A/N: So, my other story was starting to make me angry, so I wrote this instead. But don't worry, I'll post more for the other later. Grilled Cheesus knows what brought this story to my brain, as I've been doing nothing but reading Harry Potter all day... Anyhoo. I hope you enjoy what I've whipped up for you!~

Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, Rachel would have died a very slow and painful death, and Kurt and Blaine would be together already, dammit.

The room had a strange, damp feel to it, and the cold air smelled of mildew as it bit through Kurt Hummel's jacket and scarf. Looking around, the countertenor squinted through the darkness at the multiple cracks in the abandoned brick walls, and a twig snapped under his foot as he stepped down from the windowsill, making him jump.

"Blaine?" he whispered, unable to find his boyfriend in the dim light. A hand grabbed his and he started again.

"It's just me," the familiar voice said, pulling Kurt closer to his side. The younger boy wrapped his hand around the top of Blaine's arm as he pulled out a flashlight.

"Would you remind me why, exactly, we're breaking into a one hundred and twenty-six year old, abandoned insane asylum in the middle of then night?" Kurt hissed, glancing around nervously. He hated horror movies, much less being in the middle of one. The stories about this place weren't just rumors. He'd grown up in this town, and had heard his fair share of said stories.

"Because it'll be fun," Blaine whispered back, flashing his light through an open doorway and pulling the smaller boy through. "Come on, Kurt, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Safely tucked away in the sane part of my brain that wishes to inform you that we're breaking the law right now."

Right then the door slammed behind them. Kurt latched onto Blaine and pressed his face into the older boy's shoulder to muffle his scream.

"It's just the wind from when we opened the window," Blaine soothed him.

"I really don't like this, Blaine," Kurt's voice shook with fear. "Can we please get out of here?"

"Alright," the senior moved to open the door again, only to find that it was locked. "It looks like we'll have to find another way out." Blaine smiled apologetically. Kurt groaned.

The countertenor stuck close to his boyfriend's side as they made their way through the corridor, only hearing the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. They tried the few doors they came across, but each was locked. Kurt muttered curses under his breath as they continued, bunching the material of Blaine's jacket in his hands as the hall somehow managed to grow even darker.

There was a creaking of a door opening and closing ahead of them, and the boys froze, Blaine swinging the flashlight around in attempt to find the source of the noise. The sound repeated, from behind them this time, and they twisted around, only to find the corridor as empty as they'd left it.

Kurt felt a cold hand grip his shoulder then, and he screamed, knowing for a fact it wasn't Blaine's. He spun around again and grabbed Blaine's hand as they went sprinting in desperate search of an open door.

"Shit!" Kurt yelled as the next door was locked. He started to turn away, but Blaine's hand was suddenly wrenched from his and the older boy was disappearing through the door, yelling his name.

In a moment of adrenaline-fueled courage, the junior took a step back and kicked at the door with all the strength he had—and holy hell to the pain that shot through his leg. He hadn't gotten the door down yet, but he'd definitely done damage. Just one more kick got it of its hinges and had it clambering onto the floor. Kurt swooped down and grabbed the dropped flashlight, shining it about the new room.

It looked like a living room of sorts, with an old rug, a rickety rocking chair, and a fireplace. There were cobwebs everywhere, and it smelled as dusty as it looked.

"Kurt?" the countertenor twisted to look at the opposite corner of the room, where he found Blaine slumped against a wall, a deep gash glistening crimson through his pant leg.

"Blaine!" the younger boy exclaimed, rushing to his side. "What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea," the senior groaned. "But you were right about this being a bad idea."

"I usually am," Kurt said, "but we can talk about my superior knowledge later. Right now we need to get out of here. Can you walk?" Kurt and Blaine both looked worriedly at the deep cut on his calf.

"I think so," the soloist said. Kurt jumped up and ran to the large window, pulling it open.

"Holy shit, Blaine, we lucked out so fucking bad," Kurt said, dashing over to his boyfriend again. The junior slid his arm around Blaine's shoulders and helped him to his feet, allowing the older boy to lean against him as they made their way back to their window to freedom. Kurt helped Blaine up and over the sill, and then started to follow him out.

Before he could, though, the window slammed shut again, and the old glass that was now separating them muffled Blaine's cry of astonishment. Kurt felt the same cold hand on his shoulder that he had earlier, and he turned slowly to face whatever it was.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream for help. He couldn't hear Blaine's shouting and banging on the glass behind him. All he could do was stare, horrified, at the figure in front of him. It was a pitch-black silhouette, nearly shapeless if it hadn't had an obvious head and an arm still reaching towards him. It lifted that hand to his face now, and if Kurt had felt cold before, it was nothing compared to the ice that coursed through his veins now.

Kurt knew he was dead, that this was death coming to claim him. At least he knew that Blaine had gotten away safely. Not wanting to witness it, the boy squeezed his eyes shut.

But nothing happened.

He opened them again, and found that the silhouette had disappeared. Kurt blinked a few times, wondering what the hell just happened, when a soft glow caught his eye.

In the dusty, antique mirror that hung on the opposite wall, Kurt saw the most beautiful, yet confusing thing he'd ever encountered. There in the glass, his mother's face smiled back at him. He stared in shock.

"Go," she whispered. Her voice was exactly the same as he's remembered it. Soft, sweet, loving.

Blaine had managed to get the window open then, and grabbed Kurt's arm through the opening.

"Kurt, come on," he said. The countertenor numbly crawled out onto the fire escape, glancing back at the mirror once before descending, but the glowing face with the blue eyes had disappeared.

Kurt sat on the bed of Blaine's dorm room, bandaging the other boy's leg. The cut wasn't nearly as bad as they'd originally thought, not deep enough to need stitches at all.

"Let's agree never to do that again," the soloist squirmed as the countertenor distractedly cleaned the wound with peroxide. His mind was glued to the image of his mother's face. "Kurt?"

The junior snapped out of his thoughts, looking into Blaine's worried, hazel eyes.

"You've barely said three words since we got out of that place. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, just a little shocked is all," Kurt said, standing up to replace the first aid tools in the bathroom. When he returned, Blaine opened his arms and the younger boy curled into his side.

"So we'll never do that again, right?" Blaine queried.

"I do believe I was the one trying to convince you not to do it in the first place," he retorted with a yawn. God knew his brain wasn't going to shut up, but he was exhausted.

Blaine fell asleep quickly, but the younger boy lay awake for some time more, remembering the soft smile on his mother's face, the way she expressed all of her love and care through the one word. Go.

Don't worry, Kurt heard the same voice say. I'm always watching over you.

Bleh. So, yeah... Let me know what you think. I meant for this to be a one-shot, but if enough of you lovely gleeks ask for more... well, who am I to deny you? ;)

XD Aaaaaanyway... As many of you probably already know, Criticism = Love :)

Love, Live, Sing