“My body rises with the water. Instead of kicking my feet to stay abreast of it, I push all the air from my lungs and sink to the bottom. The water muffles my ears. I feel its movement over my face. I think about snorting the water into my lungs so it kills me faster, but I cant bring myself to do it. I blow bubbles from my mouth.

Relax. I close my eyes. My lungs burn.”  r13; Veronica Roth, Divergent

“...Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out
For his love to flee.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree…”

There was a creak behind Blaine's head as he croaked out the lyrics to the song pressing its way out of his brain from the inside-out. The vault may not have been sanitary, had no food or light, and was freezing cold, but it did have wonderful acoustics that were helping Blaine fill his time with the music his hoarse voice projected.  

The creak, however, was new, and it made Blaine shut his mouth and turn his head towards where he seemed to remember the door edge being. Another creak, and then muted voices, the most he'd heard besides his own sounds since he had been shut in there who knew how long ago.

“Hello?! HELLO! Can you hear me?! Please open the door! I'm trapped in here! I just want to get to the coast! Open the door! Please just let me out!”

He should have stayed silent.

When the vault door cracked open, Blaine's eyes had to snap shut, and instead of rushing out like he had envisioned he would, he drew his head backwards. He didn't know how long he'd been in there, but clearly long enough for the light to burn into his retinas and momentarily blind him. Blaine heard laughter long before his eyes could see, and the voices laughing were so familiar that he felt a pit form at the bottom of his belly.

“What did I tell you guys? It's like karma dropped him right into our laps.”

That was Sebastian.

“When do they pick him up?”

Was that... Flint? One of the Warblers he last remembered standing by him with a gun in his hand when Blaine had been tied up?

“Tomorrow.”

Sebastian again.

“And we get him until then?”

Toby? Was that Toby? Toby that had been such a sweet kid when he joined the Warblers and whose involvement in the attack against the community had been a shock to Blaine and Trent.

Blaine's eyes had begun to adjust, and he saw his path to freedom, the opened door of the vault, blocked by several pairs of legs. He cursed inwardly, knowing that if he had an opportunity to get out, it had now passed. Tipping his head up, it was like looking at an old yearbook photo full of people that had once been friends, but had since become obscure memories of days you thought were good, but were really just biding time until the days truly did become good. Old Warblers, the ones they had sent away, now surrounded him with nothing short of smug, malicious grins. It made that pit in his stomach harden further, sinking down into his abdomen and making his heart speed up.

“I just want to go… please guys…” he uttered, struggling to get to his feet. He had tried to stand before, falling against the wall as vertigo claimed him; The struggle to get up now was no different, but instead of the long fall that came with dizzy stumbling, he was smacked down to the ground with a sharp pop as one of them connected their fist to his jaw and he didn't have the strength or warning to brace himself against it.

That was the only hit he had a moment to register, because as soon as he hit the ground, falling onto his stomach, more strikes were directed at his body. First they kicked their boots into his ribs and hips with a chorus of snaps and crunches that had him howling out in pain he didn't know existed. Then, when his voice finally fractured, he sobbed out alongside the noises his body made as it broke. Blaine tried to curl up on himself, to wrap his arms around his stomach where the most sensitive and unprotected bits of him were, but they moved too quickly and hands were on him, pulling his arms and legs away from his core as punches were plowed into his face and torso such that he was sure they hadn't missed a single millimeter of skin with their fists.  

His body had numbed from the initial kicking before most of those hits could be transmitted to his brain, and for small graces like that, he was grateful. They laughed as they hit him, spit on him, cheered one another on. They took turns punching him, kicking him, and when that wasn't enough, someone began to slice open his back which made his voice come back in a scream. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that he had abstained from the vote that had landed them out here, to live instead of being put to death. He should have voted. He should have said they deserved to die. No one who was ever once a friend, no matter how badly things had gone between them, should be capable of this. No one should enjoy it at least. Not like they were.

His clothing was torn away, a show of their strength more than anything as they managed to rip apart the leather he wore, clothing Kurt had so carefully crafted for him so it had fit perfectly, and he didn't have the strength to protest or cover himself when that was done, only yelping like a dying dog whenever the leather pulled away at blood on his body that had already begun to clot against it, reopening the wound and exposing it to the cold air. Left to lay on the floor, wheezing and wondering how long they were going to stretch out this torture, Blaine wished for death. Death would be a welcome release from the blend of pain and tingling numbness that had overtaken his body. He was so disoriented and swollen in his face that he might have well been alone in the dark room for all he could see.

“He like you remember him Seb?” one of the men asked of the ringleader.

“Fuck. Still has a nice ass, but hairy and bony everywhere else… and not the kind of bone I like.” They laughed at that and Blaine felt the tip of someone's boot poke at a place not touched by anyone other than Kurt in years. It made him grit down on his molars, fume in anger, and yet he couldn't do a damned thing about it. It struck him that they probably just hadn't killed him yet so they could humiliate him like this.

He wasn't surprised at that point that he was a joke to them. If one thing was clear, it was that they were getting their jollies from his misery. He should have been tougher with them years ago. He should have done more than speak up against them when they proposed attacking the community. He should have put Sebastian down when he had killed Charles. He shouldn't have let it slide. They learned that dehumanizing and devaluing others was acceptable then, and now it was their norm. Angry regrets burst through his mind, and what really stung was that he was sure that if he had spoken out, the community would have voted to put them down back then. His younger self was an idiot.

“Well you've got him until morning, so you could give him a good fucking before they take him. See just how loose that halfling left him.”

Of course. If only to add more insult to his injury. He tried to protest, but discovered he could only gargle on his own spit and the blood from his gums. His teeth wobbled inside his mouth, and his tongue… he must have bit on it at some point because it, too, was swollen. He couldn't even talk. He clenched the muscles in his ass, thankfully buried away from where most of the beating had taken place. If Sebastian was going to do something to him, then he didn't want to make it easy.

“Fuck no. I don't want to give him any sort of pleasure after what he did to us. Let him go to hell like this.”

Small mercies. He relaxed his backside, the effort of keeping it tight exhausting him. More laughter, and then footsteps leading away from him with the odd bit of noisy spit cast his way just in case they felt they hadn't done enough.

The blackness came over him again after that, fully this time as he couldn't even see the glow of light behind his eyelids. They had closed him in the vault again, and despite his best efforts to send the messages down from his brain to the rest of his body, he would not, could not move. Forced to lay naked in his own blood and filth, Blaine fluttered in and out of unconsciousness. He couldn't sleep long enough to forget the pain, but couldn't stay awake long enough to do more than remember his humiliation at their hands.  

He was surprised his body wasn't giving out, wasn't letting him die. His time spent in clinic at the community told him he probably had internal injuries with the force and intensity of the attack. The unsanitary conditions would also make it likely that he'd get infected through one of the open wounds he had.  

After several small comas, Blaine was awoken with another kick to the side, and opened the one eye that could still see a slivers length through. He couldn't make out anything clearly though, except for a fuzzy image of someone set against the light from beyond the vault. Someone was there over him, someone who felt he wasn't hurt enough. Another someone pulled him up, or maybe it was two someones. Blaine didn't know, couldn't tell, and he didn't care. He just wanted this to be over.

“Put these ones on him,” someone chuckled, and he felt himself being dressed. Underwear being pulled up his legs and making him squawk uncontrollably every time the fabric grazed one of his fresh cuts or bruises, of which there were too many to count as the clothing travelled up his body.  

Pants followed, and though they yelled at him to stand up on his own, he crumpled down to the floor each time he tried to comply, out of pride more than obedience. His bones felt out of place. Hell, everything in him felt out of place. They had to hold him up in their arms and dress him like a doll in whatever it was they were putting on him. The way they giggled though… he was sure it wasn't exactly complimentary. It wouldn't be one of Kurt's well thought out creations, that was both functional, comfortable, and well fitted.

Sebastian's voice spoke then, loud and right in front of him, so close he could feel his breath on him, smell the food that he had eaten that morning, and, damn it, it made his stomach growl. “Thanks for the food rations and maps.”

So they had his backpack.

“You can keep the ears though.”

He felt the chain being pulled over his head, left to dangle around his shoulders and chest where it was roughly tucked in under whatever kind of shirt they had on him. The dried skin from the Halfling ears grinding against his chest like sandpaper. More chuckles after that, and the sound of skin slapping skin that was probably them giving one another high fives. Assholes.

“Oh… and to show you that I'm not a complete jerk… Here.” Something was pushed into the pocket of the pants he had been dressed in, making him see spots as it rubbed against some sore point that was clearly quite sensitive to the touch on his hip. “You always did have a thing for these stupid old phones and music players.”

They laughed some more, and then Sebastian sent them out, letting him collapse back to the floor without anyone to hold him up. If only he could get up, he could do something… try to surprise Sebastian… get the upper hand. He would do to Sebastian what they had all done to him. He would make sure it was fatal though.  

Reality slapped him though. Who the hell was Blaine kidding, thinking he had any ability to change the balance of power? He could barely wiggle his tongue.  

“You asked who I had to kill to rule out here…” Sebastian spoke as Blaine listened to him walk around in the echoing vault, the heels of his boots clicking with each step. “... no one actually. But I did make deals I never would have dreamed about before we were forced out here.”

If his skull and body hadn't been screaming at him, Blaine might have rolled his eyes. Sebastian always had a flair for the cartoon style dramatics, and that clearly hadn't changed. Here he was, circling around Blaine and about to tell him how he rose to power like the absurd ego-tripping villain he was. As if Blaine actually cared at this point. As if it made any difference at all.

“After Hunter died, I decided we needed to change how we were living. We found this old town, made it our own. It was really a stroke of luck that the Others that came by not long after we moved in were more interested in peace than war though. It was agreed that we'd give them rebels and those that sought to hurt them, and in exchange they'd let us live freely. It's been a wonderful relationship. It used to be just us Warblers, but now we have hundreds of humans here, and happy to work for us in exchange for the safety this place offers.”

If Sebastian was waiting for Blaine's input on the conversation, he was going to have to wait until Blaine could actually move his jaw enough to speak, and Blaine certainly wished he could if only to tell Sebastian what a bastard he was.

“... Anyhow. They come by each month to see if we have any rebels or information of interest. I thought I'd let them deal with you since you seem to have an affinity for the pointy eared freaks It's a shame though, you know. There was a time I really, truly did care about you Blaine… or at least your cock and ass, but all I see when I look at you now is filth. Traitorous, halfling-humping, filth.”

Fog dripped between Blaine's ears, and slowly he came to understand what Sebastian was getting at. Not that understanding mattered though. No matter what they intended to do with him, he was still too subdued to do anything more than accept it. Death from traitorous Warblers or death from Others… really, it was all the same at this point. Blaine just wanted it to be over. He wanted to shut his eyes, think of Kurt, and let someone make the final blow.

Instead, he heard that same, shrill language from months ago, and more footsteps joining Sebastian's. Two or more of those things were speaking to one another, and then finally one of them spoke to Sebastian in proper English.

“Been a while since you gave us anyone.”

“This one wandered in and put up a fight. Took a few of my men to bring him down. Said he was going to the coast to storm one of your encampments. Didn't make a lot of sense,” Sebastian replied, lacing his words with lies that flowed from his mouth so easily.

“Looks like a loony the way he's dressed.”

“Acted like one, too.”

“Alright then. We'll take him. Anything else we should know?”

“Yeah. One of my men said they saw something questionable strung around his neck. Might want to take a look. Make sure it's nothing that could hurt you.”

“Thanks for the heads up. See you next month, Sebastian.”

Blaine felt himself being lifted up, coughing up blood and mucus from within his mouth when his stomach was pressed down against his carrier's shoulder. Then he felt the air run over him as he was toted out of the room, away from the stench of death within it. It was a short lived ride though, because as soon as he was out of the building, he was tossed into something else, though much softer than the ground he nearly expected to feel under him, hay perhaps, and listened as a horse was smacked and whatever apparatus he was in began to move, taking him away from Sebastian, the Warblers, and whatever chance he had of finding Kurt.

He passed out again, not long after that, waking each time the cart he assumed he was in hit a bump in the road and then going back to blackness immediately afterwards. Any sleep he managed to get was as dark as the vault had been. No dreams. No peace. The bumping made him ache, even as he slept, and that was all he felt after a while. Constant pain. Conscious or not, he was aware of how hurt he was.

Like his time in the vault, he wasn't sure how much time passed, and when he did achieve consciousness for more than a minute at a time, it struck him that maybe he could plead with these Others to let him see Kurt. He tried talking again, only getting that same, damned gurgling noise from before as his mouth was too swollen to move, and then let out a sob. He had come so far… so far and he couldn't even use his voice to beg them to listen to him.

His eyes didn't improve over time either. In fact, the small bit he could see just seemed to get more distorted everytime he tried to slit open his one eye, and doing that sent spikes of pain into his skull each time he tried. So Blaine remained mute and immobile, wondering if he'd die sooner from his injuries or from their magic.  

When they did stop the cart, he was asleep, but came to when he was pulled from his place and thrown to the ground. It was a sharp reminder that his pain could be worse as it awoke every nerve in his body and made them all flame up together. He wanted to scream, but his voice wouldn't let him.

They spoke over him, in that too-fast, mish-mashed language of theirs. Someone grabbed him by the hair, forcing tears out of his swollen eyes, and lifted him slightly. More speaking, more pulling on his hair. Someone yelled and then Blaine felt the chain on his neck being pulled off him until it broke behind his neck and left him dangling under the hold of whomever was holding his scalp.

Then they yelled a lot. Their language was bad enough when it was spoken in conversational tones, but it was grating when they were screaming at one another, or at him - he couldn't tell. There were more footsteps as more of them came to join in the fray. With the discovery of his necklace of Halfling ears, he was surprised they didn't just kill him on the spot. What was the hold up?

Someone tried after that. He couldn't know for sure, but he made the assumption based on the way the sounds fell around him. Someone approached him, yelled right at him, and then put their hands on him. Just as suddenly as that happened though, that Other's hands were off him, as well as the grip that was on his hair, making him land on the ground in a heap of mangled bone and skin.

He was left alone for a minute after that as their screams became hushed whispers, their voices lifting at the end of their statements like questions. Conversations began and then Blaine heard the approach of another one of them, felt its breath on his face as it put its face near him.

“You speak human English?”

Blaine tried to respond, he really did. He wanted them to know the truth. He wanted them to know why he had sought them out, but again all he got was the sound of his spit moving against his tongue and a cough summoned up by the blood and saliva he had been swallowing.

“What magic do you possess, human?” the same voice asked of him, angry and impatient. Blaine tried again to make a noise, to tell them he had no magic, but ended up just gargling that thick mixture at the back of his throat. This time when his eyes pushed out tears, it was because of frustration, not pain.

Hands were on him again, and again they were off him just as fast. It was like they were being pulled away and the way they rattled off words in their language with sharp tones, it was like they were reflecting the same irritation he felt inside. They wanted to hurt him, but they were being stopped.

There was shuffling, a lot more of the conversation, and the feeling of more hands coming close to him and being stripped away. The pain was in a high point again, as it seemed to cycle between numbing spasms and complete agony, and Blaine felt himself blacking out again when he heard the voice of a woman.

“Why did you call me for a human rebel?”

They responded to her in their language, and she replied in her accented English, an accent he couldn't place, at least not with his head thrumming like it was. Once, at his parents yacht club, he had been able to correctly guess places of origins of some of the guests by listening to their accents. His family and their friends thought it was most amusing. Blaine had just been glad to get their approval.

“I don't heal humans. If you wanted him to speak, then you shouldn't have hurt his mouth.”

Again they responded in their tongue, and he could hear the woman let out a long sigh above him. Hands were placed on him again, and he winced at the touch. Those fingers were too long, too thin. They weren't Kurt's. Instead of making like this Other was going to hurt him though, the hands stayed there, stayed there and made his body cold where she had them. Like ice pressed against his wounds - so cold it burned.  

“What… what's wrong with this human?”

The hands were taken away, and he sniffed a breath through his nose in relief. The talking began again, and that woman called for someone to fetch her someone named Kalki. That name made the hairs on his body stand up on end. He didn't know why, but he just felt like something terrible was coming. He had to stay tense though, for whatever was coming, because it took a while to coordinate bringing that Other they had called for in, forcing Blaine to fight off the sleep that wanted to take him.

“Was this human with the Quarterling when you found him?” the woman with cold hands asked after even more footsteps had joined them.

Silence for a moment, and then Blaine felt his chin being lifted, an act that made his neck feel like it was going to burn apart and separate his head from his body. He could see a blur before him, someone looking at him, examining him.

“This was the one that glowed the brightest when Vila did her psychometry… the one your Quarterling had the most attachment to of those we captured…”

Despite it making him ache even more, Blaine's whole body tensed. That voice. That was the voice of the Halfling that sliced through his friends, Pudding… the one that tortured them. It was her. He tried to squirm away, pull away from her touch, puffing hard breaths out of his nostrils as he strained.

“Would you like me to kill him?”

He held his breath then. This was it. They had been waiting for her, so that she could redeem herself for losing Kurt by killing Blaine. That was why he hadn't been killed yet.

“You can try,” the first woman noted, and as soon as she gave the permission, Blaine could hear the slide of a blade being pulled from its sheath, metal rattling against metal, and the slice of the air above his head. He focused on the thought of Kurt. He tried to anyhow. Despite his wishes, he was still afraid of permanently seeing nothing.

The slice ended with the sound of a screech though, and it wasn't his own. The Halfling swore in English, and then spat out something in the language of the Others that Blaine betted was more cursing. Again, just like before, she had been stopped by something. He wasn't dead - at least not yet. The first woman chuckled and Blaine heard her step back in front of him, put a cold hand under his chin and lift it up, causing that same ripple of anguish to shoot up his neck.

“Kurt's so much stronger than I imagined…”

Kurt. KURT. Blaine involuntarily choked a squeak out of his mouth at the name and it made the woman before him chuckle once again. She knew Kurt. She could take him to him. She could send him a message. She could help him. He had to talk to her. He had to get his voice back.  

“Fetch me a copper piece. I must send a message to the council. In the meantime, lock him in one of the cells. He's no harm to us in his state.”

Hands were tucked under his armpits, and he was carefully dragged away to the cell they mentioned. It was outside, or at least he assumed it was since he felt the dirt under him, wet from melted snow. There, Blaine chose to let sleep take him, not fighting it anymore. He felt more at peace now that he knew there was someone there that knew Kurt. Someone who knew his name. His heart felt like it was flying above his body, and had been since that woman had spoken the name he hadn't heard in so long. She was someone that had enough power to send him to a cell instead of having him killed. He might not have understood everything that was said or done, but he felt better than he did in that vault, and even when he heard a key lock the cage he had been put into, he knew, that at the very least, he was closer to his goal than he thought he had been when he had first come to wherever it was he had been taken.

It didn't stop the pain though. As before, Blaine was in and out of sleep each time the pain cycled through him in waves. The way he felt sweat on his brow, Blaine knew he had a fever, which was just more icing on the cake of torment he was suffering through. Occasionally, he registered footsteps nearby, and whispers in their tongue. As long as he wasn't being hurt even more, he was okay with it. Let them look at him. Let them talk about him. Someone here knew Kurt. Blaine would find a way to use his voice, and he would get them to take him to Kurt. He didn't quite know how he would convince them of it, or if he even could, but he was so close he could taste it, more than the iron of his blood on his tongue or the bile that kept rising from his stomach.  

He tasted success.