24

Up in Smoke

Kurt woke whimpering in the middle of the night, body trembling with a cold sweat working over him. He gasped raggedly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He slowly became aware of his surroundings, shuddering, feeling a lack of warmth beside him. He felt around for Blaine, knowing he wasn't there but trying anyway.

"Blaine?" He squeaked, so scared and dazed from the onslaught of nightmares. He wanted to be held, he wanted to know he wasn't alone. "B-Blaine?" He slowly got out of bed, reaching for his robe, fumbling to put it on, sobs strangled and quiet.

He gripped the wall and the rail, listening for noise in the bathroom and only getting the low sounds of his father and Finn snoring. He gripped the rail and slowly worked down the stairs, trying to breathe and work past the lump in his throat to say his name. "Blaine, where are you?"

His voice was too soft, too choked to carry through the house, and the silence that met him reflected that. He finally reached the bottom of the stairs on wobbly legs, still not sensing another presence, so scared. He was lightheaded, trembling, his breathing verging on hyperventilating.

What if he left? What if he left you? Isn't that what you always knew would happen? He shook his head, biting back another sob, scared and frustrated. No one wants a boyfriend that can't see them, remember? No one wants you.

He supported himself against the back of the couch, trying to get a handle on himself, confused.

The front door creaked and he jumped, turning toward it, the soft hint of fresh cigarette smoke clinging to soft linen floating on the cold breeze that followed. He gasped aloud, shaking where he stood.

"Kurt?" Blaine said, stepping into the living room and going to him instantly. Kurt nearly collapsed hearing his voice, falling into his arms and clutching at him. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? What's the matter?" He held him gingerly, being sure it was alright, rocking slowly. "Baby, I just went out to smoke, what-? Kurt, god, you're shaking like a leaf, baby, it's alright."

"I-I had dreams and he- I was- and you weren't there, I got- Blaine…" His skin burned where he'd been touched, hyperaware of the bruises and scratches wracking his tortured body. He shut his eyes, shaking a little, breathing in Blaine's familiar smell of smoke, gum and linen with the underlying hint of him. He felt safe here. Home. He felt home. "Blaine, help me," he whispered.

"Okay, okay, baby. I'm here. You wanna go back to sleep?" He whispered, still wary as to where he could touch him without frightening him. Kurt shook his head.

"No. No, I can't sleep, I can't have another one of those dreams, Blaine, I can't," he whimpered.

"What do you want me to do, baby?" He asked, helpless again. Kurt shook his head, offering a half-shrug, lost.

"I don't know," he whimpered, lips shaking. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"No, no, baby, it's okay. Don't apologize. Whatever you need, Kurt. I'll stand right here holding you until the day I die if that's what you want," he whispered.

"You're sweet," he sniffed. "Wish you'd let other people see it."

"But then there'd be less for you," he teased, trying so hard to make him smile. It worked, briefly.

"W-we can lie down, but I don't want to sleep," he whispered, pleading.

"Okay, okay," he nodded, hating every second of this. Kurt was in so much pain and there was nothing he could do to make it go away, to help him.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said suddenly, still so frustrated. "I'm not being strong about this. I keep crying and-"

"Listen to me," he whispered, brushing his hair back. "How many nights did you spend with me after I got out of the hospital? How many days did you hold my hand and tell me everything was okay? You wiped so many tears, gave me so much patience no matter how angry I was or how hard I was crying. You were there every second, Kurt. You saved my life, and not for the first time. You saved me from myself and my dad. This, right here, holding you, letting you cry, hell, I'll let you hit me if you want," he lifted his chin, kissing his forehead. "And it will never make up for everything you've done for me." Kurt hiccupped, leaning into his neck, clinging to him. "You're so strong Kurt, you're the strongest man I've ever met. But please, baby, please let me help you for once, okay? You can trust me, Kurt. You can lean on me all you and I will help you with whatever you need. With anything you need, baby."

Kurt leaned his face into his neck, breathing shaking a bit. "Thank you." Blaine kissed his forehead, leaning against him. "I love you."

"I love you too." He rocked him slowly, kissing his forehead.

"C-can we go upstairs?" Kurt asked tearfully. Blaine sniffed, heart wrapped in a vice that only got tighter.

"Yeah," he whispered, kissing his cheek. Kurt took his hand, linking his fingers in his and taking him upstairs.

They got back into bed, Kurt's forehead pressed against Blaine's cheek, tangled in his arms. "I'm right here, Kurt. I've got you."

Kurt stayed where he was, safe. Blaine nuzzled his face against his from time to time, the scratch of his stubble somehow soothing. He kissed his temple, sitting in silence, smoothing Kurt's thick hair.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Blaine assured. "It'll go away soon. I promise it'll go away soon."

He wasn't so sure. In fact, he didn't know if this feeling would ever go away.

"Hey, did I ever tell you about the time Wes and David dared me to T.P. thirty houses in two hours?" Blaine asked. Kurt shook his head, giving a small smile. "Okay, so it's Halloween, right? And I'm…"

Blaine talked, rubbing small circles on his back, and didn't stop until Kurt was sound asleep, despite what he'd said earlier, so peaceful and beautiful. He kept his voice soft and low, talking about something unrelated to keep those thoughts away so he could sleep, so he could have a moment's peace. He kept his fingers laced in his, waiting until his breathing relaxed to stop speaking, relieved.

He watched his face, heart throbbing, tears in his eyes. How could someone hurt him? How could someone harm this face, see him cry with fear behind eyes veiled in enigmatic black? How in God's name could someone watch tears fall from those eyes and hear his voice quake with tears pleading and begging for mercy and still hurt him?

He swallowed past the long-since growing lump in his throat, looking down at his sleeping face. God, Kurt, why you? There's so many people in the world that deserve to hurt the way you are, but not you.

He fought to sleep. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Kurt pressed against the cold tile, shirt roped tatters around his lower back and his elbows, claw marks on his skin and tears on his cheeks. He saw monstrous hands pillaging his body that had only been touched by him until that point. That awful feeling continued to gnaw at his stomach, knowing how much Kurt felt, how much he relied on touch and it was used against him. He opened his eyes, kissing Kurt's forehead.

"I love you," he whispered. "And I'll be right here for you, darling. I promise."

Blaine woke the next morning alone. The faint smell of Kurt's moisturizer hung in the air, signaling he'd left some time ago. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and grabbing his jacket. He dug his cigarettes from his pocket, padding down the stairs and yawning. "Kurt?" He said, getting to the first floor. A Christmas tree had sprung up in the living room, boxes spilling tinsel and wrapping paper littering the furniture while Carole and Finn rifled through it.

"Morning, sweetheart," she said, sympathy in her eyes.

"Where's Kurt?" He said sleepily. She frowned.

"He isn't in his room?" She said, standing. Finn turned. Blaine shook his head.

"No, I haven't seen him. I thought…"

He bolted back upstairs, snatching up his phone and hastily dialing Kurt's number.

"Call from Blaine," an automated voice sounded from across the room.

"Fuck!" He spat, going to his closet next, seeing an outfit missing. His cane was gone too. He rushed back downstairs, tugging on his shoes. "His phone's here and his cane's gone. He must've left before we got up."

"The last time Burt saw him he was asleep with you," Carole said, a phone pressed to her ear. Finn was texting like a madman, talking to everyone he knew, updating Facebook and Twitter for good measure, praying someone had seen him; anyone.

"I'm gonna go find him," Blaine said, more afraid than he'd ever admit. "I'll find him."

He burst through the front door, looking around the snow-blanketed neighborhood as if he'd be right there in the front yard.

The footprints leading from the front door –two sets, one Burt's, on his— stopped at the salted sidewalk, giving no clues. He sighed, exasperated, and started running.

"KURT!"