Chapter 3

“What happened to your neck?” James asked him quietly at dinner, prodding the still raw marks. Kurt winced.

“That neanderthal Blaine happened.” Kurt grumbled. His cell mate grimaced and poked his food, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop his new friend from being hurt. Only idiots and suicidal people tried to fight against Anderson and his cronies. They stayed quiet for the rest of the meal, James only speaking up again as they were called to return to their cells.

“I'm always here buddy.” He said, patting him on the back.

“Hummel!” they both turned to see a guard approaching them. “you've been reassigned. Get your things and come with me.” Kurt sighed shakily. Why did he have a bad feeling about this?

He followed the man to his cell, grabbing his change of clothes and the puzzle book, pencil, and chocolate bar he'd bought. Good behavior can work wonders in a prison.

Kurt was lead to a smaller cell, half the size of the one he'd just left. Great. All alone.

*break*

“Aw honey, what did you do?” the nurse asked, dabbing a funny smelling ointment on the cut across his jaw. Kurt winced.

“I don't think I did anything. I just bumped into the guy, I said I was sorry and he decked me. Ow!” he yelped as she probed the goose bump on the back of his head.

“Sorry sweetie.” she said, handing him an ice pack to hold against the swell. “You just sit in here for a few minutes, I need to get my report to the chief.”

Kurt sat there silently for a few moments, gnawing on the inside of his lip as the throbbing slowly started to numb. There was a creaking noise as he glanced up and saw none other than Blaine Anderson sauntering in. Fantastic.

“Oh for the love of Gucci, what do you what?!” he cried. “I'm in no fucking mood for your bullshit.”

“Ooh, the twink's got a mouth on him.” Blaine smirked. He walked up to the bed Kurt was resting on, his waist equal to his knees. Kurt leaned away as a calloused hand reached out for his face. Blaine grabbed his jaw tightly, making him wince in pain as his thumbnail dug into the still-sore cut. “Who did this?” Blaine asked lowly, his voice sending a tremor of fear down Kurt's spine.

“I don't know.” Kurt said, his words distorted from the harsh grip Blaine had. He tugged at the elder's wrist, trying to get him to let go.

“What did he look like?” Blaine demanded, his fingers getting tighter.

“I don't fucking know!” Kurt almost sobbed, dropping the ice pack to use both hands to pull on Blaine’s, trying his hardest to squirm away as he leaned in closer.

“I could help you, you know.” Blaine’s voice grew softer, almost soothing. “The fear, the threats. It could all go away. Nobody touches what's mine. Well, maybe people who want to die...” he trailed off as Kurt wrapped his legs around his waist, his hand falling from his jaw to wrap around the back of his neck.

“There's just one... tiny problem with that theory.” Kurt murmured, leaning back on his hands. Blaine followed, their foreheads about six inches away from each other.

“And what would that be?” Blaine asked. Kurt could feel his breath brush across his face.

“I'm... not... yours.” with that, Kurt swung himself forward, headbutting Blaine before pulling his feet back up to his chest and kicking him away. Blaine landed on the floor, either unconscious or too stunned to move.

He knew even as he rushed out of the nurses station and back to his cell, shoulders hunched and arms crossed, that he'd pay for what he'd done. But still, the rush of standing up for himself was enough for him to not care at the moment.