When Kurt woke up three hours later, it was with complete and utter fear.

The first contributor was, of course, that he had very little idea where he was. Contrary to the speculations of many Dalton boys, Kurt had never spent the night or even spent more than ten minutes in Blaine's room. And, though the upperclassmen rooms were much nicer than the one Kurt lived in, the room he woke up in was eerily similar to his own, only the wall was covered with posters of Zac Efron in varying states of undress, and Daniel Radcliff in varying states of magical douce-baggery.

The second was the nightmare Kurt had just woken up from, the nightmare where Karofsky had his mother. It was one of the few moments in which Kurt could remember his mother's face in perfect clarity, could see the horror in her eyes. Karofsky grabbed her and pressed a knife to her throat. Kurt could hear a phone ringing, and he tried to answer it, but he was only eight, and he didn't have a phone yet. The ringing stopped and was replaced by his mother's agonizing scream…

So, Kurt woke up, took one look at Daniel Radcliffe's smug eleven year old face beaming douchily over the collar of his Hogwarts uniform, and burst into tears.

They weren't loud tears; Kurt had thoroughly mastered the art of quiet crying. But he wasn't even two sobs into what was sure to be an intense crying jag before Blaine bolted upright beside him, slightly tangled in his bed of sheets.

"Kurt!" He said, trying wildly to pull the sheets off him as he scanned the room for intruders. Soon, his eyes made way to Kurt trembling on his bed. "Hey? What's the matter?"

"I need my phone," Kurt stammered softly.

"What?" Blaine said.

"I think my phone fell down by the bed. Can you – hic! – get it for me?" Kurt turned his face to look miserably in Blaine's direction, and the slightly confused look on the other boy's face melted into concern in an instant. Kurt's phone was delivered into his palm and he checked it for a new message. Nothing. Kurt sighed and leaned back in the bed, new tears trailing down his face.

Blaine was gone for a moment; Kurt craned his neck to see the boy carefully check the bathroom and both his and David's closets before settling down on his sheets again. David slept soundly, not even turning in the light that was still flooding the bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked.

"It was just a nightmare," Kurt said, "I'm sorry to wake you."

"No, it's okay. Are you sure you don't need anything?" Blaine scooted towards the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and so sincere. The words were out of Kurt's mouth before he could stop them.

"Could… could you sleep up here with me?" Kurt asked. He couldn't even look at Blaine, sure that the other boy's eyebrows would be hitting his ridiculously curly hairline.

"In the bed?" Blaine asked, his voice sounding oddly strangled.

"If you don't want to, it's okay," Kurt said, "This isn't a come on or anything, I just really don't want to sleep alone, but I understand how you could-"

Kurt cut off went he felt the bed around him shifting, and Blaine's warm arms wrapping around his waist.

"Is this-?"

"Yeah, that's perfect." Kurt burrowed into Blaine's chest. Blaine's unclothed chest. The other boy was wearing nothing but a pair of ratty boxers, and Kurt was surrounded by solid, firm, smooth skin. Blaine had a healthy smattering of hair on his chest and stomach, forming a soft barrier between Kurt's head and the hard, barely giving flesh beneath him.

Now everything smelled like Blaine, a warm, musky guy smell that Kurt couldn't stop trying to describe to himself, even if it was only in his mind. His heart was beating too fast, and he wasn't sure if it was the nightmare or his friend. Kurt pulled away. "Is David still asleep?"

Blaine turned away to check, and Kurt fought the urge to grab him and pull him back. "Yeah, he's still out. David can sleep through anything."

"Oh. Okay," Kurt pressed his face back into Blaine's chest, letting the other boy start to drift off. The sobs were building at the back of his throat, like a cough, a need, and before he knew it, Blaine had snapped back into consciousness and was holding him as he screamed/sobbed into the other boy's naked chest.

"Oh, my – Kurt, are you okay? Come on, talk to me. Please." Kurt sobbed again, feeling like such a child. Blaine must hate him, must think he was an awful person, nothing but a whining baby. Kurt had to explain, to defend himself, but years dealing with a clueless father had taught him that he needed to get the sobs out now, or he'd never get the words out later.

Blaine rocked him slowly, singing a lullaby in some strange foreign tongue that Kurt couldn't understand. Blaine didn't seem to care much if he understood or not; his expression was pure worry, and Kurt was sure Blaine only wanted for him to calm down.

"I-" Kurt started, as soon as the worst part of the crying was done. Another sob tore out of him along with the word, Kurt let out two more before coughing and trying again, "I'm sorry; you must think I'm crazy."

"No, Kurt, no," Blaine said absently. The other boy was stroking his hair, probably not knowing that Burt comforted his son the same way. The old gesture was strange, with a smaller firmer hand that sent heat racing down Kurt's spine, but comforting nonetheless.

"It's… it's just," Kurt took a deep breath, "Pavarotti was my friend. He was my friend and I never even thought about him. Even when I got that text from David, I took it for granted that he wouldn't get hurt, and I was so, so wrong." Wrong to ignore the phone calls, wrong to take the little bird for granted, wrong to believe that Karofsky wouldn't go through with his threat.

"I know, Kurt, I know," Blaine said, and something inside Kurt snapped.

"Pavarotti didn't do anything wrong!" Kurt screamed, diving back into the cover that Blaine's arms provided. "He was just a little bird, he never hurt anyone. He listened to me every day, and I never even let him leave his cage. He spent his whole life there…" A horrifying thought hit Kurt just then, and he trembled under the force of it. "He was in a cage, he couldn't get away! It must have hurt so much and he couldn't get away! We're all in cages; he could hurt any one of us…"

"He?" Blaine interrupted. Kurt could feel Blaine's heart beating faster, so close to the surface, could practically hear the cogs in Blaine's head turning, "What do you mean, he? Kurt, is there something you aren't telling us?"

'You tell anyone, and I'll make you watch…'

"No!" Kurt whispered, "No, I don't know anything…"

"Kurt, listen, if you know who did this, you need to talk to someone, anyone." Blaine's voice was level, he tried to sound gentle, but Kurt could practically hear Blaine's level voice rising into a scream. He put his hand to the other boy's chest and pressed down, gently. The same skin that felt so firm a second before now felt unbearably fragile. Kurt had to protect him.

"No, no, I don't know anything, I promise. I'm sorry." Kurt fell silent, trembling as he felt Blaine's body relax, going soft.

"I was so worried about you," Blaine whispered.

"You worried about me?"

"Are you kidding? I'm sitting in my room reading about isotopes one minute, and the next thing I know, David's barging in, saying something happened in your room. I ran down there, and the first I could see was blood, a lot of it, and teachers, and I seriously thought for a second that you were…" Blaine trailed off, and Kurt felt the squeeze of the other boy's arms around his ribcage.

"I wish it was me," Kurt said. Blaine tensed up again.

"Please don't say that. I'm gonna miss Pavarotti, too, and he didn't deserve what happened to him, not at all, but if it had been you… Listen. Are you listening?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. Blaine crooked a finger under his chin, bringing his face into view.

"I know that things aren't always easy with us. Our friendship is complicated, I get that. A lot of times, I don't know how I feel about you. But I do know that I really care about you. Like more than anybody. If something happened to you, I don't think I could handle that."

"I feel the same way," Kurt said. He closed his eyes and Blaine's hand was at his back, steadily rubbing as he started the song again. "What's that song?" Kurt asked, yawning as he nuzzled further into Blaine's arms.

"I don't know. My mom used to sing it to me. It's pretty, I think. Do you want me to stop?"

"Please, don't stop," Kurt whispered. He realized, aimlessly, that this was the first time he had ever been this close to another boy. It felt better than he would have expected. Better than he deserved to feel, with what he had allowed to happen. Only one thing was certain; he couldn't allow anyone else –especially Blaine – to get hurt because of this.

It was in that moment; with Blaine Anderson's arms around him and the boy's voice still sounding in his ear, that Kurt Hummel made his decision. He would do whatever it took to protect the people he loved. He would do whatever the voice at the end of the phone told him.

He now belonged to Dave Karofsky.