A/N: Hello! I'm alive, I promise! Here is Chapter 8 - delayed but completed. Life has, once again, gotten in the way of writing. It tends to do that, which sucks. Thanks again to everyone who has been sticking with this story; you're the greatest :) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee
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When they get back to base, Blaine feels absolutely and utterly exhausted. He hasn't been himself lately, going through the motions and trying his hardest not to think about anything. His feet feel like bricks, his legs like lead, and if that isn't ironic nothing is.
"You learn fast," says Sebastian condescendingly, and Blaine resists the urge to spit at his feet. It'll get him nowhere. He knows this, he knows this, he knows this. The urges never subside, though. He lets himself daydream of a place where he can tell Sebastian what he actually thinks about this whole hostage/blackmail/whatever this situation is and he can fight back to break this chain of terrible awful things he has to deal with lately.
"Are you ready for your next mission, then?" he asks, and Blaine doesn't even have to try to bite back a sarcastic remark because of his shock. Granted, he's only carried out a handful of missions, but they've never been nearly this close to one another.
"What is it?" he finally speaks up, curiosity winning out over contempt. Something turns in his stomach. Again. He's getting tired of this, and fast, but what can he do?
"We're officially taking over the NDHQ. I want no mercy. If someone gets in your way, you get them out of your way, or I'll do it for you."
Blaine's mouth goes dry, his hands start to shake, he wants to run. The walls of this room seem too close, like they're squeezing inward with every breath he takes.
"Be ready Tuesday morning," finishes Sebastian with a tiny little smirk (and oh, how Blaine wants to wipe it off of his face), and Blaine tries to be thankful that it's only Saturday but he can't be because he only has a few days before he'll probably see some of his friends die right in front of him. And no, it won't be his fault, but there's no way he'll be thinking that rationally when it actually happens. He's already feeling eaten alive with guilt about burning Sam. The ray just skimmed his torso, but he seemed to be doing all right. Not a hundred percent by any means, but alive, and that has to count for something. Right?
He trudges back to his room, legs dragging for the first time in ages. Blaine Anderson does not drag his feet. Blaine Anderson leaps and bounds and skips and sprints and flies; he does not trudge. He whirls through the air because that's just what he does, okay? Just…just not today. Not today.
…
Sunday passes in a blur, a couple of meals mixed in with more training and introduction to a few weapons. Nothing new, really, and he yawns that day more than he ever has before, struggling to keep his eyes open. That night, though, something changes. Something major.
He gets to bed on time, lying there numbly and trying not to fall asleep because the nightmares have just kept getting worse. He kicks at the sheets a little, restless from being cooped up, because he was made to run, not jump or punch or fight.
Suddenly, a whisper from his left. "Blaine?"
He starts, head snapping to the side in a pointless effort to identify the intruder. The room is pitch black. "Yeah?" he whispers back, heart pounding. He hears a shuffle of footsteps coming towards him and rushes to scramble into a sitting position, breaths too loud in the cool dark quiet surrounding them. "Who are you?" he demands softly, voice wavering.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," replies the decidedly male voice, and Blaine tries to relax but he's still on edge. "It's Jeff." More shuffling, a too-loud scuff, and suddenly there's a hand on his arm. Blaine jumps a little but doesn't remove it.
"What do you want?" he asks, hoping and hoping and then telling himself not to hope. It isn't worth it. This could be a trap, he knows.
Blaine hears Jeff take a deep breath and realizes that maybe he isn't the only nervous one in this situation. "I want to help you," he says a little louder, not quite a whisper anymore, "I want to get you out of here. I have a plan."
And with those words, all of Blaine's worries about traps are thrown out the window. Jeff has a plan. A plan to help Blaine escape. A plan to save the New Directions and stop Sebastian and maybe even take down the Warblers – the very Warblers that Jeff is supposed to be a loyal member of.
"Why are you doing this?" he finally asks after a moment.
"Because it's not fair that you're stuck in this position. No one deserves this."
Blaine wants to question him and he wants to trust him entirely. He does neither. "What's your plan?"
A small snap in the hall causes both of the boys to nearly jump out of their skin, and with a quick, "I'll tell you tomorrow," Jeff is gone.
Blaine gets almost no sleep that night, instead opting to stare at his ceiling and wonder why a boy as honestly good as Jeff would join the Warblers in the first place.
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A fragment of a dream:
The first thing he knows is heat. Hot. Burning, even. Sweltering. He opens his eyes, looks around, notices that he's wearing a Warbler uniform though he can't for the life of him figure out where he is. All he sees is light and all he feels is heat until he hears someone calling his name. Blaine! Blaine! He swivels, because he knows that voice, but he can't find the source. Kurt? He shouts, but he isn't heard. He runs and runs and runs until his feet hurt and his legs are like jello (that never happens, ever) and he wants to give up but he can't. Kurt needs him. The light is overwhelming, but he doesn't stop moving. Even after he has to sit down, he looks back and forth, exhausted but willing to try.
It's his last thought before he wakes up. He can't give up. He can't.
…
Jeff doesn't stop by the next day. Blaine waits, and waits, and waits to see a wisp of blonde approach him, but it doesn't happen. He doesn't even have to fight the urge to cry. He just nods to himself, having expected the worst.
It's doesn't make it hurt any less.
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