It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
The world is on fire.
The trees are ablaze and screams fill the air like wind and the ground beneath his feet is splitting open. Men in white hoods ride on the backs of black horses, wielding bloody swords and machine guns.
Everyone's dying, except for Blaine. He's a fast runner – the fastest in the world, it seems – and the demons can't chase him.
Flames lick his bare feet and tangles of thorns and burning branches constrain him, slowing him. But he lets his hands scar and pushes back the restraints, running faster now.
And then he sees them. The white-hooded men, now horseless, have circled around two bodies, shouting and chanting. Someone moves, and Blaine can clearly see Kurt, facedown in the burning earth, being beaten by a single hooded figure.
Blaine shouts and cries, but the thorns have a firm grip on his arms and legs, and he can't help him, can't save him. Kurt is silent throughout his beating, tears flowing freely down his stoic face.
But then something changes. The red sky darkens, covered in storm clouds and whirlwinds of dust. The large, hooded figure yanks at Kurt's jeans, and Blaine begins to cry.
Blaine closes his eyes, tearing at his bindings, but Kurt's screams make him fall to the ground in terror. He refuses to look, but Blaine knows that the figure is sodomizing him, violating him in the worst way possible.
And then the fire is gone. The world is dark and the hooded men have disappeared. It's absolutely silent and Blaine finds his hands and legs are free again. He runs to where Kurt's body lies, cold and ashen.
Blood covers the ground, sticky and warm and it paints Blaine's hands a sickening red color. It stains his pants and drips down his arms, and soaks Kurt's shirt collar, where the fatal wound lies.
And then the world is frozen, a deathly pale frost covering the barren landscape. Kurt has sunk into the ice, deteriorating rapidly into nothingness. Black birds circle against the gray sky, and Blaine walks forward, calming his breathing.
A single tree lies on the horizon, and as he approaches, Blaine can makes out a hundred nooses hanging from the branches, all empty and swaying. At the base of the tree lies a plethora of headstones, all decaying and broken. Blaine swallows nervously, feeling the ground beneath his feet turn from snowy earth into ice. A minute ago, this was a lake of fire and blood. Now it's ice, a bare stretch of frozen water going on and on.
Pausing, he notices the reflection of the birds in the ice. They are directly above him now, forming a perfect circle. He backs up a bit, staring at the ice within the raven ring. There, beneath the surface, is the blue, unmoving body of Kurt Hummel.
Blaine screams this time, pounding at the ice to get to him, but he knows it's too late. There, scratched in the frost, reads: goodbye.
A white hooded figure stands in front of him now, holding a noose in hand. He laughs, and throws it at Blaine's feet. There are more of them now, and the sky is a sickening green color, the ice melting slowly beneath Blaine as they build their guillotine. It's rusty and huge, much too large to actually use on a human being, but they're dragging him towards it now. He's done running, he's done mourning, and he's done living in fear. Blaine fights them, kicks and scratches and shouts, but they've thrown him down and tied him up, head carefully placed above the basket.
And then Kurt is there again, in all black, and he smiles sadly at Blaine and blows him a kiss, fading into the air. The hooded men laugh, and let the blade fall down.
Blaine wakes with a start, crying and panting and shaking furiously. Without finding his shoes or wondering if he woke his roommate, he sprints down the hall, pounding furiously on room 203.
Justin answers the door, sleepy and not in the mood, and literally pulls Kurt from bed and pushes him into Blaine's arms. He mutters something about planning fuck-fests before three a.m. and shuts the door, leaving a hysterical Blaine and a very confused Kurt in the hallway.
Blaine doesn't say anything – with Kurt, he never has to say anything. He just pulls Kurt to his chest, crying softly into the boy's neck.
"You're alright. You're alright. We're alright. We'll be okay, Kurt. Please tell me we'll be okay." Kurt doesn't know what to say, but he rubs Blaine's back all the same and kisses his temple, trying to hold back his own tears.
They fall to the floor in a heap, and Blaine starts kissing Kurt's neck, his shoulder, his collar, sobbing. "Don't give up, Kurt. They'll never get us. Never. We'll be okay."
Kurt nods, moaning softly as Blaine kisses his jaw. Blaine's voice breaks again, but his hands stop shaking as he grasps at the smaller boy's waist.
"Don't leave me, Kurt. Don't leave me on my own."
Kurt's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "Never, Blaine. Never."
The older boy sobs again, muttering and crying and kissing the boy below him. Kurt kisses him back, whispering soothing words as Blaine calms down.
They don't return to their rooms. Instead, they fall asleep in the commons, curled up on one of the couches together. Kurt is out immediately, breathing softly against Blaine's chest. But Blaine can't sleep. Not tonight. Not after everything he saw.
A light comes in through the window, falling on Kurt's sleeping form. He's still, but breathing, and beautiful and golden and so unlike the Kurts from Blaine's dream. Blaine feels another tear roll down his cheek in relief, and kisses the boy's cheek softly.
He whispers a small prayer, something he hasn't done since he was a child, but it seems appropriate. They're alive, and safe, and happy, and the cold, cruel world is so far away from the safety of this moment.
"Oh, hallelujah."