"Hello, my good fellow… or girl-fellow… huh, this is Blaine Anderson. I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time; that having been said, if you leave me your name and number, I will be sure to get back to you. Unless, of course, I forget. Ha. Anyways…. BEEP"

"Blaine! Answer your phone, dammit!" Kurt yelled into his mouthpiece. An hour of listening to the same phone message, hearing that dorky laugh that he'd made fun of at first, and Kurt was seriously beginning to panic.

He was half-an-hour away from Dalton when he thought that perhaps Blaine wasn't the person he should be calling. David had sent him the message; David should be able to explain this. Kurt's fingers shook as he searched for the number.

"Hello?" David answered, leaving Kurt to sag in relief into his steering wheel.

"David, what's going on?" Kurt all but screamed into his phone.

"Kurt, calm down. First thing's first; are you okay?" David's voice was calm, level, and infuriating, especially with the level of panic Kurt was feeling.

Kurt rolled his eyes; were they kidding? Of course he was okay; they were the ones he was worried about. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm on my way. What happened?"

He listened to David relaying the news to someone else, felt a sway of relief when he heard Wes' voice, "He's driving and on the phone? That's really dangerous, David. It might be better if we hang up the phone until he gets here - "

"I swear, you hang up on me, and I will personally make sure that every member of the Warblers is a countertenor from here on out," Kurt said.

David gasped on the other line, "That's not even funny, dude. Do you know what that would do to our group dynamic? And Wes is right, you shouldn't be driving while on the phone; does your dad know you're doing this? The last thing we need is for you to get hurt."

"I appreciate the concern, but I am fine," Kurt said, half-sarcastically. He was lying – between the near constant panic attack and the horrific scenarios flashing before his eyes the road was beginning to look a little odd. "And my dad already knows I'm driving to Dalton; I stopped back at home to check on him and Carole before I left." There was also that desperate phone call to Finn and the seven messages he'd left Blaine after calling who knows how many times and what if something happened to him?

"So, you're okay?" David asked again, tentatively, and Kurt wanted to slap him across the head.

"Yes, I am fine, now can someone please tell me what is going on?"

"… I don't think it's the kind of thing we should talk about over the phone. How close are you to Dalton?"

"Ten minutes," Kurt sighed. It was technically 25 minutes but what good were speed limits anyway? David didn't want to talk about it over the phone; it was bad, then, wasn't it?

Kurt heard a sigh of relief. "Okay, then," David said, "We'll talk about it when you get here, okay?"

"Fair enough," Kurt growled, as his mental math dropped him from ten minutes down to six. "Can I just ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"Is everyone okay?" David paused, thinking about his answer. Kurt's chest clenched, forcing the question out of him, "Is Blaine okay?"

"Blaine?" David's voice was all confusion, "Yeah, he's right here. I thought he would have been the first person you called."

"Put him on the phone," Kurt said through clenched teeth. There was a single, slight moment of hesitation, during which the manhood of every Warbler hung in the balance, before Kurt heard the tell-tale shifting of a phone being passed from hand to hand.

"Hi, Kurt," Blaine said. He sounded… troubled, which saved him from an immediate murder at the hands of Kurt Hummel.

"Blaine, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, are you - "

"Then why, pray tell," Kurt drew a shaky breath, "Weren't you answering your phone?"

"You tried to call me?" Blaine asked. Kurt laughed, trying to sound less terrified than he really was. "My phone was off. I was studying; I didn't want any distractions… Holy hell, Kurt, are these messages all from you?"

"Most of them. I can't believe you didn't think to turn on your phone, Blaine. Do you know how terrified I was?" Kurt was trying not to tear up, but it was a difficult task. "I get this text from David saying to get to Dalton and then I try to call you and you're not answering…"

"Hey," Blaine interrupted gently, "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was worried about you, too, you know. I know I should have called, but I was busy taking care of things here."

"Just a second, I'm pulling up." Kurt barely bothered to turn the car off, cursing when the keys hitched for a moment on the way out.

Several boys stood in front of the main entrance; David and Wes flanking Blaine. The sight of his friend made Kurt's knees weak as usual, but it didn't stop him from running as fast as he could toward the three.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine's relieved voice gave Kurt proof that the other boys were as worried about him as he was about them.

"So, what happened?" Kurt stopped, giving them all a hard look. If this turned out to be nothing…

But the boys' faces were just a little too solemn for that. Wes and David's eyes inched toward Blaine, and Kurt focused on him. Blaine coughed, feeling the pressure. "Well… I really don't know how to say this…"

"Blaine," Kurt said, "Please." Just when he thought his life could not get more dramatic….

"It's Pavarotti," Blaine sighed, breathing out the words in a gust of air too quick to take back. "I'm really sorry, Kurt, I know how much you cared about him, but today someone broke into your room and…."

"Was Eric there?" For the first time, Kurt thought of his scrawny, quiet roommate.

"No, he came in after it was done. He's in the nurses' office now. He threw up after seeing… Kurt, are you okay?" Wes asked gently.

"No," Kurt breathed, "No, I'm not." On one level, he knew the clench around his lungs didn't make sense. He should be relieved that no human got hurt. But his stomach was still spiraling. And Eric got sick, which meant… "I want to see my room."

"I don't think-"

"Don't you even start with me, David," Kurt said, strolling past the boys and into the main foyer. Normally the sight of Dalton's natural beauty charmed him, but today it just made him angrier. All this money spent on hand-carved moldings and marble staircases and they couldn't have invested in a security guard that would actually do his job? "How did he even get in here?" Kurt asked, voicing his frustrations.

"Campus security is trying to figure that out," Blaine said, "We're not even sure why he broke into your room, he didn't steal anything, didn't leave any messages… he just waltzed in, killed the bird and left."

"And the school just let him waltz, didn't they?" Kurt said bitterly. "What?" He turned and glared at Blaine, who had grabbed his arm to get his attention.

"Kurt, I saw what happened in there. The aftermath, I mean. The way your room looks right now isn't… You don't have to go in there."

Kurt eyed the door to his room, trying to decide that for himself. Did he want to go in there? Pavarotti had just died in there… because of him, because he hadn't answered Karofsky's call. Hadn't wanted to play his sick game and now he was paying for it.

"I do have to go in there, Blaine," He finally said, straightening his back as he pushed the door open.

Silence.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked.

Kurt didn't answer. He wasn't even sure he could breathe.

The room was covered in blood. Not red through and through, but definitely enough for Kurt to notice and more than he thought the little warbler could possess. He scanned the room as quickly as possible, forcing himself to look even as he cringed away. Few of Eric's things were touched, the blood getting more prevalent as it reached Kurt's side of the room. His bed was obviously the site of Pavarotti's death. He could see tiny flecks of textured white among the red, pieces of fat and gristle that had slipped through Karofsky's clumsy fingers.

Kurt could smell vomit, and see it in a pool by the doorway, most likely Eric's contribution. The smell rose, hot and heavy, combining with the sight to make Kurt feel sick to his stomach.

The worst part, though, was above the bed.

Kurt shrieked as his eyes traveled up to the mobile Karofsky had set up over his pillow. It was clumsy and crude, made up of some spare string and a plastic hangar that Karofsky probably got from his own closet. Four pieces of string, and dangling from the edges of them were the remains of Pavarotti.

The little bird's body was strung up from the tail, bleeding steadily onto Kurt's pillow from the jagged edges of its throat. The head was hanging from a separate string, the beak connected to the wire, the eyes blank and empty. Both wings were attached to their own strings, weaving endlessly around each other like the macabre reworking of a baby's plaything.

Kurt stared, taking the whole thing in with horrified eyes. He jumped when he felt arms around him, then leaned into Blaine's embrace.

"You're shaking," Blaine said softly, "You shouldn't be here, come on, Kurt."

"What do you mean, come on?" Kurt said, shaking his head in hopes that the scene before him would go away. It didn't, and tears sprung to Kurt's eyes.

"You think I'm letting you sleep in here after what happened?" Blaine shook his head, pulling on Kurt's elbow, "No, come on, you're sleeping in my room tonight."

"But, I need, my things," Kurt said helplessly, staring at the mess in front of him. He didn't know where to begin sorting through this mess, but he hadn't exactly packed before heading out to Dalton. His toothbrush, he needed his toothbrush right now or he was going to burst into tears in front of Blaine and that would be so embarrassing.

"Hey," Blaine turned him, looking into his eyes, "I'll get your stuff; I know where it all is. Eric is spending the night in the nurses' office; they always have someone on duty to watch over the students. He'll be fine. All I care about right now is getting you safe and comfortable. Now run along, you know where my room is. I'll grab your stuff and I'll be there in less than a second."

"My toothbrush," Kurt said shakily. He knew it was petty but he needed it. It gave his something to think about, anything to think about besides Pavarotti being ripped apart and set up as a display because he didn't answer a phone call.

"I know where it is. I promise I'll take care of you." Blaine smiled gently at him and Kurt began walking to Blaine's room, listening as the boy began rustling around in search of the things he'd need for tonight.

Kurt was just out of earshot when his cell phone rang.