Glee 1. Chapter 1

**Okay. Okay. This is going to be long. Oh my gosh… I'm freaking out. Like, normally, I just put my little thoughts as ANs because I do enjoy talking to you guys, even if you don't pay a lick of attention, but holy CRAP, I'm so scared about this. Don't judge me, don't judge me, don't judge me…**

**Right. So.**

**My friend Gen was like "we should write prostitution fics" and I was like "…" and she was all "WE'RE DOING IT!" and I was like "!" and now, here I am, and I can't figure out how to do this without it being a multichapter, but… oh no. Oh NO! **

**So yeah. This isn't going to have any M rated content at all because… ew. Fine for other people, but not for me. **

**Just tell me if the fact that this is his JOB should make it be rated M, kay? Cause… cause this is all about emotions, not like… the actual more graphic stuff… you know what I mean. I'm scared. Okay. Let's do this. Here we go. Awesome. Ready? OKAY.**

_Hot tears rolled down Blaine's cheeks. He didn't get it. He just wanted to be_ home_. He didn't _like it_ here. He wanted to go play, but everybody kept acting like that was a bad thing. They didn't want him to play anymore. Blaine did think that some games were funner than others, but this place wasn't fun at all. The chairs hurt to sit on, people kept getting yelled at for yelling, and his grandma just kept crying and crying…_

_Grown ups weren't supposed to cry._

_He just wanted to be _home_. He hadn't been home in a very long time. His grandma wouldn't let him. She kept saying that home wasn't good, that home was dangerous, but Blaine didn't understand. Every time he asked when he got to go back, she would cry and tell him that it wasn't okay for him to keep being hurt._

_And that was another thing Blaine didn't understand. He knew that sometimes when he played with his dad, he ended up with bruises or sometimes scratches, but didn't every kid get that? At kindergarten he sometimes tripped or fell and skinned his knee, and that sometimes hurt more than a bruise, but his grammy kept letting him _go _there. Blaine just wanted to go home._

"_Blaine," said one of the scary men who had been sitting next to his grandma. "Did your father give you these bruises?" he asked, pointing to a picture of him in just his underwear. Blaine hadn't liked getting that picture taken. They made him pose funny, and it had been cold despite how many people were staring and looking at him. He wiped his running nose off on his sleeve._

"_We were just playing," he murmured. He didn't want to answer this guy. He had just made his grammy sit where he was, and all of his questions had made her cry. Blaine was already crying. He didn't want to cry anymore. The man frowned, and leaned over the little bannister between them._

"_But, son, did it hurt when he played with you?" he asked. "Is that how you got all these booboos?" Blaine frowned. How old did this guy think he was? "Booboos" were for two-year-olds. He was six, thank you very much. He cast a glance at his daddy, who was handcuffed to the table he was sitting at, and then to his grandma, who was nodding sadly at the ground as tears ran down her face. Blaine gulped. He just wanted to go_ home_._

"_Yes," he answered quietly. He had just sworn on the bible to tell the truth. He didn't want to be bad. His daddy would be okay with that, right? Hopefully, he would be happy. They played Blaine's least favorite game a lot when he was unhappy. That was the one that he didn't play with his school friends. Daddy said that was just for them. Blaine wished it was just for _him_. He didn't want to play that game._

"_And how does he do that, Blaine? When you're playing?" the man asked, and Blaine threw a look at the older man sitting up in the little box next to him. He reminded him of his grandpa a little bit, but his grandpa was taking a nap for a really long time; he knew that. His grandma called him "the judge". Blaine didn't know what he was judging. He had seen things like this on TV sometimes, but normally the judge would bang his gavel and there were less questions. Blaine whimpered._

"_I don't know. He just hurts," Blaine answered honestly because his daddy _did_ hurt when he went inside him, and he _did_ hurt when he held him to close, and he _did _hurt when he pushed his head down so his daddy could have… what's the word… 'four plays'? Blaine wasn't sure that was right… He didn't like that one very much. "He makes me hurt all outside and inside." _

_There was lots of bustling in the room after that, and Blaine sunk down in his chair. Everyone was looking at him weird. He just wanted to go home… The scary man sort of straightened up and walked away from him for a minute as everybody else quieted down. As soon as the room was silent again, Blaine was asked another question. "Do you ever tell him that it hurts?" he interrogated, and Blaine bit his lip. What was going on? Was his daddy in trouble? Grammy said that he was going to get a very long time out for hurting him, but… but it had already seemed like a very long time for him to be away, and even if his dad got mad sometimes, he did miss him quite a bit._

"_It doesn't matter," Blaine said quietly, and the angry look on his dad's face sent guilt creeping into his heart. What was he doing wrong? What was happening?_

"_Why not, Blaine?" the man asked, and Blaine looked to his toes and then back up at his dad, his answer falling slowly out of his mouth._

"_Because he doesn't stop when I tell him to," he replied, and then all of a sudden, Blaine was being whisked away from his own little table and chair from the front of the room and looking over a stranger's shoulder at his dad, meeting his eyes for the last time…_

* * *

><p>Blaine Anderson popped his gum loudly. He knew he probably shouldn't be chewing like a cow on the job –seriously unattractive to literally everybody, thank you- but really? This was ridiculous. It was 1 A.M. on a Tuesday night in nowhere Ohio. Nothing was happening, and nothing was <em>going<em> to happen.

But that didn't mean he could loose hope.

So yeah, he was _rocking_ this street corner –_his_ street corner- until the sun rose over his head. That, or until the sharp, red stilettos he was wearing actually made his feet bleed. While, admittedly, the horrid things managed to pinch and bite at him no matter how many times he wore them, Blaine had to admit they looked _fierce_ paired up with his skinny jeans, slightly rolled at the cuff.

Suddenly –thankfully- a car rolled up to his curb, the tinted window slowly rolling down. Blaine plastered a grin on his face, steeling himself to the hideous, weather beaten face of the middle-aged guy sure to be hiding behind the wheel of the Navigator he was driving. Blaine had this down to a science. The usual guy, plus the usual motel, plus the usual flip of the tongue, and he would be a thousand dollars richer. No big deal.

Except the boy who had stopped by was _not_ his usual guy. In fact… he was anything _but_ usual. Blaine couldn't help but falter a bit at the beautiful face leaning towards him, eyebrows furrowed together quizzically.

Wait… what?

His eyes… Oh gosh, his _eyes._

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. _Okay_.

"What can I do for you, Love?" Blaine asked, trying to keep his cool, voice low and sultry. He was actually a little bit disappointed. People who hired him weren't supposed to be beautiful. Not only was that _not_ what he deserved, but… Blaine didn't like when attractive people bought him out. It made him feel like… like, _everything_ was sleazy, not just him and the other obviously slimy people of the world. He wrung his hands together. Funny. He almost never got performance anxiety…

"You can answer a question, actually," the boy inside the car said, his blue eyes sparkling, and… oh… the entire interior of his car smelled like him. Blaine couldn't help but catch the scent as it poured out the window. Again, he couldn't help but be disappointed. Blaine barely stifled the sigh that forced its way out of him as he gave the answer he knew the _angel_ in the car wanted.

"I basically call it at a grand per job, but if you're expecting any kind of _cuddling_ afterwards, then you're paying an extra five hundred dollars and hour. This is _my_ work time, even if it's only _your_ play time," he replied, calmly, but frowned. "You know, you seem like a pretty good kid. I don't really think you should be doing this," he tried a bit desperately before the other boy snatched him up and carted him away. As much as he _needed_ a payday and this would probably be his last opportunity for a while, he couldn't help but hate the idea of this kid getting himself into anything. Also, like… his hair…? So perfect. And he wasn't even _trying_ to get bought up.

"Okay, first? Kid? N-no. I'm totally older than you; I don't even know what you're saying," he said snappily, eyes hard, and Blaine sort of felt a bit exposed by the way he was yelling at him, but then the stranger's eyes softened. "And second, what? I was just going to ask you what you do on this street corner because every time I drive by here at night no matter what time it i- _oh._" He had cut himself off effectively as his eyes widened in realization. "_Oh_. I should have gotten that. Okay, I'm sorry… Okay. _Okay_. I'm just gonna go. Ack, I'm sorry," he rambled.

Guilt settled into the pit of Blaine's stomach. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but every time it did… it managed to make him feel terrible about himself. But this was his life. And, you know, sex was never really a big deal for him. It was just a game, right? A _game_. So why not make a living out of it? But then there were moments like these, and well… This was never fun.

The Navigator's window started to fly up a little too slowly, obviously, for the other boy's liking, and Blaine stuffed his hand in the window. He didn't know why; he wished he hadn't, especially when the kid at the wheel looked up at him in horror. Gah, he hadn't wanted to freak him out… He didn't want to be scary…

"Oh, um…" He gave a little laugh, feeling awkward and a little nauseous. Crap, he had really surprised himself with this one… "My name's Blaine, by the way," he introduced himself uncomfortably, pulling his hand away from the stilled window. The stranger's expression lightened, and Blaine found himself being smiled at.

"Kurt," he said with a little wave of the hand at himself and drove away. Blaine grinned. _Kurt_. He'd remember that one…

And it was a good thing he had.

* * *

><p>Blaine gritted his teeth together. Okay, now <em>that<em> had been his usual. The guy had been about fifty years old, as big as a mountain, and apparently determined to "rock his world" as he claimed he was doing as he sent the bed shaking.

Here's the thing Blaine would like to get across to all men, straight and gay alike: if the person you're going at would rather chop their entire lower abdomen straight off than endure another moment in bed with you, than clearly you're doing something wrong.

But whatever. Blaine could handle this. He had always been able to handle this. Little four-year-old him did this every other month for two years without knowing what was up. Now he was grown, and he _did_ know, and –yeah- he could handle this. At least, that was what he told himself as he limped back to his usual corner, too afraid that a costumer would come looking for him without him there. Maybe he actually _did_ hope no one else would show up… Gah, it didn't usually _hurt_ this bad.

Blaine had only been standing at his corner for about five minutes when he felt something wet rush down his leg. He didn't think much of it. However, he had only been standing there for about _seven_ minutes when he heard a slightly familiar voice call out to him, "Oh my- _Blaine! _ Are you okay?"

He whirled around to see the boy from the other night darting out of his car –parked next to his curb- and opening up the passenger side of his Navigator, snagging a towel from the back and doubling it over the seat. "Kurt?" he asked, confused. He remembered him? And wasn't he okay?

"Yes. Wait, no… _You_," he yelped, looking beyond flustered. "Do you know you're bleeding?" he asked, and Blaine frowned, twisting a bit and noticing the red staining down the leg of his white jeans. Well, that wasn't coming out… Suddenly, Kurt's hands were on his shoulders as he pushed him into his car, and Blaine had never felt more dirty or untouchable in his life. _Oh, please get off me. Don't touch me… You shouldn't touch me…_ "Get in. We're going to the hospital." Blaine let himself soak in the scent of Kurt lingering inside the car before scrambling out.

"No. They don't really do much there. I'm sure I'll be fine… I can't let that all be for nothing," he explained, and Kurt arched an eyebrow at him. He seemed stressed.

"What are you… No! You have to go to the hospital. You could need stitches… up in… _there_. That's not nothing!" he exclaimed, and Blaine rubbed his temples, suddenly feeling too dizzy to stand. He fought through it. Blaine was good at fighting through things.

"No, I mean… I just got paid. If I go to the hospital, they'll just take what I earned. I can't… I can't pay for that," he said, and Kurt appeared to be at a loss. He floundered for a second.

"But… But insuranc-" he tried, but Blaine laughed, effectively cutting him off.

"Ha, I'm pretty sure even if I _had_ insurance, that they'd be pretty sick of me by now," he said with a poorly concealed smile. Kurt looked confused, so Blaine filled in the blanks. "I'd most definitely be on a repeat offender list somewhere," he explained, and the blush that coated Kurt's face was downright adorable and _completely_ embarrassing for Blaine. Whatever. This came with the job… it came with the job…

"Wha~a? But… No, I… But…" Kurt stammered for a minute before setting his jaw. "No, you have to go to the hospital," he said, and Blaine couldn't agree more, as the world seemed to be spinning beneath him like a top –or was he the one spinning? Whatever. What was he to do? "I'll pay _for_ you," he said, and suddenly the world was still.

"No, Kurt, you can't-" he attempted to refuse him, but Kurt just glared.

"What, offer money to a friend? Get over yourself, and get in the car. You are getting checked out if it's the last thing you do, Blaine… Blaine…" He bit his lip, and his cheeks flushed red again. "I'm sorry, what's your last name?" he asked, and Blaine grinned.

"Anderson," he responded, and Kurt nodded with a smile.

"Blaine Anderson," he completed, looking a bit pleased with himself. "There, see? I know your full name. We're officially friends." Blaine's heart swelled for a minute before deflating faster than a popped balloon because… No. No, he and Kurt were most definitely not friends. Blaine could tell –he could _tell_- that Kurt was probably one of the most fantastic people living, and Blaine was… he was filthy. Normally he was okay with being filthy. Like, whatever… but then… then he was lonely, and it wasn't so fun anymore.

He got in the car and buckled his seatbelt, more than a little alarmed when Kurt sped through the red light at his corner, whipping around turns as they made the rather short drive to the hospital. Blaine cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering if he should say something, but… yeah. There wasn't actually much to say. Plus, Kurt seemed really concentrated on the road, clearly determined to change the ten-minute drive to the hospital into a thirty second one.

They pulled up, and Blaine hopped out of the car. "Okay, well, thank you. Goodbye, I suppose…" he said with a wave as he closed the door, but Kurt just laughed, rolling down the window.

"Go inside, and tell them you're name. I'll be right there… Like I would leave… I'm _paying_," he said light-heartedly, and now it was Blaine's turn to flush red. He followed Kurt's instructions to a T, and considering he was bleeding from a very… controversial place for a boy to be bleeding, the hospital took him back right away, letting him get through his examination before Kurt even had a chance to find his room. He was lying on his side in a rather covering –thank goodness- hospital gown when the other boy showed up.

"Seven stitches," he answered before he could even ask, voice slightly slurring from painkillers, and Kurt's eyes widened before he put on a smirk.

"Told you," he said, sticking out his tongue, and Blaine would have loved to stick his own right back at him, but he figured that _him_ sticking his tongue out might be a little… _weird_. For everyone. There was an awkward pause, and Kurt scratched the back of his neck, sweater tightening admittedly deliciously across his chest with the action. The kid definitely had some muscle. "Okay, so… so do you want me with you, or…" he trailed off, and Blaine didn't know the answer to that one.

"Um… well, I'm allowed to leave in just a little bit cause they sort of want me out of here and all… But…" he felt really terrible asking this after all Kurt had done for him, but… crap, everything just _hurt_ so _bad_, and really? No matter how early you started or how many times you had done it, there was no getting used to this. "Would you mind driving me home?" he asked, and Kurt nodded.

"Sure!" he answered, and soon they were headed out the front doors together. The ride was basically silent, aside from Blaine's directions, and soon they were pulled up in front of his embarrassment of a home. Ugh, Lima Heights… Yeah, not the ideal living place. But it was the best he could do. He tried to ignore the fact that he was forcing his grandma to live inside the mildew infested walls of his tiny apartment. Kurt frowned. "You live in that one?" he asked, pointing to the only darkened floor near the top of the building. Blaine shook his head.

"Actually, I live on the first floor. My grandma can't really make it up the stairs," he said, and Kurt just nodded, lips drawn tightly together in understanding. Blaine hopped out of the car, trying to ignore the rust-colored stain on the towel Kurt had left out for him to sit on earlier. "Kay, thank you…" he said awkwardly. Now what? 'See you later'? He probably wouldn't…

"No problem. See you later!" Kurt said, leaving Blaine floored before he pulled out of the parking lot for his row of apartments and made his way out of the complex. Blaine sighed. Why did life have to be so complicated?

* * *

><p>"Don't come back this time, huh?" Blaine's grandma called out to him as he tried to slip unnoticed through the front door. She said that kind of thing all the time, but it still managed to send a pang of… gah, <em>something<em> through his heart with each repetition.

"I'm sorry, Grammy," he muttered under his breath as he clicked the door closed behind him. And he _was_ sorry. He was _sorry_ for being gay; he was _sorry_ he didn't see point in not getting paid for something he didn't like; he was _sorry_ he didn't turn out to be everything she had expected… But sorry covered their bills, and his gram didn't have another way of doing that.

Blaine didn't want a lot out of life, but for one second –one _tiny _second- he wanted to be loved again. He never got to be _loved_. Not anymore. He just wanted his grandma to forgive him because… He knew. He _knew_ he had done wrong, but he couldn't _stop_.

This was who he was. This is what he was _meant_ for. His dad had gotten it, Blaine had gotten it, and how his grandma just needed to get it, too. He couldn't be anything else. This was who the world obviously intended for him to be. What else could he have been? He was filthy and used. When it came to people like him, there was no point in trying to act clean.

He was a _mess._

There was no point in denying it.

* * *

><p>Blaine liked Kurt thinking they were friends, even if they could never actually be. Every time he drove by in his car, he managed to give Blaine a little wave as he turned the corner. He almost wished he would stop to talk, but then he remembered his place and how he was <em>working<em> so, no, that wouldn't do.

He was currently standing at his corner, heels digging into his feet painfully. This was stupid… Why couldn't his signature be something like… a pair of pink sunglasses or a bowtie for everyday of the week? Something that _didn't_ make him want to amputate his limbs. Literally, anything in that department would work. There were so many options out there… But changing now would be biting off a bit more than Blaine could chew.

Blaine wasn't sure what time it was when the hands grabbed him from behind, but he did know he was at least partially prepared for it. Sure, he screamed like a banshee into the hand covering his mouth, but this was Lima, Ohio. He had been expecting something along these lines since he started this job, and it's not like this would be the first time it had happened.

He felt himself being dragged off, but suddenly, the hands on his body backed off as quickly as they came on. What? What kind of gay bashing was this? Blaine opened his eyes, having just realized they were shut tightly closed, looking around for soon to be flying fists, ears ready to block out the insults sure to be flung his way. His jaw hurt from how tightly they had been holding onto him, as did his shoulders and arms. His body was tense until he took in two very familiar faces.

One was Kurt's. Not a shocker.

The other belonged to a man Blaine didn't actually know, but he was always riding in Kurt's car with him. He was a bit older, definitely balding beneath the baseball cap he had hiding his head, and he looked beyond sympathetic. That was a particularly weird and confusing look for Blaine to receive from someone the man's age, but he took what he could get.

"What?" he asked, a bit dazed and rather confused. Kurt laughed and ruffled his hair. Agh! What was this? The other boy acted like they went way back or something… Blaine had only spoken to him a total of, like, seven sentences in his life!

"Don't worry, they're all gone," Kurt said, not really explaining much of anything, but –again- Blaine took what he could get. The man beside him, who Blaine now noticed had an aluminum bat held tightly in his hands, cleared his throat. Kurt flushed. "Oh, yeah. Blaine, this is my dad, Burt. Burt, this is Blaine. The one I told you about?" he clarified, and the man's –Burt's- eyes widened in realization as he eyed Blaine's shoes. Again, Blaine felt skeevy. The world was not meant for Blaines, and Blaines were not meant for the world.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Blaine said with a smile anyway, sticking out his hand to shake Burt's, but the older man recoiled a bit, the action obvious to Blaine despite the attempt to suppress it. Blaine let it roll off his shoulders. He liked Kurt a lot –he was sort of his only friend- so it kind of hit Blaine to get that reaction from his father, but he was a little more than used to it. His grandma wouldn't eat anything he made her, let alone sit on a chair he had been in before hand. There was literally a spot on the couch and a seat at the table where his gram wouldn't let him sit. Those were her 'clean spots'. "Thank you for helping me," he offered, dropping his hand comfortably.

"No problem, kiddo. It ain't right to hurt another person, no matter what the reason. Especially when they don't know the full story," Burt said, and Blaine watched as a wave of guilt washed over his face. Suddenly, he found himself completely enveloped in a hug. Was Kurt's family just made up of touchy people? Blaine slowly wrapped his arms around Burt for a second, trying to make sense of the situation. People Burt's age didn't really touch him like this… ever. Actually, people in general didn't really touch him like this. He couldn't help but lean his face into the man's shoulder, soaking in the hug.

Burt broke away after a couple moments, and Blaine caught Kurt looking at the pair of them approvingly. Blaine rubbed the back of his head and looked to the ground. "You're always saving me…" he murmured, and he saw Kurt smile softly at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm just glad someone is," he replied, and Blaine flushed. Kurt was so cute… The other boy's hand somehow managed to work it's way onto Blaine's shoulder, and he turned his head up to look him in the eyes. Kurt was giving him a rather upset look, and Blaine felt his stomach twist.

All too soon, the moment was gone, and Kurt was climbing back into his car. It was eleven o'clock at night. What had they been doing out in the first place? Kurt always seemed to be driving by his corner late at night, but he didn't seem to be much of a party-goer. Huh. Weird.

* * *

><p>It wasn't another two days before Blaine saw Kurt again. Naturally, he had been out on the sidewalk, waiting for someone to come to him, and the world seemed to answer his prayers. A yellow van parked at the stoplight, ignoring the green light reflecting on its hood. Blaine hated vans. They were so cramped; it made him feel claustrophobic. He should definitely charge extra…<p>

A rather seedy looking guy stepped out of the driver's seat. He was older, the top of his head balding but the rest of his hair long. Long enough to possibly tickle Blaine's shoulders as he lay underneath him. Ew. He _really_ didn't want _that hair_ touching him. It was dirty and gross.

But whatever. Money was money, and –again- this had never been a big deal for Blaine. He was used to being touched when he didn't want to be. It took a lot to throw him.

Blaine plastered on his biggest smile, waiting patiently as the guy made his way over, a creepy grin pasted on his face. Let's be real: some of his clients were scarier than others. Blaine didn't really have a preference. The guy was about to cross the last lane of traffic to get to Blaine, when a black Navigator screeched into a park next to the curb. Blaine was confused when Kurt sprung from the car and ran up to him.

"Hey, Blaine! How are you?" Kurt asked, looking a little flummoxed, and he wrapped an arm around Blaine's shoulders. The guy in the street looked at them, confused, before turning around and getting in his van. Blaine's heart leapt into his throat.

"Kurt! What are you doing?" he yelped, breaking free of Kurt's grasp and jogging up to his potential client's car, but it was already pulling away. Blaine felt his shoulders sag. "Crap, I _needed_ that guy!" he exclaimed and then shot a glare towards Kurt. "Why would you do that?" The taller boy bit his lip, eyes fixating on the lazily switching traffic light.

"I just… I didn't want you… I don't know," he settled on, and Blaine tried not to shout.

"Kurt, that was at least a thousand dollars that now I _don't have_. I _needed_ that," he said because –yes- there were expensive things out there that Blaine had to buy, such as all the ridiculous doctors appointments his gram kept setting up. He was already behind… Suddenly, his chest constricted a bit. Oh. Hell, no. Blaine was _not_ crying right now. He didn't cry. Not anymore. "I really, really _needed that_."

"I'm sorry, I just… I didn't want to see you hurt, again. I… I was saving yo-"

"Saving me?" Blaine cut him off, tears clogging his throat. "No you weren't; you were making things worse. Kurt… This is my _job_. I'm not going to get paid… I… I need _money_, Kurt. How… I _never_ get paid… and then I was going to, but… but why…? I-I-I…" Blaine broke off into sobs, and Kurt was hugging him. Blaine didn't like it. He didn't _want_ to be held by Kurt. He was perfect, and Blaine was dirty, and… and… Well, it didn't matter. This was his life. He was okay.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mess anything up, I just…" Kurt didn't finish his sentence. Blaine was crying too hard to really pay attention to it anyway. Crap, crap, _crap_. Blaine didn't cry. He _never_ cried… "Can I pay you? I'm using your time, I should pay you." Blaine just cried harder. "Wha- okay. Blaine. Would you just… come home with me? Not to do anything, just… just come home with me, I feel like… I feel like you need somewhere nice to spend the night," Kurt said, and Blaine sniffled, trying to catch a breath.

"I ha-have to take care of my gr-gram," he choked, and Kurt nodded. Blaine was vaguely aware of Kurt holding him close for a while before leading him to his car, sitting him down in the same seat he used that fateful day they became friends. Eventually, Kurt pulled up outside his house, and once again Blaine was being lead away again, but this time to his door.

"Mrs. Anderson?" Kurt called, and Blaine tried to tell him not to, but… Gah, see? This was why he didn't cry. "Mrs. Anderson?" Blaine watched through his tears as his grammy stepped out from behind the corner of the he hallway leading to the bedroom.

"What are you?" she asked rudely, and Blaine couldn't even find it within himself to be embarrassed by her. Why? Why didn't she care about him anymore? She used to love her little Blaine-a-bee! Why wouldn't she anymore? This… This was all for her…

"I'm a friend of your grandson's," Kurt said coolly, ignoring his grandmom's snort of disbelief. "He's rather upset, and I just thought-"

"Put him in his room. He'll get over it," she said with a wave of her hand, hobbling to her bedroom and closing the door despite Kurt's calls of protest. Blaine had never been so humiliated… His face felt hot, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was crying or because of how completely _mortified _he was. Kurt looked at him, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. It was obvious he wasn't comfortable with him or his house right now.

"So do you want me to-"

"Just put me in my room," Blaine hiccupped. It was hard to breathe. "Like she said." Kurt didn't look sold, but he did put him in his room. The shocked look on his face was enough to prove to Blaine that he was more than surprised by his lack of possessions. A mattress on the floor. He probably looked like a crack head.

Regardless, Kurt let him be and left the apartment, the door clicking behind him on his way out. And again? Blaine cried harder.

* * *

><p>Blaine's heart stopped a little bit at the sound of his doorbell. Who on earth would visit him? He was expecting anyone from some men in white coats to finally take him away to the bank ready to repossess his house once and for all. Well, anyone but one person.<p>

"Kurt?" he squeaked, thoroughly surprised. The boy seemed to melt a bit before him.

"Oh, thank goodness… I was so worried," Kurt gasped, flinging his arms around Blaine's neck. "I thought you were dead or something. You haven't been at your corner in, like, two weeks, and I… I was so worried!" He pulled away and held Blaine by the shoulders, looking into his eyes and sort of fussing with his clothes to get them back in order after he had hugged him. Of course, Blaine hadn't really been in order in the first place. "So? What's up? Did you get a new job? Are you doing well? It's weird not seeing you; you're such a constant to me," Kurt said, and Blaine watched his face as he took in his appearance. "Blaine?" Kurt asked, but he just clenched his jaw. "What happened?"

Blaine didn't say anything. Instead, he led Kurt deeper into his apartment. He could sense the other boy's nervousness behind him, but… gah. Blaine was used to things hurting like this… He was. Everything hurt just so freaking bad all the time, but he… He didn't know what he was _doing _anymore. What was he supposed to _do?_

He opened the door to his grandma's bedroom, stepping aside so Kurt could see in. The room was empty aside from an old, spindly bed and a little table by the side with a big, shiny silver urn sitting up on it. Kurt looked confused. "Wha-?"

"I didn't have enough money for a proper funeral," Blaine said quietly, and the way Kurt's beautiful, amazing, sapphire eyes widened was heartbreaking. However, as much as it hurt to see, Blaine didn't think he could find it within himself to do anything about it. He _never_ wanted to find _anyone_ dead like that again. _Never._

"But I-"

"I don't know what to do, Kurt," Blaine said, not really hearing him. "What… She's not here, and I'm _so scared_, but… but there's still bills to pay, and there's still _her_ bills to pay, and I don't… I'm not…" He cleared his throat. This time he _really_ wasn't going to cry. He _hated crying_. "I'm not _brave_ enough for this, Kurt. She's really gone, and she never… she never forgave me. I just wanted her to love me again…"

Naturally, Kurt pulled him into another hug that, yes, Blaine absolutely hated. He hated being touched… _hated it_, but he let Kurt hang onto him anyway. That's… that's just what you do…

"Blaine, I think… I don't think you should be alone like this anymore," he muttered into his ear, and Blaine awkwardly buried his nose into the crook of Kurt's neck, his body tense. "You've been alone so _long_. You need… you need love, okay? Come home with me this time," Kurt said, and Blaine didn't know what to do. He was so scared, and things just kept getting worse and worse, and he didn't have anything to fall back on.

"Your dad won't want me," he said partially because he didn't want to let himself hope for anything. He didn't dare. "He won't." Kurt's arms impossibly tightened around him, and Blaine felt suffocated. He stood up stiff, officially leaning out of the other boy's touch.

"No. He needs someone just as much as you do," Kurt said, and Blaine shuddered. Kurt was wrong. Maybe Burt needed somebody, but that wasn't Blaine. He wasn't anything. He was untouchable, _trash_. Burt wouldn't want him. He wouldn't. Kurt seemed to sense this and continued. "Blaine, he doesn't like your job, but… but with us, you can be done with that. I know it's crazy, but my dad and I are always talking about you on our way home from the hospital. I think… I think you need to be with us. Not just for you, but for me and my dad, too." Blaine was thrown.

"The hospital?" he asked, and he could feel Kurt's face heat up on his ear.

"Blaine. We need someone," Kurt just said again, and Blaine let the question go. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. What… Was he supposed to be holding Kurt back? How hard? What passed the line? He brought his hands up to Kurt's chest and fisted his shirt in his hands. Kurt's hair was soft and feathery against his neck.

"Okay," Blaine said and Kurt, thankfully, pulled away and grabbed his hands.

"Okay?" he repeated, excitement gleaming in his eyes, and Blaine wondered how he did it. He nodded in response and Kurt dragged him into his bedroom, throwing the, like, twelve piece of clothes he owned into the drawstring Nike backpack he'd had for ages, and then taking by the hand and carting him off to his car. Blaine sat in the passenger seat like usual, only this time there was more history to it: blood _and_ tears.

He was honestly in a fog. He shouldn't have said yes… he didn't need somebody. He _had_ somebody. He had lots of somebodies, but they all… They all didn't work out. No one wanted him, and Blaine was used to that. Kurt put his hand on his knee as they drove, and Blaine's skin crawled.

"Dad?" Kurt called into the quiet house, towing Blaine behind him. "Blaine's here, okay?" The tone to his voice implied there was more to what he was saying than the actual words. There was a shout of acceptance from somewhere upstairs, and Blaine didn't know what to do with himself in such a nice house. It had been a while since he had been somewhere that wasn't dirty or cramped. He suddenly ached for nicer clothes. He didn't fit in here…

"Kurt, I don't think this was a good ide-"

"Oh, hush," the taller boy said with a flippant wave of his hand, and he disappeared down the hallway. "Would you like something to eat?" he called, and Blaine furrowed his eyebrows together. He heard the familiar sucking noise of a refrigerator door opening, and Blaine had _never_ wanted to go home more in his life. He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar.

"No." Kurt came back to join him in the foyer -sipping from a bottle of water- and once again grabbed him by the hand. This time, Blaine found himself in a guest room.

"Here, this is your room! And you can put your stuff in here…" Kurt said, stringing out clothes from his bag and stuffing them in the drawers of a big dresser. He looked excited.

Blaine wanted to vomit.

Things were moving so, so_ fast_. Blaine couldn't keep up; he couldn't keep _up_, and Kurt was babbling so fast about all the stuff he needed to know about schedules and his dad and… Blaine couldn't take any of it in, he was so overwhelmed. Crap, what? What?

"Blaine, are you okay?" he caught at the end of one of Kurt's tangents, but –no- he _wasn't _okay. Of course, he didn't know how to say that because people never asked him that kind of question, and somehow his feet were turning him around and he was running –_running-_ out of the house. "Blaine…? Blaine!"

Kurt was calling for him, but he didn't _dare_ turn around. Instead he burst back out through the front door, twisting his way through the tangled mess of unfamiliar streets laid out before him, one destination in mind.

**Kay, this was going to be a one-shot but um… yeah. It's clearly far too long. SO TWO SHOT! I'll put up the next piece when I write it. That's sort of more rehabilitation, and this part is obviously when all the crap happens. I'll set about fixing it later.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ugh, it's going to feel so good to finish this. Like... No lie. I'm super excited about it, as it's been months, and there seriously is not one finished prostitute!Blaine story out there... So yay! Let's do this.**

"I thought I'd find you here."

Blaine took a deep, shudder of a breath. He supposed this was inevitable, Kurt coming for him, but he had been hoping that it would be later rather than sooner. His red stilettos bit painfully at the soles of his feet, and he was suddenly grateful they were his only pair of shoes, or else it wouldn't have been possible for him to take up his street corner again after bolting from the house. He didn't look all that great -stuck in a ratty black t-shirt and a dark-wash pair of denim mini-shorts that gaped around his now too thin frame- but he figured he might still get something done... Kurt, of course, blew that chance faster than he could blow a client.

Blaine laughed bitterly. "This sidewalk is more home to me then anywhere else," he replied, tilting his head up to look at the stars and not turning around to face the other boy.

He tensed when Kurt's arms snaked around him from behind, pulling him away from the curb. Blaine's shoes tumbled off in the process. Flatfooted, Kurt was much taller than him -his head resting solidly on the slender boy's chest as he spun him around into a hug- and Blaine suddenly felt four years old.

"_Blaine, there's no yelling in the house, you know that."_

_"Yes, Daddy, I know, but I'm really sor-"_

_"Get down on your hands and knees, Blaine."_

_"But-"_

_"Get down and crawl over to me."_

Blaine didn't like this new set of developments. He didn't like hugs, and he didn't like feeling small because he had been stupid when he was small. Blaine wasn't stupid anymore. He was smarter than any prostitute on his strip because he knew how to take it; he knew how to deal with it. All the dumb other girls would pass by his corner in the wee hours of the morning, mascara running because they hadn't been handled properly. Blaine was smarter than them, he was stronger. He could take on whatever anyone threw at him, but he _couldn't_ when he was _small_. He tried to push away from Kurt. "Let go. Let _go," _he grunted, pushing weakly at the other boy because sometimes it was just _hard_ to muster up strength.

"No," Kurt answered finitely, and Blaine felt it as the taller boy's hands fisted into his shirt.

"Why not?" he tried to ask, but it came out as more of a beg. Kurt's touch burned around his torso. He shouldn't be touched. He wasn't worth it; he shouldn't be _touched_. Didn't Kurt know? Didn't Kurt know that he was doing everything wrong? Blaine wasn't _worth it. _Tears stung at his eyes, which only fueled Blaine's squirming more because crying was something Little Blaine did. Blaine wasn't little anymore.

"Because you can't be alone anymore," Kurt answered, and it felt like a bag of bricks had just fallen on his head, the words hit him so hard. All of a sudden, he wasn't fighting Kurt, he was clinging to him, his muscles locked and stiff. The other boy's hold became softer. "You just need someone, Blaine. That's okay." A painful shudder ran down his back, and the words fell out of his mouth faster than he could process them.

"Nobody wants me."

Kurt didn't even hesitate. "I do."

* * *

><p>There was no way in hell Blaine was falling asleep in Kurt's home. He didn't care that it had been two days since he actually slept; he wasn't going to. Instead, he just sat up straight in bed, too scared to lay back on it because he still wasn't fully convinced that this was for real and that Burt wasn't going to come in and rape him in his sleep. He wasn't used to actually <em>sleeping<em> without a locked door between him and whatever kind of man was lurking outside. The guest room door had a lock, but Burt was big, and the door was hollow. Blaine didn't trust it.

He didn't know what he was scared of anymore. He didn't know why he kept running. There wasn't really anything he had yet to face anymore, and the touching was something Blaine had managed to endure this long... But he supposed that just because he had gotten used to it though, it didn't mean he liked it. Whatever. Sometimes Blaine's head felt like a pile of contradictions that he'd never sort through. He had long since compartmentalized all of his thoughts and memories as either "Hooker Blaine" or "Little Blaine".

He liked Hooker Blaine better.

Little Blaine was the one who was constantly crying. Little Blaine was always sad and scared, and couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Little Blaine hurt all inside and outside, and didn't know what was the right or wrong thing to say to the big scary men asking him questions about his daddy. Little Blaine just wanted to go home. Why couldn't he go _home?_

Hooker Blaine, however, knew what he was doing. He was sexy and good at his job, and he was the one who made all the decisions. He chose where to touch, and he chose who to touch, and he got money because he was always right with his choices. Hooker Blaine was the one people wanted, the one people were willing to empty their wallets for. Little Blaine wasn't wanted like that; Little Blaine was ignored and kicked aside unless he was being abused.

Blaine tried to spend as much time as Hooker Blaine as possible because at least Hooker Blaine seemed to know what he was doing.

* * *

><p>Blaine hadn't actually meant to find it. He wasn't used to the house yet, and instead of the laundry room, where he was supposed to be switching clothes into the dryer, he ended up... there. Where ever "there" was. Kurt practically crept up behind him, making Blaine jump when he started talking.<p>

"I swear, it's not that creepy. We just... we didn't know what to do with all of my mom's stuff when she passed away, so..." Kurt gestured to the room's far corner. A table had been set up against the wall, a little shrine of sorts set up with photos and other small things like hair brushes and lip stick. A baby grand piano covered in a thin film of dust was stuck right next to it. Blaine bit his lip and walked over, looking over to Kurt for permission before tapping one of the keys. Kurt coughed. "Yeah... this used to be her piano room, and now... now it's our 'Memory Room'. That's what Dad calls it, anyway, even if it's a little weird. We don't really visit my real mom anymore." Blaine picked up a framed photograph.

"She was really pretty," he said quietly, wrapped up in the picture. He wondered what his own mom looked like for a second before immediately pushing all thoughts of her aside. He didn't like thinking about his mom, or the one day she left and never came back. He had been three, but he remembered it perfectly. People don't tend to forget their first day completely alone... abandoned... Blaine hated her. "Who's this?" he asked, looking into a different corner of the room to see another table filled with much newer things. Kurt scratched the back of his neck.

"That's my step-mom, Carole," he answered, and Blaine's heart clenched.

"I... I'm really sorry," he answered because he _was_. He couldn't imagine loosing a mom _twice. _The closest he had ever gotten was loosing his grandma, and naturally that thought had his chest constricting all over again for a different reason. Kurt asked a question so suddenly and so fast, that he wasn't sure he had actually heard it. "Wait, what?"

"Would you like to set up a corner for your grandma?" he asked, and that stumped Blaine because... would he? This was Kurt and his dad's memory room... This wasn't for him... But he was being invited to make it his, too. Would it be rude to decline? He floundered for a minute before Kurt just rolled his eyes, and pulled his keys out of his pocket. "Come on, let's go get her," he offered, already off to his car, and Blaine hesitated for a second before running to catch up. He sat in the god-awful passenger seat of Kurt's Navigator again.

"Is that what you meant when you said your dad needed someone?" he asked after a second of driving, and Kurt pressed his lips together, concentrating on the road.

"Partially," he answered, and Blaine just nodded because he didn't need all the answers, and he probably didn't deserve to know all of Kurt's secrets anyway. Kurt pulled up to Blaine's apartment complex and turned to face him. "Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked, and Blaine had to think about that because there would probably be cockroaches all over the counters when he turned on the lights and there had been rain the other night, so there were probably still puddles on the floor.

"Yes."

"Okay," Kurt responded easily, and slipped out of the driver's side, mounting the stairs next to Blaine without saying much. Blaine searched his pockets quickly for a key, blanching when he realized he didn't have one, but Kurt reached around him to push the fortunately open door wide for him. "Ready?" he asked, and, no, Blaine wasn't. Had he actually lived here? Kurt had already spoiled him with his nice living conditions, apparently, because all of a sudden, his house was looking really gross. God, how could he have let his grandma live here?

"Yes."

Kurt, thankfully, went into the apartment first, and led the way to Blaine's grandma's bedroom for him. He let him grab the urn, and Blaine held it in his hands gingerly, carefully, because maybe... maybe his grandma was still intimidating to him, and maybe he didn't really want to disgrace her ashes by touching them. Bad things touched Blaine and Blaine touched bad things. "Do you want to take the table for her, too?" Kurt asked, and Blaine nodded, so Kurt swung the bedside table over his shoulder, surprisingly strong despite being so lean, and led the way back out of the apartment -dodging puddles on the floor here and there caused from leaks in the ceiling.

"I think she will like your place better than mine," Blaine said, as he wasn't really ready to admit that she was gone. "Will." Like she was still around. Kurt hummed in agreement, and patted his knee over the console, and for some reason, Blaine didn't want to squirm away from the touch. The ride home was quiet, and they both went straight in, Kurt placing the table in the corner closest to the door so Blaine could put the urn on top. He felt oddly proud at the setup. It wasn't any different than it was at home, but somehow it seemed more important in Kurt's memory room.

"She'd be proud, too," Kurt assured him, reading his thoughts, and Blaine nodded.

He stood in the Memory Room for a really long time.

Kurt changed over the laundry.

* * *

><p>Blaine and Kurt watched a lot of Bravo together. In fact, despite having absolutely no cooking experience whatsoever, Blaine was starting to think that he could do better than any contestant on Top Chef, he had seen so many episodes.<p>

Blaine liked watching TV with Kurt.

The more he stayed at Kurt's house, the harder it was to cling to Hooker Blaine. Because if there was one rule that Burt had, it was that curfew was at eight o'clock for him, and that meant he couldn't get any work done, unless one of his clients was brave enough to show their face hiring a prostitute in the middle of the day in small-town Ohio. So there was no whoring around for poor Hooker Blaine, which meant a lot of not _being_ Hooker Blaine.

And that left Little Blaine. And Little Blaine liked watching TV. Because even though Little Blaine was always, eternally crying inside, Top Chef with Kurt always seemed to take just enough of his attention to distract him from his tears and maybe smile for a minute...

* * *

><p>"Hey, Blaine, can we talk for a minute?" Burt asked, and Blaine nodded uncertainly. He had been staying with the Hummel's for about a month now, he still couldn't find it in him to sleep through the night with Burt in the house. Burt was big. Blaine was small. His heels had been taken and replaced with Vans a week or so ago and hidden away; Blaine only wanted them when he was talking with Burt. Burt required Hooker Blaine, obviously, as he was a man, and men do bad things to Little Blaine.<p>

Burt took him back into the kitchen and gestured for Blaine to have a seat at the kitchen table. He watched carefully as the older man pulled up a barstool to him, and -oh my gosh- was that _not _okay. Blaine not-so-suddenly felt horribly tiny in the face of Burt towering above him, their height difference even more prominent with Blaine in a chair and Burt on a stool.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Burt asked, and Blaine couldn't help but shrink. Even thought the question was spoken kindly and softly, Blaine couldn't help but feel disappointment rolling off the other man, even if it wasn't there.

"I'm sorry, sir, what do- what-" _Come on, get a word out,_ "What do you mean?" Burt shifted on his chair.

"You just seem uncomfortable around me, and I don't want you to be scared in your own home," he replied, which made Blaine feel a bit scummy for being afraid of him in the first place and maybe a bit guilty for staying with him. "I was hoping we could try to fix this... So what's going on, kiddo?" Blaine tried to breathe. He tried to answer, but he couldn't. He couldn't because Burt was just _so big _and he was _so small_.

_"I'm bo~ored, Daddy."_

_"We can play The Game again."_

_"No, I don-"_

_"Come here, Blaine."_

"You're so _big_," Blaine gasped, his eyes burning -he had them opened so wide. He couldn't seem to look at the older man, too scared to even stare at his toes, and instead locked onto the bar Burt was resting his feet on. The older man didn't touch him, luckily, because Little Blaine wasn't good at being touched... He tried to steel himself, rolling his shoulders back and sitting up straight, allowing a small smirk to come over his face. Maybe Hooker Blaine wasn't welcome in this house, but he was the only him that Blaine really knew how to be, especially when he felt endangered. He met Burt's eye, seductive look hiding his emotions in just the way he needed it to. "But I won't let that stop me," he tagged to the end. Burt arched an eyebrow.

"Blaine, I'm not looking for anything from you. What's this really about?" But Blaine didn't want to answer that. He let a hand trickle up the man's legs, leaning into him a little bit.

"Don't worry about it, Burt. I just want to help you relax, regardless of what you're looking for," he said, standing up because sitting made him feel small, and Hooker Blaine was really great at being big. He was also great at being in charge, which is just what he took as he brought his hand up to linger for a second on Burt's chest. He pulled away to move to the back of him, letting both arms lazily collapse on Burt's shoulder, moving forward to put his face right next to Kurt's dad. "How can I make that happen, hmm?" he questioned. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he was horrified and ashamed at what he was doing, but Blaine knew he'd thank himself later. This would always be easier than just answering.

"I need you to let go of me, Blaine," Burt told him, but Blaine just let his hands run down Burt's torso until-

Blaine gasped as Burt roughly grabbed his hand and spun off of his stool and out of his grasp. He was holding onto his wrist strongly but softly, looking down at him with a firm look in his eyes.

"I'm not going to let you touch me, kid," he said, and all of a sudden, the air was pushed out of the room. Hooker Blaine wasn't denied. Never, what... What... Everything turned blurry as tears collected in his eyes, and he pulled way, clumsily staggering backwards.

"I... I'm sorry," he apologized, embarrassed and disgusted with himself. Fear toyed with his heart, and he looked to Burt worriedly. "Are- Don't touch me, okay? I... I..." Shit. And here he was... acting weak again... "Please, don't... Don't..."

_"If you're bored enough to be causing trouble, then you obviously have time for The Game, Blaine."_

_"_Don't make me play... Please don't make me play, I can't... I can't..." Tears unfortunately fell down his cheeks in sheets. This is not what he wanted, he couldn't... People weren't supposed to see this. Blaine didn't like people watching him when he got like this. He didn't deserve to cry; he had chosen this. He had _let_ his dad touch him, and he had _let_ everyone else touch him...

It's not rape if you let it happen.

"Blaine, son, I'm not going to make you do anything." Burt sounded as if he was talking to a scared animal, and that made sense; that's what Blaine was: a scared animal. He was too crazy and messed up to be human, too _filthy_ to be a person, and, God, was he terrified. "Calm down," the man instructed, taking a few cautious steps forward, causing Blaine to stagger backwards and fall to the ground. He pulled his knees to his chest because this wasn't back then, and he wasn't small, but -shit- did it feel like it, and he couldn't function like this. He sobbed into his knees, not noticing when Burt left and not noticing when Kurt came in. He was suddenly scooped up in arms that felt right holding him, which was a miracle in and of itself, and carried over to a couch where he was curled into the lap of probably the only person he trusted.

"Oh, God... Honey... What happened to you?"

* * *

><p>Blaine leaned up against the door of Kurt's bedroom watching, his hero absorbed in a book. Burt was off at the hospital, presumably, because that's where he always was, and Blaine was feeling more than a bit little and more than a bit courageous. He cleared his throat. "Can..." he paused as Kurt lifted his head from his book, debating what he was about to ask. "Can I have my heels back for a bit?" he asked, and Kurt arched an eyebrow.<p>

"You're not going out, are you?" he asked, and Blaine shook his head.

"No, I just..." his hands opened and shut needfully at his sides. "They're like... like little kids have their baby blankets? And they feel all comfortable with them? I just... They're my..."

"Security blanket," Kurt filled in for him, and Blaine nodded. Kurt peeled himself off of his bed and stalked off into the hallway. "Stay there," he called behind them, and Blaine did, but he was unable to miss the sound of the hall closet opening and things rustling around. Kurt came back with a pair of bright red stilettos, and Blaine remembered them being bigger... He didn't put them on, because fore some reason he didn't feel as dirty as usual, and instead cradled them close to his chest. Kurt bounced back on his comforter and picked up his book again, not protesting when Blaine sat on the end of the bed and leaned up against the footboard to watch him read a little longer.

"You know..." he said quietly, "I was always this way." Kurt looked up from his book, wrinkling his brow as means of goading him on. Blaine nodded to himself. "It's true. My dad... He was raping me since I was born, practically," he announced casually in the same hardened way someone might talk about a car accident that killed their wife or a cancer that resulted in their legs being amputated years ago. "I don't know why my mom didn't stop him, I guess she was scared... she ran away when I was three. I don't remember her face, but I remember her leaving." Kurt didn't say anything. Blaine didn't want him to. He thought for a minute. "I never... I never knew that it was wrong. Like... what he was doing? I figured that kids got hurt when they played all the time, and he called it a game, so I always thought it was one... And then there was a trial that was all kinds of confusing where they took me away from him... My grandma walked in on us 'playing' one time and thought it best I lived with her," he explained, and Kurt smiled.

"I guess I met her under bad circumstances." Blaine shook his head, sadness rushing over him.

"No, she... she hasn't liked me for a while. She... she didn't plan on me being gay, I guess. I mean... I don't see how she hadn't suspected it... or wouldn't have expected it, anyway. I mean, people debate like crazy if being molested at a young age results in a boy becoming a fag or whatever, so you'd think the thought would at least cross her mind." Kurt frowned.

"Don't call yourself that," he told him, and Blaine rolled his eyes.

"I'm not calling myself that, my gram is. And even if she wasn't, it's still true. I _am_ a fag, Kurt." The other boy shook his head, reaching out to grab his hand -taking it away from his shoes- and settling into his headboard a little lower.

"No, because if you are, then I am. And I don't like that word... It's meant as an insult, and being gay isn't something that I think should be ridiculed." Blaine's face flushed. His stomach felt like worms were eating through it, and he wondered vaguely if he had an ulcer. It wouldn't be surprising... hopefully it could kill him. Then he wouldn't have to feel bad for leaving Kurt...

"It's different when you _are_ something to be ridiculed," he replied absently, and Kurt's hold on his hand strengthened.

* * *

><p>Top Chef was marathoning on Bravo, and Burt had joined them to watch.<p>

Blaine still had fun watching TV with Kurt that day.

* * *

><p>"Why did you become a prostitute, Blaine?" Kurt asked quietly. Pandora played quietly through the speakers of Kurt's computer, his Yellowcard station. He had been near asleep, lying next to Kurt as the other boy worked on some homework from his community college courses. Kurt was always complaining on how boring it was, and Blaine wondered why he was there instead of some fancy school in New York or something.<p>

His question woke him up like a bucket of ice water.

He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and sticking his finger into the toe of the scarlet heel Kurt kept under his bed for nights like these. "You can't just ask that, Kurt..." he said, and the other boy pursed his lips for a minute, obviously thinking something over. Blaine kept quiet.

"Alright, come on. Put your shoes on and grab a jacket; I'm taking you somewhere," he ordered, tugging on a sweater and tossing Blaine a hoodie before stuffing his feet into some old boots. Blaine forced his feet into a pair of Uggs, holding his stiletto and looking at Kurt uncertainly. "Yeah, bring that with you." His fingers tightened around the heel as he followed Kurt out to his car, sweatshirt way too big but jeans tight. He took up his place in the passenger seat, the majority of his memories there now just trips to the grocery store or shopping mall.

"Where are we going?" he asked, and Kurt smiled sadly.

"You'll see," he toned, and Blaine settled back in his seat, his chest tightening as they passed his street corner. He must have made an unhappy noise because Kurt looked over to him sympathetically. "I know. It was your home." Blaine shook his head.

"I don't want to go back."

"I know that, too"

Eventually they pulled up to a familiar place. "The hospital? Oh, God. You're admitting me to the psych ward, aren't you?" he half joked, half seriously asked. Kurt shook his head, beaming at him. He punched his arm lightly.

"No. We're going to visit somebody," he said like this was something he did all the time, and Blaine realized it probably was. He immediately sobered up because this was obviously some big bonding moment, and he was admittedly questioning if he was worth all this and if he should really know... Blaine was surprisingly aware when it came to boundaries for a prostitute, he supposed, but that probably came with the knowledge of just where all of his were.

Kurt lead the way through the hospital with all the nonchalance of a person who had gone there a thousand times. Blaine followed along anxiously. This was the big Kurt secret. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Blaine reached out to grab Kurt's wrist, but quickly remembered his place. "Kurt?" he called instead, stopping in the middle of the hallway and looking hopelessly at Kurt as the other boy turned around at the sound of his name. "Who am I going to see?" he asked, and Kurt turned away.

"He's just around this corner." And with that, Kurt returned to weaving through the hospital hallway, and Blaine followed awkwardly, nearly bumping into him when he stopped. Kurt was looking through an open doorway at a boy who looked about his age. He was obviously sleeping, and Blaine wondered why. "Meet my step-brother, Finn." Blaine pulled at the neck of his hoodie, stepping on the heel of one boot with the toe of another, tightening his grip on the stiletto still in his hand.

"Is he going to wake up?"

"No."

"Ever?"

"No."

Blaine didn't know how to respond to that. He had a lot of questions, obviously, but now wouldn't be a good time to ask. Actually, there probably wouldn't ever be a good time to ask. He bent down to further stuff his skinny jeans into his Uggs, having been hastily been thrown on. Kurt eventually moved into the hospital room and sat on the side of Finn's bed.

"You're nicer than me," Kurt said, and Blaine nearly laughed.

"I'm pretty sure you couldn't be more wrong about that," he replied, but Kurt just shook his head.

"No, I mean it. You were kind of... you were kind of just as snarky as I figured someone like you would be when I met you, but I always felt like you were more than just that: snarky. And I was right. You're only seductive and stuff when you're scared, Blaine. And you have a lot to be scared about." Blaine fell quiet, doing everything within his power not to think about those words. Kurt took up his brother's hand. "You're quieter now. You were kind of quiet before, but you're much more quiet now. I think it's because you're lost. I mean... we all are, but you're more confused than anyone I've ever met. That makes sense. You have a lot to deal with." Blaine closed his eyes.

"Why did you take me here?" Kurt smirked.

"I thought you would want to meet Finn," he answered. "You never asked, but there's no way you wouldn't be curious when me or my dad leave for the hospital every night. That's why I said you were nicer than me. Cause you never asked about Finn, even when I dragged you here, but I asked about your past out of the blue." Blaine blushed. "I'm sorry about that, by the way..."

"It's okay. I just... I don't like thinking about it."

"I don't like thinking about Finn either." Kurt tore his gaze away from Finn's face to look quizzically at Blaine. "Do you want to know?" Blaine didn't say anything. "Of course you do. It was the same way Carole passed... a car accident. My family doesn't have a lot of luck with driving. It's amazing I make it anywhere. Anyway, a drunk truck driver hit their car on Carole's side and crushed both her and Finn against a telephone pole..." Kurt moved to brush his finger's over Finn's face. "The doctors say he's brain dead, but Dad won't let them let him go. He's not ready... and neither am I." Kurt turned back to face Blaine. "That's why we needed you. Because even if you can't replace Finn, we need _someone_. Cause everyone else keeps leaving." Blaine got that. He really did. A prominent pause fell over the room, and Blaine took a seat next to Kurt on the bed.

"So what was he like?" A smile graced Kurt's face, thank goodness, and air rushed back into the room.

"Finn? Finn was a lot of things..."

* * *

><p>Blaine sat in the memory room at his grandma's feet. He thought that she might be proud of him. Burt had taught him all about cars, and he works at Hummel's Tires and Lube even if all the other men there make him feel teeny. He makes honest money now, which is more than he ever had before. The last time he earned a true dollar was with a lemonade stand when he still liked to ask to get his shoelaces tied.<p>

He bet that his gram might love him now. Maybe. He had made some mistakes, but he was sorry for them. He just... he hadn't had any other options. Maybe doing some good things like working honorably would make her understand that he didn't want to do what he did. He had to for her, is all.

Blaine shut his eyes, cross-legged on the carpet in a room filled with things for the dead. He sort of felt like maybe he should have a table here, instead of sitting before one.

But then Kurt comes in with two cups of tea and a blanket for the two of them. He sits down at his side, and Blaine thinks that maybe it's better to have memories than to be one for a minute.

* * *

><p>Burt blocks Bravo with a child lock because Kurt keeps skipping class to watch Top Chef with Blaine. They don't know the password, so Kurt goes out immediately the next day and buys the DVD set.<p>

They've seen all the episodes five times over, but Blaine still really likes watching TV with Kurt.

* * *

><p>Blaine sat at the top of the stairs. "Dad, I don't <em>want<em> to go to community college!" He was screaming, and Blaine felt his stomach twist up at all the yelling. Kurt was still skipping classes, and apparently he had been missing more school than he had been aware of. He hoped it wasn't his fault, but most everything was, so he wasn't letting himself hold onto that dream too hard. Burt was angry and accusing Kurt of throwing away his education, but there was obviously something he was missing, even if he couldn't see it. Blaine didn't know what it was, but even _he_ knew it was there.

"No son of mine is going to be a college drop out," Burt replied, and Blaine didn't have to see the glare to know Kurt was giving him one. He was on the stairs, but he could still feel the tension from downstairs.

"It's not school I have a problem with, Dad. It's _the_ school."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A pause.

"I... It's been a year, and... NYU has been holding a spot for me. I want... I want to attend classes there next Fall." The news hit Blaine harder than the thought it would, and it was apparently hitting Burt even harder. Sobs floated up from the first floor, and Blaine wished he could cry too. "I know... I know. It's not fair of me to leave you again, but you have Blaine, okay? He'll stick around for you, I just... I need to do this for me, okay? And it's not forever. Just for a semester at a time. Lima, Ohio just isn't a good place for me, you know that. It's not even soon, it's just in the future, Dad," Kurt comforted. "I know... I'm so sorry. I..."

Blaine didn't want to hear anymore. He went to his room and locked the door.

He threw himself on is bed and wondered just when the hell things were actually going to get better.

* * *

><p>"You wanna know?" Blaine asked, throwing Kurt's door open with a bang because he was actually angry as shit, and he figured Kurt should know. The other boy visibly jumped and looked up at Blaine. He ignored the tears streaking his cheeks. "You wanna know why I'm not going anywhere? Why I'm always going to be a whore and a loser? Because not all of us have fricking fathers from heaven, okay, Kurt? Some of our fathers <em>suck<em>, and you're an _asshole_ for treating yours like this, for treating _me_ like this."

"Blaine, what-"

"No, shut up. Your dad loves you. My dad is rotting away in jail somewhere, coming up with creative ways to kill me if he ever sees me again. He's the one who made me what I am. A lot of people left you, Kurt, but _everyone_ has left me, and it's all because of _him._ So think about what you're doing for a minute," he seethed, because Burt and Kurt did all of their yelling tonight about NYU, and now it was his turn. He snatched his shoe out from under Kurt's bed, the edges rubbed tan from all his fondling them. They were cheap... Blaine stormed out, barely registering Kurt as he called out behind him.

"I don't want to be a could have been, Blaine!"

"Yeah? Well, try being a never will be!"

**Crap. This is going to have to be a three shot cause this is long, and I have more to do...**

**I knew this would happen...**

**Reviews are love!**


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Glee, Angst, Hurt-Comfort