"FINN!"
Finn gasped jaggedly, eyes widely searching the entrance to the hallway from the other side of the ktichen, trying to see something, anything to let him know that Kurt was okay. His hands clenched the chair underneath him as he swayed forward, body desperately trying to move him to the basement, to help his friend, but through his panic he could still feel that gun burning a hold in his chest.
The leader, Craig he'd said his name was, glanced disinterestedly toward the hallway and smirked, allowing the gun to fall sideways, his finger casually playing at the trigger.
"Your brother huh?" he asked, looking back to Finn. "Charlie loves kids."
"Kurt," Finn whispered, tried to scream back to let him know he wasn't alone, but couldn't make his voice work that loud, not when the echoes of his name still rang through his head, his brother's voice desperate and terrified.
"Please, what's he doing to him?" Finn begged, barely noticing the tears of frustration and stress begin to build in his eyes. "What's going on?"
Craig opened his mouth to say something, and Finn vaguely felt himself lean forward for the answer, when the man in the leather jacket suddenly appeared in the doorway to the living room and Craig walked over to talk to him. Finn couldn't hear them, not from that far away, not when his ears still struggled to pick up sounds from the basement. And he could hear sounds now, banging and muffled grunts, sounds of pain, and now he could feel the tears run down his face and his vision blurred because why did he have to be here when he could be down there with Kurt, helping him, saving him? Instead he had to climb those stairs and practically point out Kurt's sleeping body to the homocidal bastards robbing their home.
With that thought, the thought that he was the reason for Kurt's blood-curdling scream, that the intent behind it was not to ask him for help but to accuse him, Finn's vision cleared.
His head emptied, and he could no longer hear the precious noises coming from the basement, or the words muttered between his captors across the kitchen. He watched the man in leather nod and wander out of the room. He watched Craig haul the gun loosely in his hand, start to turn back to look at him, and Finn moved.
He didn't feel fear anymore, not of that damn gun. He grabbed Craig's arm before the man even knew he'd moved, used his football training to slam the man into the counter and barely noticed the gun fall to the floor and go off, leaving a hole two feet away from Finn's head. He used one palm to slam Craig's head into the corner cabinet above him hard, before he'd grabbed from behind and thrown to the living room floor.
The man in leather loomed over him for a second before he turned back to the kitchen and Finn remembered the gun lying on the kitchen floor. He scrambled to his knees, grabbed the man's ankle and yanked it out from under him. The man landed hard, and Finn scrambled over his body to grab the gun and force it to his neck, and then everything was quiet.
The man under him was shuddering, struggling to take in a breath. Finn watched, mind suddenly filled with all the things that had just happened. He watched his hand shake, jerking and clenching around the gun, and he was suddenly terrified that it would fire without him even meaning to pull the trigger.
His eyes moved up, and he could see blood pooling under the leg of a chair, slowly flowing out of mess of dark hair, Craig's hair.
"Oh god," Finn choked out. He could feel the man under him pulling in deep breaths, felt his back rise and fall under the leather jacket, cold under his fingers but warmer than the metal of the gun in his other hand.
No matter where he looked, all he could see was Craig's blood.
The man beneath him was saying something, he could feel his back rumble with words, heard him begging but it's muffled and distant as something else tugs at his memory, trying to claw it's way through the blood on the floor.
His head turned to the left and slightly behind him. The door to the basement was wide open.
"Kurt."
