The next time Blaine was able to see it, the sky was dark. Ever since Barrow abandoned him hes been locked down in their "lab." Its a bit self indulgent to call it a lab when its nothing more than a table, some rolling chairs and two computers. Although they do have something hidden under dusty sheets that Blaine has been itching to take a peek at. However, Blaine is rarely left alone, therefore rarely without the threat of consequences.

Apparently leaving his chair qualified being duct taped to it. Asking questions or making any noise at all led to various writing utensils being thrown at him by the Latina girl, but only when shes alone with Blaine. She often is, except for the one time the boy in the wheelchair and blonde girl came down to gather a few items. Other than that, its either the mean lady or the quiet one.

Blaine likes the quiet one. Hes not as scary as the girl is. The closest hes got to punishing Blaine was snapping at him when he didnt stop sniffling, then throwing the tissue box at him. The quiet one was actually pretty nice when Blaine thought about it. He never got mad at Blaine for crying. Instead of sloshing around a water bottle when Blaine asked to pee, he actually allowed him to use the bathroom. When he noticed Blaine shivering, he rolled the chair he was strapped to farther from the air vent.

Too bad the quiet one wasnt the person to load Blaine into the truck. The girl hed gotten to know as Santana did the honors. She was far less than gentle, ripping the tape off of him. A rope was tightly bound around his wrists and he was all but lifted and tossed onto the wooden floor of the truck. She hopped in after him, followed by the quiet one. Then, the door was lowered and the sound of it latching was heard.

Mostly Blaine cried while in the truck, silently, as it bumped along the road. All that was visible of Santana and the quiet boy was their silhouettes. Neither moved, nor spoke. They just sat near the door of the truck, waiting. Like guards holding in a prisoner. Is that what Blaine was to them? A prisoner? He felt like one from the way he was treated.

But, hed done nothing wrong. They, being the ones who kidnapped him, are the criminals. They are the ones at fault. Or Barrow, arguably. He gave in to their whims, doing what they demanded because it was the easy way to get what he wanted. The right thing whatve been to fight them, not throw Blaine away like an expendable pawn. It was practically treason to bargain with them and it was certainly against the rules.

The first stop they made was at a welcome center for the state of Pennsylvania. The truck was parked in the rows with the Coca Cola and Walmart deployment trucks. Blaine was glad to be untied. But, his freedom was short lived. The blonde girl retrieved him from the back and from Santanas watchful eye. By hand, she led him to a minivan, instructing him to enter in through the drivers door.

"Do you know how to drive?" She asked him. Nervously, Blaine nodded. "Drive the car around to the back."

Blaine took in the appearance of the girl. Her eyes were wide, hands fidgeting in her lap. "No." Blaine tested. It was clear she didnt do this often.

Stiffening her upper lip, she pulled out a pocket knife, resting the blade against his thigh. She was trembling now. "Take the car around back." She demanded once more. Despite her nerves, he truly believed shed use that knife if he didnt cooperate. For her sake, he shifted into reverse, backing out of the space and driving around to the back lot.

Waiting for them was the quiet one, Santana and the wheel chair boy. Blaine hadnt noticed when theyd come around, but he was sure that was the point. Brittany instructed him to stop the car and climb to the very back. He quickly complied, glad that the threat of the blade was off of his leg. Once everyone had loaded into the car, Brittany seized control of the wheel, leaving the welcome center.

All of their pit stops were different. But, they were all sketchy and well thought out and quick. It made Blaine nervously comforted with how prepared they were.The next was into an awaiting hippie van at 7 Eleven. Then into a taxi, which was so cramped that Blaine had to crouch on the floor by everyones feet. It sucked.

Finally, the car made it to a stop without a long train of demands being thrown at Blaine with little context. All they did was calmly escort him out of the vehicle, while the boy in the wheelchair spoke briefly with the driver. From the friendliness of the conversation, Blaine was able to gather that this man was a recurring participant in their schemes.

The gang stood before a little, purple townhouse. It was incredibly unassuming for the circumstances, standing quietly on a suburban New York street. It was strange to Blaine when the two girls went to a neighboring house and the boy in the wheelchair went to another.

"Where are we?" Blaine asked softly, addressing only the quiet one.

"Home, or at least for now. Theres a cot in the basement for you."