Fulfilled 1/??
Response to this prompt:: in an alternate universe where slavery is perfectly normal, kurt who is opposed to the idea of owning another person walks by a slave market and sees a trader about to kill a boy his age (blaine), because he is too sick (nothing permanent, maybe pneumonia or something) and too bruised (from his past owner) and generally in no condition to bring in any money. kurt can't just walk away, so he stops the guy and buys blaine and takes him home and nurses him back to health.
http://community.livejournal.com/glee_angst_meme/7446.html?thread=8582678#t8582678
Warning: Long fill is long. Also references to violence and sexual abuse.
Follow-up posts are in the comments, so please expand to see them.
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"We're late, Kurt, we can cut through." Rachel urged him to cut through the outskirts of the slave market.
Kurt grimaced and she looked abashed but determined. "I hate it, too, but we've both got dates tonight for once, and I don't want to be late."
"Wait, what's that?" Kurt stopped to listen, tilting his head. "I heard..."
Rachel thought she heard it, too. A tiny but beautiful voice, but broken by coughing and hazy through what sounded like tears. "Kurt," she warned. "If it's somebody here, then..."
Kurt was already leading her. He stopped at one of the vendors but looked confused. There was no sign of anybody singing, but he heard coughing again.
"Excuse me, was that somebody singing there?" Rachel couldn't believe that Kurt was actually talking to a slave dealer.
The dealer eyed him sharply. "Yeah, that's one of mine, but trust me, you don't want him." Rachel was sure that the dealer had calculated the value of Kurt's clothing and accessories down to the fraction of a cent. "I've got better singers. That one I was going to sell for organs but just got the word that there's a surplus. They won't take the sick ones, so I'm just going to put him down when I get a minute. I've got some good singers out here."
Kurt said firmly, "I'm curious about this one."
"Come on in, then."
"What's his name?" Kurt asked and the man shrugged.
The dealer gestured at a boy not much older than they were, perhaps fifteen or sixteen at most. He was lying in a fetal position, chained at the ankle. He was shivering, coughing, and Rachel suspected that the occasional bits of song were from delirium. "He's not even that sick, but it's not worth it to treat him."
"Why not?" Rachel asked, surprising herself.
In response, the dealer pulled away the thin sheet. The boy's body was covered with bruises and welts. But what horrified Rachel the most was when he turned to try to reach for the sheet again. His face, which she realized would have been handsome, was covered with deep, recent gashes.
"Yeah, if he were healthy, I could have sold him cheap or for organs, if he were just sick, he'd be worth treating, but as it is," the dealer shrugged again and pulled his gun from the holster.
"Wait," Kurt said thoughtfully. "Rach, don't you think that Dad might enjoy him? As long as he has a day or two left in him? What do you think?"
Kurt's eyes met hers in a flash that told her as clearly as if he'd shouted it, "Work with me on this."
"It's an idea..." she managed to say. "Excuse us a moment."
"Kurt, what the hell are you thinking? You'd buy a slave? You hate it and the trade and you'd give them money?"
"Rachel...I know...but he's going to die, he's going to be murdered right in front of us. I...I can't let it happen."
"This doesn't change the system, it supports it!"
Kurt didn't even answer her, but his eyes returned to the shivering boy. He seemed more alert now and was sitting up, hugging his knees. "Rachel, I know it's every kind of wrong, but..." Kurt's eyes were pleading for forgiveness. "He doesn't deserve to die like that."
She looked at the boy, too. She knew that leaving him would fuel nightmares for months and sighed. "All right."
Kurt strolled back. "How about five for him?"
"Five?" The dealer looked insulted.
Kurt shrugged. "It's that or nothing. Except the cost of the bullet."
"Twenty."
"Twenty? I could get somebody healthy for that. Somebody who would last Dad more than a few days. Six, max." Kurt started to walk away.
"Eight."
"Let me take a closer look, then." Rachel watched the boy cringe and Kurt stood up after a moment. "Seven."
"Fine."
As Kurt called a cab, Rachel called Finn to postpone their date. She left her fervent apologies on his voice mail, explaining that she was with Kurt and be there when he got home and they could go out from there.
Kurt pulled his coat off and helped the boy into it as they eased him up and into the cab as it arrived. Kurt turned to him. "Shhh. I was lying about my dad. Nobody's going to hurt you, I promise. We'll take care of you." He paused. "I'm Kurt and this is my friend Rachel. What's your name?"
"Blaine," he whispered, and started to cough again.
"We're going to take you home and get you more comfortable," Kurt assured him. Blaine had awakened a tenderness in him that he couldn't explain. Kurt turned away for a moment as his cell rang.
"Hello?"
"Kurt, where are you?"
"Oh, God, Steve, I'm so sorry. Somebody's sick, I had to-" Another spate of coughing from Blaine made the excuse sound much more convincing, he thought wryly, watching Rachel gingerly rub Blaine's back. "Can we reschedule? Please?"
Steve chuckled. "Do I get to pick what we do next date, then?"
"Are you going to make me regret this?"
"Why else would I ask?" Steve asked teasingly. Kurt shivered in anticipation as Steve's voice lowered into a near-growl. "Besides, we always agree on what to do afterwards."
"Okay, I've got to go now. I'll call you later."
Kurt hung up and noticed that Blaine had closed his eyes. It had been easy enough to appease Steve, he thought, but now he had to explain to his father.
Kurt felt everything he noticed like a punch in the stomach. How easily and clearly he could feel Blaine's ribs as he and Rachel helped him into the house. How Blaine was still shivering like he'd never get warm as they sat him at the table. How his face didn't look merely disfigured but defiled by the deep cuts, surrounded by dark, crusted blood. How he looked so patient and exhausted and shattered.
"Do you want to have something to eat first or do you want to get cleaned up first?" Blaine looked hesitantly at Rachel and finally asked, "Could I have something to drink? Some water?"
Kurt quickly filled a glass. A box of straws Finn had demanded caught his eye and he put one in, then handed the glass to Blaine. He caught Blaine's hand, seeing how shaky it was, and helped him put it on the table. Blaine started sipping and then desperately gulping the water. "More?"
"Yes, please." At the next gulps, he started to cough again, but this time bending over helplessly, fighting for breath in rasps that sounded like whistles. Kurt and Rachel leaned over him, exchanging helpless glances as they tried to soothe him.
"Here, I'll make you some hot lemon and honey," Rachel said. "That always helps when I've got a cough." Kurt stayed bent over him, very lightly rubbing his uppper back. Blaine finally sat up again and his eyes searched Kurt's. Kurt wondered what he would have looked like before he was battered and sick, and his imagination filled in vibrant coloring and brilliant eyes. Rachel handed him the mug and he helped Blaine wrap his hands around it and bring it to his mouth.
"Do you want to eat now or get cleaned up first?" Kurt asked again, anxious to make the sick boy more comfortable. Despite what the dealer had said, he was afraid that even with the proper care, Blaine might die. But he was going to fight for Blaine's life, he and Rachel, and if Blaine died, at least it would be with some dignity, in caring arms, he silently vowed.
Blaine lowered his eyes and said, "I want to be clean."
Rachel started opening the refrigerator and taking out ingredients. "I'll make dinner, Kurt, if you help Blaine shower or take a bath or whatever he wants." She turned and looked Blaine over quickly. "I think your clothing would fit him better than Finn's."
Kurt supported Blaine down the stairs into the basement and asked, "Bath or shower?" Blaine looked at him questioningly and Kurt wondered what was happening in his mind. Was he afraid of expressing a preference? Or had he never been asked anything like that? Or, and this felt like another kick to the gut, had whatever he'd endured affected Blaine's mind? "Either is fine," he added, gently. "If you're tired, I get get a shower seat for you." Blaine nodded and Kurt opened the linen closet and set the seat up.
He realized that Blaine was too exhausted to clean himself so he would have to help. He reached for his robe and started to take off his own clothing, then heard Blaine's gasp. Kurt turned back to him and saw paralyzing horror in Blaine's posture and eyes.
Kurt instinctively crouched next to Blaine to make himself lower and smaller. "Blaine," he soothed. "It's okay, you're safe. I'm not going to touch you or lay a finger on you except to take care of you. Whatever happened to you, it's over. I promise, okay? You're sick and exhausted and hurting, but I promise you we're going to help you. Rachel, my family, my brother, my dad, we all hate slavery." He was going to keep his mouth shut about exactly how much. "I nearly didn't buy you because it was giving money to a dealer. But I couldn't let you die there. Not like that." Blaine was still staring at him, but his eyes weren't terrified any more, or worse, resigned. Kurt couldn't read them, so he kept talking, not even sure if Blaine was taking in the words, but hoping that if he wasn't, his tone was reassuring him. "We're going to take care of you, help you get better. I swear, nobody here will hurt you."
He straightened out a little. "I can help you clean up, or do you want me to leave you to it? I want to stay in the bathroom to make sure you don't fall, but I'll stay down here where you can see me. Or I can help you wash, you might want some help with your back."
Blaine nodded. "All right, I'll help you with that," Kurt answered.
He adjusted the water to a soft, warm spray, not much harder than a light rain, and Blaine soaped himself with some difficulty. Kurt carefully rubbed around the welts on his back, trying to wipe away dried blood but not break any of the scabbing. A few of the cuts were red and swollen, as were others on his arms, chest, and face. Kurt was thankful to feel Blaine relaxing slightly at his gentle touch and quiet, soothing monologue as he kept talking, "I don't understand, how could anybody hurt you like this. There, does that feel better? Just a little more, I'm going to get your sides here, tell me if I do anything that hurts. Rachel's making dinner, she only cooks vegan but she does a good job, just don't tell her that I told you so, okay? There, that's done. Okay, I don't want to open any of these cuts, so let's just wrap you in a couple of towels, careful standing up, you might get dizzy, there, that's good, here, you can sit down here, I'll just pat you dry here, through the towel, okay?"
Blaine's skin was still discolored from bruises, but at least it looked healthier now, with the dried blood and grime gone. "Okay, let's get you into the bedroom. You can lie down while I get some ointment and bandages on anything that's still open." Kurt felt another surge of relief that Blaine hesitated only a moment before allowing Kurt to help him to lie on his stomach. The hot water must have helped with his breathing; while he'd coughed frequently, he wasn't fighting in agony for breath.
Because Blaine had been sitting, Kurt hadn't seen how viciously injured his buttocks were. He was fairly sure that it wasn't just cuts but burns, and some of them looked as though they curved around to his groin. Kurt steeled himself, finished bandaging him, and then, not wanting to see the full extent of Blaine's injuries, rolled him over. Yes, those were definitely burns, and he couldn't help but keep looking up to the cuts on the boy's face.
"Blaine, I don't want to pry, and you don't have to tell me, but what happened? Who did this to you?"
Blaine was absolutely silent and after a moment, Kurt assumed that he wasn't going to answer, but then Blaine said, quietly, "I tried to escape."
Kurt waited for Blaine to say more, but he didn't continue and Kurt wasn't going to make him feel that he had to do anything. A thought kept pulsating in his mind as insistently as a second heartbeat. "This could have been you, this could have been you, this could have been you." A boy his own age, obviously sexually abused, tortured for trying to escape, and then waiting in the slave market to be killed, for organs or because he wasn't profitable...Kurt felt the tears well in his eyes as he carefully spread an antiseptic ointment over a gash crossing Blaine's cheek.
He blinked the tears away and saw Blaine staring at him again, but this time with an expression of wonder. "You're crying?" Blaine whispered. "You're crying for me?"
Kurt couldn't find any words, so nodded.
"Nobody...nobody ever cried for me before...ever." Blaine's eyes seemed to come to life and Kurt could recognize one emotion clearly in them. It was hope.
The moment broke at the sound of steps coming down the stairs, which made Blaine flinch instinctively. The door opened and Rachel came in with a bowl and glass. "I thought you might want to eat in bed, rather than at the table," she smiled at Blaine.
"Thank you," he answered, looking down.
"It's lentil soup, I hope you'll like it. I brought you soy milk but there's almond or rice milk if you want it."
Blaine took the bowl so awkwardly that Kurt held it for him. He was equally awkward with the spoon, wincing as he tried to hold it, and Kurt looked suspiciously at the bruises on his hands. "Can I help you with that?" Blaine clumsily handed him the spoon and Kurt carefully fed him. After the first few spoonfuls, he had to coax the next few into Blaine, and then could tell that he truly couldn't eat any more. "Do you want us to let you rest now?" Blaine looked hesitantly at them both, as if he were trying to guess what response would be safe, and then said, almost under his breath, "I'm very tired."
"Of course," Rachel said, soothingly. "Do you want the light on or off?"
"Off, please."
Kurt took the bowl. "Call if you wake up and want anything. Sleep well, Blaine." He was going to resist brushing his hand through Blaine's hair or even kissing one of the small unmarked places on his cheek. He couldn't do that, not now or ever. The thought was as sad as it was unexpected, he realized, as he followed Rachel up the stairs.
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Blaine still didn't feel warm. Kurt had put a thick, soft blanket over him, and the soup had been hot, but he was still shivering and his fingers and toes, especially, were still frigid. He raised his hands to breathe on them, but even that helped only for a moment.
Who were they? Why were they being kind to him? Or was this some kind of game? He didn't think it was his owner, since he had never been subtle or devious in his punishments, but his dad's enemies might do this, even if his dad was long dead. Or if it wasn't a game, what did they want? He raised a hand to his face and felt a sudden shock at touching soft cloth bandages rather than the ridged cuts.
He was so tired that he couldn't think clearly, but his mind was so restless and his chest felt like it had been stuffed with wet towels. He gripped the soft blanket tightly, letting go only when his fingers hurt intolerably. He wanted to feel warm, he wanted the pain to stop. Maybe they hadn't wanted to help him by taking him away from the market. It would have been a quick bullet in his head and everything would have been over. At best, he'd have been with his family again. At worst, he wouldn't have been in any more pain.
But then...Kurt's eyes shone with tears for him. His hands had been so gentle and his voice was so comforting. Rachel's eyes had been so soft and her mouth had been so tender when she looked at him. Maybe there was enough kindness in the world to make living better than dying.
Just as that thought nearly soothed him into sleep, he heard loud voices from above. Shouting, even the sound of a chair being scraped angrily along the floor. He pressed himself more deeply into the mattress, though he knew it would be no refuge.
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"I cannot believe you did this, Kurt!" Burt knew he was repeating himself but there was no other way to express his outrage. Kurt had betrayed what they believed in. Kurt had put money, his money, into a slave dealer's pocket.
"Dad, he was going to be murdered right there!"
"And because you bought him, that's money that will go to more captures, to drawing more people into the business, to supporting the whole filthy thing!" Burt slammed his hands on the table. "How could you do that, Kurt?"
Rachel tried to speak up yet again, this time getting into a pause long enough to nearly finish. "Mr. Hummel, while it was supporting the trade, it was such a small amou-" That enraged him even more. The amount was irrelevant.
"I don't care how large or small it was. Are either of you ever going to be credible on the topic, will I ever be credible again if, no, when it gets out that you bought a slave? You don't even know if he's freeable or not!" He threw up his hands in disgust. That his own son, that Kurt would do this...
He felt a wave of rage that urged violence, but reminded himself that the only ones there were Kurt and Rachel. He couldn't stay in the same room with them, couldn't even look at their faces as long as he was this outraged. He shoved past Kurt to lock himself in the den.
Finn had been putting up the new shelves in the garage and came in, looking concerned. "I heard Burt shouting, what's wrong?" Kurt was beet-red and Rachel was on the brink of tears.
"Apparently it's wrong to try to save somebody's life," Kurt announced, his voice haughtier than usual.
"Huh?"
"Finn, we took a shortcut through the slave market, and there was this boy, our age, and the dealer was going to kill him because he was sick and hurt, and-" Rachel broke off sobbing and buried her head in his chest.
"I bought him to keep the dealer from shooting him on the spot. Finn, he was so scared and sick and he'd been abused so much, I couldn't just let somebody blow out his brains onto the ground, I couldn't!"
"So what happened?"
"I bought him," Kurt confessed. "It was just five..."
Finn let out a deep breath. "Rach?"
"I concurred with Kurt's decision. It's a matter of principle and ordinarily I stand firm, but..."
Finn frowned. "Is he cute or something?" He instinctively knew that that would make it so much worse for Burt, if that had been a consideration.
"No, Finn," Kurt answered, still very precisely and peevishly. "His last owner used his face for a cutting board, it would appear and he was obviously starved. Quite literally. He is not 'cute'."
Finn held his hands up appeasingly. "I just had to ask."
Kurt suddenly sounded disconsolate. "Now Dad won't even want to talk to me. I know that on principle, it was wrong, but, Finn, he was lying on the ground shivering and he's just our age. I'd have wanted somebody to save me."
Finn swallowed hard. His problem was that he could see both sides, but then, there was a side that made Rachel cry and there was a side that didn't. He knew which side he was going to be on.
"Maybe I can talk to Burt later," Finn offered, wishing that this wasn't part of being a good boyfriend. He looked around. "Uh, where is he? The guy, I mean?"
Rachel sighed. "He says his name is Blaine. He's downstairs. But he's resting." She stared down, and Finn could see she was fighting more tears. "I hope."
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Burt stared angrily at nothing as he sat down and tried to think about what he could do about the situation.
Kurt had bought a slave.
Burt was angry and disappointed and now that he was alone and could admit it to himself, more than a little scared. If Kurt had started to go down a dark path with this, or even if it inadvertantly led Kurt down a dark path, Burt didn't think that he could live with it.
Kurt had bought a slave. Rachel, whom he had trusted and come to care about like a daughter, hadn't stopped him. Instead, she'd helped him.
Kurt had bought a slave.
He tried to distract himself by looking at the newspaper, which he still insisted on getting in real paper form. But he put down his beloved sports section, which might as well have been written in backwards Chinese as far as he was following it, and got up. He might as well know the worst, take a look at...the slave that his son had bought.
He heard Kurt and Finn and Rachel talking in the kitchen and walked around the other way to the basement stairs. Each step filled him with more dread and anger.
It wasn't even about him, but he knew that he had potential in leading the anti-slavery movement. He was as ordinary an American as you can get, a small business owner who was doing well. He'd have been a credible voice so that it wouldn't have been just the "elites" or whatever else the hell they called slavery opponents. And Kurt had punctured that with one rash decision. At least Burt hoped to God it was rash.
He opened Kurt's bedroom door and heard a stricken gasp. He flicked on the overhead light and stared at the boy sitting bolt upright in Kurt's bed, staring at him in pure terror. The boy's face was a mass of deep cuts and bandages, and the hand that clutched the blanket to his chest was skeletal.
He stepped closer. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." The kid still shrank away, tracking every movement he made with panic-stricken eyes. "Seriously," he said, almost nauseated by the boy's dread. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe. I'm Kurt's father."
So many emotions rushed through him when at the last sentence, the kid's horrified expression eased slightly, though he was still obviously nightmarishly afraid. He had to admit that amid the anger and disappointment and his own fear, as well as indignation and an almost-painful compassion, there was a tiny, tiny element of pride that somehow, however it was, Kurt had earned enough trust from this frightened, tortured boy that simply saying he was Kurt's father was enough to allay his fear.
Burt came a few steps closer but still keeping a distance. He noticed that the boy occasionally shivered and fervently hoped that it was just from his illness. "Do you want another blanket?" He had to keep his voice calm as he asked and keep from showing his anger when he realized that Blaine was trying to guess what the right answer would be. Rather than make the boy guess, he said, still calmly, "There's a spare in the linen closet, I'll get it for you."
He returned with it and unfolded it over Blaine as another coughing spell caught him. Burt had to restrain himself from pulling Blaine into a comforting hug, as he had so often when Kurt was younger and sick. The kid seemed less nervous of him so he stayed near the bed as he spoke. "We'll get you to a doctor tomorrow. If there's anything you want or need, I want you to ask for it. Under my roof, Blaine, you are a free man and our guest."
Blaine looked away. "I'm...I'm not freeable."
Burt repeated, "Under my roof, you are a free man." Blaine returned his gaze to Burt and looked at him, first in utter disbelief, and then in what looked like comprehension and relief. Burt swallowed hard and left, telling himself that it was so he wouldn't make Blaine uncomfortable by staying, but pausing on the way upstairs to wipe his eyes.
He returned to the kitchen but raised a hand to forestall any of the teens from talking. "I just talked to him. Kurt, Rachel...I can't approve of what you've done, but I have to admit...I'm not positive that I could have walked away, either." Kurt smiled shakily in relief. "The situation is what it is now and there's not anything we can do about it."
Rachel stepped forward. "Actually, Mr. Hummel, we came up with an idea that would at least lessen the apparent hypocrisy. We can say that we are documenting the life of an enslaved person who would have been murdered for being sick and disfigured. I'm a very accomplished writer and can make this into a very moving and convincing documentary."
Burt considered it briefly. "Good idea." Rachel beamed and started rattling on about storyboards as he went over to Kurt. "Okay, son?" he asked quietly. Kurt looked up at him and smiled. "I'm sorry if I messed anything up," he murmured. Burt shook his head, gripping his son's shoulders. "Like I said, I'm not sure that I wouldn't have done the exact same thing, so I can't really blame you."
Burt reached for the phone and then pulled his hand back. For the sixth time in less than ten minutes. Blaine obviously needed medical attention. But was Bill Cooper the right one? Maybe he should just take him to their regular doctor. But then Bill would be sure not to hurt the kid...oh, forget it, he was over-thinking the whole thing.
"Bill?"
"How're you doing, you old troublemaker?"
"Hanging in there, how about you?"
"Can't complain, nobody'd listen."
"I've got a bit of a situation. Kurt lost his mind and bought an actual slave. Wait, it's not that bad, he saw a dealer about to kill a kid who wasn't worth keeping alive."
"Damn," he heard Bill breathe, shakily.
"The kid's really sick, he got carved up, too. Can I bring him in tomorrow?"
"I don't have any openings tomorrow, I'm covering for one of my partners, but if you call the office, they'll book you with somebody for tomorrow."
Burt had to be incredibly careful about how he worded this. "I want you to do it, you're the one who's taken care of my family all this time." He hoped that Bill picked up the message but that nobody else would. Maybe they were paranoid that their phones might be bugged...but maybe they weren't.
"Okay, if it's that important. Come in while they're opening up, 6:30."
"Thanks, Bill, I knew I could count on you."
He hung up and called to Kurt. "Bill Cooper will see Blaine tomorrow. I got a 6:30 before things get really busy." Kurt's eyes and mouth rounded in surprise. "I thought Bill would be the best one to take care of him."
Burt got into the habit of getting up early when he was in the Army and never quite lost it. So when he woke up at 4:00 and was still awake at 4:30, he figured he might as well get up. Carole and her sister were still away on their spa weekend, so it wasn't as though he had any incentive to stay in bed.
He caught himself grinning like some lovestruck teen when he thought about Carole. Part of him said that it was pretty odd for a man of his age acting like an adolescent but all the rest of him said that when a man's that lucky, why shouldn't he grin like an idiot? Especially since he had the rest of his family. Kurt and he had finally managed to roll out most of the bumps in their relationship and Finn was a great kid.
His sense of satisfaction didn't exactly fade but it moved into the background as he remembered Kurt and Rachel's latest stunt. He meant it when he said that he's not sure that he could have walked by and let that poor kid's brains get blown out, but, dammit, that was why he never went near the market. So as not to get into those situations.
Well, at least coffee would make the situation better, and the advantage of being the first up meant that Kurt didn't have a chance to make him put mostly decaf in the coffee pot. He'd put in just enough decaf to say that of course he made it with decaf. As he told Kurt and the doctor, for all they knew, the next medical study would say that regular coffee was better for your heart than decaf, anyway.
Of course he groused about Kurt fussing over what he ate and drank, but part of him kind of liked watching Kurt do it. His little boy was turning into a grown man, and he'd seen that more than a few times. Though he had to admit that in the Army, none of the guys ever came back from a mission saying that they desperately needed a cucumber facial to recover.
He grinned at the sight of Kurt sleeping on the couch. Kurt still had crazy bed head, even if he hated being reminded of how his hair always stood straight up, and really shot him the death glare when Burt showed Kurt's friends pictures of him like that. He was just exercising his right to embarrass the heck of his son, even if he'd long since given up the mental image of showing those pictures to Kurt's girlfriends. He wasn't even sure what a boyfriend would do, would he be all "awwwwww" and tell Kurt that he was just adorable the way a girl would? Or would it just be awkward?
Kurt's little travel alarm went off and Burt glanced at the clock. It was only 4:45 and they weren't taking Blaine to Bill Cooper until 6:30. Kurt's hand flopped around like a fish on the dock until it hit the alarm clock, pretty much at random as far as Burt could tell.
"Morning, son."
"Dad? What are you doing up so early?"
"I just woke up, decided to come down."
Kurt sniffed suspiciously. "Dad, did you make that with decaf?"
"Course, Kurt, I know what the cardiologist said. And what are you doing up so early?"
"I still have my morning routines, you know," Kurt sniffed.
"I'd better go shower then." If you were in a hurry to get anywhere, you never, ever let Kurt get into the shower before you did. When he had the extra full bathroom installed downstairs, the cost justification wasn't about resale value, it was about not needing a shrink from sharing a bathroom with Kurt any more. He paused on his way back upstairs. "Hear anything from Blaine during the night?"
Kurt shook his head. "Sometimes I heard him coughing, but that was it."
"Couldn't hurt to check on him." Kurt nodded, put his slippers on, and padded down the stairs.
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There was just barely enough light from the alley coming around the blinds that Kurt could generally make out the room. When he saw that the bed was empty, he first rubbed his eyes to make sure that he hadn't just been mistaken by the crumpled blanket. Next, he knocked, lightly, on the closed bathroom door. No response.
He threw his head back and closed his eyes in misery. Had Blaine run away? Had he been that frightened and suspicious that the near-certainty of dying from untreated illnesses and injuries somehow seemed better than staying? If the police found him first, would Blaine even tell them who had purchased him? Or would he let them think he was a runaway slave and endure whatever brutality they'd unleash?
Kurt had always been an easy crier and a combination of frustration, anger, and misery at the thought of Blaine hiding, in pain, terrified, and all so unnecessarily now made it impossible even to fight the tears prickling at his eyes. He turned to go back upstairs to tell Burt what had happened when he had the sensation of being watched.
He turned on the overhead light and gaped as he saw Blaine, a blanket wrapped around him, half-sitting, half-lying on one hip, watching him cautiously from a corner of the room that had been entirely dark when the room was lit only by what crept in through the window.
"Blaine? What's going on?"
Blaine didn't answer Kurt at first and so Kurt turned on a table lamp to be able to see him better. Blaine was shivering and Kurt wondered how long he had been huddling there.
He wondered if pretending that nothing unusual was happening might work. "Dad and I will take you to the doctor in about an hour and a half. He's really nice, he's been our family doctor since I was born." Kurt stepped closer to the wall and slid down to a sitting position a few feet from Blaine, who was still watching him intently. "Since my pajamas fit you, I bet the rest of my clothing will, too." The clothing from his lumberjack phase would be loose and wouldn't press on any cuts or bruises.
Blaine looked like he was getting ready to say something, so Kurt waited, trying to look encouraging. Finally, Blaine burst out, "Please, Kurt, sir, please, please tell me what's happening, what you're planning to do."
Kurt hated that "sir" but that wasn't the important thing now. "I promise you, honestly, we just want to help you. We'll take care of you. I don't know what would convince me, either, if our places were reversed, but believe me, Blaine, we do want to help you."
"Why?" Blaine whispered, his eyes searching Kurt's. "Why me?"
"This is going to sound so strange, but oh, well. First, my mom and dad hated slavery and raised me to hate it, too. But why you, that's where it gets strange. Rachel and I were just cutting through the market, we were late, and I heard this voice singing. I just had to know who it was and I followed it. It was you singing. It seemed, oh, not that I believe in a god or a religion, but it seemed like a miracle that I was able to help you then." He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "The rest, as they say, is history."
Blaine stared at him. "I...I hadn't sung in years. But I was dreaming or maybe I was just, I don't know, seeing things. My...my father and I used to sing together when, when he was alive. I saw him, Kurt, and he started singing to me...and I started to sing along..." He was shaking with tears and Kurt inched closer, reaching out to him with one hand, trying not to spook Blaine. Instead, Blaine leaned towards him, and as Kurt drew nearer, he almost launched himself at Kurt, burying his face in Kurt's chest and sobbing.
Kurt, as delicately as possible, patted his shoulders and back. He was afraid that any contact beyond that could either hurt or intimidate Blaine, or feel like an act of control. He was feeling relieved that finally, Blaine did seem to believe fully that he was safe from maltreatment, but then made out the words between Blaine's sobs. "I don't deserve this."
And yet another issue I am not qualified to deal with comes up. Oh, joy. Kurt was keeping his inner snark on full power so as not to break down himself. He let Blaine keep crying on his chest until the sobs turned into sniffles, which was always, at least for him, the sign that full-scale embarrassment was only minutes away. He sneaked a glance at the clock and saw that it was already 5:30.
"Blaine, we need to leave for the doctor's office in about half an hour. Let's go upstairs and get some breakfast, okay?"
He helped Blaine to a standing position and then up the stairs, noting to himself that this was the fourth time since he'd begun high school that he'd be leaving the house in the morning without even a shower, let alone paying proper attention to getting dressed or his hair.
Once in the kitchen, he had the same difficulties with trying to coax Blaine into expressing any kind of opinion or request for breakfast, so finally gave him the same fruit and toast that he prepared for himself. Again, Blaine barely nibbled at the food, Kurt was able to persuade him into a few more bites, and then he looked as though any more would make him sick. He had no idea if the problem was physical, psychological, or both, but at least Dr. Cooper would be able to help figure out the first.
Burt returned to the kitchen, "You guys about ready?" Kurt looked at the other boy, who had lowered his head and drawn in on himself. Kurt marveled at how, without barely moving, Blaine could make himself seem so small and unobtrusive, even barely noticeable. Most likely it had been a survival skill, he decided, bitterly. "Is there anything else you want, Blaine, before we go?" Blaine shook his head, barely perceptibly, and Kurt again supported him on the way to the SUV.
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Dr. Cooper was waiting for them at the office. The medical building was almost entirely empty. Kurt smiled a warm welcome at him and the doctor greeted Blaine with a warm, "Blaine? I'm Bill Cooper. I'll be taking a look at you and helping get you patched back together." He led them into his office and stopped in the empty, dark lobby. "Do you want somebody in the examining room with you?" Blaine again lowered his eyes, but Kurt guessed, hoping that he was right, said a quick, "I can come help you with anything," and Blaine's quick glance at him seemed to be grateful.
Kurt helped him get into the hospital gown in the examining room and the doctor returned after a few moments. After listening to Blaine's lungs, he took blood for testing and started a careful, though examination. Blaine had started to shiver again during the exam and Kurt, not knowing what might help ease him, simply caught his eye and tried to smile sympathetically. He couldn't read Blaine's answering look and was actually relieved when Dr. Cooper started to examine the cuts on Blaine's face.
"Was it a knife that did this?" he asked.
"No," Blaine said, in a subdued voice. "It was broken glass."
The doctor nodded, "That explains why they're so wide. Did any of the glass break in any of these?"
"I don't remember."
"Not a problem. I'm going to give you some local anesthetic and I'll clean these and stitch them up.” When the doctor finished with that, he continued to tend to the rest of Blaine's injuries, draining infected cuts, cleaning and stitching where needed. Blaine seemed to be in far less physical discomfort as he went on, though he still switched between seeking and avoiding any kind of eye contact with Kurt.
“All done with that,” Dr. Cooper announced, “I just need some x-rays, we can splint your hands, see what would work best for your foot, and then you can get out of here.”
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To keep chronological order, the fic continues in the comments. And hey, thanks for reading so far!