A.N. Okay, I admit it: I'm getting caught up in another fic. I've started putting up Funny Games II chapters and I have a very detailed plan I just want to write non-stop, however I finally managed to throw myself back into Misery and I love remembering just how brilliant Stephen King's plot line is. I got a very helpful message from FairytaleGleek regarding what should happen to Kurt in a particular part of the fic: I haven't fully decided what exactly will happen but I agree it's too much of an important/integral part of the plot and is like the smashing of a mirror moment where you are too horrified to ever go back. It's weird writing for Klaine in this dark shadowy part of the fandom but it's fun for me too, and hopefully enjoyable to read.

As always, be a friend and review or P'message me to let me know your thoughts and questions!

Left Me All Alone

'How could you?'

The voice was barely a whisper yet was spoken with such vicious venom which cut Kurt into pieces until he felt as small as a vulnerable bug in the shadow of a giant. The silhouette of his doctor towered over his bed and caused him to shake under his quilt. There was no where to turn, no where to hide. Blaine's glaring eyes pierced into him and Kurt began to stutter. 'B-Blaine, c-calm down. There's n-n-no reason to be upset-'

'You killed him!' Blaine suddenly snapped loudly, and Kurt jumped and his legs seized up in partial pain and partial fear. 'You murdered him. How could you? Darcy Brown cannot be dead! You evil, evil-!'

'Blaine, please!' Kurt burst out and threw his hands out in Blaine's direction. 'I understand - really, I do! - but in the late 1800s even into the twentieth century factory deaths were common. Buildings and machines fell apart or were misused and thousands of people lost their lives like Darcy did.' Kurt found himself using his tone of reasoning but it did not seem to have the same effect when it was mixed with pure terror. 'The important thing is his spirit - Darcy's spirit is still alive and will live on-'

'I don't want his spirit!' Blaine screamed at him in a roar of fury. His mouth was contorted into a twisted snarl and he aimed a swift kick to the foot of the bed frame. His black eyes glowed like a demon in the light of the moon and Kurt was transfixed, frozen in terrified awe. 'I want him! And you killed him!'

'I didn't.' Kurt mumbled quietly.

Blaine stopped and began panting as he half-tried to regain himself enough to growl 'Then who did?'

'No one.' The response came so simply that Kurt had to just let the words slip out as he had nothing else to go on but this stupid attempt at a philosophical thought. 'He just died. Just...slipped away. That's all.'

'Slipped away?' Blaine repeated quietly. Then his nostrils began to flare. 'Slipped away! He didn't just slip away, Kurt! You did it! You did it! You murdered my Darcy!'

Blaine then lost control. Kurt's eyes widened as he watched in horror as the other man reached over to the wooden chair by Kurt's bed - the same chair Blaine himself sat in mere hours ago when joining Kurt for dinner - and slung it up high in the air. He turned towards Kurt, who realised Blaine meant to bring it down on his head and crush it. Crying out Blaine's name, Kurt threw his arms up over his head, a pitiful attempt of protecting his skull. Blaine's eyes were dead set on him. His shoulder blades and biceps tensed and flexed as he powered the chair downwards. It was only at the last possible moment Kurt realised Blaine was not aiming at him exactly...he was aiming for the wall directly behind him. Kurt dove to the side as best as his meek body would allow. He heard the chair shatter with a loud smash mere inches above his cowering head and felt blocks of broken wood fall on top of him. It hurt and a few areas of his skull were badly hit by the debris yet he knew that it was nothing compared to what could have happened had Blaine decided to be more focused on him. He had almost been battered with a heavy wooden chair. Aside from being a stomach churning testament to Blaine's secret strength underneath all those mannerly sweaters and cord pants, Kurt realised that he could have died. Again.

Stunned into silence, Kurt only just managed to turn his body around on the mattress to face Blaine when his attacker issued one last blow which hit it's target: the hardback copy of Darcy's Journey had been swiped from the floor and brought down with full force on Kurt's unsuspecting legs. Kurt was given a whole two seconds after the sickening slam to gasp in shock before a blinding body-length stab of agony took hold. He screamed in pain with no control as his legs spasmed and he had the violent urge to vomit. Flashes of white dominated his vision. He writhed and twisted, almost falling out of the bed in the process but only just staying put. Minutes passed but he didn't notice. Caught up in his physical anguish, he didn't even register that Blaine had said and done nothing. The older man simply watched him scream himself into exhaustion. At long last, Kurt finally turned away from his tear-stained pillow and gazed deliriously up at him. 'Blaine...'

Blaine seemed to be in a trance. He regarded Kurt as if he was some mystic spectacle, and his voice became oddly monotone, soft and light despite the still obvious panting. 'I thought you were good, Kurt. But you're not. You're not good. You're just another lying old dirty mutt, and I don't think I better be around you for a while...' As Blaine then turned and began walking towards the door, Kurt lay stunned in his daze. His legs still pounded but had seemingly taken a back seat in his consciousness. He didn't understand...what did Blaine mean? Was he leaving? Where was he going? When Blaine paused at the doorway it seemed like one of his questions may be answered, but instead Blaine decided to give one last chilling piece of information. He looked over his shoulder and his dead eyes were cold as they rested on Kurt's quivering and sweaty form. 'And don't even think about anybody coming for you. Not the doctors, not your agent, not your family - because I never called them.' There was a moment of silence. The air was deafeningly quiet, like a razor sharp surface cutting out all sources of noise except Blaine's words. 'Nobody knows you're here. And you better hope nothing happens to me. You know why, Kurt? Because if I die...you die.'

With that, Blaine left the room. The door slammed behind him, and the rattle of a key sealed Kurt's doom.

An hour had passed since Kurt had heard the sound of Blaine's pick up truck gunning down the driveway outside. It was still dark and the moon seemed to be suffocated by thick clouds as there was suddenly no light source.

Kurt lay in a pool of his own cold sweat. The pain in his legs had not died down in the slightest: in fact, his limbs seemed to swell and throb like they had developed their own excruciating pulse. He was well overdue his nightly dose of Novril and at long last he began to struggle against the bed sheets: he needed to find something to stop the agony. He needed to get out and find some of those orange pills now.

He screamed: despite trying to mentally prepare himself, the fall from the bed onto the wooden floorboards was far more devastating than he had given it credit for. It took a further ten minutes of traipsing the line between consciousness and unconsciousness before he could compose himself enough to move again. His fingers clawed at the wood beneath him as he turned himself towards the bedroom door. It was just under ten feet away but in Kurt's eyes as he dragged himself forward a couple of inches it was an eternity away.

Every pull, every collapse, every struggle between periods of exhaustion and muscle flare ups brought Kurt a minuscule amount closer to the towering door and by the time his fingertips grazed the bottom of it almost three hours had passed. Sunlight was starting to pour in through the window. He had lost all colour in his face and his eyes could barely focus but with a new-found sense of desperation he somehow managed to hoist himself up and slump on the floor with his back leaning against the wall. He panted and let his aching body relax as best it could. When his arm felt ready, he raised up his hand towards the knob.

Just be open! Just be faulty! Please, let the lock be broken and free just this once... Once is all I need... Please-!

He turned the knob. It hit a firm catch and the knob would not turn any more. Kurt's eyes filled with more tears as he knew it was hopeless. Blaine was gone, and with him he took the only source of relief Kurt had relied on. With no hope and no real motivation, his legs fired up again and he screamed, falling off the wall and back onto the floor to wriggle and jerk with each new passing stab.

As the birds began singing their morning songs, Kurt lay passed out on the floor.

Mrs Thomson - the late wife of Mr Abraham Thomson the coal man - baulked in amazement. She watched the young Lord Darcy saunter down North Bridge Street with a spring in his well-dressed step. He paid her no heed; he had business that day he must simply take care of so he could at long last return to the open arms of his dear Anthony.

Lord Anthony... How long had Darcy been waiting for his declaration of adoration? Many years more than a stubborn mule like himself would care to admit. But the mere memory of the fair haired Oxfordshire born aristocrat on his very own doorstep in the pouring rain with no warning, no umbrella and no hat - Good Heavens, was he in so much of a rush to speak with him he had forgotten he had manservants to fix such things? Darcy cared not. There was something rather daring and deliciously devilish in the manner of which Anthony graced the door; his blonde locks ever so slightly darkened by water and desperate for a comb and a gentle hand.

'I despise your reproach, I reject your callousness and I cannot stand your attitude towards me - however I would sooner take your degrading remarks and harsh tones than the sweetest of phrases by the most loving of voices by any other person. Darcy Brown, you are the bane of my existence and you plague my mind every moment of every day therefore I demand you forgive me this one flaw: I am in love with you. I am so very much in love, and I succumb to your seductive and tantalising lips because if not for them I would be lost in this colourless world of nothing.'

The words were etched into Darcy's heart like a letter of his life. His lips turned up proudly as they recalled the kiss pressed against them a moment after Lord Anthony had finished his frantic speech. Smooth and full lips feeling plump and hot in the cold night chill; they pulled him in and corrupted him enough to falter even the most playful of rejections which came naturally after so many years of clashing. Darcy had been enraptured by physical passion before yet never before had he truly lost control over his being. He could not stop those arms snaking around Anthony's neck, nor the fingers running up the neck into the mass of soaking wet golden locks. Neither did he maintain enough sanity to properly dismiss his waiting staff before stealing his late-night visitor away into his bed chambers.

The following hours were a release after years of wanting and denying, wanting and denying, wanting, wishing, begging and denying. Anthony denied him nothing that night. There was, of course, a necessary evil of his eternal happiness: Anthony was a eradicator of slaving labour and 'death trap work environments', as he called them. In order to secure Anthony's heart, if he hadn't done so already, Darcy must formally shut down his seven South London factories until they fit his beloved's wishes. Darcy had never been one to care much for the faceless hands who worked those ancient machines yet the more he basked in Anthony's holy light the more he began to wonder.

The foreman of St Helen's factory met him at the gates and kindly led him through to the main floor.

Kurt heard himself groan long before he had the strength to open his bloodshot eyes. He blinked and stared along the length of the wooden floorboard his head was currently resting on. Where am I? He struggled to sit up and his legs immediately woke up with him. The pain intensified yet remained just behind the line of stealing Kurt's ability to function.

Water. He needed water. The clock on the wall told him it was after six and, judging from the fact he passed out around six thirty in the morning, he figured he had been out for half a day. The following hour was spent dragging himself back across the bedroom floor towards the bedside table, where a jug of water sat like a saucy temptress egging Kurt's movements of infliction for just a sip of it's contents. At long last he pulled himself up alongside the table and reached up. It took a great deal of careful straining but he managed to pull the jug onto his lap only spilling a few laps of water. It tasted like cool elixir against his dried up throat. He coughed and spluttered yet never stopped drinking. He couldn't. He felt like if he did, he would die. When his stomach threatened to reject any more, Kurt forced himself to stop. He barely had a tenth of the water left and his quenched thirst brought with it the reality that he may be locked up in this room for a very long time. He regretfully set the jug aside and tugged the blanket from his bed down to drape loosely around himself. Then, he watched the sky darken from his spot on the floor next to the bed. His energy was sapped and his body quaked with jolts of relentless pains. His legs screamed, burned and throbbed, increasing in power until he had no other option but to pass out yet again. After a few hours of complete stillness, Kurt toppled back to the floor and did not react when he hit his head off the edge of the bed frame.

Darcy baulked in shocked disgust. The poor fellow's hand was a mass of flesh wrapped in a filthy oiled rag tied in a sloppy bow above where his thumb used to be.

''Ere, Sir, nuffin t'blame on ol' foreman,' The ageing man flushed and shamefully hid his hand behind his back. 'Me own faul'. Wasn' looking, was askin' for it, I was.'

Darcy fiercely shook his head, and his top hat threatened to topple off his silky brown hair. 'My good man, do not excuse neither I nor my foreman for your plight. Had I known of the contraption's faulty lever I would have replaced it immediately, yet I took no note.' The kind worker was polite enough not to accuse him of lying - which, of course, he was - and had so much decency he appeared almost joyous to hear his words of regret. Still, this was not enough. It would never be enough for Darcy if he still had his darling Anthony beside him challenging him to be a better man. To be a gentleman in both character as well as title. He took to the floor and the sharp click of his heels on the factory concrete bought the attention of all the devoted workers in their greasy and severely torn overalls. They turned their dirt-ridden faces towards him and a hush fell over the crowd. 'I am ashamed.' Darcy began. 'I am ashamed to have allowed you fine...fine men of honour, the essence of Britain's hard working class which keep this country grand to be subjected to such foul and disgraceful conditions. You deserve more of my respect, respect which I have been hoarding and misplacing. Forgive me. I hereby issue a decree: all working areas will be temporarily closed until they meet a safe and productive standard. I will allot you all with alternative work until you are able to return and when you do I will set in place a daily wage appropriate to the great effort each of you valiant men are worthy of.'

The sea of men cheered. Metal-on-metal clanging of celebration echoed throughout the building, and the foreman seemed reluctant to look either horrified or overjoyed. At the corner of his eye, however, Darcy caught sight of a boy. The boy looked barely fourteen and his awkwardly skinny body was dancing between the generator and the side wall. Above the boy's head was a thick iron cog. Each time the boy slammed into the machine, the cog jerked in the most threatening manner. Darcy felt his insides turn to ice as he foresaw what was about to happen. There was no stopper on that pole; the cog was about to drop.

'Stop!' Darcy cried, yet was drowned out by the cheers of the men. He dropped his cane and took off running across the main floor, waving for attention. The boy was caught up in his own exuberance he was barely looking at anything as he twirled back and forth. Hitting the generator again. And again. And again. 'Stop! Please, stop!'

The cog slipped one last time, tipping over the pole edge. It plummeted downwards. Darcy threw himself at the boy. Hands violently shoved at the bony boy's back and the adolescent hurtled onto the adjacent workspace.

Darcy had one moment to rejoice over the boy's life, and as the iron piece broke into him from above he could see Lord Anthony's proud smile. It was the last thing Darcy Brown ever saw.

'Oh Kurt, you poor thing...'

One bleary eye opened, followed not-so-quickly by the second. Kurt's gaze was hazy but sure enough, as he feared, it was indeed Blaine Anderson leaning over him.

The younger man had forgotten why exactly he was lying in the middle of the bedroom floor and shivering in a cold sweat but the memories flooded back surprisingly quickly. Blaine knelt by his head with his arms cradling Kurt's upper torso and his hands gently smoothing back over his soaked hair. 'What are you doing on the floor?' His tone was not looking for an answer; it was more like a parent who was speaking fondly to a baby unable to speak. Kurt wasn't sure what possessed him to do so, but he shivered closer into Blaine's lap. Perhaps it was due to his extreme thirst and delirious mental state, but he was so desperately eager for love. He had thought the pain from his legs would be the worst, but then hunger had taken over at some point, then pain again, then overtaken by thirst. And, boy, had thirst not got him right in the gut! He couldn't breathe properly and had no concept of just how long he had been waiting on the scratchy floorboards for his doctor's return. Kurt began to cry.

'Oh, Kurt, don't...' Blaine cooed softly, lightly kissing just under his ear. 'It's okay. This is all my fault. If I'd had a proper hospital bed this never would've happened. Here, let me help you back into bed, hmm?'

Kurt sniffed and breathed heavy; he was hardly paying attention until he was jerked upwards and his legs seemed to spay beneath him and opened up another fiery world of hurt. He moaned out and began begging to be let go. 'N-no, stop! St-stop, I can't-!'

Blaine promptly hushed him and by some mystical-like power it succeeded in stifling Kurt's pleading. 'I know it hurts, Kurt, but it'll only take a few seconds.' He hoisted Kurt up into his arms and carefully supported his bandaged legs with expert precision. He continued to murmur words of encouragement as he settled his patient back into his bed. 'Don't be such a crybaby, just breathe. That's it, deep breath in...and out.'

However, Kurt could not control his erratic breathing any more than he could control the ramblings escaping his own lips. 'It hurt - God, it hurts. Make it stop, please, I can't- can't think- Please, make it stop, make it go away!'

Blaine lowered his face and rested his forehead on the younger man's. He stayed there staring. Watching. If Kurt had the capacity to think of anything other than his legs he might have noticed a change in those deep hazel eyes. A spark of honey poisoned the pupils and intensified the gaze. 'Kurt...first, we're going to take a couple of Novril pills. Then we're going to bathe you clean again, and I promise I will be gentle. And afterwards I'll fix you something easy to eat. And then you and I are going to have a little...talk.' Kurt opened his eyes and let those hazel pools draw him in. Blaine was smiling, his fingers stroking Kurt's jaw line and coaxing his chin up. 'I think an apology is in order, don't you?'

A.N. Not exactly a cliffhanger, so I'm improving! Hope you enjoyed it! Re-reading the book I realise we do get a lot of 'Misery' excerpts (that is, the book within the book) so I tried to add a little Darcy tale in. Please look forward to the next chapter (keywords: Manuscript BBQ!) and please leave a review or message before you go!