#colfersfreckles

Link to art: Colfersfreckles’ tumblr He often dreamed of someone coming to save him. It wasn’t like he was a damsel in distress, but it would be nice to be saved. To be rescued and taken away from it all. To no longer have to worry about the constant taunts thrown his way. To maybe one day wake up and not be covered in scars, new or old. A guy could hope. For now, though, Kurt Hummel had to live with the day to day bullying, tormenting and vicious name calling that happened every time he was in the public eye.  He was beyond an outcast in his local village. He was an abomination. He was someone that was there to be made fun of; a scapegoat for people to take their frustrations out on. He was the epitome of not worthy.  He heard those words every single day of his life for the past seventeen years.  There was only one person in his life that didn’t treat him that way and that was his father. Unfortunately, Kurt didn’t get to see his father that often, as he worked away from home a lot. Their village was small but it was big enough to fill it with prejudiced idiots who liked to taunt Kurt for something that he could not control.  From the age of fifteen, the males in the village had to work for their families. Kurt had started earlier since it was only him and his dad, but he hadn’t minded. It had got him away from the bullies at the school that he had attended and it had him working by his father’s side. Until his father had been reassigned and had to travel to the next village over almost every day to do repairs on whatever needed to be done. Kurt had been training as a repairman with his father since he was young and with three years more training and skills under his belt by the time he was fifteen, Kurt had been deemed old enough to go about the local repairs by himself.  It had been hard at first. No one wanted that queer boy coming into their homes and fixing things but it was by the Capitol’s decree that he would.  Everyone had to do their part to make the village run smoothly. Of course Kurt would have liked to do something else, like perhaps work at the tiny bakery that supplied the entire town with bread and occasionally cakes, but that job always went to the eldest son or daughter of the family.  People couldn’t pick and choose their career paths; they had to follow in the footsteps of their parents. Kurt’s mother, before she had passed away when Kurt was eight, was a seamstress. She had worked with half a dozen other women in the village who would all make clothes for everyone. They worked day in and day out and when Kurt was younger, he had helped his mother. Even if it had just been sewing on buttons, it had been help. He had learned at an early age to make clothes and that is the path he had desperately wanted to take but after she had passed, there was no possible way that Kurt would have been allowed to follow in her footsteps. It was hard enough being an only child – most families had more than one child so that the village had more hands to help as they got older. Kurt didn’t have the luxury of choosing what he wanted to do like some of the other kids his age; he had to follow in his father’s footsteps and that was that. Their town wasn’t a nice one. It was a place that Kurt was desperate to get away from but saw absolutely no way out. He had to work long, hard hours, for the mere pittance of a pay that he got, and that money didn’t go very far. He had to look after himself and his father and maintain their own home as well.  Kurt knew the Hummel family didn’t have the worst job in the village – that easily went to the coal miners, but Kurt occasionally found himself fantasising about what it would be like to leave this horrible place and start anew. Those thoughts were quickly pushed out of his head the moment he thought them, of course. It would not do him well to dwell on things that could never happen. He was stuck in this town until he died. If he was lucky, another family of repairers would come to their village and help to share the workload, but it didn’t look like it was going to be that way for a long time. Kurt attended around a dozen houses in his work day. Some only needed quick fixes while others needed a lot more tending to. Being only one person working on the job made it hard but he did his best. A lot of the time, there wasn’t much grunt work to be done, just fixing a broken window here or there, or fixing a broken beam in a roof; things that Kurt had been doing since he was a young boy and could do in his sleep. The part Kurt hated most about his job was that sometimes people purposefully broke things just so they could tease and taunt him when he came to visit.  There was one particular family that had a son, around Kurt’s age, that liked to tease him whenever they crossed paths. Thankfully, he was hardly ever home when Kurt stopped by, but the days that he was home Kurt dreaded them the most. Kurt sighed as he knocked on the door to the Edwards household and mentally sent up a prayer to whatever gods may have been listening that their son, Bill, wasn’t home.  Luck was not on Kurt’s side as Bill answered the door, one hand holding a large sandwich, the other holding the door handle. He was chewing with his mouth open and Kurt was repulsed at the sight.  “Hey, faggot, what do you want?” Bill asked around his mouthful of food. “William senior sent a request for repairs,” Kurt replied. “I just need to do my job and then I’ll be out of your way.” Bill sneered at him and after a long moment, stepped aside so that Kurt could enter the house. Kurt adjusted his tool belt and waited for instruction to where he needed to do the repairs. Bill picked up a piece of paper off a table in the entrance hall and shoved it at Kurt like it was going to burn him if he even dared get too close.  Kurt took the piece of paper that had instructions on it and went about his work, keeping his head down and as quiet as possible. He fixed the broken wood oven within an hour and quietly left the house after he had left William senior a note in return. He didn’t want to run into Bill again if he could help it. There was no point in putting himself in the line of fire if he could help it. As Kurt reached the path to take him back home, he heard the tell-tale sounds of Bill and his friends approaching Kurt from behind. Kurt kept his back straight as he walked. He only had a short distance to go before he arrived at his next house, he could make it. “Hey, faggot! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Kurt made the mistake of turning around and he was instantly met with a small stone being thrown at him. It scraped across his cheek and Kurt could feel the hot, sticky liquid of his own blood running down his face. He reached up a hand to wipe it away, determined not to cry in front of his bullies. He heard their maniacal laughter as he turned down the path on his right that led straight to the next house on his job sheet. It was a house that Kurt hadn’t ever done repairs for as no one had lived in it for quite a few years. However a few weeks previous, a male in his late twenties had moved in. No one knew a thing about him apart from the fact that he had dark hair and had entered the village impeccably dressed. No one ever left the village that way, of course, so the man had to have done something wrong to be exiled to their little village.  Kurt wiped at his cheek again and hissed as the rough material of his sleeve scraped across the fresh wound. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the sharp stinging as he knocked on the door in front of him. There was no noise on the other side of the door and Kurt was about to leave when he saw someone coming from around the back of the house. “Hello?” Kurt glanced over at the man that everyone had to have been talking about. He was wearing a long sleeved button up shirt complete with a vest, and even though Kurt was positive he had to be warm in the clothes he was wearing, the man seemed quite comfortable. He had on a straw hat and his hands were encased in soft looking gardening gloves.  The most striking thing about him wasn’t the fact that he had a shock of messy black hair that was sticking out every which way underneath his hat, but it was his bright gold eyes that looked over at Kurt. There wasn’t a hint of judgement there that Kurt was used to getting from other people in the village.  The man was staring at him now, an amused smile on his face. “May I help you?” he asked. “Uh,” Kurt mumbled. “Sorry. I’m Kurt, from Hummel’s Repairs? I had a job request…” “Oh, right, of course!” The man stepped towards Kurt and Kurt reflexively took a step backwards. That caught the man’s attention and he paused in his walking. “How about you come around the back first? Unfortunately, there is a lot of work to be done and I don’t have any of the necessary skills to do it.” “Alright.” Kurt followed the man around to the back yard of his house. He wasn’t lying, there looked like there was a lot of work to be done, some of which Kurt would not be able to complete, not without some kind of assistance.  “Whatever you need, I can get it, it’s fine,” the man said. “And I’m willing to help out. You don’t look like you have a crew of people waiting to help you.” Kurt shook his head. “It’s just me,” he replied. “Occasionally my father as well, but he’s been relocated to the next village over to work there.” The man nodded. “I’m Blaine, by the way.” Kurt gave him a short, curt nod and turned his attention back to the sight of the piles of wood and tin lying on the grass of Blaine’s back yard. “What do you need me to do first?” Kurt asked. “I have a list inside the house,” Blaine said. “I can go get it, if that helps?” Kurt nodded again. “It does, yes,” he replied. “I’ll wait here.” Blaine disappeared through the back door and Kurt turned his attention back to the mess in front of him.  Since no one had lived in the house for so long, Kurt knew instantly that he would need to spend a lot of time working here. He just hoped that once Blaine found out exactly who he was that things wouldn’t be awkward. He didn’t want Blaine to have to suffer because of his reputation. He was new in town; people would talk and make all kinds of assumptions based on the fact that Kurt would have to spend a lot of time repairing this old house. They went over the list together and while Kurt couldn’t do much that day, he had an idea of what he would be able to accomplish over the coming weeks. He couldn’t shirk his other responsibilities, of course, but the majority of his time would have to be spent at Blaine’s house, repairing and restoring it to the best of his ability. Having Blaine’s help would cut Kurt’s workload down, but it would still take a lot of work. Blaine didn’t seem to mind and Kurt wondered just how long it would take for Blaine to start minding. Gossip travelled fast in a village like theirs. Kurt knew it wouldn’t be long before Blaine found out what he was and would inevitably start treating him like everyone else in the village did. That night, Kurt went home, feeling exhausted. He went about his usual evening routine of cooking himself something for dinner, showering and getting ready for bed. His mind was crammed with thoughts of Blaine and how nice he had been. He seemed… different than everyone else in the village and Kurt wondered where he came from to have such wonderful manners. No one else bothered with them, especially with Kurt, so it was a surprise every time Blaine was helpful and kind. Kurt was used to working on his own. Kurt crawled into bed after his shower and fell asleep with thoughts of Blaine and how he seemed to keep his hands covered the entire time Kurt had been at his house.

~*~

The next week saw Kurt at Blaine’s house a lot. They had constructed Blaine’s garden shed and a greenhouse for him. Kurt found it endearing that Blaine was insistent on growing his own vegetables and plants. Not many people in the village bothered. The crops they had were passable at best, but no one minded. Blaine was passionate about growing as much of his own food as possible. He told Kurt that once they were finished constructing everything, he was going to try and get a couple of chickens so that he had fresh eggs daily.  Kurt mentioned if he got more than the one chicken, he could sell or barter the eggs for other items with some of the locals. Blaine had looked contemplative at this, like he was considering it before shaking his head. He mumbled something about not getting along with many people and Kurt had been instantly curious to what he had meant by that.  Each time Kurt arrived at Blaine’s house in the late morning or early afternoon, Blaine was already in the same outfit he had been wearing on the first day Kurt had met him and looked like he had been working for at least an hour or more before Kurt arrived. Kurt had said he could would try and get there earlier but Blaine had waved him off, saying it wasn’t necessary. He was a dedicated worker, Kurt knew that.  He didn’t know much about where Blaine was from, or why he was in the Lima village but what Kurt had found was that Blaine an orphan and decided to leave the place he had grown up in and move somewhere new to start fresh. Blaine was fascinating to Kurt.  Blaine had been in town long enough to know that Kurt wasn’t the ideal person to be spending time with but it seemed as though the rumours and whispering didn’t bother Blaine. Kurt wondered what that was like. Blaine didn’t let anything bother him. He looked as though he had a lot on his mind without the added village gossip but somehow, he still had a smile on his face. His eyes had a certain darkness behind them that made Kurt think that he had seen too much for someone so young. He looked older than Kurt but only by a few years at most, Kurt guessed.  Kurt found that Blaine liked to talk, though. He would constantly ask questions about Kurt’s upbringing and what the village was like. Kurt answered the questions as best as he could, but he didn’t feel like he was the best person to answer. He barely restrained from telling Blaine that he hated the village and wanted to leave as soon as possible but he didn’t want to scare Blaine, seeing as Blaine was a newcomer. So Kurt had bit his tongue and dodged the more detailed questions with as much vagueness as he could get away with. “Have you had lunch yet?” Blaine asked after they had been working for more than an hour one afternoon. It was hot out and Blaine still hadn’t rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Kurt’s had been rolled up within ten minutes of working, but Blaine still somehow didn’t look bothered by the weather.  “Oh,” Kurt paused. “No, I haven’t.” Blaine smiled brilliantly at him. “Are sandwiches okay for lunch?” he asked, setting aside the hammer he had in his hands. “You don’t have to,” Kurt started. “I’ll just eat when I get home.” “Kurt, it’s the least I can do,” Blaine said. “Are sandwiches okay?”  Kurt nodded. “Yes, that’s fine,” he replied with a small smile that he stopped before it could grow. Blaine beamed back at him and headed into the house. Kurt watched him for a few long moments before shaking his head and going back to the task at hand.  Even though Kurt didn’t know that much about Blaine, he felt like the last week of helping him and working at Blaine’s had let him know the other male better than anyone else.  Kurt knew that he liked black coffee but would only drink it with four teaspoons of sugar because he had a slight intolerance to milk. He also knew that Blaine had an older brother who had died five years previously. Blaine hadn’t talked about him much, only to mention that he missed his brother every day. Kurt didn’t press the subject as he perfectly understood what it was like to lose someone. He shared with Blaine that he had lost his mother when he was younger and instead of a string of sympathetic apologies, Blaine and he had just shared a knowing look before continuing to put the frame of the greenhouse together.  In some ways, Kurt felt like Blaine knew him better than anyone else.  Their relationship was strange, if he could even call it a relationship. He was only working for Blaine and once everything on Blaine’s list was completed, Kurt probably wouldn’t see him again. Or, if he did, it would only be in passing. That is if Blaine didn’t find out what Kurt was before then. Secrets in their village didn’t have a very good chance at being kept secret. Not with how nosy everyone was. Kurt set his hammer down and wiped the sweat off his brow. He headed into Blaine’s house to get himself a drink, feeling too hot to keep working. His shirt sleeves were pushed as far up his elbows as possible and Kurt was glad he had forgone his usual undershirt that day as he was sure it would have been soaked with sweat already. He pushed his drooping hair off his forehead with one hand and stepped into Blaine’s kitchen. Where Blaine was standing, shirtless. Kurt stood, shocked, as he took in Blaine’s appearance. He knew he was gaping openly but Blaine hadn’t noticed him yet. He was looking down at his chest, tightening what could only be described as a harness that crossed his torso. Kurt must have let out a noise because Blaine’s head snapped up a moment later, panic evident in his eyes. “Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed. Kurt blinked, his gaze darting from Blaine’s worried expression back to the harness. It was leather and from the looks of the red marks littered across Blaine’s chest, it had been chaffing him.  “What…?” Kurt mumbled.  Blaine’s chest and arms were littered with tattoos. Swirling and curling around his biceps, across his chest and up his neck. Kurt could suddenly tell that Blaine had been wearing make-up all along when he realised that the tattoos abruptly stopped on Blaine’s face. He could see the line of make-up on Blaine’s neck and if he looked closer, he could probably see the shadow of the tattoos underneath the layers of make-up on Blaine’s face. It certainly explained why Blaine insisted on wearing a button up shirt with long sleeves whenever they were working. Kurt wasn’t sure why Blaine would want to hide his tattoos but a movement from behind Blaine caused Kurt’s gaze to shift. He blinked a few times in rapid succession, taking in the stark black wings behind Blaine. Kurt’s mouth dropped open wider and Blaine’s desperate voice was saying words Kurt couldn’t hear. He crossed the room and with a shaking hand, he reached out and went to touch the wings but Blaine flinched away, taking a step backwards. “What are you?” Kurt breathed, glancing at Blaine’s crestfallen expression. “Nothing,” Blaine said. “I’m nothing.” “…That’s definitely something, Blaine,” Kurt said, voice barely above a whisper. Blaine blinked and sighed. “I… It’s best if I show you.” Blaine reached up and unclasped the buckles on the harness, loosening it until he could slide out of it properly. The feathers on Blaine’s wings ruffled at being free and Blaine sighed, clearly relieved as he could move them about freely. “These are my punishment,” Blaine said. “Punishment?” Kurt repeated. Blaine nodded. “I was… banished.” Kurt tore his gaze from the wings, focusing on the distraught look on Blaine’s face. “Where I come from, angels are banished when they do bad things,” Blaine started. “They’re sent to Earth to re-learn their way and their wings are turned black. They’re made to walk the Earth with its cruel people and conformed views on everything until they can earn a spot back in Heaven, provided that they’ve redeemed themselves. “I was banished six months ago and I’ve been living on Earth ever since.” Kurt sat down heavily on one of Blaine’s kitchen chairs, trying to process everything that Blaine had just told him.  “So you’re an… angel?” Kurt wondered.  “Not anymore,” Blaine replied, sitting across from him. “I was an angel until I killed someone.” “Oh.” Kurt’s eyes widened again. Panic suddenly coursed through him. Blaine had killed someone. Kurt was sitting in a kitchen with a killer. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat and the hairs on the back of his neck stuck up straight. His heart was thudding in his chest and he hastily got out of his chair, backing away from Blaine as quickly as possible. “Kurt, no,” Blaine said, voice pleading. “I didn’t… I. It was self-defence.” Kurt shook his head. “I don’t…” Blaine stood and took a step towards Kurt and this time, Kurt was the one taking a step backwards. “Another fallen angel had killed my parents and was about to kill me. Instead of being the martyr I was supposed to be, I killed him instead.  “I regret it every single day of my life,” Blaine continued. “But I got to live. It was a messy process and they sent me to Earth to live out my punishment rather than killing me.” “You killed someone, Blaine,” Kurt whispered.  “I know,” Blaine said, resigned.  Kurt took in Blaine’s slumped shoulders and sad expression. Even Blaine’s wings were lifeless behind him, like it was too much energy to even hold themselves up. At their closeness, Kurt could clearly see the tattoos underneath the make-up. Reflexively, Kurt reached out and swiped his thumb across Blaine’s cheekbone, revealing more tattoos. They were of the same kind that Blaine had across his chest and arms, black, tribal like markings.  “What are the tattoos for?” Kurt found himself asking.  Blaine looked up and Kurt’s hand dropped from his cheek, back to his side. “These are the marks of my coven. Everyone in my family has… had them. We’re born with them. They symbolise generations of loyal, faithful and pure angels. They’re usually bright colours, happy and reflective of our nature. Mine, of course, turned black the moment I darkened my soul by killing someone. Like my wings.” “Do they hurt?” “Sometimes,” Blaine replied. “I hate having to harness them but I can’t exactly walk around the village with my wings out. I’ve heard horror stories of people attacking the fallen and ripping their wings to shreds.” Kurt gasped, pressing a hand to his mouth. He couldn’t begin to imagine what that must be like. “I’ll keep your secret,” he promised passionately. “No one will ever find out from me.” Blaine’s lips quirked into a smile and Kurt realised he had missed that smile since they had been talking. “Thank you,” he said.  Their relationship after that steadily changed into one that was a lot more open and trusting. While they were working, Blaine felt confident enough to unharness his wings and let them spread across his back freely. They ruffled in the wind and they made Kurt smile. Blaine’s wings may have been black because he killed someone but Kurt thought he hadn’t ever seen anyone as beautiful as Blaine. The fact that he had wings didn’t bother him at all. It just added to Blaine’s already amazing personality.  Kurt often wondered what Blaine had been like as an angel, what he did exactly and how he was adjusting to Earth but he didn’t want to bombard Blaine with too many questions. He took any answer he could get when they were talking and somehow, Kurt’s feelings for Blaine deepened. He knew it was silly, to have romantic feelings for anyone in their village let alone an angel, but Kurt’s heart wouldn’t listen to his head on that matter.  One afternoon, they had finished up for the day and Blaine had slipped his shirt back on to walk Kurt around the side of his house.  Kurt smiled like he never had before in his life around Blaine. It was a foreign feeling, being so happy because of another person. He felt lighter than he had in years and the butterflies in his stomach flapped happily every time Blaine smiled his way.  “Have a good evening, Kurt,” Blaine said softly, reaching up to push a stray lock of Kurt’s hair out of his eyes.  Kurt crinkled his nose. He knew his hair was limp with sweat and dirt but Blaine hadn’t seemed to mind. Blaine’s hand lingered at the back of his neck and before Kurt knew it, Blaine was pulling him in close. Their mouths slotted together perfectly and Blaine let out the single most beautiful sound that Kurt had ever heard as they kissed. He stepped closer to Blaine and gripped onto the front of Blaine’s shirt with one hand as they kissed.  It was intense and it sent the butterflies in Kurt’s stomach crazy. He was breathing heavily when they parted and he automatically licked his lips. Blaine’s gaze flicked down to his lips again and he smiled widely.  Blaine pressed a shorter, sweeter kiss to Kurt’s lips before parting once more, looking at Kurt with such passion in his eyes.  Kurt flushed under Blaine’s intense gaze. He wanted nothing more than to just kiss Blaine again but he had one more job to attend to before going home for the night. He initiated their last kiss before pulling back and physically stepping back from Blaine, promising that he would see him the next day.  Blaine’s parting smile had left Kurt feeling happy all the way to his next job. Kurt stomach dropped when he realised that his last job was at the Edwards’ house. He mentally prepared himself for the barrage of insults that he was sure to get the moment the door answered.  Kurt raised a fist and knocked on the door, hoping that no one was home and that he could skip this job completely. He wanted nothing more than to just go home, shower and relieve his and Blaine’s kisses in his mind until he woke the next day. After a few long moments, Kurt turned to leave. He had taken one step when he came face to face with Bill Edwards who had a disgusted sneer on his face. “You disgust me, faggot,” Bill said. Before Kurt could even begin to protest, he was hit over the head and everything went black.

~*~

Kurt panicked when he woke and couldn’t move properly.  It was dark, wherever he was. He could smell dirt and blood and he tried to get his eyes to focus on something, anything, to indicate where he was. His head throbbed and he felt sick to his stomach. He had no idea how long he had even been out for and he couldn’t even look at his watch in the darkness. Kurt’s feet were shackled and so were his hands. He fought the urge to cry as best as he could but the panic crept up his chest and a few sobs escaped his throat.  The room suddenly flooded with light when a door opened and Kurt blinked rapidly so his eyes could adjust to the light. He wished that he had kept his eyes closed when he realised that it was Bill Edwards standing before him with a smirk plastered on his face, making him look even uglier than usual. His hair was pushed back off his face and he kicked at Kurt’s legs when he got close enough. Kurt automatically curled his shackled bare feet underneath him and shrunk back against the wall as best as he could. It was only as Kurt’s eyes adjusted completely that he realised he was wearing a dress. He looked down at the pale pink garment and briefly wondered why he was wearing it but the thought was pushed from his mind as Bill loomed closer.  Kurt figured that he was in Bill’s basement but he had no way of knowing for sure.  “You’re awake, fag,” Bill said needlessly. He looked down on Kurt with a sneer and it was clear to Kurt that Bill thought he was better than he was. Kurt kept silent and didn’t even acknowledge what Bill had said. “Your faggy friend is next, you know,” Bill said threateningly. “You two homos can’t go around throwing your gross behaviour in people’s faces like that. This is a family town. People have kids and they don’t need to be subjected to disgusting fags like you.” Kurt whimpered when Bill’s boot connected with his side. His hands automatically went to hold the spot but Bill stopped him. “We’re going to teach you a lesson, fag,” Bill said.  Kurt’s eyes widened as Bill took out a roll of duct tape and a switchblade. He ripped off a length of tape and shoved it across Kurt’s mouth. Kurt whimpered and scrambled back as far as he could against the wall but it only served to help Bill more. He sat on Kurt’s wriggling legs and Kurt looked at him through wet eyes. He whimpered when Bill waved the switchblade in front of his face. “See,” Bill said as he dragged the blade along Kurt’s cheek without enough pressure to cut. “I want everyone in this town to know exactly what you are. Every single person will look at you and know that you’re a waste of space; that you are a revolting faggot who isn’t worth anyone’s time or attention. And if you survive this, they’ll all know.” The glint in Bill’s eyes as he smiled scared Kurt more than the knife in his hand. Kurt screamed as the blade pushed into his upper left arm, but the duct tape across his mouth muffled most of his noises. He whimpered as he felt each swipe of the blade. He could feel the blood rushing out of his arm, down onto the dirt floor below him. His head swam and he struggled against Bill’s hold but that only made Bill cut down harder.  After a while, Kurt stopped struggling. The pain seared through him but it was useless to try and do anything about it and struggling only made Bill work harder, cut deeper and Kurt didn’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing just how much he was hurting Kurt.  Bill spat on him as he left and Kurt cried himself to sleep. When he woke next, Bill was standing over him, a blonde wig in his hand.  “You know, if you want to be like a girl and kiss guys,” Bill said, squatting in front of Kurt. “Then you should be a girl.” He shoved the wig on over Kurt’s head and smiled manically at him. Bill forewent the duct tape this time and Kurt barely whimpered as Bill cut across his upper right arm this time. Kurt knew from the swipes that the same markings were being forced into his skin as on the other side. He knew the word fag was going to be cut deeply into his skin by the time Bill finished.  He just had no energy to protest. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he had been in this room, wherever he was, but he knew it had been at least one whole day from the way the footsteps above him had stopped for a few hours before starting again. “You brought this on yourself, you know,” Bill said as he dug deeper at the end, right near Kurt’s elbow.  Kurt whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the blood rushing down his forearm.  “If you had just been normal like everyone else,” Bill started. “If normal is like you, I’d never want it,” Kurt uttered.  Bill backhanded him and sent Kurt sprawling on the dirt. Blood poured from the side of his mouth and the dirt mixed in with his open wounds on his arms, causing Kurt to gasp and whimper in pain. He was saved another hit by a woman’s voice calling out Bill’s name. It confirmed Kurt’s suspicions that he was in the Edwards’ basement and he looked up at Bill with a steady, unwavering gaze. Bill retaliated by stomping on his right foot and Kurt screamed as he felt the bones shatter. He threw up as Bill left him in the dark again.  After a while, Kurt noticed something glinting on the floor. It was Bill’s switchblade. Kurt looked up, hoping to hear something and when he didn’t hear anything for a few long moments, he dragged himself across the floor as far as his shackles would let him go and he grabbed the blade. He clasped it in his hands, feeling its heavy solidness in his shaking palms.  Kurt immediately stuck the blade into the keyhole of his shackled hands and wriggled but it was no use. The blade wasn’t small enough to get into the hole to undo the lock. He tried cutting the shackles open instead but that only resulted in his wrists getting even bloodier. He took a few deep breaths and tried to think clearly. He could wait until Bill visited next and use the blade on him, perhaps wounding Bill enough so he was able to escape but Kurt would need keys to undo his shackles. He wasn’t sure if Bill carried the keys on him at all, but the risk was too great to consider that a good plan. Now with his broken foot, Kurt was going to have even more trouble moving than before. Kurt cried, feeling useless as he sat there, his mangled foot aching and throbbing violently. The shackles on that foot had snapped, leaving angry red cuts across Kurt’s ankle. He leaned his head back on the wall behind him and took a few deep breaths, trying to think of something that would help him get out of this situation. It wasn’t until a few hours later that Kurt realised he wasn’t going to get out of this basement alive. He was going to die down here and no one would know it. Kurt picked up the blade again and stared at it for a few long moments before swiping it across his forearms, feeling the blood rushing out of the wounds.  His head grew dizzier with each cut and he felt his body growing weaker and weaker with every passing moment.

~*~

“Kurt, Kurt. Please, Kurt, please.” Kurt opened his eyes a fraction before closing them again. Opening his eyes hurt and Kurt didn’t know where he was. Keeping his eyes closed was safer, his mind told him. Kurt felt lighter than he had in a long time. He didn’t want that feeling to stop and he knew it would stop if he opened his eyes. He felt himself being lifted into a pair of strong arms and he chanced opening his eyes once more. “Blaine?” he croaked. Blaine’s expression confused Kurt. He looked so upset, so angry. Kurt reached up to touch Blaine’s face but his arms hurt too much. They were moving, though, taking one step at a time, which didn’t seem like it was much effort for Blaine at all. Kurt knew he was light but he didn’t think he was that light. “Stay with me, Kurt, please,” Blaine begged. That was silly, Kurt thought, he wasn’t going anywhere. His head itched and he reached up to scratch it, pulling away the long blonde wig as he did. It hung limply in his hand as Kurt passed out once more.

~*~

There were few occasions that angels were allowed back into Heaven. Kurt remembered talking about it with Blaine in depth as they worked and Blaine had said he didn’t want to go back into heaven if it had meant leaving Kurt. Kurt wondered if Blaine meant that but he never had a chance to find out.  When Kurt woke again, he was being carried across a field that had gorgeous green grass and flowers everywhere. It looked positively magical. He looked up at Blaine’s face, taking in the angry, frowning face. He tried to say Blaine’s name but nothing would come out. He tried to lift a hand to reach out and touch Blaine but his limbs wouldn’t move.  Kurt wondered where they were and where Blaine was taking him. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Kurt looked over at the stern voice and saw a beautiful woman with long, flowing black hair. She looked a lot like Blaine, Kurt thought. Maybe it was someone from his Coven. That was impossible, his mind supplied, they would have to be near Heaven if that was true. “I don’t care,” Blaine said. His voice sounded broken and Kurt wondered why Blaine wasn’t looking at him at all. Why didn’t he notice that Kurt was awake? “They killed him, Tina. I… I need you to fix it.” The woman, Tina, sighed and nodded. She led Blaine and Kurt to a room and Blaine set Kurt’s sore body down onto a cold marble table. He shivered at how cool it felt and looked between Blaine’s sad expression and Tina’s focused one. Tina’s bright white wings fluttered behind her and Kurt couldn’t help but smile. She had to be related to Blaine, he thought. When she stretched out an arm, Kurt caught a glimpse of brightly coloured tattoos much like Blaine’s own. He turned to Blaine to say something but found he couldn’t speak again. He sighed, hoping that he could talk again soon.  “…Blaine,” Tina said after a while. “I can’t… he’s gone.” Blaine let out the most horrifyingly pained scream Kurt had ever heard and Kurt wondered why Blaine was acting like that. Kurt wasn’t gone, he was right there with them. Couldn’t they see that? Blaine slumped over Kurt’s body and sobbed hard. He clutched onto Kurt a little too tightly but Kurt didn’t mind. He just wished that he could move his limbs to let Blaine know that he was fine. It was a long while later that Blaine’s cries stopped and he looked over at Kurt with tear stained eyes. Kurt wished he could lift a hand to brush the tears away but he still couldn’t move his limbs at all.  Blaine shifted and climbed up onto the marble table next to him. Kurt could feel Blaine’s breath against his neck, coming in little wracked sobs until he fell asleep from exhaustion. Kurt closed his eyes and figured he could get a little sleep as well, his body was still sore and desperately needed healing and he hoped that when he woke he’d be able to tell Blaine that he hadn’t gone anywhere, that he was right there. 

~*~