*Trigger warning: conversation about nightmares, self-harm, voices and spirits. This resolves by the end of chapter 28 so read somewhere safe, all in one go, if you want to sleep tonight!*

{Kurt}

As he pulled the last tray of pepper cookies out of the oven, the front door thumped closed, and Kurt's ears perked up. Moment's later, Jon walked in, flicking his ball cap at the back entryway and struggling out of his hoodie.

"Natty Lite," Kurt said with a grin. "How was your shift?"

Jon dropped the hoodie on a chair with a grimace, tugging his T-shirt straight. Grey, the grey was back. At least his pants fit him. "On a scale of 1 to 10, my shift was a solid 8," Jon said. He rolled his shoulder, his mouth flat. "My imaginary broken rib pain is a 7 and no one wants to know how much I want to cut right now."

"I want to know," Kurt said softly.

"It is a 10, Visser, so thank you very much for hiding all my sharps. And I hate you."

Kurt scrunched up his face, stung. He turned aside to flip the cookies onto the cooling rack. "Well that right there's why I don't want to be your sponsor," he said.

"Oh hey," Jon swiftly caught him in a hug. "Shit, that was a joke, Kurt. It was a joke that's funny because I'm so ridiculously glad to see you and you are the most special, most beautiful, most loving-est man in the world."

"Hm," Kurt said, soothed, and handed him a cookie. "Grandma Visser's peppernodder, gluten free version."

Jon's face brightened as he took a bite. "Oh wow. What is happening with the pepper in this cookie? And is that cinnamon?"

Kurt's lips curled in a smile. "Cardamom." He glanced sideways at his partner's face. "Was the 10 a joke too?"

Sighing, Jon leaned his shoulder into Kurt's arm without meeting his eyes. "I will downgrade it to an 8 for this cookie, Visser, and how good you look in ruffles." His voice was wry, but Kurt worried.

Kurt hugged his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "Plans for the night?"

Jon brushed crumbs off his mouth, looking at the candlelit kitchen like he was weighing what he had in him to do. "I'm going to see if I can stretch out this fucking shoulder with a yoga sesh. And go to bed with you." His eyes touched Kurt's briefly, sparking with humor. "Today Jordin suggested I might be asexual."

Kurt choked on a crumb of the cookie he'd been nibbling on and Jon had to thump him on the back, he coughed so hard. "Oh my god, warn a man next time," Kurt said, thumbing tears out of his eyes, and breaking into peals of laughter. "Jonathon Nathanial White--asexual. You know I would love you however you are, Jon, but can I just say I very much love having sex with you."

"Mutual," Jon said, and jogged upstairs to change into his yoga things.

Kurt was cleaning the last dishes, having packed the cookies into neat stacks in a tin at the bottom of one of their backpacks for their Jasper roadtrip, when a heavy series of 'thumps' startled him. He poked his head out of the kitchen to check on Jon, who had been working up a sweat on his yoga mat in front of the tree.

His partner was gathering his sprawled limbs where he had fallen, his ribs heaving.

"White?" Kurt said cautiously.

"I'm fine," Jon said, flopping onto his back. "And more importantly, I did not fall into Cary's tree and ruin Christmas." He grimaced, shifting a little and closing his fists. "Can you come over here and step on me?"

Kurt padded up beside him, looking down at his partner's strained, sweaty face. "Pardon?"

Jon dug his knuckles into the left side of his chest. "Step on me. Feels like something needs a crack."

Kurt put his sock foot on Jon's sternum, putting a little pressure on it. "Uh--like that?"

"Hard, Visser." Jon showed his teeth. "Stand on me, come on."

"Have you done this before?" Kurt asked.

"No, Cary won't do it to me."

Kurt threw up his hands. "Oh that's a nope. The last thing I wanna do is break your ribs again."

Jon's hand caught his ankle. "If you do, maybe they'll give me opes for it and we'll solve two problems in one go." His grin was fierce.

Kurt rubbed his hands over his uneasy stomach. "You are weirdly into hurting yourself right now, Jon. And I'm just--not."

"Dammit Visser." Jon rolled onto his side and got to his feet. "Where's your morbid sense of humour?"

"So I'm a little attached to the idea of your skin being all in one piece," Kurt muttered. "So sue me."

"You're cute." Jon patted his butt on the way by. "My skin is hanging in." He put a fist in the air, then climbed the stairs, pulling himself up with the rail.

Kurt was too worried to fall asleep before Jon. He kept himself awake reading in bed until he was sure from his partner's deep, even breathing that Jon was out. Sliding under the covers, Kurt tucked himself into Jon's body, hugging an arm around his partner's chest.

Maybe it had been a mistake to immerse himself in 'Bag of Bones' in the dead of night--it felt like something larger than them both bulged against their tent, whispering. He wished he could close the flap around the bed; the shadows in the room shifted, and something gleamed intermittently in the mirror. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt made himself match his breathing to Jon's and let his partner pull him under into sleep.

He was startled awake when Jon jerked and gasped like he'd been dropped off a cliff, his hands fumbling over Kurt's arms and then scrambling around to feel Kurt's face in the dark.

"S'me," Kurt said, trying to smooth his hands over Jon's shaking frantic body. "Hey--it's me, Jon."

Jon made a raw noise, his body going limp. Abruptly he fisted his hands into Kurt's nightshirt, pushing his face into Kurt's chest and screaming raggedly, hot against Kurt's skin. Kurt wrapped his arms tight around Jon's heaving shoulders, burying his face in Jon's sweaty hair. He couldn't say anything, his throat was so tight. Jon's breath caught and he pushed it out slowly, his shaking gradually easing.

"Okay now?" Kurt whispered, stroking the back of his head. "Jon?"

"I hate being so fucking scared," Jon's voice was scraped. "It's not fair dreams drag me back so easy. To that tiny person who couldn't do anything." His fists were still clenched in Kurt's shirt.

Kurt took a soft breath. "You dream about little you?'

Jon made a dry noise of affirmation.

Kurt pushed Jon's hair off his face. "Gettin' scared? Gettin' hurt?"

Jon's fists opened and he reached up to clasp his hands around the back of Kurt's neck, pulling their faces close together. Kurt could hear his breath shaking next to his ear; he took that as a yes.

"I wish I could go into your dream and hug little you," Kurt whispered. "An' tell him he's gonna make it. He's gonna see the other side."

His partner exhaled. "I mostly just want to shake him," Jon said unsteadily. "For being so stupid and helpless."

Kurt hugged him closer, aware this was little Jon in his arms right now. "You couldn't help being small," he said. "You can't beat yourself up for something you couldn't help."

Jon took a shaky breath and Kurt thought he might be crying. "If it was Dusty so small and helpless, what would you do?" Kurt asked.

He felt Jon draw in his breath and there was a silence. "Well first of all," Jon said very dryly. "I would have kick the asses of a hospital full of--hungry things. And then I would find him and hug him," Jon finished in a whisper.

Kurt was aware for the first time of the dark looming around their tent, listening. "A hospital full of...what?"

"I dunno," Jon whispered. "Hungry things. That are dark. An' they eat up the people I love and walk around in their skin. Lookin' wrong. Lookin' for me."

Kurt reached for something funny he could say about that, alarm trilling high and sharp in his mind. "Sounds like a hell of a Stephen King novel."

Jon's laugh was tight. "I don't read those for a reason."

"You've had this dream before?" Kurt asked.

"Worse since my relapse. Fucking opes fucked with my brain and I'm so stupid for using them." Kurt could feel Jon's bared teeth pushing against his chest. All the hair on Kurt's head stood up in a wave of unease. As far as he could tell, the last time Jon relapsed 'hungry things' had almost dragged his partner into the dark for keeps.

He cleared his throat to say what a normal person in their normal bedroom would say because that shit couldn't be real. He was overreacting, as usual. "Roll over, love." Kurt tucked his body around the little spoon of Jon's body, and rubbed his thumbs over the tension in Jon's shoulders.

{Jon}

Kurt fell back asleep, snoring softly against Jon's shoulder--Jon did not. He carefully turned in the circle of Kurt's arms, snuggling up against the warmth of his partner's chest, hanging on like Kurt was a life buoy and he was in a heaving ocean just keeping his head above water. Jon buried his face in Kurt's throat for the smell of him, counting his breaths, shivers running like freezing fingers over his back.

When was the last time he'd done this night sober and come through it whole?

The dark was going to pass, right? Day was going to break and he just had to stay alive until then without going under.

On this night, it seemed as if the veil of time and space was thin as tissue, and the Jon who was too small, the Jon who had cried until his body felt like a dried out husk, who had been sucked into a whirl of cold and dark, like a little curl of a leaf on the surface of a deep night river was in the room with him, mouth open in a silent cry.

A small, involuntary noise came out of Jon's chest and his fingers tangled in Kurt's hair. Don't find me; don't see me. His partner stirred, arms gathering him closer in his sleep, one leg slinging warm and heavy over Jon's hip.

Jon hiccuped a laugh. He'd never imagined he would be so grateful for Kurt's habit of sleep cuddling. Usually it woke him up; he didn't like to be touched all over when he was sleeping--but on this night when sleep was probably not returning he was unbelievably glad for the claustrophobia of Kurt's embrace, annoying and completely safe.

The hours were long; Jon grew hungry and thirsty and he needed to pee. The room felt heavy and cold around them and he was afraid to step foot outside their tent.

But that was irrational--the only thing Jon had to be afraid of tonight was himself. Right? Right. He could make a snack without...something. Without doing...something...that would prevent him from climbing back into bed with Kurt again.

He eased himself out of the warmth of Kurt's arms.

{Kurt}

The bed rocked and Kurt came partially awake, groggy.

"Kurt." Jon's voice was high and tight, his hands fumbling over the blankets. "Please wake up. I'm afraid." His head leaned heavily on Kurt's chest.

"What time izzit?" Kurt felt buried in sleep, heavy and slow.

"Time to go," Jon whispered. "I need to go. All the sharps in the house are calling my name and I need to--" His breaths came shallow and quick and the weight of him abruptly withdrew from Kurt's body, leaving.

That snapped Kurt awake immediately. He rolled out of bed, stumbling as he grabbed for his pants and searched for Jon in the dim room. "Wait up; I'm coming too," he said hoarsely. He flicked on his reading lamp and Jon flinched his face away. In the doorway , his partner was already in his puffy jacket and boots, hugging his arms around himself and shifting his feet like he needed to pee--or needed to flee.

"Did you sleep?" Kurt asked, throwing on layers of clothing: Tshirt, long-sleeved shirt, knitted jumper. He guessed they'd spend at least part of the day hiking in the mountains.

Jon shook his head, his face turned away from him. Kurt realized they'd left all the knives and scissors in the drawers in the kitchen--what the hell had he been thinking? "Your skin in one piece?" Kurt snapped.

Jon made a tight noise. "Kind of. I freaked myself out so bad I almost drove to Jasper without you." He shivered once, hard, hunching his shoulders up. "Fuck," he whispered. "Are you ready? Can we go yet?"

Kurt caught up the backpacks he'd packed the night before, tossing one to Jon. "Yup. Let's hit the road. We're getting the hell out."

The light was on in the kitchen, cheese and apples abandoned on a cutting board, something on the floor. Jon grabbed Kurt's sleeve before he could turn aside to clean that up.

"Leave it--don't touch that. We're leaving." Jon's voice was desperate as he dragged Kurt out the door, jogging through the backyard to Kurt's car and chucking the backpack into the back seat.

Kurt slid into the driver's seat, the smoke of his breath silvery in the thin moonlight. The streetlights didn't reach back here very well. Jon balled up in the passenger seat, his boots set against the glove box, linking his hands behind his head and pressing his arms against his ears.

The engine made a high whining noise of complaint as it turned over. "Just give'er a second to warm up," Kurt said. He checked the time and temperature on his phone. "Jesus. It's cold as balls." It was also four in the morning--more than four hours until sunrise. "I'm gonna need a coffee to drive," he muttered.

He glanced sideways at the knotted shape of Jon's body. "What happened, White? You're all spooky." Kurt was too; his heart was galloping so he could've pedalled this car out of here with his feet.

Jon took a short breath, his face hidden by the sleeve of his puffy jacket. "It bit me. When I went to make a snack. It jumped in my hand. The knife."

All of Kurt's hair stood up in a wave, pushing against his toque.

"I was just hungry." Jon's voice was small and unsteady. "I never--use those knives." He shoved his sleeve back, the pale skin of his wrist flashing where a long shallow cut made a sloppy black line from the ball of his thumb to the pulse point of his wrist.

"You cut?" Kurt was confused and short of breath.

Jon's wrist vanished and he gripped his hands behind his head again. "No!" His voice cracked and he put his face against his knees. Kurt heard him try and slow his breathing, pushing it out through his teeth.

"Yes. Yeah." Jon cleared his throat. "That must be what happened. I moved the knife and cut me." His voice was toneless, vibrating with how tightly he controlled it. "That's the only thing that makes sense."

"Christ. We're outta here." Kurt threw the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive with such haste the tires slid on the icy snow and their back bumper nudged their trash cans. The tires spun before grabbing traction and they lurched forward, away from the house, into the well-lit city streets.

*Do you guys believe in supernatural stuff? Ghosts, spirits, demons? I love Stephen King's storytelling and was so tickled to be able to include one of my favourite King books in these chapters...but I would DEFINITELY NOT recommend reading 'Bag of Bones' late at night!

Thanks for the reads, votes and comments lovelies! Until next week...*

2630 words.