Stuck in Reverse

Xcaellachx

I own nothing to do with Glee, characters, etc

Kurt was lost. There was no way around it. He'd done his manly duty by driving confidently down different streets for a while. Finally, he waved the white flag, pulling over and digging out his phone, pulling up the GPS program. He had to be near his house, this was the right area. New to the area, he found that every street looked exactly the same. Typing in his address and waiting for the GPS to find where he was, he looked around. Though it was dark, he could see it was a typical urban street, houses tightly packed, darkened coffee and antique shops on the corners.

His phone beeped to let him know it had located where he was and the annoying lady began spouting off directions. He scanned through the list of streets it listed and found he was closer to home than he thought. Memorizing the directions, he turned his phone off and put it back in his messenger bag.

A car pulled up opposite him, the lights blinding Kurt for a moment. His eyes adjusted and his brows raised in admiration. The Jaguar was gorgeous, what he could see of it under the street lights. It reminded him of working with his dad in the shop. A Jag had come through there one time and they'd spent more time drooling over it than changing its oil. As he watched, the driver side back door opened and something fell out. The Jag squealed out of there and Kurt was left wondering what the hell had just happened. Whatever had fallen out of the car was still there.

Holy crap, it's a person! Whoever it is was trying to move. He pulled closer with his lights on the person so he could see. He jumped out, keeping his phone handy.

He gasped when he saw the state of the man laying there on the ground. The man was small, had curly hair, and looked like he'd had his ass kicked.

Kurt knelt next to him, tentatively touching the man's shoulder.

"Excuse me? Are you okay?" he asked, not sure what he should do in this situation.

"He left me," a weak raspy voice said.

"Who left you, sweetie?" Kurt asked, feeling instantly protective of this stranger. He was so small and helpless looking.

"Master left me," he said, breaking down, tears flowing down his face. "He left me. Master is gone and I'm all alone," he sobbed.

"Master? Is that someone's name?" Kurt asked, confused. He helped the man up and he instantly huddled into Kurt.

"No. Master is everything. And now he's gone," he sobbed.

"Sweetie, where do you live. I'll give you a ride," Kurt said, rubbing his hand up and down the man's back.

"Home was with my Master. He said I can't come back. I am worthless, I failed him," came the broken voice cuddled inside Kurt's coat.

"Do you have an ID I can look at? Or do you have money for a hotel room until you get things straightened out?" Kurt said, nudging the man to sit up and look at him. Kurt gasped. Beyond the bruises and split lip were the most gorgeous eyes he'd ever seen and this was in the dark. The man was gorgeous, truly beautiful under the bruises. Who would want to hurt him?

"I have nothing, Sir. Nothing. I am nothing," the man murmured.

"Now, that's not true. What's your name, sweetie?" Kurt asked, trying to comfort him.

"Blaine Anderson, Sir," he said.

"Hi, Blaine, my name is Kurt. Would you like to come back to my house for the night and we can get you figured out tomorrow morning," Kurt offered.

"You would do that for me, Sir?" Blaine asked, his golden eyes big and hopeful.

"Of course, I can't just leave you here. It's cold as hell out here and you're only wearing a thin sweater," Kurt said, taking in what Blaine was wearing. "Come on, let's get you up."

Kurt gave the man a hand and helped him up, noticing his winces of pain. Blaine gasped at one point as his weight landed on his foot. Kurt thought he might have a sprained or twisted ankle. As his weight balanced on both feet, he cringed and began to cry.

"I'm sorry I'm crying, Sir, it just hurts so much," he cried weakly.

Kurt could tell he was beyond exhausted. Thankful for his daily workouts, he gently scooped Blaine into his arms. Blaine gasped and wrapped his arms around Kurt's neck.

"Thank you so much, Sir. You are so kind, Sir," he blathered.

"It's okay, Blaine. I've got you," Kurt said. He walked carefully to his Audi SUV and opened the passenger door with his pinky finger. Gently he lowered Blaine into the seat and wrapped the seat belt around him. Blaine sat there, passively, not moving, his hands tucked in his lap.

Kurt shut the door and walked to the drivers side and wondered what the hell he was doing. He sees this strange man get pushed out of a car and now he was taking him home instead of calling an ambulance. There was something about him, something that pulled at Kurt's heart. Blaine was hurt and weak; weaker than someone who had just been beat up. Like he wasn't able to handle himself. He didn't understand the whole Master and Sir thing. Should he take him to the emergency room at the hospital? Something told him to just take him home and care for him. He'd just met this ethereal creature who had obviously been beaten and he was taking him home. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

Getting into the driver's seat, he turned up the heat as he pulled away from the curb.

"Are you warm enough, Blaine?" he asked, looking at the man who was huddling in his seat.

"Yes, Sir," he said meekly.

"You can call me Kurt, you know. I don't mind," Kurt offered.

"Oh no, Sir! That is against the rules. Master wouldn't be happy," Blaine cried, his whole frame suddenly shaking.

"Ok, ok, just calm down, Blaine. You can call me Sir if that is what you'd like," he responded, surprised by his reaction. "Let's just listen to some quiet music until we get to my house, is that okay?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine whispered.

It wasn't much longer until he pulled up into the garage at his house. It was a lovely two story Victorian style house. A large wrap-around porch with a porch swing greeted them. The garage door closed behind them as Kurt got out. There was a door that led into the house and Kurt carried Blaine with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He bumped into the door frame and Blaine didn't react at all though Kurt knew he'd hit his feet. Kurt apologized with no response from the bundle in his arms.

Walking through the kitchen and dining room, he took Blaine into the large living room. He had loved the open floor plan when he'd bought this house. It made it feel like home, no matter where you were. Depositing Blaine as gently as he could on the couch, he slung his messenger bag on the floor and sat on the coffee table in front of Blaine.

"Who hit you, Blaine?" he asked quietly.

"Master was so upset. I didn't get his drink fast enough. I was in such a hurry, I forgot the olive," Blaine muttered quickly, his head down and his hands in his lap.

"It was an accident, I'm sure," Kurt said, reaching out to touch his knee.

Blaine scurried off the couch, crying out in pain, and hurrying to the nearest corner. He tucked his body into the corner, his hands in his lap.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he muttered.

"Blaine, come back here. I'm not mad," Kurt said, shocked at what had just happened.

Blaine came back instantly, crawling on his hands and knees as if he'd done it many times before. When he was next to Kurt, he leaned against Kurt's legs, looking up at him.

"Why haven't you punished me, Sir?" he whispered, his golden eyes clouded over with worry and fear.

"Sweetie, you haven't done anything wrong. Besides, I don't hit people, so I won't ever hit you," Kurt told him, gently touching his chin.

"Thank you, Sir," the man said, his whole body seeming to sag in relief.

"How about we clean you up and get you to bed. Does that sound okay?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, please, Sir," Blaine said with a small smile.

Kurt felt his chest tighten at the sight of that smile. This creature was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Golden hazel eyes, so wide you could see into his soul. His jaw line was angular and flawless. His eyebrows were dark and strong on his face, almost triangular shaped. And his hair. Kurt kept having to resist burying his hand in the thick black curls.

Wanting to touch him again, he lifted him and carried him into the bathroom, setting him on the toilet.

"Would you be okay if we changed your clothes, Blaine?" Kurt didn't know if he would be comfortable taking his clothes off.

"Yes, Sir," he said and automatically began stripping his clothes off. Mechanically, like he'd done it the same way every time he'd taken his clothes off.

"Leave your boxers on," Kurt said quickly. He didn't feel comfortable going that far.

When he was done undressing, he sat there, head down with his hands in his lap.

Kurt looked at him, concentrating on Blaine's injuries. His stomach turned at the sight of the cigarette burns, the obvious belt marks and some thin injuries that looked like it had possibly been done with a cane of some sort. Bruises covered his torso, his ribcage, old ones and new ones. Tears stung his eyes at the hand shaped bruise around his neck. Someone, this Master person, had tried to choke this sweet, small man. Anger burned in him in contrast with the tears streaming down his face. There had to be something he could do.

"Blaine, do you want to go to the hospital or do you want me to treat your wounds? It is up to you," Kurt assured him.

"I would like Sir to do it, if Sir wouldn't mind," Blaine said in a small voice.

"That's fine. Let me get some things and we'll get you all fixed up," Kurt said.

Gathering up bandages and ointment, he gently inspected Blaine's body. One at a time, he cleaned and covered every single wound. Even the burn marks on his buttocks that Blaine had softly pointed out. Kurt had to swallow hard and resist trying to go after this Master and tear him limb from limb. Blaine's ankles weren't swollen or bruised so Kurt figured he had just twisted them. He wrapped them in ace bandages to help support them. When all the injuries were taken care of, he took a warm wash cloth and wiped his face clean, smiling at him.

"There you are," he said, gently wiping his face. "I'll give you a warm bath in the morning after your wounds have had a chance to heal a bit. Let me find you a toothbrush and some clean clothes. You can take care of your personal business and then we'll get you in bed. Does that sound okay?"

Blaine was blinking slowly, obviously exhausted and nodded. "Yes, Sir," he whispered.

Kurt found a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of new boxers, thankful that he'd been shopping recently.

Minutes later, Blaine opened the bathroom door, walking tenderly on his wrapped feet and ankles. Kurt helped him into the spare bedroom and sit on the bed. Kurt helped him put on the clean clothes, looking away when Blaine pulled on the new boxers. Once he was dressed, Kurt pulled back the blankets and helped him into bed.

"Comfortable?" Kurt asked, smoothing the curls from Blaine's face.

"Yes, Sir, quite. Thank you, Sir," he murmured sleepily.

"Sleep well," Kurt responded, heading to the door.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Blaine?"

"What if Master changes his mind and comes back? Sir, please, I don't want to go back," Blaine said, suddenly sounding terrified.

Kurt came back and took Blaine's hand in his. "Master can't find you here. Even if he did, I wouldn't let you go with him."

A relieved smile lit up Blaine's exhausted features. "Thank you, Sir. You are a good master," he whispered and drifted off to sleep. He turned walked out of the spare room, like a zombie, leaving the door open in case Blaine needed to get up in the night.

Kurt considered what Blaine had said, shocked. Master? Him? Oh god, he had a big problem on his hands. Luckily he knew just the person to call, even this late at night. He hit the speed dial on his phone.

"Hey, I am in big trouble…,"

. . . . . . .

The title of the story is taken from Coldplay's song "Fix You". Well, here it is, my new story. What do you think? Review and let me know. I have another couple chapters planned out. You review, I write, that's how it goes… :]