Rating: PG - 13
Summary: Kurt took him in because it was cold outside, and he looked injured, and Kurt had an insatiable curiosity and wanted to find out how the hell the boy had ended up in his backyard in the first place (his being really attractive didn't hurt, either). It was like While You Were Sleeping, and Kurt was Sandra Bullock. Except with weird, unexplained phenomena. …And without Bill Pullman.
Spoilers: a little NBK and SLS, but AU in general
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Warnings: mentions of scary movies, eventual (but not for a while) light exploration of issues of consent

A/N: And… Part B!

Kurt opened the front door and stepped, relieved, into the quiet of the house. The end of another school day. Finally.

It was just him and Blaine now. Finn was at football practice for another hour, after which he was most likely headed over to Puck's to take out his frustration with Rachel's ongoing silent treatment by blowing up a horrendously large amount of computer-generated army men who were just doing their job. Kurt had offered a much more constructive way to relieve Finn's tension as an apology for the way he'd acted with Finn earlier in the day—but for reasons unknown to Kurt, Finn had vehemently turned down the offer to redecorate his bedroom, once again restating his love for the color orange (Kurt had absolutely nothing against the color orange, thank you very much. He did have a problem with neon pumpkin, which was the only way he could describe the sickeningly bright color of Finn's room, and he honestly didn't understand how Finn could sleep at night with his walls slathered in it).

As he started to slip his messenger bag off from around his shoulders, Kurt considered the probability of getting Blaine to sing with him today. A few flirty duets might get the message across that Kurt was free and interested in a much less awkward way than any unrehearsed flirting could. Perhaps he could try out a few Glee club ideas with him, get his opinion on the ballad Kurt had chosen for tomorrow…

"…ot going back…" a muffled voice floated across the room. Kurt smiled and walked curiously into the living room, trying to figure out what movie it was that Blaine was watching today. He loved watching Blaine watch movies—he was so expressive and so immersed in the story.

Kurt frowned when he saw the black tv set—off.

Huh. Was his dad home early?

"…would do… fitwer me…"

Something inside his chest twisted weirdly, and a bubble of foreboding pushed its way up his throat. Kurt clenched the strap of the bag he still held in his fisting hands and headed cautiously to the kitchen.

"Blaine?" he breathed, his voice sounding much too loud in the echoing silence of the rest of the house. "Are you in here?"

The bubble fluttered against the walls of his throat, speeding his breathing and echoing the beat his heart was hammering against his rib cage. Something outside the glass doors caught his eye and his legs moved against a punishing current, dragging him slowly towards the back yard. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…

Kurt's bag dropped out of suddenly slack hands. His eyes widened.

There was a stranger in his backyard. There was a stranger in his backyard and he was doing something to Blaine, he was—

Blaine was moving fast and limbs became blurs and then the stranger was slamming Blaine up against the oak tree, using so much force Blaine looked molded into the bark—and suddenly so, so small. Kurt saw the muscles and veins in Blaine's neck and arms standing out in vivid relief, carved against his skin and trembling with exertion as he fought to keep the stranger from pressing him even closer.

"Stop—Flint—!" Blaine's breath hitched as the boy did—something—clawed his hand and—and his whole body shook. "Stop!" His voice was strained air that time but Kurt still heard it. Somewhere far away and still too close, a locker was slamming, and the air echoed with the sickening smack of a forced kiss.

The soles of Kurt's shoes were melted rubber fused to the floor.

"I wouldn't have left!" the boy snarled and his hand twisted, palm flat and pressing against Blaine's stomach. Blaine's face contorted into a silent scream. "If it was me, I wouldn't have left!"

Blaine's arm slipped, and the boy pressed him in closer and Blaine gasped and—

Kurt had to move, he had to move, and he slid the door open with enough force to probably break it as he cried:

"HEY!"

The boy let go and he snapped his head around, staring in surprise at the interruption.

Blaine plummeted boneless to the ground.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something heroic and probably derogatory–and then realized he couldn't figure out which words to use and so closed it again.

So… Stop the stranger. Check.

He was kind of at a loss as to what to do now.

Apparently the stranger was not. "This is who you're staying with?" the boy asked incredulously. Kurt wasn't sure whether he was supposed to feel offended or not. Considering this boy had just tried to kill the potential future love of his life, he figured it would be a safe bet to settle on offended.

Blaine, not as dead as he looked, had managed to maneuver himself onto his hands and knees, and was currently staring up with shining eyes at his highly-fashionable savior. (This was certainly one way to win his affection)

"Kurt," he panted. "Oh, crap."

…Okay.

Not exactly the reaction Kurt was expecting.

Blaine turned to his friend who had just tried to kill him (or something). "You should go," he said steadily (or as steadily as he could, considering he was still so out of breath). "Before Wes finds out you were here."

"I'm not afraid of Wes," the boy said, but he still started moving away. Blaine gave him a level stare. "This isn't over, Blaine," he asserted. "I'm not the only one."

"Yes," Blaine said firmly. "Yes, it really is."

Kurt had to give Blaine props. He would have been very intimidating if he weren't still on all fours trying to catch his breath.

The stranger moved around to the front of the house and left them in the backyard.

Kurt looked at Blaine. Blaine looked at Kurt.

They just kind of stared at each other.

They were still just kind of staring at each other about three minutes later, when Blaine seemed to realize he was still on his hands and knees and still having a little trouble breathing.

"Could you help me up?" he asked abruptly. Kurt blinked.

"Oh! Sorry."

Awkwardly, he walked up to the tree. Putting Blaine's arm around his shoulders, he slowly helped lift him to his feet. Blaine suddenly jerked downward, his legs giving out, and Kurt wrapped a firm arm around his waist to keep him upright.

He tried not to let himself be too aware of the searing line of heat that was the press of the sides of their bodies, flush against each other. Because that would be inappropriate at a time like this.

Blaine tripped and fell further against Kurt, his breath puffing a light caress across Kurt's neck.

Yeah.

Really inappropriate. At a time like this.

Kurt cleared his throat and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on getting Blaine inside.

The walk remained silent. Curiosity and worry and fear and a terrifying kind of expectation clashed inside of Kurt, a chaotic tornado forming questions that pressed insistently against his lips, against the oppressive silence, which pressed back, keeping them locked behind his teeth. What had just happened? Who was that boy? Why was he here? What had he been doing to you?

Who are you?

Kurt opened the door and helped Blaine sit down on the lazy boy in the living room; and as he let his arms fall away from Blaine's back, he couldn't help but wonder if a hug would have felt like something close to that. A pang of longing knifed into his chest.

He started to step away when Blaine's hand shot out, clawing around his arm and pulling him back in—and Kurt tripped, falling a little before he caught himself on the arm of the chair, breath hitching because—oh.

Close.

"Do me another favor?" Blaine breathed. The words tickled Kurt's lips and he couldn't move his attention from the mouth in front of him. Lips. His lips were inchesfrom Kurt's own and Kurt was holding his breath, his head spinning, waiting, waiting, frozen, for one small movement forward…

His tongue moved involuntarily to rest just behind his bottom lip.

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

Blaine's fingers gripped his arm.

"Please try to calm down," he said, his voice tenderly gentle and oh, so soft. Kurt would glance up to see what color that kind of tenderness gave to those eyes if his own weren't so helplessly glued to the lips in front of him. He could feel Blaine's breath, already erratic, speed up slightly. He wondered vaguely if his own was doing the same.

Nails dug into his skin.

"Kurt," Blaine said, and his voice sounded slightly strangled. "Please. You're kind of overwhelming me."

Kurt blinked and something flooded into him, a—

Terror, suddenly, and Kurt felt his heart marathoning, thudding in painfully fast rhythm faster faster faster and he tore away, gasping, backing against the couch and his stomach dropped as he lost his balance and he had to move leave go go please OUT—

Blaine reached out, panicked, and forcefully grabbed his hands, squeezing tightly as the terror drained… out… and…

A slow, shaky breath escaped Kurt's lips, and with it went his energy. Warmth pressing against his eyes, stuffing his brain, his body buckled, sliding tiredly to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Blaine was saying, sinking to the floor with him, holding tightly to his hands. "I'm sorry, that wasn't—I didn't mean—"

Kurt could only stare at him with half-lidded eyes.

"You overwhelmed me," Blaine repeated helplessly. Kurt's gaze dragged down to their tightly clasped hands. A slow, trickling peacefulness slid like sweet molasses up his arms… thick, gliding over his insides… coating his throat… dragging down his eyelids…

"Who…" Speaking took… "Who… are you?" Speaking took so much work…

Kurt heard the nervous smile in Blaine's voice even as his eyes glued shut and his head flopped forward. "That's not the question you want to ask," his voice coated him. Sweet molasses… submerging him in slack helplessness. Down his throat…

Around his heart…

Pooling low caresses to his stomach…

Slow…

Far away, someone's gentle hands guided him through an abyss of weightlessness.

"What am I?" came a muffled voice soaked up by a sponge. Kurt drifted away into nothingness.

"That's a more appropriate question, I think."