Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

On May 6, 2038, a developing news story broke in Malaysia. Private mercenaries were attempting to assault the home of one of the nation's sultans. An otherwise typical account of geopolitical tensions was made memorable by the attackers' motivation: they were on the payroll of the cartel. And the sultan, locked in his home with part of the nation's military between himself and the assailants, had watched wings grow on his son.

Angel liberation had become a trendy thing among those who considered themselves on the bleeding edge of social awareness, but it had never managed to gain traction among the general populace. Normal people either didn't care or knew they were effectively mute in those conversations. The elite either still wanted a prize or didn't feel that they could overcome a system that had been in place for nearly a century.

If the cartel found an Angel, international law said that they had every right to take that thing in for training. Every Angel found before that, nearly thirty thousand as the pace sped, had come from middle class suburbia or distant villages or urban blocks. None had belonged to parents who, when they screamed "no," had the muscle to back it up.

After the shooting stopped, for the first time the cartel left a targeted Angel uncollared. When the smoke died down, the news stories were filled with the sight of a man clutching his son and promising that no one would ever break through their walls.

And people began to wonder.

Collaring had become a simple fact of life. It could happen to anyone, actually happened to very few, and the world moved on around those grieving families when it did. It was a death sentence legislated into existence and death came to all people, after all. It was certainly sad for some parents to say goodbye to their adolescent children, but others lost theirs to illness or accidents.

Before that story, no one had been able to fight off death thanks to a position of privilege. The great equalizer was overturned.

And people began to wonder.

Why was it fair for that one child to be kept safe when thousands of others had been taken away? The kneejerk response was to say that the son should be turned over, but that soon fell away as they realized what they were saying. It was impossible to argue that his crying mother should be forced to give up her son, rather than arguing that... maybe no one should be trying to take it.

Take him.

Should that child be called 'he' or 'it?' There was no collar in place. There was a bedroom at home. That was a son's life. News anchors struggled with the decision. The BBC was the first to settle on a style and announce it to their staff: he. The child was he. Other networks soon followed.

And people began to wonder.

A man who looked close to thirty drove up a long gravel driveway. It wound nearly a mile northeast of the highway, slowly rising away from a meadow into forested foothills. The house there sprawled after so many years, with suites for visitors and bedrooms built for new family members. Something about the blood she drank to stay young gave Carole twins every time she stopped her birth control.

Though he couldn't yet see that driver, Kurt knew who was there. The driveway curved past the garage along the highway, and every visitor who triggered its pressure pad was filmed as they passed. He'd glanced at the video feed to see who was coming. It was almost always his father leaving work, but occasionally the daily pattern of their lives was interrupted.

A pack of shepherds, Australian and German and Anatolian, trotted in from their patrol. The family hadn't set up their own breeding kennel; there was no need. Supporters of the refuge included breeders and trainers, and unlike hired human security, Kurt could trust every last one of those faces as soon as he saw them. Occasional rescue dogs joined the packs and were molded by the veterans. "Good job," he told them with a few affectionate pats. They heard the approaching car and went on alert, but Kurt told them to stand down.

It was a demanding life, but they'd found animals that rose to the challenge. With one last purchase five years earlier they (and their neighbor) owned every bit of land in that small valley. The town still existed as rentals, though many residents had left, but everyone there was friendly with the family and politely ignored what they were doing. The dogs were introduced to everyone there during their training and so overlooked them on their patrols.

"Believe me," a woman had once said as she affectionately rubbed an Aussie's head. "She'll be much happier with a job to do here than spending her days alone in someone's back yard." That woman, with a kennel near Baker City, had given them many dogs over the decades. Her hair had turned from red to grey.

Pleased with their praise, the dogs then ran off for feeding. Kurt stayed well clear of those smells; they all had their jobs to do and his were thankfully clear of anything involving meat. Thinking of that, he cast a smile down toward the valley floor. Orchards of green trees dotted it here and there. He'd watched all of them grow.

Homes had also grown under the family's hands, looking like vacation cabins scattered along the hillsides. They were small but comfortable. The same plans had been followed for each one, but only the exterior was standard: sturdy siding, a porch large enough for sitting, and glossy black solar shingles. The interiors reflected whatever had been donated during that home's construction. They all had comfortable beds on varied frames, televisions from different brands, and small fridges left over in inventory after college-bound seniors had done their dorm shopping.

The familiar truck finally approached the house. Kurt could make out the driver he'd known was there, and didn't wait for him to step clear of his opened door before he said, "Hi, Finn."

"Hey," Finn said as he retrieved a duffel bag from the passenger seat. He looked over his shoulder at the world behind him, shook his head, and asked, "Uh, need a favor."

Soon they sat at the kitchen counter as Finn described his last attempt to form a life that followed the cycle of the calendar. He'd stayed at home for decades. He learned the work at the garage, he built houses, and he swung new siblings around by their limbs as they shrieked and giggled. But eventually he wanted to see if there was something he needed in the world outside, and none of them could begrudge him that.

The last Kurt had heard, Finn was engaged to a girl born in 2012. They looked the same age. Finn had stayed away from Kurt's blood for nearly a decade as he tried to decide where his future should be, and had been gone for half that. "Lauren's not with you," he pointed out as he settled onto a stool.

"You know I can't have anyone visit," Finn mumbled.

"You can when you trust them enough," Kurt shrugged.

Finn stared at his hands like he was recording how they looked. "Yeah. So... you know I can't have anyone visit."

"What happened?" Kurt asked.

"You heard what's happening on the news." Finn flexed his hands and watched the ways the muscles and tendons stretched. By August, the discussion sparked by the sultan's son had grown very loud across the globe. "Things are changing. I should stop pretending that I'm supposed to be out in the world."

Hope fluttered again in Kurt's chest at the reminder of news stories, but he tried to ignore it. He'd expected the conversation about slavery to die but it had only grown louder. Still, he couldn't be certain that things would change. And even if they did, it might be a long time. "You know if I do this," he pointed out as he raised the knife, "you won't be able to go back to her. She'll be too shocked. You won't have a chance to explain. You've only been aging for... ten or eleven years? That's not old, Finn."

"I know this will end it, yeah." Finn gestured at the knife. "So do it. Please."

Nodding, Kurt took him at his word and drew the knife deeply through his flesh. He hissed with pain as but held up his arm before the wound began to close. Finn wrapped his hand around Kurt's wrist; blood glowed between his fingers. With one deep breath he placed his mouth to the cut and drank.

When he pushed back the healed wrist, years were already dropping away. The man turned into a boy before Kurt's eyes. Finn sat there silently as he returned to the face he'd worn for decades. "Looks like it's stopped," Kurt finally said.

"Thanks," Finn said and shouldered his duffel bag. "Is my room still my room?"

"Same as you left it," Kurt confirmed. "I've kept it clean." Finn had stopped by every few months but seldom gave warning. When he left after those visits it was as if he had to motivate himself to leave again, but he always did. Every time he worked with his family, regained lost energy, and then once again tested himself in the real world to see if his destiny was out there.

The answer to that question seemed to be 'no.' Not now, at least. "Everyone'll be so glad to have you back," Kurt said as they ambled up the stairs and to two of the oldest bedrooms in the house. "They're off doing chores, but when they see your truck?"

"Yeah, time for a big reunion," Finn agreed. Their family had grown large and the house was always full of life. He pushed open the ajar door to his room and grinned. "Am I going to have to fight you for my bed?" he asked the three kittens who were yawning sleepily on his comforter.

A smile on his face, Kurt began to say that the bathroom was stocked and so he could feel free to freshen up. His favorite shampoo was still under the sink and towels were in the cupboard. If he'd prefer not to wear something out of his suitcase, some clothes were still in his dresser. Like he hadn't since he'd tried to find some wife out in the world, Finn's hand snuck out and interrupted Kurt with a long, firm stroke down one wing.

When the words coming out of Kurt began to sound like English again, he shot Finn a look of mock offense. "Well, you didn't waste any time."

Finn nearly giggled. If Kurt ignored how old he actually was, the sound seemed a natural fit for his boyish face. "What? You've gotta be bored. You can only order so much online to keep yourself entertained. Am I right?"

"Yeah, you're back," Kurt said with a roll of his eyes. "Go take a shower, you smell like Doritos."

When he finally convinced Finn to follow orders, Kurt went to organize his work in the small office adjoining his room. He suspected his attention would be held elsewhere for a while to come, and he wanted to be able to remember what he'd been doing.

A movie producer was making what few realized was an allegorical film about Angel slavery, and Kurt was the uncredited advisor. Rowling had questions about what it felt like to be so thoroughly treated as 'other,' and was interested in his input as well as her own companion's. The name on those books wasn't hers, of course. She'd 'discovered' a younger, secretive author who was never seen in public. That recluse spun tales about finding freedom when the odds were against it.

Kurt had kept himself very busy.

He picked up a phone and pressed a contact button. "Hey, Dad," he said after a single ring. "Yeah, that was Finn who drove by. Looks like he's home."

On November 2, 2040, Sweden outlawed the ownership and sale of Angels within its borders.

It was easy for them compared to other nations. A strong history of equality and no overwhelming concentrations of wealth meant widespread support for the law and few powerful voices arguing against it. Soon Sweden became the target of families around the world who were trying to find anywhere that might be safe for their children. Any family dealing with wings was by definition desperate, but many of the people promising to get them to safety in Stockholm weren't dependable. Most of them were turned in for the finder's fee.

In 2041, Finland and Norway voted in similar laws and the Scandinavian Peninsula became the first free place in the world for those who could reach it.

New Zealand, despite being a popular vacation destination to film Angels against its scenic backdrops, outlawed ownership in 2045. Canada followed in 2047, nearly ten years after the incident with the cartel. Malaysia, to the world's general surprise, instituted its own laws that year. They named it after that boy.

In 2048, Sotheby's Auctions in Manhattan oversaw the sale of thirty-nine Angels on the secondary market.

"Your hair," Kurt said mournfully as their visitor stepped out of her car. "I thought you were coloring it."

Rachel patted her salt-and-pepper hair before she smirked at him. "Aren't you always railing against the use of unnecessary chemicals?" Seeing him about to argue, she cut him off with, "I know, you think hair dye counts as necessary. What can I say?" she asked as she swung her suitcase out of her car and he took it. "Some of us have simply had to get used to aging. We've had practice."

He didn't say anything as he escorted her through the front door. They both stepped out of their muddy shoes on the broad, flat stones of the entry hall and left them next to the half-dozen other pairs. A high cathedral ceiling rose above their heads as they walked on; laughter echoed against it. "Hey," Kurt said as they approached the sunken living room. Finn's face lit up at the sight of their visitor, as did Burt and Carole's. All three looked the same age.

The fifteen year old twins, Jill and Cole, saw who was visiting and turned their attention back to the game after a perfunctory hello. "Teenagers," Kurt confided in a low voice. "She's staying for a few days, all right?" he added to everyone as he led her past the roaring fireplace and down the hall to the newest wing of the house.

"I didn't stay here last time, did I?" she asked as she shrugged off her coat and hung it in that room's closet. "It's been... oh, how long has it been since I've been here, Kurt? Two years?"

"Three. And this is all new," he confirmed. "Finn and I have been busy."

"I can't believe you let that boy use power tools," she sighed as she slumped into an armchair. Her gaze turned to the window and she took in the sight across the hillside. There were so many cabins waiting for occupants.

"He hasn't been a 'boy' since you've been a 'girl,'" Kurt pointed out. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back to prop his weight against his elbows. They'd long since moved past any need to stand on even a sliver of formality.

"I know," she said. "It's just that when I see you, there's something rather obvious reminding me why you look the same. Seeing him, or your parents... it's odd. And you can't tell me that it's not," she said with challenge. He smiled and allowed it.

"You should be sure to talk to Finn," he said as she dug through her briefcase. "You two haven't gotten a chance to see each other in person for a while, right? With how he was gone."

"That's right," Rachel said, distracted. "Aha, here we go," she said and retrieved the papers she'd apparently been hunting for. "I'm working on this case. I thought you should see the evidence we've gathered in person."

"These documents are confidential, aren't they?" Kurt smirked as he began shuffling through them. "You're finally cutting loose, Ms. Berry."

She made an art out of pushing the law to its limits. She refused to accept what people said must be true and managed to create her own stories from precedent that most never would have joined together. Rachel looked pained for a second before she admitted, "They are confidential, but I am still entirely within the boundaries of the law."

Kurt frowned at that for just a moment before the truth hit. Ah, of course. Showing those files to anyone else in the house would have gotten her in trouble, but he was safe. He wasn't a person. "What am I looking at?" he asked as he flipped through papers.

"It's an immigration issue," she said carefully.

"That's odd," he said. "Not that you can't work on what you like, but you've made quite a career out of human rights cases. Immigration law, well, I suppose that's related, but it's its own little silo. Right?"

"Specifically," she continued, "it's about immigration to Canada."

His hands stilled on the paper. Of course. It had recently become illegal to own Angels in their neighbor to the north, and the longest undefended border in the world sat between them. Ottawa had already refused to return two Angels described as having been 'stolen' from owners in the Hamptons. They'd screamed all the way there, but then the crusaders who'd raided those parties cut off their collars. Washington argued that the 'thieves' were indeed criminals who had made an illegal crossing at an unmarked spot on the border, and they were within their rights to demand their extradition. Tensions were high.

"A lot of families are crossing," Rachel said quietly, like someone might hear her. "It's not just people taking Angels who are already collared. Families are driving across the border, whether or not they have passports. They're outrunning hunters. I'm working to get their border charges dismissed."

Kurt smiled faintly at the image of a family setting off for some unmarked spot of land in Montana or Minnesota and taking the step between slavery and freedom. Ottawa, so far, had stayed firm to their pledge to stand up against what they labeled as human trafficking. Many in Washington felt the same way, but there were only a few places on the planet that had concentrations of wealth to match New York and Los Angeles. They were the ones about to lose their toys and they were making every effort to hold off progress.

"Why don’t you go?" she asked, still in that soft voice.

Startled, he blinked at her. Then he gestured mutely at the view of all those cabins just waiting to be filled. "They're waiting, and so am I. And we have more rooms in this house than we need, by far. We thought it might be good to have space for the worst-off to be right around help, rather than off on their own."

"I know, but... but Kurt, you and your father could cross. The rest of your family could look after things in the meantime, until you come back."

He shook his head. "What's the point?" She put a hand to her throat to mimic his collar but he shook his head again. "I can't take it off yet, Rachel. What would happen if I went up north and took it off, only for someone to capture me and sneak me back across? I really doubt they'd turn around and give me back to my dad."

"But aren't you excited?" she asked. Rachel leaned forward and rested her weight on one of his knees, like she could somehow change his mind with physical proximity. "Oh, Kurt. It's been so long and it's almost here, can't you feel it?"

"It's getting closer," he admitted. Steps were being made. He couldn't let himself get too excited... but steps were being made. "I've waited this long. I'd rather wait for things to all be in place."

"I just want to see things change," Rachel grumped as she retrieved the papers and replaced them in her files. "I just... I have to see you without a collar. It'll break my heart if I don't make it that long."

"You're not that old, Rachel," he instinctively said, although she had fewer years ahead of her than behind. Her hair was cut shorter in an 'acceptable' style for women of her age, and her skin was lined and had spots of sun damage. "And you know you could... well," he whispered.

She could stay. She knew the family, was passionate about their cause, and they could use someone to handle the mountain of paperwork that was sure to hit when they became the guardians of potentially hundreds of damaged people. Their friendship with the ACLU had continued all those years, and he knew it would be handled, but it would also be nice to have a friend taking the lead. Rachel had divorced her husband six years earlier and her attempts at dating seldom ended well. She could stay.

"I can't stay here," Rachel said with a sad smile. "Of course I can't."

"But—"

"Kurt, Miri's pregnant. You know that. I told you that." He knew that her daughter was due in two months, yes. "Aaron just proposed to his girlfriend, so they'll be getting married." She nodded at his weak offer of congratulations, and continued, "I'll be at that wedding ceremony as the mother of the groom. I'll be in that hospital room to see my grandbaby. I'm so excited about all of that. And in return, they'll have their mom and grandma."

"Rachel," Kurt said fiercely when he had the chance to break in, "that also means that you're going to die."

"I know. It's part of the deal." She squeezed his hand. "It just means there's so much I want to see while I'm still kicking around. It's a good motivator. It keeps me busy."

Frustrated and resigned, he nodded. They all had been busy. He and Finn had built a retreat for people in need. Rachel had changed laws with the sheer force of her personal drive. "Everyone's saying Mercedes is a lock for more Dove nominations," Kurt finally said, trying not to sound as sad as he felt. "Great reviews for the latest album." She was based in Nashville, now, with a strong niche audience in the gospel market. Her music was about looking out for those in need, tending to the weak, and other messages she proudly proclaimed were straight from Jesus' teachings. Though he never would have expected to listen to albums from a religious label, Kurt had played every single song and smiled with pride at each new triumph of her voice.

Tina ran a marketing firm that specialized in charities and social issues. Artie, the medical miracle with an unexplained recovery, worked in city planning. He kept an eye out for vulnerable populations. Santana had turned her talent for the attack and clever words toward politics; she was in the state Senate. Puck, to their collective surprise, joined the military and then turned that stretch of service into a career with the police. They liked him; they called his turnaround a real success story.

They all cared about people like him, but it wasn't their only work. Tina's latest efforts had been focused on elder abuse, and Artie had to balance the very real need for homeless shelters with voters outraged at the thought of those buildings lowering their property values. They were all helping, though. They were all doing good things. They hadn't dedicated their lives to a single cause like his family had, but that was all right. The world was a better place for having them in it.

He realized Rachel was talking and tried to focus. "Well-deserved," Rachel agreed. "It's a beautiful album."

"Do you wish you had albums with your name on them, too?" he asked.

"Yes," she shrugged. He hadn't expected such a baldly honest answer. "But I still know I made the right choice for the world we live in. I'm so proud of the work I did choose."

"You could stay," he tried one last time in a whisper.

"No I can't." Her hand squeezed his. Kurt's was unmarked and strong. Hers had begun to crease with wrinkles. "That's also the right choice. Now, you're going to show me around this place and tell me what's new, I'm going to catch up with Finn, and then you're going to introduce me to those littlest ones I saw last time. I'm sure they've forgotten me."

"All right," Kurt relented. "I'll take you to one of the cabins, you can look inside. Very instructive, I suppose."

She squeezed his hand again as he stood to escort her out. He memorized that feeling, as he knew it wouldn't last forever.

In 2051, the mounting frequency of Angels fleeing to Canada rebounded abruptly on the people pushing for tighter laws. The country was tired of hearing about a crusade that called for more police, hurt the economy as Canadian relations faltered, and generally stalled the entire nation to protect the sensual pleasure of its elite. The border was too long. There was too much open space. If ownership was illegal in Canada, it was clearly absurd to allow it there. The number of newly collared Angels had plummeted and many trained ones had been driven to safety.

Not one billionaire in Manhattan or Hollywood celebrity could shout loud enough to overcome the obvious logic of that long border. A few desperate owners actually called for military action if the government refused to return their stolen property. The idea of war over Angels was so absurd that the bubble of tension abruptly broke across the entire nation.

They were no longer society's upper crust and an Angel wasn't a status symbol. They were foolish children throwing a temper tantrum because they wanted to keep slaves who other nations called free. In a wave of backlash that clearly took the elite by surprise, the country decided it was tired of their ridiculous behavior and outlawed ownership.

No child could be collared within national borders.

Any Angels currently owned were required to be set free within forty-eight hours.

For the first time, the industry secret of how to disable the controllers was made public. It was required that owners do so. Possession of a working controller would be punished appropriately.

Each time Kurt heard "the motion passes" on television, he felt just that much dizzier. In one second he was recognized as human—or close enough to it—and the Thirteenth Amendment applied. In the next he was free.

After all that time, could it really be that simple?

"Shouldn't there be... trumpets or something?" he weakly asked. His hand lay against his collar. Instead Congress was moving forward with the next bill under discussion, and the talking heads replacing them onscreen went into an immediate financial and legal analysis of the vote. No one on camera congratulated him. No one welcomed him back to humanity. His entire life had been returned to him with the same care as they'd use for funding farm subsidies.

Strong arms pulled him into a firm hug. Kurt, still staring at the screen, took a long time to realize more than one person was hugging him. His father, two brothers, and a sister all clung to him and said it had finally happened.

"Gotta take care of something," Burt said with a smile as he stepped back. He reached into his pocket and plucked out the controller. Inhaling, he pressed on its corners in the pattern the television had described. The back popped open. Its wiry guts looked vulnerable after so long spent contained. "Want me to rip this thing apart?" Burt asked.

Kurt's eyes widened. He grabbed for the object protectively and shook his head. It wasn't time. It wouldn't be for a while, yet. "Just turn it off."

Though Burt frowned at the moment not being as grand a spectacle as he might have liked, he nodded. His fingers found the named wire and, with a deep breath, he tugged it free. The display on the other side died. The controller was off.

An uneven sigh escaped Kurt. He'd been tied to that thing twice as long as he was free before it; longer, actually. He couldn't look away. His fingers clutched his collar more tightly. It was now nothing more than an inert piece of metal, not unless the controller turned back on. "Put the wire back in," he said nervously.

Burt stared. "What?"

"Turn it back on. We have to see if it still works." Realizing everyone there was looking at him with horror, Kurt shakily explained, "We have to make sure it remembers you as the owner. Someone could take me, turn that on, and set themselves."

His baby sister Brooke looked at him with wide, confused eyes. "But they said no one could own you any more." Many of their family earned the labels 'innocent' and 'naïve' compared to much of the world, but her youth made her especially so.

"I just need to be careful for a while," Kurt reluctantly said. He fidgeted until Burt gave in and tested the controller. It flashed back to life, immediately recognized him as the owner, and he pulled the plug once more. Even if someone kidnapped him, they couldn't reset his collar. "Okay. Okay, good. Can I have it?"

Burt placed the light object in Kurt's palm. Kurt bit at his lip. Even though the screen was black and he couldn't have used it anyway, he pushed the space where an outline of his body had been. There was no pain. He pushed again, harder. His thumb ground against the black screen so firmly that he almost expected to hear the sound of creaking metal and cracking glass.

"Kurt," Burt said softly. Only a choked whine escaped Kurt as he dared the inert controller in his hand to work, and Burt continued, "Okay, everyone. Clear out for now. Go tell Mom the news if she hasn't heard. Everyone pitch in for a nice dinner tonight, okay? Really: go. I mean it." As most people in the room nodded and left, shooting concerned looks as they did, Burt closed the door behind them. "You've been worried about that thing for a long time."

Another almost animalistic noise tore out of Kurt. His chest heaved as he stared at the controller. His hand rose like he was going to throw the thing against the wall, but he just barely managed to control himself.

"Do it," Burt said softly. "Go on. Do you know how long you've been waiting for this? Your life is back, Kurt."

He shook his head. "Not yet. I can't do it yet." Though he probably should have been ecstatic, Kurt felt terrified. He'd carved out a solid, predictable life. Even with his practiced vocabulary, he couldn't explain the overwhelming panic flooding him. "I just... I'm going to go to my room and think."

"Okay," Burt said. A line of confusion dipped between his eyebrows. "You... you do that. I know this has to be a big day for you. It's gotta be a lot to take in."

Kurt nodded shortly and turned on his heel. He pulled open the door, walked through it, and nearly ran up the stairs to the house's highest level.

When he closed his door behind him and dropped to his bed, shaking, he realized that the controller had never started beeping to alert its owner of its location. It was off. The laws had been changed. It was over.

He stared at the small, dark form of the controller on his desk and wondered what he was supposed to feel.

"Wake up," Kurt heard through the glass inset of his door the next morning, after a restless night. He tried to ignore the knocking but it only intensified, and with a groan he rose to glare at the person waiting on his balcony.

"What?" he demanded.

Jennifer smiled brightly back at him. Her curls were pulled back into a messy ponytail with strands hanging free. "The sky cleared up." It had been raining for days. "Come fly with me?"

"I was sleeping," he said. The girl who had once been twitchy and broken had healed, but she was like an obnoxious little sister. Kurt had many little sisters by that point and he felt the 'obnoxious' label was well-earned and researched. He was utterly convinced of her theory about the wings matching the person, because she was clearly soulmates with the irritating jaybirds of the world.

"Now you're not," she pointed out. "Come on," she insisted, drawing the last word out over several seconds. "I'm bored."

"If I do," he asked as he rubbed at his sleepy eyes, "will you go away so I can get some more sleep?" The overwhelming news of the day before struck him again and Kurt's stomach twisted with nerves.

"Possibly," she said, and he figured that was good enough. She clapped happily when he joined her outside. "Let's take them off together, okay?"

"What?" he asked her. Kurt was still in a tee and pajama pants, but considering he was planning on returning to bed, he couldn't be bothered to change.

"Our collars," she said like he was missing something blindingly obvious. "You... you saw the news, right? It's all over! Come on!" she said and tugged his hand toward the edge of the balcony.

"No it's not," Kurt said, realizing why he was so unhappy. "It's still legal to own us in Mexico. The Bahamas. Basically anywhere within a single plane trip. We take these off, it just has to be one person sneaking in to grab us and we're owned until that country changes its laws." He'd had so long to become comfortable with the status quo that this incomplete progress left him terrified. He didn't know how quickly he could move, when he would be safe, or how his life would change now that the world was.

Everything he'd ever wanted was coming true and it left him feeling sick. He hadn't faced uncertainty for a very long time. He couldn't go more than a mile from his father, he built a refuge for a day that would one day arrive, and he served as the responsible big brother to many siblings and one cheerful fellow Angel. That was his life and its rut was decades deep. He'd been in stasis and things were tingling so badly they hurt as he woke up.

"I guess that makes sense," Jennifer said reluctantly. Her fingertips brushed against her collar and she actually pouted. "I guess it's just jewelry now. They don't do anything. We can keep them on for a while longer."

"Right," Kurt said, relieved that she saw his logic.

"Okay, well... race you!" she said as she sprang into the sky.

For a moment Kurt considered letting her race herself until she noticed he wasn't there, but that would prompt at least an hour's whining. She was lighter and could pull off banking moves he'd never dreamed of, but he was stronger and faster. With one put-upon sigh, he chased after her and strained until she was almost close enough to touch.

He almost had her when fog closed around them. It took Kurt a second to realize his failure in logic; of course it couldn't be fog, not up there. It had to be....

Neither of them said anything when they shot above the clouds and their race died a sudden death. It was glorious. On the ground only muddy sunlight had poked through, but it was unchallenged above the cloud cover. From below, the clouds' surfaces were almost flat with a few holes and pockmarks. The tops made mountains.

"The air's thin," Jennifer finally said. Neither of them had dared break the silence for more than a minute.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked. It felt like he couldn't even blink, as he needed to take in every bit of that moment.

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"I'm fine."

They didn't say anything else for a long time. Eventually one of them—asked later, Kurt couldn't say who—stopped hovering and began to move. They traced the curved surfaces, slipped between sunlight and shadow, and dipped back into the clouds only to spring back into open air. "How high are we?" Kurt wondered.

"More than a mile," Jennifer said simply.

He still didn't know how quickly his life might change, but something inside Kurt unknotted and eased as he stared at the top of the clouds. "Wow," he said. Anything more eloquent was beyond him. "I need to go back down. I didn't tell them I was leaving, they'd be worried if they looked."

"Right," Jennifer agreed. "We should go back down. We're coming back up later, though? Right?"

"You'd better believe it," Kurt whispered as he stared for one last minute and then began to slowly descend. That sight had been above him for years, just too high to see. He'd lived for so long already; for most people, it would be nearly a full lifetime. And yet he was just getting started, he realized dizzily as the air began to thicken around him. His life might had stalled for a long time, but even that would seem short in comparison.

There were mountains to the east. He could go see them any time he wanted to, now.

Kurt lightly landed on the balcony and walked inside. The controller still sat where he'd left it on the desk. He laughed breathily at the sight of it and went to pick out his clothes for the day; there was no way he could fall back asleep after that adrenaline rush.

He checked the monitor on his wall and smiled at what he saw. He'd ignored it the night before when he was lost in his thoughts, but he had dozens of messages waiting for him. His oldest friends had tears in their eyes as they said they couldn't believe that the day had finally come. Every one of them who was still alive had left a message, as had many of the people he'd worked with over the years. Three of the previous year's Best Actress nominees had messages in the stack; he had more real friends in Hollywood than any producer.

His pseudo-sister was playing with his real siblings when he eventually ambled downstairs. As the years had passed, her nerves eased and she began to enjoy spending time at their house rather than complaining that she wasn’t out at some glamorous party. She seemed to enjoy having a family, and a big one at that.

"Congrats!" said a voice behind Kurt, and he let out a noise of surprise as arms snaked around his waist. "I heard you went crazy last night and locked your door, but now you're smiling so I guess you're over it?"

"Hi, Finn," Kurt drawled as he extricated himself from the crushing hug.

"Aren't you excited?" he asked insistently. "Everything just got fixed!"

"No," Kurt corrected. For all the years hidden behind Finn's unchanged face, he'd largely kept his sense of innocence. He'd been able to focus on working with his hands and seeing goals hit specific milestones while Kurt dealt with the uncertainty of changing opinions. It was a relief to go back to building cabins after some of his least savory conversations; Finn had never dealt with that. Really, the biggest failure in his life had been to find a partner. He'd managed almost everything else he'd tried.

"What do you mean, no?"

After going through his logic about needing it for protection until other nations changed their laws, Kurt started talking about paperwork, legal ramifications, and countless other niggling concerns. Finn made a face and Kurt finally stopped. "It's a good first step," he allowed, and thought of the sight above the clouds. "It's a huge first step. But there's still more work."

"More work," Finn repeated mournfully. "You know I'm glad I'm here—I chose to be here—but I'm ready to move forward, you know?"

"I do," Kurt agreed, and wondered yet again why Finn had never tried the obvious avenue to correct his one failure.

"Well, anyway, you've gotta be happy," Finn said as he gestured at the family, but he turned away when Kurt expected him to linger. "Everyone else is."

"Uh huh. That's... Finn, I can't believe you've never done this, and I know the collars being turned off is a big milestone. Surely your perceptions must have changed. She doesn't need to travel with George any more, right?"

"Huh?" Finn asked.

"Oh, for the love of... will you just talk to her?" Kurt asked snippily.

"Who?" Finn replied. He sounded genuinely confused.

"Jennifer," Kurt said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Finn and Jen. It works. It's adorable. Go ask her out." He saw the stammered protest building and held up one finger. "You've already had... however many failed relationships, one ended engagement, and it was all because you couldn't trust a woman to deal with this life. Well: ta-da. And she's an Angel. You think we're hot," Kurt said bluntly, because by that point they'd moved well past any pretense.

"She's like a sister," Finn protested.

"We have the same last name," Kurt retorted. "Do you want me to go over what we've done?"

"Not out loud," Finn said immediately, then seemed to really consider the question. "You... you think I should?"

"She's happy and emotionally healthy by now," Kurt said with a shrug. "She thinks you're cute, and I swear you two have the same mental age. And now she's free to go wherever she wants. Give it a shot."

"I don't know," Finn began, but immediately countered that with, "Should I?"

"Yes. Try it. I insist." Kurt brushed him away until Finn finally gave in and moved to ask Jennifer if he could talk to her, and he breathed a sigh of relief. While he would still grab the girl to see the top of the clouds, he knew he would need to focus in the years to come and this would capture her attention. It would make Finn happy, too. Kurt's role seemed to be that of a problem-solver, he thought as he smiled at everyone as he passed, accepted their congratulations, and then went to make some calls.

Everyone else could busy themselves with celebration. He knew what was coming and he had to prepare.

Three freed Angels arrived a week later. One of the biggest names in Hollywood was their escort; she explained that some of the other biggest names had thrown them out with no food, money, or possessions. Furious at the change in the laws, they had decided that if they weren't allowed to own them, they would have absolutely nothing to do with their former property. They weren't even given a bottle of water.

"Hi," Kurt gently said as he looked in the back of the truck. The three crouched figures flinched but didn't say anything or look up. "You're safe now, all right?" When they stayed still, he turned and murmured, "Why didn't they try to fly somewhere better? You said they were picked up off the streets?"

"Clamps," she said with disgust and Kurt flinched. He hadn't seen that from his angle. It had become popular to cinch wing bases with precious metals, like heavy cuff bracelets. Sometimes they were studded with gemstones. They were invariably tight enough to limit movement, and, he imagined, prevented flying.

"Okay," he said as he risked stepping up into the back. The truck barely moved under his weight. "There are homes waiting for you here. You don't have to... to do anything any more. And my dad has all sorts of tools. He can get those things off you and you can heal up."

They still stared at the floor when he said that and Kurt realized the problem. They'd just been horribly abused, loaded in a windowless truck, ferried to an unknown destination, and now strangers were telling them that other strangers would take tools to their wings. "It's okay," he promised. "You can trust him. Because he's taken care of me. Look at me? Please?" Still obviously scared, they inched their gazes off the floor and took in the sight there. They stiffened with surprise when they realized he was one of them, and then relaxed some tiny amount.

Kurt smiled. "See? I'm telling you that you can trust everyone here. They're all my family, and there's another Angel. It's safe here. We have homes you can stay in alone and there are locks on the doors."

"Can we eat?" a dark-haired boy asked shakily.

Frowning, Kurt glanced over his shoulder. "You didn't feed them on the way up?" he demanded.

"They were too scared, they wouldn't take it! I offered!"

"You can eat," Kurt promised them as he turned back. "We have trees that you can pick fruit from, gardens... anything you want. It's good here. I swear." He risked reaching out to rest his hands on two of theirs. "Do you want to come out and see?"

"Are there a lot of people?" asked the girl in the back.

"There are, but they're all my family. They're all good. They know me and they help me. And there are animals—" The boy sucked in a breath at that and Kurt frowned. Animals were kind; he didn't understand.

"My... there were dogs," he said. "At my house. They were trained to be mean."

Sadly, Kurt nodded. Just like they could be broken with enough time under trainers, so could animals. It was how the hunters used dogs: they took the natural drive to find and protect them and twisted it into a vicious parody. "They're all nice here. Just like my family. But we can keep them away from you until you're comfortable with them, okay?" The three looked at each other and nodded in jerky motions, and Kurt ventured adding, "What are your names?" They listed three ridiculous names that were clearly not their own, and he nodded. "Okay. Well, if you want to pick a name of your own—one your owner didn’t pick—you can do that. If you want. You don't have to do anything that you don't want," he repeated and hoped they would learn to believe that.

"Who are you?" one asked.

"The Hudson family," he said and stepped out of the truck and into the sunlight. He extended his hand and added, "I'm Kurt." They finally joined him; he just held back his sigh of relief at their decision to leave the truck. Ignoring their driver and assuming she'd understand, he led them to the nearest group of cabins. They had an audience, but thankfully his family knew better than to come too near the new arrivals. There would be time for that later.

The first Angel, sadly renamed Lolita, stared at the cabin Kurt presented to her. "See, the door locks," he explained as he demonstrated it. Walking inside, he gestured to the small kitchen that would usually be ignored in favor of fresh fruit, but could be used to make salads and soups. A wall monitor had been programmed with movies and carefully selected stations. When Angels felt ready they could unlock more, but they wouldn't be taken off guard by surprising imagery. The bed was in the loft, Kurt added; he knew it felt better to be up high. The shower was comfortably sized. There wasn't much space for extras, he admitted, but it was all hers and she didn't need to do anything to earn it.

He could see the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, and carefully said, "I'm going to show these two their cabins, and then I'll bring food to all of you, all right? I know you must be tired. You can sleep after you eat. No one will bother you."

They hesitated, but nodded. He could see a question in their eyes: "Why are you doing this?" But then they looked at what was behind him and that question died. His very presence gave the only answer they could ever trust.

Once he'd shown the other two to their new homes, Kurt flew as fast as he could manage to the nearest orchard. Apples; fine. He plucked a half-dozen off the first tree, cradled them in his shirt, and returned as quickly as he'd came. They'd certainly fall asleep soon and he didn't want to startle them. They accepted the apples, two apiece, and sniffed curiously at them. One said they smelled different than normal food. They didn't smell dead.

"You're really going to like it here," Kurt promised and then left them to their sleep. He slowly walked back to the main house. He could have traveled faster through the air, but he wanted time to think and knew his family would be waiting with questions. They were: who were they, how were they doing, when could they see them?

"Give them time," Kurt said when he returned, rubbing the space between his eyes. "They don't trust people and we can't let any dogs get close yet, even if they want to. Jen, you can say hello. But if they don't answer, don't push it. Move on. I promised them that they have total control over locking those doors."

He sank down into a waiting chair and suddenly felt very old. In theory his parents were at the top of their small social pyramid. That encounter had told him how much responsibility rested instead on his shoulders. They were the ultimate authorities for their family, true, but Kurt suspected he would fill that role for every Angel who arrived there. They might have a new 'Mom' and 'Dad,' but those were long-forgotten roles. They needed a simpler concept to which to cling and his appearance made him easy to understand.

Things were about to change very quickly for someone used to measuring change in the slow tilt of decades.

"We need to check all the cabins," he slowly began. "Make sure they're ready. Whoever's on orchard duty, they need to be checked. If anything's dropping, bring it up here for you to eat or dry. They'll need everything fresh. It'll help them." He swallowed hard. His heart was beating as fast as it had the first time he'd risen above the clouds.

Things were about to change. Finally, he could believe that things were about to change.

"Let's get to work," he said, and everyone did.

One month passed and nearly three dozen Angels arrived.

That didn't last, as several left after a few weeks in their cabins. One left after only three days. They were used to mansions and silk sheets. They hadn't dressed, bathed, or groomed themselves since they'd been sold. "Please," Burt begged one as she readied herself to take off. "You don't want to do this."

"I talked to a man in Dallas who'll give me everything I want," she said shakily. "You can't make me stay here. I hate it here."

Kurt tried to grab her hand but she shook free, demanding that they not force her to do what they wanted. He tried to explain that she was so broken that she couldn't know what she wanted, but every attempt was interrupted. She wanted to go and if they kept her there it would be against her will. "All right," he finally, brokenly said. "We won't force you to stay."

With one last look of disgust around their mountain retreat, she launched herself into the air and flew in the direction of that man's bed. "It's a valid option," Kurt finally said when he'd watched her fly away. "She's right. I can't forbid people from doing it. Even if that path's been beaten in, I can't stop them."

"You can't save everyone," Burt sadly agreed. "We'll just make things better for who we can."

Even among those who had stayed, not all were happy but didn't see any better option. Many were utterly broken and needed time to get better. The ones in the house were the worst. One boy broke down crying for no apparent reason. Carole rushed in to comfort him when his wails floated downstairs and he said that he didn't know how to deal with that being the first day in seventeen years when someone hadn't killed him.

Things were very quiet for a while after that as the overwhelming magnitude of their suffering sank in. Some Angels arrived on their own, having heard about the refuge, and they landed without warning. All pleaded for a spot. Some were naked except for their collars.

Jennifer, who'd studied animals as she began to enjoy the countryside, identified each pair of wings as they came and made predictions about their behavior. They came to realize it wasn't only an apparently accurate reflection of their personalities, but also an indicator of what might help them. Wings from birds of prey meant they were probably introverts and should be given space. Others were more gregarious and could risk earlier contact. A weaver needed a hobby with his hands, and a canary and nightingale began to sing together on rooftops. Their voices were beautiful and Kurt wanted to join them, but he couldn't be all things to all people. If those two became each other's rock, all the better for it.

Some Angels craved sexual contact like food and drink. After a few failed attempts the family let them move between cabins as they pleased; it seemed heartless to deny anything that offered comfort. Even if they hadn't chosen the suffering that drove them to those needs, each Angel finally had the chance to give consent.

It wasn't what Kurt had expected. He'd known that Burt and Carole would oversee all of the Angels, but they were the heads of that human family while the Angels looked to him. He hadn't considered that Angels who'd only known rape for decades would keep looking toward sex as a kneejerk response, or that they'd even leave the refuge to find effective new owners.

One day he heard laughter and looked up. The girl with the canary wings and boy with the nightingale were on a rooftop, but they were talking instead of singing. He pointed to the sky, she nodded, and they both lifted into the air together.

Kurt smiled lopsidedly.

It was a start.

Two more Christmases passed. The majority of nations had outlawed ownership, but Kurt still shook his head whenever it was suggested that he take off his collar. Some of the Angels there had gone for the quick removal: one cut through the spike that joined collar to spine. A small metal circle lay flush with their skin. That remaining stub of the spike would make it harder to collar them again, but Kurt didn't trust it to keep him safe.

The news that night said that, as part of its motions to halt human trafficking, the UN would support all retrieval missions for Angels taken from free nations. It caught the world by surprise, as it was such a dramatic statement to make and some Council members still allowed ownership. Pundits explained that those slave nations seemed to have been placated by allowing ownership of Angels found within their borders. And the UN's resolution was a political statement aimed squarely at the cartel, which would now think twice about making a grab for a free person.

"Okay," Kurt said as he stared at the anchor reading that announcement. "Let's do it."

He couldn't be killed permanently but he could feel tremendous pain. Because of that, Burt found a trained surgeon willing to make the drive up from the city. He'd know just where to make the cuts. "Pleasure to meet you," said Dr. Chopra as he extended his hand.

"And you," Kurt said lightly as he shook it. His voice sounded thin as he tried to cover his nerves. "I thought we could test me first to see how it goes, and then you can move on to anyone else who wants it?"

"Anyone else," Dr. Chopra repeated as he turned to the hillsides. Cabins' porches were occasionally dotted with wings. Like he only then realized what he might be missing, he looked up at the sky and saw a few figures making great, looping arcs in the air. "Of course," he said in an awed whisper.

His attitude soon changed. "You can't be serious," he stammered as the pair gravely drove him down to the garage along the highway. With the dwindling town population, Burt had long since moved to being a specialized mechanic who worked on imports that people would ship across the country. He didn't need other employees, except for occasional family helpers, and the place was empty. "Surgery has to take place in sterile areas."

Inhaling deeply, Kurt began to unbutton his shirt and nodded at his father. The man nodded back and began to arrange a low workbench. "It's impossible for me to get an infection," he said. "And the blood vanishes, but still, I like the idea of having a drain. Really, it's the noise," he explained to Dr. Chopra when the man's horror remained undiminished. "I'm going to scream and I don't want the others to hear. It'll put them off of the idea."

"You won't scream," the doctor protested. "You'll be asleep."

"I can't be sedated," Kurt said as he carefully set his shirt aside, knelt down, and rested his head on his arms. He stretched his neck to make the work easier to do. "No medications work on me. And electrical shocks only knock me out for a few seconds. I'll have to be awake when you work."

Dr. Chopra stared at him and then said, "You realize that collar is embedded in your spine. This will take hours."

"No it won't," Kurt said. "You're going to cut through my spinal cord as quickly as you can, so you kill me before I feel too much. Please cut it again if you see it start to regenerate. Then you're going to remove the vertebra with metal in it. I'll grow a new one, everything will heal and close, and I'll wake up." A hand lightly patted him on the shoulder. He knew it was Burt. They'd had a long time to get used to the idea of what would have to happen.

The good doctor hadn't. "I'm sorry," he said bluntly. "I took an oath. I can't possibly do this."

He should have expected that. "Dad?" Kurt sighed, standing. "Have anything sharp handy?"

When Dr. Chopra had watched several fingers regenerate—Kurt asked him to please not require a death demonstration, promising that he knew from experience—he shakily nodded. "All right. I'd heard, but I hadn't believed it. All... all right. Let's get the majority of the collar cut off first, it'll help me work."

Kurt stood there silently as the two men unlatched his collar and cut it away from the spike. The thin circle of his neck that it exposed felt cold in the open air. He brushed his fingertips down the length of his neck and sucked in an unsteady breath. It felt wrong.

"You'll get used to it," Burt quietly said. "Stay calm. It's like wearing a ring for a long time, you'll get used to it being gone."

"Okay," Kurt said tightly as he knelt back over the bench. His chest heaved with deep breaths. "Let's do this."

The high-pitched whine of Dr. Chopra's small circular saw made him flinch. He knew it was coming and it would be a good thing, but oh, this would hurt. It would hurt. It would—

There was one sharp moment of indescribable pain when a scream tore out of him, and then as numbness swept him he fell away into endless night.

"Kurt?" he heard quietly when his eyes fluttered open. He was still dizzy. What had just happened? "Just lie there for now, okay? The nerves are all still healing. But you're...." He realized it was the doctor talking. He sounded astonished. "You're going to be fine."

Kurt rolled his head to the side until he found his watchful father. "Is it out?" he whispered.

"It's out," Burt confirmed. His eyes glistened as he smiled.

Fumbling, Kurt brought his hand up to his neck. It still felt bare and wrong, but he forced himself to ignore that as he slid his hand flat around the back to probe at the flesh over his spinal column. It was unbroken. There was no metal anywhere. "I want to see it. I want to see it out of me."

"The bone vanished," Burt explained as he placed something into Kurt's palm. "But there's...."

Finally able to sit up, Kurt did so as he examined the silver spike in his hand. How long had it been since that spike was driven through his flesh? How far had his life come since he'd been dragged up a flight of stairs and thrown into the back of a van? "It's out," he said as he slowly studied the element that had made him unable to run, unable to fight back, and had limited his freedom for decades. It was so small. He'd pictured something massive, despite how skin stretched right over spines, but it wasn't even an inch long.

He had to call someone.

"I'm going to go tell the others they can come down, all right?" he asked Dr. Chopra as he stood and began pulling his shirt back on. "Can you just stay here?" When the man nodded, he gave a short goodbye and then quickly covered the trip to the house. The first Angels he saw got an overview of what was down at the garage, if they wished to take advantage, as well as a warning for the pain.

His footsteps picked up speed as he moved. As he passed the cuddling couple in the living room, Kurt said to Jennifer that it worked, she could get it cut out that very afternoon. That wasn't his focus, though, and he kept running up the stairs.

"Oh," Rachel gasped as her face came up on the monitor. Her hand covered her mouth. "Oh. I'm so glad I got to see this."

He excitedly showed her the unmarked back of his neck, then talked about how strange it felt to have that ring of skin exposed to the air. It was paler than the rest of his skin, nearly pure white after so long in the shadows, and he wondered how long it would be before that reminder faded. "I have to call everyone," he continued. "You've just done so much work for us here that I had to call you first. You had to know we're doing this. Some of us already cut them off down to the stubs, but... but we're doing this. All of it. Permanently."

"That's so wonderful," Rachel said. Her worn face smiled.

"It took so long," Kurt said as his joy faded. "You're... Rachel, I don't want to say this, but...."

"I'm old." She waved off the words. "I know it's supposed to be 'a state of mind,' but let's not lie to ourselves: I'm old. As unfair as it is to you, I've had the chance to live nearly a whole lifetime while you've been waiting for yours to really start. But now it's going to. And it's going to be perfect," she said.

"I have to call everyone," he deflected as she raised the horrible reminder of the age she wouldn't let him fix. "I'll talk to you later, all right?" After they made their goodbyes he called another old friend; Mercedes actually squealed with excitement when she saw. A beautiful home was visible behind her; Kurt wished she weren't at the opposite corner of the country.

He called more old friends and new friends made since his relocation from Ohio. The 'owners' who'd helped their cause all cheered. One musician even said he'd come throw a party until Kurt reminded him how damaged many of their new visitors were, and he quickly amended that to writing a new song to celebrate.

With the calls done, he sat back and thought about the faces he'd seen. The old ones had lived such full, meaningful lives. The young ones had such potential. He wondered when members of his family would decide they wanted lives beyond the valley and would step back into the passage of time. Many of the 'good owners' kept young had already privately told them they were tired of being recluses, and would begin aging as soon as the laws changed. Jennifer had stopped looking after George.

Pushing his brother toward someone who would also want to keep him young, Kurt admitted, had some selfish motives. But flashing back to Rachel's face and Mercedes' pure white hair, he couldn't bring himself to care. Even as he was on the brink of a whole new life for himself, he knew he would soon lose many of the people he cared about.

It was natural. He loved the natural world, after all. He knew how to coax the most food and greatest enjoyment from every season. He'd healed a fawn with a leg trapped between two rocks, watched her grow and have babies of her own, and eventually she'd laid down to die.

Her lifecycle had been so short compared to his friends', but they were all finite. They were well into their winters while he was finally stepping into a spring with no visible end. It felt almost wrong to think about spring and everything it brought with it—life and love—when his oldest friends were declining by the day.

But, Kurt allowed, it was what they'd wanted for him. His life was finally opening up. They would be happy if he celebrated that opportunity, not denied it because he was too busy mourning their loss while they still walked the earth. He should celebrate, and he would. He just had to do what people needed him to handle, first.

Fruit trees' branches hung low and heavy with life. Puppies played with Angels and humans alike. Pairs and trios of their rescued visitors walked or flew off into the forest to explore, and others sat in their homes and began to read about the world of which they'd been kept ignorant. Someday many of them would move back out into the world, but some had already asked if they could stay among. There was plenty of room on their land. Full houses could be built and they'd do the work themselves.

While most of the people there enjoyed the summer sun, Kurt sat inside in front of a monitor and frowned.

"I know this is short notice, but the guy was just arrested for ownership. He's hauled away, but no one knows what to do with who we rescued," said the face on the opposite end.

Disgusting, that someone would still try to get away with slavery. And there were no clear-cut answers for what to do. With the global origins of Angels, there was a surprising hold-up over granting them official documents. They had nothing to prove they'd been born in any nation and while most would grant them citizenship when asked, it had become a process of years. Kurt had access to the best resources in the world and even his work had inched along.

"I don't know if we have room," Kurt said dubiously, but chastised himself for the words as soon as he'd said them. Officially all their cabins were full, as were the rooms in the house. He didn't doubt that all but the most traumatized Angels would agree to share a cabin if it meant someone else could be safe, and some of his siblings had become roommates to free up more space. Still, there were limits. The Angels were pairing off in groups of new friends, and those support systems would be good, but they still needed time with wholly healthy people. Until other Angels moved further through recovery, there were only so many members of his family to go around. "We'll find room, we'll find room," he promised.

"Good, we kind of assumed you would." There was a short pause. "Uh, we're about half an hour down the road."

Kurt looked flatly at the monitor. "You're not kidding, are you?" A sheepish grin was his only answer. "I guess I'd better go get things ready, then," he said for a farewell.

Outside was bustling with activity. Carole was showing one of the dog packs to a pair of curious Angels, who knelt down when she said it was all right. The dogs yipped with excitement and promptly licked the pair all over. They laughed and petted their squirming new friends.

Burt was teaching others further off how to repair their own cabins. Self-sufficiency was important, as were tasks to offer a sense of pride and accomplishment. He smiled and nodded when a lanky boy managed to wield his tools, and then corrected a girl's grip. She soon earned similar praise. He looked proud of them all.

Finn was further down the valley, though Kurt couldn't see him. It was what Finn always did at that time of day. He took Angels for tours of the land, either by foot or by vehicle. They heard about responsibilities that needed to be tackled, such as tending the orchards, checking fences, and surveying for poachers. He knew what it felt like to be uncertain of what to do with one's life, he explained. His approach, of showing people everything and letting them choose their path, had led to Angels who seemed proud of even the simplest tasks.

"Hey," Kurt said as he approached the only other Angel there who served as a caretaker, rather than being in recovery. "I need to talk to you about—"

"Newcomers?" Jennifer grinned.

"They talked to you earlier?" Kurt asked flatly. "Oh, well, good to know that people are keeping me in the loop."

"There are a few other refuges, you know," she explained. "Smaller. Just humans running them. They wanted to figure out if they could get away with sending them there before they asked you, and I thought not." She'd become excellent with building records on each new Angel as he or she arrived. She delicately asked the right questions to get a feeling for what their ownership had been like, how many times they'd been sold, and how long they'd been collared. That, coupled with her identification of the wings, put them in a far better place to help the newcomers.

Perhaps she would have been a scientist if she stayed at home, Kurt thought, with her curiosity and theories. Perhaps she still could be. "All right. Who do we have?"

She always referred to the newcomers by their wings, as they didn't want to assume they liked hearing their current name. "Magpie. Probably very intelligent, but has been owned by the same very old man for twenty years. Give him something to occupy his attention, I think. Books, puzzles, whatever."

Kurt nodded and made a mental note to move some of the books from his room to whatever cabin they found. It'd be a start, at least. "And?"

"Couple of all-whites, so who knows on personality." She shrugged. "There's so much variation, you guys really bug me. You ruin the whole theory."

"Sorry," he said dryly.

"Um, looks like pretty standard treatment, sad to say. Twelve years owned and sixty-three. There's an eagle—golden—so he'll be a loner and will want to hang back, probably. Ouch, kept getting sold during bankruptcies. Twenty years overall. And a girl with...." Jennifer pulled back from the paper. "Oh, right. Myna wings. Well, she's going to be talkative."

Kurt eyed her as she described the girl's predicted behavior, then her blue wings, and said nothing. "Right," he finally decided as he looked around the hillsides. "Do you mind asking people for room? I'll go get the supplies." With a nod she flew off to find willing roommates, and Kurt turned back to the house.

Overhead a trio of friends flew east toward the virgin mountains. There were still valleys where no human had walked in that range, and it was an easy morning's flight for all but the slowest Angels. It was a popular place for solitude, relaxation, and healing. He hadn't gotten to explore as much as he might like, but that was because he had responsibilities to meet. He knew he was very lucky to have a life demanding those responsibilities rather than one leaving him broken and needing a place of healing. There would be time for that in the future. There would be time to focus on himself in the future, like Finn had apparently found someone. For now, he had a job to do.

He just barely got things in order before the truck arrived. Kurt would have liked to think it would be the last one, but if more Angels were in need, they'd find the room to take them. As soon as some recovered enough to work construction they could build more cabins, he supposed. "Here," he said, gesturing the truck toward a parking spot. It came to a halt and the driver hopped out to open the back.

After a short introduction the group inched out into the sun. Even surrounded by Angels, and even with his face in the mirror, their refined appearance always took Kurt by surprise. The girl with white wings moved like a dancer seeking an audience; she seemed highly discomfited by suddenly being one of many Angels in an isolated hideaway. He sadly made a note to watch her as another potential flyaway; some of their newcomers had their lives so centered on other people's approval that they couldn't take the quiet.

Most seemed unsurprisingly overwhelmed. That was standard; they'd been through so much and their lives had changed even more in the past week before arrival. The boy with the copper-brown eagle wings stayed back, but remembering Jennifer's words Kurt let him have his space.

They occasionally found Angels who, despite all logic to the contrary, had maintained some core of themselves. It was very rare, though. Kurt could see from dealing with the four Angels around him that they were not so fortunate and would need a long, quiet time to rebuild. He called over a few older residents, gave them the cabin numbers, and asked them to escort the group over. Perhaps some friendships would be formed along the way, and that would be of huge help. He knew he couldn't look after everyone himself.

"Oh," Kurt said as he turned, and just resisted the urge to hit himself on the forehead. He'd been put so off-balance by the sudden arrival that he hadn't gone through his typical checklist. The last boy was so quiet that he'd forgotten to find him an escort. "Ah, and I'll take you myself!" he said brightly like he'd planned it all along.

"It's pretty here," the boy said when they'd walked for a ways. Kurt could catch the hint of an accent there, but he'd almost lost that sign of his original home. His high cheekbones and warm brown eyes suggested Korea, or perhaps Japan.

That was, Kurt admitted sadly to himself, perhaps why he seemed withdrawn but still a person. Boys of Asian heritage had been in less demand than girls, and his rich brown wings were the least popular color for any collector. There were certain traits that made Angels popular commodities, as disgusting as it was to admit, and the most ego-driven owners would bid higher for features that society said were superior.

He'd studied how that industry worked; he'd had to, to discuss it with people as he tried to convince them to fight it. If it were possible to say that anyone were a better slaveowner and torturer, those people who didn't have to check off every 'acceptable' item on a description of their prize were probably it. He'd found, talking to people, that higher prices often led to worse treatment. The owners felt like they deserved that more than anyone.

For a moment he felt unsettled over letting anyone off the hook even that much, but he moved past it in the next. Anything that left an Angel in better condition than 'utterly broken' was good. He had to be rational about matters.

"It is pretty," Kurt agreed as they walked. "I hope you like it here. You can stay as long as you like, you know. You don't have to do anything to earn it. It's just... safe. And you don't have to worry."

"That'd be nice," he said with a catch in his voice. It reminded Kurt that even if his suffering was less, those cruel owners had still made him suffer. A lesser crime was still a crime.

"Um," Kurt began. He realized that he'd gone a very long time without having a real conversation with a newcomer. He'd let himself become consumed with the management side of things while life moved on around him. "What's your name? The name you want to use?"

The boy opened his mouth but paused as he considered that. When he smiled, Kurt knew what he was thinking: he'd been about to say the name his last owner had given him, but he didn't have to. "Jae," he said with near-disbelief. "My real name is Jae." He gave the impression of choosing each word very carefully, just like he looked at the world around him with intense focus, but that sentence had spilled out of him.

"It's good that you remember it," Kurt said. He was probably Korean, then. There were certainly other parts to the name he might not remember, but that was better than most Angels had. "We have a lot of books you can read. You can go anywhere you like, of course... have you ever flown?"

"Now and then." Though his words were terse, he didn't seem put off by Kurt's questions. He simply seemed to cover his thoughts quickly, without need for ornamentation. "It was a lot of fun," he allowed.

"You can go," Kurt encouraged him. "There are so many mountains to the east, and lakes... it's beautiful. Really. There's this enormous canyon to the west, too. Some of the people here have started having races through it," he added lightly. It had become quite a mark of honor to make it through 'Hell and Back' first, as they'd started calling it in a play on the canyon's name.

"Will you go?" Jae asked. Kurt blinked, and he explained, "You said those other pairs should spend time together."

Though Kurt began to apologetically say that he had so much to do in running the refuge, the words died in his throat. He had to get out from in front of a monitor. He had to go outside again. Others could take up the slack. "I'd really like that," he said.

"Good," Jae said and smiled. Even with his withdrawn, quiet nature, likely a protective shell after whatever he'd gone through, that smile seemed real. Kurt found himself smiling back as their eyes met. That gaze lingered longer than he'd expected and, coughing, Kurt turned back to their path and led him toward his home. He'd just had to choose a distant cabin number, meaning they had so long to talk.

"What's your name?" Jae asked and Kurt realized he'd never given it.

"It's...." The immediate answer, practiced over decades, died in his throat. Kurt blinked as a breeze rushed past. The valley was warm and green below them. Life was at its peak in the world and his had just been returned to him. He'd just heard back from lawyers who said his new paperwork was being filed.

His life was moving forward and his life was back.

A weight Kurt didn't realize he'd been carrying for so long lifted free. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath of air scented with grass and pine, and said, "I'm Kurt Hummel."