A/N: This is the re-write of a Kadam Halloween story I wrote a few years ago. I think both versions work well 3 There's a twist to this story I don't want to put in the tags, but nothing scary or gory happens.

Slam!

"Uh-oh," Blaine mutters, sticking his bookmark into his book and slipping it under the bed.

SLAM!

The sound of doors colliding with frames becomes louder, as do the footsteps stomping down the hallway.

"Bad day?" Blaine asks before a third door slams. Kurt barrels in, throws himself on the bed, and buries his face into his pillow. Blaine climbs onto the bed beside him, gingerly settling his weight on the narrow mattress, and sighs. "So … did you get the part?" Blaine knows the answer. It's pretty obvious. But he'd be a lousy boyfriend if he didn't ask, didn't let Kurt tell him on his own terms without the added pressure of bringing the subject up.

"No, I didn't get the part!" Kurt snaps, his words thick and muffled. "Somebody else got the part! Someone more … more … more masculine than me!" he admits with a break in his voice.

"What!?" Blaine growls, appalled. "That's … that's just ridiculous! You deserve that part more than anyone!"

"Yeah, well, apparently you're the only one who thinks so." Kurt sniffs. "You should have … you should have heard them. The things the casting committee said about me, about my performance. They said I was too delicate. That I wasn't street enough. That girls wouldn't find me … hot …"

"They said that about you?" Blaine feels his blood boil when Kurt nods. Then the heat climbs higher when he remembers: "Wait … aren't some of the people on the casting committee teachers?"

"Yeah," Kurt sobs. "They are. It was so … so … humiliating!"

"Kurt" – Blaine reaches underneath the mattress and pulls out a packet of tissues – "I've been listening to you recite that part for weeks now, and I think I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, it was perfect."

Kurt raises his head slowly, eyes red and nose running. He takes a tissue Blaine offers and blows his nose. "Do you … do you think so? I mean really? You're not just saying that? Because you don't have to to make me feel better."

"Kurt, look at me," Blaine says, pinching Kurt's chin. "You know me, and I'm not just saying that. You absolutely deserve that part." Blaine bites his lower lip, his eyes glowing with a mischief that Kurt rarely sees anymore. "You know … I can make that happen."

Kurt tilts his head, skeptical, but hopeful enough to be curious. "You can?"

Blaine nods.

"How?"

"I can slip on over to whoever-never's house, the guy that got the role over you, and frighten the bejesus out of him. Make it so being the lead in West Side Story is the last thing on his mind."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. It's tempting – God, is it tempting. Kurt wanted that part so badly he could taste it. He spent nights visualizing himself in that role, picturing himself in costume, standing in front of a crowd of parents and students – students who had teased him, bullied him, made him feel like he was less than nothing. Kurt was going to show them all, prove to them that they were wrong. He was so convinced that the part was already his that the second he read the name Jesse St. James beside Tony on the posted cast sheet, he thought he might be hallucinating. "You can … you can do that? Without hurting him, I mean?"

"Would it matter if I did?" Blaine winks.

"Well … yeah," Kurt replies, though it's honestly an afterthought. But did he really want to hurt someone just for a role in a musical? A high school musical? There would be other musicals. He was only a junior, after all.

But there had been other musicals before this one. Musicals he had auditioned for. Musicals he had wanted to star in more than anything.

Musicals he didn't get in to, not even in the chorus.

"Fine, I won't hurt him," Blaine says, rolling his eyes, "but, yes, I can. I have channels, so to speak."

"And … you'd really do that for me?"

"Of course, I would." Blaine wraps his arms around him. "I'm hopelessly devoted to you, you know." Kurt gasps. "What?" Blaine asks, nervous that he may have hurt Kurt. He tries not to when he hugs him, but sometimes he forgets his own strength. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just … you brought up a line from another musical I'm never going to star in."

"Yes, you will," Blaine insists, giving Kurt a cautious squeeze. "You're going to be a star. The brightest star there ever was. You'll see."

"But, to be a star, I have to go to New York."

"That's right."

"Which means … I'll have to leave you."

Blaine leans his head into Kurt's neck, pressing his temple to his pulse to feel the thump-thump-thump of flowing blood against his skin. "Well, Kurt, you have to leave home some time. You're not a child anymore."

"I know that," Kurt says softly. "It's just …"

"We weren't meant to be together," Blaine reminds him. "That's not how this gig works."

"I know that." Kurt sounds sadder, going limp in Blaine's arms.

"But, you know that if you ever need me – really, really need me – I'll find a way."

"Can you?" Kurt bends to rest his cheek against the arm closest, and Blaine gently kisses his neck.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Kurt. I'm many things, but I'm not a liar. And like I said … I have channels." He's used them before. "Where there's a will, there's a way."

Kurt smiles, about to turn in Blaine's arms and give him a proper kiss when they hear footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway.

"Quick!" Kurt hisses, bumping Blaine with his hip. "Under the bed! My dad's coming!"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Blaine chuckles, giving Kurt one last kiss on the cheek, nipping him accidentally in his haste to scurry off the mattress, "I know the drill." Blaine slithers underneath the bed, pressing himself flat against the floor when the footsteps stop and the door opens.

"Hey, kiddo." Burt peeks his head in. "I saw your Navigator outside." Kurt can hear the worry in his dad's voice. So can Blaine. A long time ago, Blaine would have found that fascinating. Amusing, even. But things have changed. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm home, so I didn't freak you out or nothing."

"Hey, Dad."

Burt takes a step in, squinting his eyes to get a better look at his son lying on his back on his bed. "What ... what happened to your cheek?"

"Hmmm?"

"It looks like … you're bleeding? Did that happen at school? Is someone at school messing with you?"

Kurt raises a hand and wipes his cheek, clearing away a drop of blood welling from the thin slit Blaine left. Unfazed, he comes up with an excuse without missing a beat. "That? I must have scratched myself." Kurt wiggles his fingers in the air, turning his hand to glance at his nails. "I'm overdue for a manicure."

"A-ha." His father doesn't entirely buy it, but he has no reason not to believe him. If someone was picking on Kurt at school, Kurt would tell him. And he wouldn't wait until they threatened his life before he did it. Not this time. Kurt made him a promise, and Burt knew his son to keep his promises. They'd been rid of the first big asshole who went after Kurt for a while now. Burt would be damned if there were any others.

Dave Karofsky. Goddamn textbook bully, messing with his kid. There were days that Burt Hummel dreamed of grinding that kid to a pulp, flattening him with his tow truck, or taking a hammer to his head.

Good thing someone else beat him to it, pummeled Dave into the pavement, made it so he'll never walk again. Everyone said it seemed excessive, how badly he got beat. No one knew who did it or why. For a while, the police suspected Burt and Kurt, but they both had an airtight alibi – Burt was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Kurt was sitting by his side all that night. The hospital had them both on camera, and a slew of staff could corroborate.

Burt didn't care who did it, why, or how extreme the beating was. He was just glad that the punk got his for making his kid's life hell.

"So, how was your day?"

"Fine." Kurt doesn't look forward to having this conversation with his father. Having had time to let the disappointment of the day soak into his bones, Kurt has moved on from anger to depression. And he must definitely sound it because his father frowns sympathetically.

"You don't sound fine. Are you sure, you're okay?"

"Yeah, I am." Kurt stares at the ceiling, his hands folded on his chest, looking very much not okay. "It's just …" He omits the rest, but his dad doesn't need it spelled out.

"You didn't get the part."

"No. I didn't get the part."

"Oh, Kurt." He shuffles uncomfortably because now he has to come up with a way to comfort his son … and he's not really sure how. If Kurt had been cut from the football team, that'd be one thing. Burt would know how to help him out – find him a trainer, get him to the gym, start making him protein shakes to bulk up. But not getting a part in a musical? His father doesn't know the cure for that one. "I'm sorry about that. For what it's worth, I thought you deserved it."

"Thanks, Dad. That means a lot."

Kurt knows his dad wants to help him. He also knows that his dad doesn't know what to say. He's gotten better at it over the years, but that job had always fallen to his mother. Even with her being gone for almost a decade, this relationship the two of them have built up has come about slowly. It's hard to help handle someone else's grief when you're not all that good at managing your own. It would have been simpler if Kurt could have stayed eight forever. But that's as unrealistic as his mother coming back to them.

Which is one of the reasons why having Blaine around, having him come into Kurt's life when he did, became the caulk that filled the gaps …

… even if that was never what Blaine meant to do.

"Well, do ya feel like drowning your sorrows in a pizza? I'll order that no cheese veggie one you like. I might even have a slice."

"As long as you throw on some pepperoni, too."

"Wow." Kurt's father scratches the back of his neck with one hand, trying to subtly tame the small hairs bristling there for no reason. "I didn't know you wanted the part that much."

"Yeah. I did. But … I'll get over it."

"You don't have to get over it, Kurt," his father says, getting more worked up than usual over a situation like this. It's his room. No matter how ridiculous that sounds, Burt knows it's true. There's something in the air that puts his nerves on edge. Not a smell, but a sensation. Probably EMPs. He's heard that these old houses are full of them. They make people feel things, become paranoid, see things that aren't there. He takes a deep breath, calms down, and tries to get this fatherly pep talk back on track. "I know this probably isn't the right thing to say, but there'll be other plays. Better plays. Put on by people who'll appreciate your talent the way it's meant to be appreciated. We'll find you something at the rec center, or at the community college. Don't they do that … what's it called … summer broth, or something? Summer stew?"

"Summer stock, Dad." Kurt laughs, not knowing if his dad is joking on purpose to cheer him up or not.

Considering his dad's limited knowledge of theater, probably not.

"That's it. Summer stock. That girl Rachel in your Glee Club did a play there last year, didn't she?"

"Yup," Kurt says. And that's the reason why he avoided it like the plague. She went from playing Marian in The Music Man to Maria in West Side Story. Two starring roles.

How lucky for her.

But he wasn't going to tell his father that.

"This is only high school, kiddo. I know it sucks, and I know you want better. But it doesn't last forever."

"I know that," Kurt says with a solemn but appreciative nod for what his father is trying to do … even if it's not working. Leaving high school might mean leaving all of this preferential bullshit behind … but it also means leaving Blaine. "And I'll remember that. I promise."

Burt exhales a few final remarks that he doesn't see helping him make any more progress. There's limits to what Burt can do for his son, especially at this age. Kurt isn't Burt's little boy any more. He's a man now, and Burt has to accept it.

But it's getting harder and harder, especially since no one asked his permission before it happened.

"Well, I'll see you downstairs." Burt knocks on the wall. It's a superstitious gesture he barely realizes he does when he leaves his son's room, but he does it every time. Kurt has never said anything about feeling uncomfortable up here, but Burt has never felt at ease in Kurt's room. In fact, the feeling he gets when he goes into Kurt's room, especially alone at night, has almost convinced him to move them many times. But then he goes downstairs and that feeling goes away. He even forgets about it … until next time.

It's the feeling that he's being watched. Like, no matter what, they aren't alone, which is why he doesn't look forward to his next question. But he still finds the need to ask it.

"Oh, and by the way, who were you talking to?"

Kurt faces his father and gives him a sad smile. He doesn't lie when he answers. He knows that his father doesn't believe him. "I'm just talking to Blaine."

"Kurt" - His dad chuckles the way parents do when they feel their children are being silly, but more so because that answer has never sit well with Burt. His son is 16-years-old. When do things like this normally end? – "don't you think you're a little old to believe in a monster that lives under your bed?"

"Someday maybe …" Kurt drops his hand between the bed and the wall, and Blaine wraps scaly fingers around it. He kisses Kurt's softer, human skin with blackened lips, avoiding nipping him again with his sharp fangs. Three pairs of reptilian eyes flutter closed as he listens to the breaths between Kurt's words "… but not today."