange but at last he was able to will the brunt of the pain back. He mentally detached himself from his legs and focused on the multicoloured dots floating around behind his eye lids. He opened his eyes again, though, when he heard a metallic dragging sound. The bath tub was still off near the window and hadn't moved since it had been brought in. So what was that sound?

A charcoal barbecue. Blaine wheeled the contraption into the bedroom and let it fall onto its front legs by the bedside table. Kurt stared at it, reminded of the summer days he and his dad would crowd around such a barbecue in the back garden. Hamburgers, hot dogs, sometimes even steaks and make-shift s'mores – eventually they would realise they made too much food and Burt would then randomly call up friends and relatives to come help eat the banquet they prepared. Such incredible days now seemed jaded as Kurt took in the practically untouched grill. Blaine stepped up to the foot of the bed and rested his hands on the wooden frame, shoulders slightly hunched as he tilted his head. 'I will get you anything you want.' He said simply. 'Anything. But you have to do something for me first.' As Kurt wondered what on God's green earth he could possibly do in his state, Blaine smiled sadly. Almost bashful. 'Sometimes my thinking is a little muddy – I accept that. It's why I couldn't remember all those things they were asking me on the witness stand in Denver. It's also why I can't fully recall what I said and did before I left you.' He now looked apologetic. Then his expression shifted once again; now he was resolved. 'But while I was away I finally thought clearly. I'm not claiming God spoke to me or anything, but suddenly it hit me like this...this spiritual revelation: I was meant to guide you.'

Kurt sat silent for a long few seconds. Guide me? 'I'm sorry...what?'

Blaine smiled warmly and circled to the grill. It was then Kurt also noticed a few other items tucked in his pockets: a box of Diamond Blue Tip wooden matches, a can of lighter fluid and, most importantly, Kurt's manuscript. The one he had let Blaine read. The one that had caused Blaine to lash out that first time, almost smashing the author's head with a soup bowl. Kurt watched, mute, as Blaine pulled the barbecue lid back fully and carefully placed the manuscript on the thick wired trays. He remained mute as Blaine tipped the bottle of lighter fluid upside down and doused the paper with a generous amount of liquid. Almost half the bottle seemed to be used. Blaine then repositioned the barbecue close enough for Kurt to reach out to touch but not too close to cause any safety concerns. However, Kurt's concerns were nothing to do with safety. He knew where this was going.

Blaine then flicked open the box of matches and plucked one out. He held it out for Kurt to take. Kurt didn't move. 'You must get rid of this trash. Rid the world of it.'

Five perfect beats of silence. Then Kurt uttered 'You want me to burn my book?'

Blaine did not break eye contact. 'Yes.'

Again, Kurt struggled to find his voice but when he did it came out just as blank and robotic as the first time round. 'You want me...to burn my book.'

Blaine sighed with sadness. 'You are such an incredible writer, Kurt. You can't associate yourself with something so...degrading.' Blaine spoke the last part with disgust for the manuscript and pity for his patient. 'I know this may be difficult for you, but it's for the best. Trust me.'

The understanding the Blaine was beyond serious hit the writer hard and stunned him to the core. Surely he didn't expect him to actually do it? How could he do that to his own creation? Suddenly, Kurt shrugged and turned away in disinterest. When in a tight spot, always bluff. 'This isn't difficult, Blaine. My agent's made dozens of copies. Every publishing house in New York is reading it now. So, if you want me to burn it – fine. You're not ridding the world of anything.' He forced his eyes to half shut and he pensively took in the scenery outside the window. He could feel those hazel eyes on him, and he hoped they were round and full of surprise. He risked a glance back and found them to be void of feeling. Cold.

'Then light the match, Kurt.' Blaine told him quietly, offering the match again.

'It's no big deal-'

'So you've indicated.' Blaine cut in with a tone of kindness bordering on a challenge. He forced Kurt's ever-so-slightly trembling hands over and tucked the match between his fingers firmly in one hand and the box in the other. Kurt strove to not lose his composure but feeling the thin, splint-ridden stick and the rough striking area of the box was becoming too much. It was like the two small objects weighed a hundred pounds each. He felt whatever blood which had previously remained drain from his face. The manuscript sat wet yet still in-tact on the grill. It looked so beautiful and white, crisp though it obviously wasn't anymore. It was also vulnerable. Like a lamb brought to the slaughter. A bare chest puffed out unknowingly a target for a violent stabbing of a dagger. Kurt felt sick at the thought of his precious story going up in flames. Over a year's research and writing gone. Those detailed back stories and perfected lines that Kurt knew he could never recreate just had to remain alive. He couldn't just burn it. He couldn't. He urged himself to lose interest again: maybe if he acted more convincing he could get Blaine to believe there really were hundreds of copies now in existence somewhere in New York. He just had to get his wording right and then- 'I know this is the only copy, Kurt.' Blaine smiled sweetly, gazing at Kurt like an adorable child caught in a playful lie. 'When you were just a teenager you wrote your first book and you didn't make a copy because you didn't think anybody would take it seriously. But they did, and ever since then you never made any copies because you're superstitious. It's why you always come back to Silver Creek Lodge. You told that story to USA Today two years ago.'

Kurt's heart sank like a lead anchor in a deep ocean. He could feel panic rising to the surface now, there was no holding it in. 'Look, Blaine, this book only exists because you saved me! You saved it! And when it hits New York it'll go to auction and we'll split whatever it brings, okay?' He knew he was grasping at straws now but if straws were all he had he had to grab for them. 'You can have the lot! You're entitled to it!'

Blaine laughed and cheerfully raised his gaze upwards, as if laughing with God at the ridiculousness of such a suggestion. 'Oh, Kurt,' He finally quietened to a chuckle. 'You know I don't care about money. Money isn't an issue of mine; I've always been smart about my finances. And even if I hadn't been, this is all about decency and purity. It's about values. With this,' He gestured to the manuscript, 'you make the world just that little bit more demoralising.'

'Fine!' Kurt cried out, struggling to sit up but managing despite the pain it caused every inch of himself. 'You're right, I don't know what I was thinking. I promise you – as God as my witness – I swear I will never let anyone else see this story. I'll keep it hidden and write something else to publish. No one will know, no one has to see it or know it exists. I'll just keep it for myself. Okay?' God, he had never sounded so desperate.

Blaine's smile faded. It faded into nothing but a blank, emotionless stare. He leaned forward over the bed so his eyes could peer into Kurt's wide frantic ones. His breathing was silent next to Kurt's erratic pants and gulps of air. 'As long as it does exist,' He murmured, 'your mind will never be free. I think you should light the match, Kurt.' The statement hung in the air and there was no hiding what it truly was: a threat. Kurt did not move. Blaine sighed and pushed himself back up. For the briefest of moments it seemed like he might have been backing off as he began circling the bed but suddenly the bottle was back in his hand. 'Kurt, Kurt, Kurt...' A jerk of his wrist and a few large fat droplets of lighter fluid shot out of the nozzle and landed on Kurt's bed. 'Can't you see what's right in front of you?' Another flick: more squirts of liquid. 'Your mind is so brilliant yet you can't see it.' This time, Blaine's fingers pinched the body of the bottle as he flicked and a large spillage caused a several large darkened spots on the covers. Kurt moved his body a little to the left and right as if he could avoid it but it was in vain: Blaine was dousing him with the fluid like a pro. 'I'm trying to help you...' Kurt watched in horror as Blaine finally rounded to his bedside once more and deliberately emptied the last of the fluid on Kurt's stomach. His eyes never left Kurt's even for a second. 'Please...let me help you.'

With no alternative and his hands trembling, Kurt tore his crystal blue tear-filled eyes away from those deadly hazel ones. It took a few attempts but he finally managed to strike the match. It sparked white-yellow at first, then flickered down to a normal upside-down tear-drop . He heard Blaine murmur in approval, telling him he was doing the 'right thing'. Kurt wasn't listening. He needed to zone out for this. With a robot-like arm movement, he reached out to the side and dropped the match on the fluid-drenched manuscript.

For a moment, there was no reaction. Then suddenly-

FLOOSH!

The whole barbecue top seemed to erupt. A giant burnt orange flame rose almost two feet in the air – how the ceiling didn't catch fire was anyone's guess. Immediately Blaine exclaimed in alarmed wonder. 'Wow, that's one excited flare, huh?' He started to laugh as he dragged the grill away from Kurt's bed to the centre of the room, flecks of charred sizzling paper floated around like snow. He then dashed out into the hallway and carried in a bucket of water which he had obviously prepared earlier – perhaps when he was getting the bath ready. The flames were steadily rising and endangering the house and Blaine only just managed to dump the bucketful of water on top in time for it to not burn the house down. The flames disappeared, replaced with a cloud of water vapour and vicious hissing sounds. 'Jeez, that was a close one!' Blaine commented in a joyful spirit. 'I guess next time I'll go a little light on the...well, lighter fluid!' He chuckled at his own joke and waved away the steam which was pouring out of the grill and engulfing the room. A window was opened and after a minute the steam had vanished.

Kurt had not moved. He lay in the same position on his back with his head tilted slightly to the side. His eyes still stared at where the barbecue had been. The sight of the papers blackening and smouldering around the edges until they curved in on themselves had burned into Kurt's mind. Inside his chest was a hammer-like pounding of pure hurt and loss; he had never known it was possible to grieve a work of fiction. Blaine's happy and light-hearted comments stung like the rubbing of salt in an open wound, but admittedly Kurt was barely listening. He looked over at the soaked yet fried pages which now resembled a block of log-like wood. Nothing but the very centre of the stack of papers remained white-ish but even that part was inky and unreadable thanks to the water. Ash had collected like small dark mountains under the wired tray. He didn't want to look anymore...but he couldn't stop.

Blaine approached the still-hissing grill and considered it with his hands firmly on his hips. 'Well, it's this a bit of a mess.' He glanced to Kurt, and the younger man was staring off at the wall with an expression so blank that he might have been considered dead had the doctor not known better. A small smile played on Blaine's lips for the briefest of moments, but he soon schooled his emotions and began to wheel the barbecue out of the room again.

As he reached the doorway, however, he paused. A little life came back into Kurt's eyes, and together they turned to look out the window. The sound of a helicopter flying just overheard made both their hearts pause in their beating.

Archie squinted through the binoculars pressed against his face. No matter how often he took the 'copter route, he would never get used to it and his stomach turned a little as Bill – his pilot and only other comrade on this flight – made one of his signature sharp twists about a hundred and twenty feet above the ground. Archie threw him a look of nauseous contempt and Bill chuckled under his breath. Archie returned to his search.

'Okay, up on the left there – that's the Steadman place.' He shouted over the motor. Bill nodded. 'And over there,' They rounded on the picturesque house just off the Saint's Road. 'That's where Virginia says the new boy is living. Some young big-shot city doc.' They both looked down at the car in the driveway – it was the same pickup truck Archie had recalled seeing that day his wife informed him of the newcomer's presence. 'Well, that's no '65 Mustang.' He sighed in defeat. His eyes lingered over the front of the house and its windows but could see nothing but darkness. Something inside gnawed at his gut; he needed to find out more about this new guy. The Hummel case was coming up dry, and Virginia got angry when she came upon him seemingly doing nothing. Finally he waved his hand. 'There's nothing else up here. Let's turn round and head back to town. And drive properly, Bill, or you'll be cleaning out the half-digested leftovers of my lunch for the next week.'

Why do I let myself believe in hope?

Both Kurt and Blaine watched as the helicopter flew across the light blue sky like some majestic metallic bird. Along with its receding motor noises, it disappeared behind the backdrop of mountains in the distance. Kurt silently turned away and stared at the opposite wall. He needed to be alone. Blaine hummed. He lazily toed the barbecue out into the hall and turned on his heel to saunter back to Kurt's bed. 'I almost forgot,' He smiled and gently placed something in Kurt's laxed open palm. 'You're reward. For being a good boy today. I know it was hard for you.'

Kurt slowly turned his head and stared down at the two bright orange pills. He had been wanting these – no, needing these – for days now. The promise of relief from pain: that's what they were. Blaine's hand cupped Kurt's jaw and he pressed a firm yet loving kiss on his cheek about half an inch from his mouth. Kurt didn't have it in him to react. In fact, he didn't have it in him to care.

Blaine then left him to his thoughts with a tall glass of water, promising to be back with a delicious meal soon. Kurt sat up with the pills in one hand and his glass of water in the other. Timidly, he sipped the water. It felt foreign in his mouth; bitter. He raised the Novril up towards his lips...then stopped. He froze. No...this has to stop. No more, Kurt. No. Slowly, the hands lowered. The scent of lighter fluid still resonated from the bed sheets and most likely a couple of the towels had been seeped onto as well. That problem would be sorted soon, no doubt, but the smell acted as a very strong deterrent. Blaine liked him weak: that much was obvious. And Kurt's biggest weakness, aside from his physical injuries, was his dependency. His dependency on Blaine. His dependency on his sensitivity. His dependency on Novril. Determined not to second guess himself, Kurt placed the glass back on his bedside table and then rolled over as best he could to the other side of the bed. He reached down blindly and found where the mattress met the wooden frame. The Novril was then tucked between the two. A few hours later, when Blaine decided Kurt needed another meal and another couple of pills to 'keep him going', Kurt discreetly used his dinner fork to cut a small hole in the hem of the mattress. There, he tucked his small collection of four capsules.

A vague planned was forming. However, all plans were put on mental hold the following day. The day Blaine truly took over Kurt's life, and – to Kurt's eventual wonder – the day Kurt would start the most important task of his life. It meant his life.

A.N. Even I'm frustrated that a whole chapter basically covers less than an hour of plot time. Apologies for the delay: my mind has been focused on another fic. Please review with comments or queries!