WARNING: This chapter may contain triggers. Please read with caution.

"When the wine drinks itself," he said, "when the skull speaks, when the clock strikes the right time - only then will you find the tunnel that leads to the Red Bull's lair." He tucked his paws under his chest and added, "There's a trick to it, of course."

When the dean hears Greg stepping into his office, his forehead thuds emphatically onto his desk. Several times. "No. No, no, no no no. Why is everything going wrong now? Three of my students just got kidnapped!"

"Actually, that's what I'm here for," Greg tells him. "By some stroke of fate, one of them is Blaine Anderson. I've worked for his family since he was nine."

"Do you have a lead on them?" He stands up with a smile, but it falls when Greg shakes his head. "Do you know who did it?" Another reluctant shake, with Greg's lips pressed razor-thin. "Do you have a plan?" He demands irritably, though Greg hardly budges from his spot.

"I have a full tank of gas and Blaine called me 'dad' ten minutes ago," Greg admits.

"Oh, dear god." But the dean grabs his briefcase and turns the speaker on. "Everyone, just stay calm and let the police handle things. I have yet another emergency to attend to."

Nick jerks when they pass a certain car, resting placidly in a driveway. "Dude!"

"What?" Jeff brakes, and the police car nearly hits them.

"Jeff, pull up!" He unsnaps his seatbelt and gets his phone out. "I just saw Blaine's car!"

They are already a few buildings down, but there are no parking spots until they reach the corner. Jeff parks and strains to see the street sign. "We're at Bay Street and Northridge Avenue."

"Okay - Bay and Northridge." He types in the street names and mass-texts the other Warblers as the police car behind them turns on its sirens.

The lights have been out for a while now. David tries to get his hands out of the ropes tying him to the armrests, but he jerks the chair by accident and white-hot spasms shoot through his bad wrist. "Gnnnnnnngh." He twists around in useless pain, and he's pretty sure that dying-cat noise is him. Wes is unusually quiet, even for himself, but he knots himself up so much that the chair starts tilting back with a creak of the wood.

Something falls from Wes' pocket onto the floor. David squints; it looks like a pen. "Dude, careful. If your chair lands on that and tips over, we're going to have two concussed people instead of one."

"On what?" Wes creaks out dismally.

"Your pen." David sighs - it figures they're so stressed out that they're forgetting what's on them. "Don't worry, man, it's not important right -"

"I don't have a pen on me." Wes looks at it and rolls his eyes. "That's my X-acto knife."

"Why do you have an X-acto knife?"

"Opening letters and packages, art class." Wes tries to shrug. "Especially when I need to open those obnoxious plastic packages... from..." He stops, and they find themselves grinning through the darkness.

Something in Blaine's stomach caves in. Wes and David always help him out, they always do, but why are they not here? He can't remember how long it's been because if he thinks too much he will puke, but he can't remember why the man is looking for him.

Because he's shaking hard now, and his head hurts. Part of the reason he ducks into the other space is because he has no more wall to brace against, and glass bottles clank against his knees. He sits there for a while, curling into the corner.

Just be quiet, he tells himself with shuddering breaths. Just be quiet.

Wes is sawing through his ropes with a clumsy vengeance - pushing the X-Acto knife through his right-side bonds has only made the ropes tighter, so there are pins and needles stabbing his arm with every twist. Then red light floods the room through the half-open window, and he feels the tip of the razor punch through his skin in his surprise. "Ow."

"Thank god!" David strains towards the window. "Guys? Guys! We're in here!"

"David?" Jeff crouches to look through the window, and he waves someone else over. Sirens start blaring.

Voices; the front or back door is knocked on twice before it crashes open, then the basement door is kicked down. A police officer comes down to untie them as three more search the house, but David nearly falls because something in his legs seizes up. "Owowowowowow -"

"You okay?" The policewoman asks.

"Fine," David says. He braces his good arm on the chair and tries again; this time he manages to stay up, even with his tentative balance. "Wes?"

He's shifting his weight and still up, which is more than David can do - he feels if he tries that, he's going to fall again. "I'm good."

Jeff and Nick come down the stairs, much to the officer's chagrin. "We told you to stay outside!"

"Fuck that, we're looking for Blaine!" Nick tells her, but when he starts up the stairs, he's blocked.

"The others are already on it," she points out.

"Could you tell them Blaine has a concussion and he'll freak out when people start busting down doors?" David adds frantically.

"He's probably just dazed and stressed out," The female officer begins, but David shakes his head.

"No, he hit his head and started rambling about shit!" He says, which simultaneously relieves and concerns her. "And when he came to after twenty-three minutes, he didn't know where he was!"

"We then spent fifteen more minutes explaining that the past few hours had only taken place in his head." Wes sighs and flexes his wrists, but winces. "He was lucid for about five minutes, but when he called his dad for help, he ended up crying and asking why Mr. Anderson was such a jerk."

"Finally!" Nick exclaims.

"While no doubt cathartic, it wasn't very useful for getting help." He takes a few steps, using the wall for support, and collapses onto the stairs. David's given up on walking - he feels like he's on a very painful boat when he tries - and has sat back in his chair to wait until his circulation gets back to normal. Jeff and Nick are concerned, but the officer looks at them strangely.

"How long have you guys been tied up?"

"Not sure," David answers, "but before Stalker Dude took Wes' phone, it was around six-thirty. Blaine freaked out and ran when we got tied up."

"But he can't have gotten far," Wes assures them. He is trying to chafe his wrists, but his hands can't stop shaking. "He's probably hiding in a room, like a scared little..." The other two Warblers look at Wes and David, with the uncomfortable shifting that means they don't want to say something. "What?"

"Guys, it's nearly eight." Jeff tells them, and the officer's radio screeches in accord.

"The house is empty. Over."

"Blaine?" The voice is higher and softer, and he wonders why he's not flinching at it. He should remember it, he knows he should, so he watches the long shadow until its owner appears. "Oh my god, Blaine!"

"Kurt?" Blaine rasps. And he doesn't know why, but something in him relaxes when the blue eyes light up.

"Finn! I found him!" Kurt waves someone over. "This is the best coincidence ever -"

But the wrong person steps inside, the tall blond who was looking first, and Blaine feels his eyes open so much that they hurt. The blond man says something; it makes Kurt mad because he moves at him, but Blaine is up and moving.

"Stop - stop!" He fumbles to keep him still. "Wes and David did that, they moved at him and it made him mad, and now I don't -"

"Blaine, what - are - you - talking about?" Kurt tries to break free without unbalancing him. "Let go!"

"- left in the dark place and they couldn't get out, a-and I just -"

"What did you do to him?" The countertenor demands.

"I didn't do anything," the man protests, "he's just panicking!"

"Oh, that's a relief!" Kurt retorts, still struggling. "He was missing for four hours, but everything's fine because he's just panicking!"

This is bad, this is bad. They have to stop, he needs them to stop being loud, but he can't make his mouth match up with his thoughts and the sounds that come out are slurring and confused. Wes and David still aren't here, and he doesn't know what question he's answering but not you, too -

NOT YOU, TOO -

"Okay... okay." Wes' voice is strained, and his hands are shaking harder. He struggles to pull himself up. "Okay, so. W-we lost track of time, and it's been two hours since - since Blaine ran off in a concussion-induced panic."

"That boy's stupid when he isn't brain-damaged!" David sprints to the stairs somehow, but his determination is cut short when he trips on the first one. "Ow! We have to find him before he wanders into traffic or impales himself or - shit, he's gonna die!" He grips his shin desperately. "He's gonna leave Kurt alone and heartbroken because he's gonna die and it's our fault!"

"You two aren't going anywhere but the squad car," the officer tells them firmly. She takes her radio out. "Have the search teams keep looking; the boys are really stressed out, so I'm dropping them off at the station. Over."

"Roger that. Anything else we should know? Over."

"Third victim has a head injury and he isn't thinking normally. Tell the others to look anywhere a person could hide. Over."