A/N: I'm in a dark, angsty Klaine mood, so if you aren't a fan of angst, I would run. Fast. If you're open to trying it, read ahead brave one. This was just something in my head, I wrote it more to make it go away than anything else. Let me know if it's worth continuing! (And no, no character death if I do. I promise.)

Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine. Sorry. Try again next time.

I was dragged roughly into a damp, dark room and thrown there. I staggered, trying to keep my balance, but what was the point anymore? It didn't matter if I kept my balance or if I just fell. Just let myself fall into the darkness that would surely overtake me if I slipped. There was just one thing, or person rather, who kept me holding on. I thought of this person as I managed to stay on my feet. As I managed to stay awake and, more surprisingly, lucid in the hours of solitude. When things were impossible to bear, I thought of him.

I never dreamed that they'd use him against me. Or me against him, for that matter.


"What do you want from me?" I asked, waking up to find myself tied to a chair, hands behind my back. I squirmed a little bit until I was stopped with a glare from my captor.

"What do we want from you? Oh, this is much bigger than you will ever know. It isn't about just you; it's about everything being worth it. Years of planning. Money. Yeah, it's a whole lot bigger than you." The voice was derisive and harsh.

The man in front of me was tall, relatively muscular, and angry. His shaggy brown hair was sticking out at odd angles and his mouth was curled into a snarl. I was literally shaking. I'd never been in such a dangerous situation in my life. Death threats from insecure closet cases were one thing, but facing death completely? A very different story.

"Then why am I here?" I hated the fact that my voice shook. I didn't show weakness, it was one of the things I was most proud of. I could always be counted on for a biting comeback, and I felt useless without one.

"We needed a way to convince a certain congressman's son to cooperate."

My blood ran cold. They wouldn't. They couldn't…they couldn't do this! To him of all people. He'd never hurt a fly. He was so full of love and life and confidence. I couldn't bear to do this to him. To be used as bait. As a pawn.

I took a deep breath, intending to steady myself. Instead, I coughed. The air was musky and full of dust particles, and it smelled moldy. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I tried in vain to clear images out of my head.

Images of me and of him, bleeding. Images of death and terror.

Perhaps they weren't images. Perhaps they were insight to the future. But no- I couldn't let myself think of it that way. I would drive myself insane if I overanalyzed every detail like I was so prone to doing.

"I'm assuming you know who I'm talking about." I nodded mutely, attempting to keep the tears from spilling over.

"Weak," he muttered, grinning in a way that made shivers run up my spine. "That'll make my life easier. Task number one: convince him to come here."

"Why would I do that?" Not the wittiest retort, but it was certainly more confident. I felt myself calm down just the slightest bit before I caught the gleam in his eye. He walked over, kneeling down to my level and getting far too close before whispering in my ear.

"Do you have a high tolerance for pain?"


"Stop," I panted, "Stop!"

"Done already? We were just starting to have some fun!" I snarled, the sound shockingly primal, and glared. The past hour had been torturous. Literally.

I was bruised, cut, and my pride had been stomped on and run through the garbage disposal. Every time I wanted to just give up, I thought of him. But how long could that last if we had all the time in the world? The final straw had been when I couldn't picture his face anymore. I was terrified. There was nothing to hold on to. His name had rung dully in my head, but it was like the name of a stranger. Not the name of someone worth fighting for.

I tried to imagine his voice, but nothing came. As my breathing returned to normal, I was aware of massive pain in several areas of my body, but I was too dazed to know the difference from my head and my foot.

"You are a despicable person." My brazenly idiotic provocation had earned another cut, deep in some unrecognizable area. I screamed against my own will, despising the way it echoed off the walls.

"Your screams are beautiful, but if you want this to end, you just have to make one phone call."

"I- I give up. I'll do it."

Smith, I'd learned his name was (how cliché), handed me the phone and I dropped it, my hands shaking from self-loathing. I just knew I couldn't go on with the agony. There had to be another way. I'd never get out on my own.

It was returned to my hands roughly, and I struggled to hold on this time. After being prodded in the back, I started dialing, having to stop every few seconds. The tears clouding my vision made it hard to discern which number was which. Finally, the screen said Dialing and I was almost relieved. Relieved, until I realized why I was calling in the first place.

The phone rang, and for one glorious moment I thought he wouldn't answer. I was wrong.

"Hello?" I almost cried, hearing that voice again. How could I have forgotten the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard?

"Hey, it's me."


"Uh huh," my voice was thick with tears.

"Are you all right?" Concern instantly colored his tone.

"I need you to come to…" I looked up, breathing unnaturally. Everything about me was unnatural. Anger and sadness came in lulls, replaced by a dull numbness that seized me. It was wrong, so wrong, but there was nothing I could do. When he gave me the address I repeated it lifelessly, tonelessly.

"I need to know you're okay." That was the tone Blaine had perfected. The concerned, overprotective side. It was awful that it was being used against him in this situation.

"Depends on your definition of okay. Is okay emotional or physical? How about mental? Because I am not going to be 'okay' anytime soon. I won't. It'll just get worse, no matter what I do," my words started to rush together until I was just saying everything my mind conjured up, "I can't win, and I don't know what to do, and I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm wrong and I hate myself right now but I can't not do it, you have to understand…" And I burst into tears. I could feel the murderous glance piercing my back but I didn't even care. It wasn't as if my life could get any worse at the moment.

His panic was very nearly tangible. "I'm on my way. Don't be sorry, don't ever be sorry. I promised to come if you needed me, so I am. You were right to call. Hold on."

I pressed end, unable to respond. How do you answer someone you just hurt unimaginably if they aren't aware? How can you answer when you've betrayed them? I wanted to bury my head in my hands with shame, and it felt like sick, twisted irony when even that simplest of motions was taken away by the thick cords digging into the sensitive skin on my wrists.

"Well done. You could be useful. That blabbering was actually quite effective. I'm impressed." I wanted to spit at him, but my mouth was dry from crying out.

"Until your little friend gets here, try to make yourself comfortable. You shouldn't have to wait too long, though," and he winked. He actually had the audacity to wink at me. To further humiliate me at my lowest point. The rage gave way to every other emotion hiding beneath the surface, and the fatigue eventually won out.

But not before I recalled his voice one last time. I swore I'd never forget again. Not even if it cost me my life. Some things were worth dying for. He was one of them.


"Kurt! Kurt? Are you down there?" I heard his voice penetrate the darkness and was alert immediately. I cam so close to telling him to run away, but he would just be back again in time. And I would be worse for the wear.

"Answer him."

"Yeah, I'm here." The tears in my voice sent him at double speed, sprinting down the worn stairs. Directly into the arms of two waiting henchmen.

He put up quite a fight, thrashing wildly, but he was no match for two large, muscular guards who had the element of surprise on their side. He spun around, looking for me, and his eyes met mine for the briefest of moments.

"Mr. Anderson!" cried my tormentor, smiling. "How nice of you to come join us. Really, the party wasn't complete without you."

"Who are you?"

"Why don't you ask your friend? He was the one who brought you here, wasn't he?"

The betrayal in his eyes was almost physically painful.

"I didn't want to, they made me-" I was silenced by a blow to the stomach that made me double over in pain. I gasped unintentionally. That would bruise.

"Hey! What are you doing? He was just answering the question!"

"I wouldn't talk so much, Anderson. We can't touch you, but we sure as hell can make you cooperate, can't we?" The guards nodded in agreement, still pinning his arms behind his back.

A dawning comprehension came over his face. He realized what was happening the same way I had. His usually warm hazel eyes turned steely and he set his gaze upon the hated Smith.

"What do you want? I'll give it to you. Just let him go."

"Must I repeat myself? Listen kid, this is much bigger than you, and it's much bigger than your friend. Right now, you cooperate, or we have some more fun with the person we're actually allowed to hit." And with that, he left the room.

He turned to me, eyes wide with horror and confusion. "More fun?" he choked out.

"It took them awhile before they could convince me to call you." I squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable, but nothing worked. The rope just dug deeper into my skin. I wished he would come untie me, but he just seemed to be frozen, standing ten feet away.

"What did they do to you?" His eyes were tear-filled.

"They broke me." That was all there was to it. And that broke the dam. He ran over to me, untying my wrists. He worked quickly but so carefully, and I could tell he didn't want me to be in any more pain than I was already in.

"Show me." His voice was strangely flat.

I took off my shirt gingerly, wincing as a cut reopened just by the gentle friction of fabric against skin. His eyes widened, staring at my chest. What- oh. I supposed it wasn't as bad as it could've been. Large bruises were already forming and I had a few longer gashes, but all in all I felt all right, if a little sore.

He gasped, eyes raking over my bare chest. Under any other circumstance I would be blushing, but this was so different. The light in his eyes changed to a fierce determination, and he opened his mouth to say something when Smith walked in.

"All right, then. I see you've got him untied! Fantastic, just great. Well, you're ready then?"

"No." he replied coldly, gaze locked in mine.

"Are you sure about that?" Smith asked, smiling evilly, "We wouldn't want your friend to have to pay, would we?"

A sharp jerk of the head from him was all I needed to know he would never say no to any request made by Smith. Or by any of his men, for that matter.

"Perfect, perfect. Would you like to tell us what you know about the ring of conspirators your father is a part of, Mr. Anderson?"

His face was pure confusion as he answered, "Conspirators?"

Wrong answer. A flash of blinding pain his the back of my head and I barely restrained myself from crying out. As it was, I still fell off the chair, realizing that he'd been dragged off under protest, again. A lone whimper escaped through my lips and I tasted blood from where I'd inadvertently bitten my lip.

"What are you doing? I have no idea what you're talking about!" His voice rose in pitch and took on a panicked tone, his eyes widening until they were almost round. The look would have been comical if not for the terror apparent on his features.

"We need answers," replied Smith calmly, "answers you will give us. Of course, if you'd rather not…" I shuddered.

"I can! I just- answers about what? My dad isn't in a ring of conspirators!" Smith looked pointedly at me, and Blaine swallowed thickly, trying to figure out a way to avoid the situation. Too bad we were already stuck in the middle of it.

"What kind of ring? Maybe I know! I just need a little while. To jog my memory?" His eyes were hopeful, and his tone was rushed. We just needed a little time. But would we get it?

"A little while? You mock me, young Anderson. You really think that I would leave you time to think of some ridiculous cover story. You really think so! Ridiculous," he scoffed, "Ridiculous and childish and oh so naïve. Now, can we please get on? We know you have answers. It's just how willing you are to give them that's making me curious. How much would you tell us to keep him safe, hm?"

"I'd tell you anything, but I don't have any information!"

Smith just shook his head sadly, meeting my eyes. "A shame, really."

I braced myself, preparing for the worst. Just as I was about to be beaten to a pulp, I heard a strangled cry.

"No! No, you can't, you can't! It's- it's drugs! They are selling drugs in a ring, and I didn't want to tell you, but I just did!" The desperation in his voice made me shut my eyes. I couldn't bear to see the look on his face. It was my fault.

Tell them something about a ring of conspirators? He did. Tell the truth?

I had a sneaking suspicion he most definitely did not.