a/n: hello, hello! I'm alive, I swear! Writer's block is eating me alive when it comes to poetry as far as this week has been concerned, so my morale was a little low coming into this chapter. Hopefully it clears up soon! Either way, I hope you enjoy this latest installment of the ever-uplifting and darling, i'll suffer alone! To those who reviewed: you're angels. It wouldn't let me reply (sigh computer challenged) but i wanted to say thanks so much for keeping me in check. YOu're the reason I'm still writing this!
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee
...
Tuesday morning and the sun is low, low, low in the sky. He's awake, but he doesn't want to be. Not by a long shot. A ray of light crawls through his dingy old window and he shies away from it, tugging the sheets higher over his body. He'll need to get up in a moment, lest Sebastian invade his mind and convince him to do so anyways. He just wants to enjoy this, this warmth and the vague notion that things are going to be okay.
Of course, all moments pass, and soon enough he's groaning and shoving the blankets off of his over-heated body, throwing his legs haphazardly over the side of the mattress, running a hand through his unruly hair. He looks in the cracked mirror, then, and marvels at how small he is. His waist has always been narrow, but he swears he's wasting away. There are bags under his eyes, and he's hunched little, and he's never looked so young in his own eyes.
He's just a kid, really. Still just a kid.
…
"Perk up," insists Sebastian, "This is where the fun begins."
Blaine is eating breakfast now, eyes shooting to where the other boy is standing, tall and lanky, in the doorway. He's leaning against the wooden frame in a casual manner, and that alone is a bit frightening. It's as if the prospect of killing is one that can be discussed over oatmeal with no problem. It's no big deal. Just a couple of lives. What are they in the grand scheme of things?
"When do we leave?" asks Blaine so flatly it barely passes for a question.
Sebastian just chuckles and checks his watch. "Always the eager one," he smirks, "aren't you? We leave in two hours. Don't be late," he tacks on, but Blaine knows not to be late. He isn't sure he could convince himself to be late if he tried.
Two hours, then. Two hours to find Jeff or develop a plan on his own; either way, he isn't planning on going into battle with ND without at least some safeguard against actually having to hurt them.
He isn't sure if he can forgive himself for what he's done so far anyways, but at least this way he has a chance of doing so. If he really, truly hurts someone he loves, he knows that he'll never recover from that. Not that he'd want to.
Sometimes he just wants to take the easiest way out he knows. He wants to tell himself that it'll be okay, that they won't miss him, that he needs to just end it before more people end up getting hurt.
It's a shame he's so difficult to persuade, then.
…
An hour of searching later, Blaine is about ready to tear his hair out when he finally sees Jeff. His dilemma: Jeff is in the middle of a large huddle of Warblers, the majority of which Blaine is going to guess aren't in on the plan.
Whatever the plan is. If there even is a plan anymore. If he didn't just dream it all up in the first place.
The room is open and spacious, in a wing of the Dalton HQ he hasn't ventured much into. The walls are wood, the floor is wood, the tapestries are richly woven and the light is all gold. It's deceptively free, but Blaine has never felt so trapped. The windows might as well be barred.
He takes a breath that sinks right through his toes and steps across the room with more confidence than he honestly feels. There's a little bit of a stir when they notice him, and as he arrives the faces of the other boys are a little bit amused and a little bit skeptical.
"Your order of business?" asks Thad, eyes narrowed to slits.
Blaine chokes on his words for a minute, but he has a cover prepared. "Sebastian wanted me to come get Warbler Jeff, apparently they need to talk about some stuff for today's mission." He only stutters once.
"And you need to accompany him because…?" comes the lilting reply from Thad. Blaine gulps.
"I don't know, okay?" he finally decides to say, "I don't know anything anymore."
It's as close to the truth as he's been for quite a while now, and the look of distress on his face must be enough to convince the Warblers, because Jeff steps forward and the others turn right to back to talking about whatever it is they were talking about in the first place.
They've taken only a few steps when Jeff murmurs impressive and Blaine's heart rate starts to drop again.
"You said you had a plan," he says flatly. "I want to hear it."
Jeff takes a deep breath, sucking the warmth right out of the air, and without even realizing it he digs a few pockmarks into the ground around their feet. The resulting effect is barren, desolate, and broken. "Listen, Blaine," he starts slowly, looking at the floor. A crack springs up beneath his shoes where they're planted. "I've been thinking, and I really, really want you to get out of here. Partially because, well, so do I."
Blaine's eyes widen a little. That was…unexpected, to say the least, but it makes sense. He scuffs a shoe on the floor and waits.
"Listen, we need to do this quick, okay?" Jeff says, picking up the conversation where he'd dropped it a moment before, "Sebastian is smarter than he looks." Blaine knows. Oh, he knows. "So this is what's going to happen…"
He goes on to explain the plan, and Blaine is astounded by the level of thought the other boy has put into this. It's so dangerous, so incredibly dangerous, but if they can pull it off, well, they have a chance at freedom. And a chance is all Blaine ever asked for. Jeff's eyes might get a little crazy while he's talking, but it's a chance.
"Deal," says Blaine, without thinking, and they're shaking on it, both with crazy eyes now, and neither with a clue of what the day will hold in store. The ground beneath their feet shakes a little, and with a little careful, Jeff, they part and go their separate ways.
…
Twenty minutes later, and Blaine is shaking. His face in the mirror is supposed to be hard, unforgiving, cruel, but the cracks are starting to show. Tendrils of fear and caring and nerves and anger all bursting through in the set of his jaw and his stance and his eyes, God, his eyes, they're so expressive that he just wants to keep them shut. Kurt used to tell him that he knew how Blaine was feeling before Blaine even opened his mouth. For both of their sakes, he hopes Kurt was exaggerating, because one slip-up and everything could be compromised.
Why does it feel, all of a sudden, like he's Atlas? Like the weight of the world is pressing, pressing, pressing down on his shoulders, even when (especially when) he never asked for it to be like this?
He still doesn't understand. All he knows is that he wants it to end. And soon. Please, please let it be soon.
Show time, says Sebastian, cutting through his thoughts, and with a sigh so heavy he swears it shakes the room and colors the air, he shuts his eyes, pushes back his shoulders, and hopes for the best.
I'm coming for you, Kurt, he thinks, I'm getting out of here. I swear.
...