It had been seven months. Seven long, horrifying months of nothing, but staring at a wall, eating crap food, and thinking of the ways that they could escape. Each second felt like a minute, and each minute felt like an hour until time became a thing of the past for them. The only reason they knew how long it had been, was because of the tiny window at the top of the basement they were being kept in. Blaine wondered everyday what Kurt was doing. If he believed him to be dead, if he had let his friends in or pushed them away, if he had moved on. Blaine closed his eyes as he ran his fingers through his greasy, long, black hair, his stomach growling as he tried to remember the last time he was fed. It seemed like the time between feedings had grown longer and longer, and Blaine would be surprised if they got fed in the next two days. When he opened his eyes back up, he looked over at Burt. The man looked sickly thin, and he had sprouted a long, uneven beard. Blaine often would worry about the older man as he saw the hope die inside of the man earlier than it had in himself. He didn't know how long his body or mind could survive, and Blaine wouldn't blame the guy if he smashed his head into the cement wall. They had both become different men. Burt, the man who was a fisherman, country, amazing father with a big heart kind of guy hadn't uttered a word in over three weeks, and Blaine, a flamboyant, youthful, Broadway baby had smashed his left hand against the wall so many times that he couldn't even feel it anymore. The people that had taken him were the same people that had shot up the store, and they saw that Burt and Blaine both saw their identities, so they kidnapped them in order to make sure they were able to escape. There operation had been running out of this building that they were trapped underneath, but they would leave for days on end and return with bags filled with cash talking in hushed whisper as they put two cans of cold beans on two reused paper plates and throw the down on the floor. Once every two days, they would get water, and one time when Burt was looking really bad he was given a better meal of one role and spinach daily until he was strong enough to sit up, but other than that this was all they had. They talked every day at first, but eventually they ran out of things to talk about, and their mental states plummeted after that, and every week Blaine would stare at the wall while Burt would scrape at the floor. Every week was the same.

Until it wasn't.

One bright winter morning the men ran downstairs, grabbed the backs of their shirts until they were standing, and held guns to their backs as they lead them to their car. They know it was winter because they had to curl up into balls at night to keep from freezing to death. One guy sat between them in the car, carrying an AK-47, his face as tough as a stone. They both looked at each other worried as they thought that they were being taken to a place where they would be killed, but instead they ended up at a helicopter that was about to take flight. All six men in the car piled out as the two men that sat in the front opened the back and pulled out bag after bag of cash and loaded them in the helicopter. Then the men all hopped into the helicopter and it quickly took off. As they flew over the ocean a sick feeling filled Blaine as he thought they were going to be shot then have their bodies be dumped in the ocean. Or, even worse, just be thrown in and eaten by some shark. Again, they were both surprised when they landed on an island in the middle of an area that looked as though it was a never-ending forest. The men shoved the guns in their backs as they led them far enough where they could see a tiny town about a mile away in the distance.

"Turn around," one of the men said, and both Blaine and Burt complied. "We leave you here. You do not follow us. Understand?"

Burt nodded furiously, but Blaine must have been oxygen deprived or something because he asked, "Why not just kill us?"

Burt whipped his head to face Blaine's, and looked at him like he wanted to throttle him.

One of the men pointed his gun at Blaine, and said "Because, we don't kill unless necessary. And it won't be right? Because you are going to leave here, and not follow us, Comprende?"

Instead of asking more questions, Blaine decided for once in his life to shut up and nod.

"Good. Oh, and one more thing." Both the men that had walked them there pointed their guns at their legs, and each shot one leg. Then, when they were both leaning over in pain, they pulled at their hair, then used the edge of the gun to knock them out.

THE PRESENT…

"Okay, so his soothie is on the dresser, I am trying to wean him off of it, but if he is giving you a tough time, don't worry you can give it to him. He loves to eat mac and cheese mixed with broccoli for dinner, and then just prepare an 8 Oz bottle for him to fall asleep with." Kurt picked up his small, ratty, old dog and handed it to Quinn. "He can't sleep without this, and don't forget to play Hedwig's theme at a low volume, it really calms him. I think that is everything. I uh-" he was cut off by a loud groan produced by Mercedes.

"Come on white boy, you are leaving him for three hours with Puck and Quinn. They are the only ones who have actually dealt with a baby before in our group of friends, so I think they have it covered. We will only be fifteen minutes away, so are you ready to go?" she asked hopefully.

Kurt thought it over for a few seconds before he sighed in defeat. He leaned over and kissed his thirteen-month old's son sweet forehead, then said, "I love you." He tickled his stomach, making the young one produce a squeal that made the other three cringe.

"See, he will be fine. Now let's go." She held out her arm for him, and when they locked arms, she pulled him out gently. "Are you ready to get your party on, boy?"

Kurt smiled as he followed her to the elevator. "Heck yeah."