As a reminder, the guards only know the prisoners by number and refer to them that way throughout the study. It can get confusing at times, so here’s the line-up of prisoners, guards, and the prisoners’ numbers for your reference.

The Line-Up

Nick - Prisoner 137 - Guarded by Sebastian Smythe

Jeff - Prisoner 138 - Guarded by Sebastian Smythe

Kurt - Prisoner 219 - Guarded by Blaine Anderson

Puck – Prison 378 – Guarded by David Karofsky (Ejected from study)

Sam - Prisoner 474 - Guarded by David Karofsky

Bystander intervention: Willingness to assist a person in need of help.

Blaine's hands shook as he dialed zero on the one working phone tucked away at a desk near the reception area.

“Dalton Operator, how my I direct your call” chirped a voice almost immediately.

“Yes,” Blaine spoke, his voice trembling. “I need to report a crime.”

Kurt was awoken from an uneasy sleep by the sound of voices. Ones he did not recognize. He slowly sat up, groaning at the pain in his neck from sleeping curled up on the floor of a broom closet. He pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully and trying to make out what was going on.

“Get all the prisoners out of their cells, now. Give them their clothes back. Then get your things together and meet me in the guard room. We need to talk,” commanded an older voice that Kurt could not quite place.

There was the sound of banging. “Prisoners, up now!” Karofsky shouted. “We've got a meeting with Dr. Cohen.”

Dr. Cohen? That must be the old guy giving the orders. Kurt was intrigued. He'd only seen the enigmatic Dr. Cohen once before, when Prisoner 378 was ejected from the study. Even then, Kurt had only caught a brief glimpse of a white coated back and balding head before Dr. Cohen disappeared. Kurt knew that Dr. Cohen was supposedly monitoring the entire study via the security cameras placed throughout the prison. But it seemed to Kurt as if Dr. Cohen was asleep on the job. Or perhaps drunk? All Kurt knew was that many of the atrocities the prisoners had suffered were captured on film and that could prove very bad for Dr. Cohen if it were to get out.

Blaine was pacing back and forth in front of the cell as he waited for Prisoners 137 and 138 to get dressed. The nameless dread that had been building all week as he worried about 219's fate had not yet been quelled. Sure, Dr. Cohen was here and insisting that the prisoners be let out of their cells and back into their regular clothes, which was a good start. But Dr. Cohen seemed every bit as angry as Karofsky and Sebastian were at this newest development, and Blaine couldn't help but fear retribution, either to himself or Prisoner 219. He knew he wouldn't be at peace until he saw Prisoner 219 safe and sound, and had the chance to explain what had happened. And apologize for all that he hadn't done to keep 219 safe from the start.

“Where's 219?” Dr. Cohen asked, confused.

“In solitary....where he belongs,” Karofsky sneered.

“Jesus, how long has been in there? You kids are going to get me fired, dammit! Get him out of there now and give him his clothes back. Now.” Dr. Cohen shouted, obviously annoyed.

“I'll go get him,” Blaine piped up. “He's my prisoner after all.”

“That won't be necessary, Anderson,” Dr. Cohen replied coldly. “I'd like you to head into the guard room. That's where we will be meeting.”

“But I...” Blaine started, nervously.

“Now, please,” Dr. Cohen silenced Blaine with a wave of his hand. “Our debriefing is just about to begin.”

Blaine reluctantly headed toward the guard room, his stomach still twisted into knots. Could Dr. Cohen know that he was the one that had made the complaint about the study? He'd refused to give his name, wanting the complaint to be anonymous, but perhaps they'd traced his call? Still, Blaine had precious little worry about himself. He wasn't thinking about what had happened with his parents, or the money that he was about to lose if he was kicked out of the study, or where he would go once he was inevitably kicked out on the street. His only concern was for 219 and how he could make things right. Kurt needed to understand why he'd done the things he'd done so that he could hopefully forgive him. It sounded crazy, even to Blaine, but deep down he knew that he couldn't imagine life without 219, a person who had been a total stranger less than a week ago.

Kurt was suddenly blinded by the bright fluorescent light pouring into his closet. He blinked rapidly, trying to make out the hulking figure in front of him.

“Enjoying your stay, lady?” the figure sneered.

Karofsky.

“Oh course....it's nice and quiet in here. How's prison life?” Kurt asked breezily.

“Better when you’re locked up,” Karofsky answered gruffly.

“Oh come on now, you know you don't mean that. I'm sure you've missed me so much. I know that the other prisoners aren't nearly as fun to harass as me,” Kurt teased.

“I don't give a shit about you,” Karofsky spit out, looking more than a little hot and bothered by Prisoner 219's teasing. “Get your ass off the floor and put your faggy girl clothes back on,” Karofsky continued, tossing Kurt's wrinkled and balled up clothes at him. “Dr. Cohen's here for a meeting. Get dressed and wait in the dining room. And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut.” And with that final threat, Karofsky was gone, leaving Kurt to quickly slide on his tight black jeans and leather jacket. Kurt took a deep breath, feeling instantly better and more powerful in his own clothes. He could do this. The guards hadn't broken him yet. Kurt squared his shoulders and hurried towards the dining room, his curiosity growing. He didn't know what this meeting could possibly entail, but he was determined to face it head on.

“Ahh, Prisoner 219, please have a seat. So glad you could join us,” Dr. Cohen intoned in a monotone voice that suggested the exact opposite. Kurt simply shrugged before slumping into the nearest chair, giving 137 a questioning look. 137 looked every bit as unsure as Kurt and gave him a shrug in reply.

Jason, the graduate student assistant that Kurt had met with upon signing up for the study shot Dr. Cohen a frustrated look. “Hi, Kurt,” he said warmly. “How are you doing today?”

“Oh just wonderful...” Kurt replied sarcastically, watching as Jason's face fell at the bitterness in his tone. Fuck this, Kurt thought darkly. I'm not going to smile and play their little game. If they really gave a shit about the prisoners, they would have intervened sooner. I'm not about to give them insider information or reassure them that their little study has been just fine.

Jason looked to Dr. Cohen, obviously waiting for him to speak up. With a disinterested sigh, Dr. Cohen finally spoke. “I want to thank you all for you participation in our research study. We've....we have all the information we need at this time and have chosen to end the study. But before we release you, we are required to do a debriefing. Jason?”

Kurt's mind was reeling. He exchanged glances with the other prisoners, immediately sensing that they were every bit as dumbfounded as him by the sudden end to the study. But while it was clear that the other prisoners were relieved, exchanging celebratory high fives and hugs, Kurt felt numb. It didn't feel like the study was over, not really, and nothing would erase the awful things he'd experienced at the hands of his peers. Worse still, he'd lost any chance to fight back and come out on top. And for what? Had the experimenter simply grown bored of them? Or had something happened?

“Thanks, Dr. Cohen,” Jason said, standing and moving to the front of the room, facing the assembled prisoners. “So it's important for us to gain some information from you about the study, both the good and the bad. We'll also take some time to explain the aims of this study and there will be plenty of time for Q&A, both with myself and Dr. Cohen, but also with the guards.” Jason looked down at the clipboard he was holding, grimacing slightly before continuing. “Bear with me as I go through this list of questions, okay? I promise we will take as much time as we need to answer your questions and ensure that you feel like you've been heard.” He took another deep breath and read from the clipboard. “Okay, first question. What did you like about the study?”

Kurt couldn't stop the helpless snort of laughter that escaped. Really? What did he like about the study? Not a goddamn thing. He couldn't help but thinking that this whole debriefing was simply a farce, one that he was not willing to participate in.

“I'm sorry, Kurt?” Jason said tentatively. “Did you have something you wanted to address?”

Kurt simply shook his head, unwilling to even give the researchers the satisfaction of replying.

“Oh sorry...” Jason trailed off, feeling awkward. “Umm, how about the rest of you? Nick? Jeff? Sam? Anything you liked about the study?”

“Not really,” Sam mumbled, the others nodding their agreement.

“Okay, right...” Jason continued, seeming unsurprised and obviously uncomfortable. “Next question then. He looked down at the clipboard again, shaking his head in disgust. “Actually, you know what? We'll get to those questions later. I want to hear from you actually. What questions or concerns do you have about the study?”

After a moment of silence, Nick tentatively raised his hand. “I have a question actually.”

“Great!” Jason exclaimed, looking relieved. “What's your question?”

“Well, the other prisoners and I were just wondering...how did you decide who became prisoners and who became guards? Because it kind of seemed like you took all of the biggest and meanest volunteers to be guards. And I was just wondering why you did that.”

In the background, Dr. Cohen scoffed, causing Jason to shoot him a dark look before continuing. “Actually Nick, that's a really good question. See, you were randomly assigned to your roles. We flipped a coin to decide whether you'd be a guard or a prisoner. And in fact, the groups are roughly equal on all the variables we tracked. Remember all those surveys we made you fill out?”

Nick, Jeff, and Sam groaned in near unison, while Kurt simply rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know...there were an awful lot of them,” Jason replied with amusement. “Well, we totaled each measure for the group of prisoners and group of guards. And you guys had nearly identical scores on measures of aggression and pretty much every other personality trait we measured. You even had the same average height across groups. So there were no differences between you and the guards before the study started.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, half listening to Jason's long winded explanation. Honestly, at this point, he had no reason to trust a word that anyone affiliated with this study had to say. They'd lied before. They had said that Kurt would be safe and well cared for. Instead, he'd been put in a living hell in which he was continuously harassed, belittled, and threatened. And anyone who tried to stand up for him, like Anderson, had been quickly put in his place. Kurt had quickly learned that he was completely and utterly alone and no stupid debriefing would change that.

And so Kurt continued to sit blankly in a cramped meeting room, barely listening as the research assistant explained the goals of the study, something about understanding group dynamics and the power of the situation. He was so spent, mentally and physically that he could barely muster the effort to feign listening. All Kurt wanted was to go home, sleep off the horrors of the week, and forget the whole thing had ever happened.

Kurt was pulled from his trance by the sound of someone calling his name. After nearly a week of only being known as 219, “Kurt” sounded odd and almost unfamiliar to him. He reluctantly raised his head and offered a noncommittal “hmm?”

Jason smiled at Kurt, although it was clear that his patience was wearing thin, though with who or what Kurt couldn't be sure. “Kurt, I was just reminding you like I did with each of the other prisoners that there will be follow-up counseling available if you'd like.”

Kurt shook his head immediately. “No, that won't be necessary.”

Jason nodded, seeming unsurprised. “Okay, well if you change your mind, just let us know. Now which of the guards would you like to speak with?”

“What? No, no, no...” Kurt blurted out. “None of them. I don't want to talk to any of them.”

“Are you sure?” pressed Jason. “Not even your guard...Anderson?” he asked, glancing down at the clipboard briefly to confirm Kurt's guard assignment.

“No, I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to anyone. I just...is this going to take much longer? Can I...?” Kurt asked, getting increasingly agitated.

“If you are sure you don't want to speak with any of the other prison staff, you are free to go. We've compensated you for the full two weeks,” Jason continued, handing him a large manila envelope. “And my contact information is in there, just in case you change your mind about the counseling.”

“Great!” Kurt exclaimed, with obvious relief, standing and grabbing the envelope from Jason, eager to put distance between himself and this horrible experience.

“And Kurt?” Jason called as Kurt pushed open the door.

“Yeah?” Kurt replied hesitantly.

“For what it's worth, I am sorry... For what happened to you. For what happened to all of you.”

Kurt sighed heavily. “Yeah? Well sorry, but that doesn't really do us much good now.” He hurriedly pushed through the door. He needed to get out of here. Now.

As he strode down the hall, he couldn't help but noticing Prisoners 137 and 138 still crowded together, just as they had since the study began.

“I just don't know, Nick. I don't know if I can face him. He was so awful to us and so creepy. He practically molested us, you know?” the lanky blonde prisoner was whispering, looking near tears.

“Look, I get it, Jeff. I do. I know it will be hard. But I feel like if we don't talk to him now, we might regret it later, you know? And look,” he said, holding out his hand and taking the other prisoner's hand in his. “You don't have to do this alone. We'll do it together, okay? And then this nightmare will be over.”

Kurt shuddered involuntarily. The thought of confronting any of the guards filled him with nameless dread. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him upset by what they'd done. And he certainly wouldn't give them the opportunity for forgiveness. No, as far as Kurt was concerned, the guards should go to their graves regretting their behavior. But the thought of leaving Anderson with no resolution did give Kurt a moment's pause. Deep down, he knew that Anderson was a mostly good person, someone who had tried to keep Kurt safe on many occasions. True, Anderson's attempts to help had often been misguided and feeble, causing Kurt additional pain more than once. Yet still, Kurt didn't doubt that Anderson's intentions were pure. But Anderson was a reminder of something Kurt wanted desperately to forget. It wouldn't be long before Kurt was back in New York at NYADA and this whole episode would hopefully become nothing more than a passing thought. Something told Kurt that if he let the real Anderson into his life, whoever that was, there would be no getting him out again.

Blaine was frantic. He should have been relieved to find out that study was over, but the waiting was killing him. He hadn't laid eyes on 219 since their late night talk and knew he wouldn't be at peace until he saw 219 and they got to talk, face-to-face, hopefully with real names. Blaine ached to explain himself and hopefully break through some of the walls that 219 kept putting up. Maybe once he was no longer Correctional Officer Anderson, but Blaine instead, 219 would start to trust him.

It'd been over 15 minutes since a harried research assistant had popped her head into explain that Dr. Cohen had gathered all the data he needed for the study and that their future participation wouldn't be required. Karofsky and Sebastian seemed surprised initially, but took it well and miraculously hadn't started pointing the finger at Blaine as the real reason that the study was ending. Blaine had caught a few suspicious glares from Karofsky and inappropriate leers from Sebastian, but they otherwise seemed to content to stare off into the distance, waiting for their payment.

The research assistant explained that they would have an opportunity to talk to the prisoners and “clear the air” now that experiment was over. Blaine was anxious to talk to 219, but still struggling to come up with the right words. He kept thinking back over their conversation the night before. Things had been going so well. 219 had opened up to him, eating pizza and telling him about his time at NYADA and his family. But just as quickly, things had turned and those walls were back up again. Blaine felt like he was navigating a series of land mines in every conversation with 219, never sure if the next words out of his mouth would be the ones to make the whole thing go up in flames. He just knew he needed to make things right. Because Blaine had simply come to a place where he couldn't imagine his life without 219, as crazy as he knew that sounded.

Blaine jumped as the door suddenly flew open and Doctor Cohen entered the room, followed closely by another research assistant holding a clipboard. “Okay, let's see. We need to see Officers Karofsky and Smythe please. Smythe, you'll be going into the dining room and Karofsky, you will meet with your prisoner in his cell.” Doctor Cohen was halfway out the door before Blaine realized that his name had not been called. “Wait!” Blaine exclaimed. “What about me?”

Doctor Cohen frowned, looking disinterested. “You are free to go, Mr. Anderson. Jason has your payment.”

“No, no, I need to talk to the prisoners first. 219, I need to talk to 219. He was my prisoner. Where is he?” Blaine blurted out in a rush.

Doctor Cohen rolled his eyes. “None of the prisoners requested a meeting with you. 219 declined to speak with any of the guards. He's gone.”

“What? Wait, none of the prisoners want to speak with me? You're telling me that they want to speak with Sebastian and Karofsky and not me?” Blaine asked, aghast. He shook his head visibly, trying to force himself to focus on the issue at hand. “Whatever, I don't care about the other prisoners, but I need to speak with 219. It's important. Please... Where did he go? When did he leave?”

Doctor Cohen sighed heavily, clearly impatient. “He left about five minutes ago I think. I have no idea where he went. What you do after this study is none of my concern.”

Blaine felt an overwhelming desire to throttle the blasé doctor in front of him. How he could be so disinterested despite all that he'd instigated was beyond Blaine's comprehension. But Blaine forced himself to slow down and take a deep breath, needing to keep his anger in check in order to get information. “Okay, fine. I get it. Listen, just give me his name and contact information and I'll find him on my own time, okay?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but I can't give you that information.”

“What? Why not?” Blaine asked, aghast.

“It goes against confidentiality. It was all detailed in the paperwork you filled out upon entry to the study. Now if you'll excuse me, I really have more pressing matters to attend to.

“No,” Blaine spit, his voice cold.

“No?” asked Doctor Cohen with bemusement.

“No...not good enough. That's bullshit. You put us this in this horrible situation, and practically forced us to tear each other apart and now you're telling me that you can't be bothered to give me a guy's name so that I can apologize and try to make things right. You owe me that much.” Blaine declared angrily.

“I'm sorry, but 219 declined to speak with you. That's his right. I have to respect his rights as a volunteer enough to keep his personal information private.”

“Oh really? It didn't seem like you cared much about their rights when you were forcing us to strip search them and eavesdrop on their private conversations.”

“Look, this study was perfectly legal. You knew what you were getting yourself into when signed up. You volunteered. And I'm afraid I simply don't have the time or inclination to discuss this further. You can see Jason for your payment. We were quite generous in paying you for the entire two weeks. Goodbye, Mr., Anderson.”

“Wait please? Just tell me his name? I need something to go on.”

The only reply Blaine received was the door slamming in his face.

Kurt squinted in the bright early morning sunlight. It felt so good to be out of the damp, dark basement prisoner and above ground once more. Kurt rooted around in his jean pocket, sighing with relief when his fingers closed around a dime. He quickly inserted the coin in the payphone and dialed the familiar number from memory. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying at the relief he felt at the sound of voice on the other end of the line.

“Dad?”

“Kurt? Hey buddy, it's so good to hear your voice. Are you okay? Did something happen? Because I swear if that stupid Doctor Cohen let anyone hurt him, it's going to be the last thing he ever does.”

Kurt sighed with this relief, steadying himself in an attempt to keep the quaver from his voice. “What? No Dad, I'm okay. The study's over. They ended it early. Can you come get me? Please?”

“Of course, Kurt. I'm on my way. Are you still at the same place?” Burt asked, eager.

“Yeah, just pick me up outside of Windsor Hall when you can, okay Dad?” Kurt replied, his voice imperceptibly trembling.

“I’ll be right there, Kurt. I'm on my way. It's gonna take me a little while to get there though. Will you be okay until I get there?”

“Huh?” Kurt asked, his mind on other things. “Oh yeah Dad, I'll be fine. Just going to hang out. It's a gorgeous day.”

“Okay buddy, I'll see you soon. And Kurt?” Burt called.

“Yeah Dad?” Kurt asked tentatively.

“I'm glad you are coming home.”

“Me too, Dad. You have no idea.”

Kurt hung up the payphone, wiping angrily at the tears that slid down his cheeks. He wouldn't give Doctor Cohen and the guards the satisfaction of thinking they had broken him. They hadn't broken him, and they never would. Kurt inhaled deeply, forcing the tension from his shoulders and neck. He was strong. He was in control again. He'd lost himself for a moment there, but he was back. Nobody could touch him. He just needed to remember that.

Kurt had a sudden flash of defiantly singing Amazing Grace in front to the entire prison, rendering Smythe, Karofsky, and Anderson speechless. Performing always brought him strength, so why not now? Kurt vaguely remembered passing a room upstairs with a piano when he'd first come to Windsor Hall to sign up for the study. So Kurt quietly slipped through a propped open back door and climbed two flights up the stairwell, off in search of the piano and more importantly, a quiet place to think.

Blaine leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He'd been everywhere it seemed. He'd scoured every floor and twisting hallway of this labyrinth building and hadn't found any trace of 219. It was as if he'd simply vanished into thin air. Blaine wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself fully upright once again, his sore and overused muscles screaming in protest. He pushed open a heavy metal door, sighing at the brightness and warmth of the sunlight against his skin. As Blaine stepped through the door and headed towards the parking lot, intending to scour the grounds one final time, he could swear he heard music, the tinkling of a piano and a high, clear voice that sounded oddly familiar.

I was born by the river in a little tent. Oh and just like that river I've been running ever since. It's been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change's gonna come, oh yes it will.

Kurt sang effortlessly, his long graceful fingers dancing over the keys of the grand piano. The high arched ceilings amplified the music until the strength of Kurt's slowly building voice filled the room with sound.

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die. 'Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky. It's been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will.

Kurt's voice crescendoed towards the second verse, pouring every ounce of emotion and frustration that had been building into the song. Tears began to stream down his face in earnest, but Kurt felt lighter and freer than he had in a week. He allowed himself to be swept up into the current of the song, just like the swelling river of which he sang.

Then I go to my brother and I say brother, help me please. But he winds up knockin' me back down on my knees.

Kurt's broke slightly on the next verse with the rawness of the emotion pouring out of him. He thought back on his time in the prison when he'd been naïve enough to think that the other prisoners might actually help and support him. He remembered the pain of being turned away even by his fellow prisoners, when he'd literally been knocked to his knees by Sam's weight.

There were times when I thought I couldn't last for long, but now I think I'm able to carry on. It's been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will.

Kurt slowed down the last chorus, wanting to hear and feel each note of the song. He could feel the music sweeping through him buoying his spirits until he was flying. As Kurt sang the words “I'm able to carry on,” he knew he would be okay. Despite everything, Kurt was still a fighter. And he was going home. That was all that mattered.

Blaine sank onto a nearby bench, his limbs shaking with exhaustion. After scouring Windsor Hall, Blaine had run the entire ground of Dalton, but had come up empty once again. He buried his face in his hands, knowing with sickening certainty that 219 was gone. And Blaine didn't even know his name. He wouldn't let things end like this. Blaine hadn't been strong enough to help 219 once before, and he was determined to make things right, no matter what the cost. It may take a small miracle, but Blaine wasn't giving up. He pulled a small notepad about of his backpack of belongings and began compiling a list of every bit of information he knew about 219, no matter how trivial. He would find him. He had to. There was simply no other alternative.