Learned Helplessness: The hopelessness and resignation learned when a human perceives no control over repeated bad events.

He managed to free himself from the research assistant’s grasp for a moment, running back into the room and rounding on Blaine, who was still watching the scene unfold in muted horror. “And you. You might be the only decent one left. You better watch out for my boy and you’d better not hurt him again or I’m coming for you. All of you. Protect him, okay?” he asked, his voice softer as he fixed his gaze solely on Blaine before being dragged out of the room. The door slammed harshly behind them, leaving the dumbfounded guards and remaining prisoners in silence, Prisoner 378’s words still ringing in their ears.

“Protect him,” Prisoner 378 has said. Don’t hurt him. You might be the only decent one left. Blaine wasn’t sure that any of what the rebellious prisoner had said was true. Decent? Am I decent? Blaine hardly knew anymore. But there was one piece of Prisoner 378’s advice that Blaine was determined to follow. You’d better not hurt him again. It wasn’t much, but that was one promise that Blaine swore he would keep, no matter what the cost.

Exhaustion was setting in by daybreak of the third day of the study. Not just physical exhaustion, although there was plenty of that among the prisoners that had been subjected to increasingly frequent counts by the guards at all hours of the day and night, but mental fatigue as well. The remaining prisoners were suddenly subdued, 378’s departure having demonstrated the hopelessness of their current environment and circumstances. The pre-breakfast count had gone as smoothly as possible, with the prisoners quietly submitting to the shouted commands. As Blaine sat down for a rushed breakfast with the guards, he could only hope that the rest of the study would proceed at this morning’s count had, though he knew deep down that the study was going downhill very quickly. He wondered if he was the only participant, guard or prisoner, who sensed that they were in the middle of the calm before the storm.

As Blaine mindlessly choked down room temperature eggs and burnt toast, he couldn’t help his thoughts from returning to Prisoner 219. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t received as much as a one word reply from Prisoner 219 since the awful count Blaine had been forced to lead the night before. Afterwards, Blaine had barely slept, and when he did, even his dreams were haunted by the insult he’d so carelessly slung at Prisoner 219. Worthless. It was the very word that his father had spat out with such anger and vitriol as Blaine was disowned from the only family he’s ever known. Even now, the word stung and his heart ached as he remembered the stunned, haunted look on Prisoner 219’s face after he’d called him worthless. Blaine was still mulling over ways to apologize to Prisoner 219 and attempt to make things right when Doctor Cohen poked his head into the room and immediately began to talk, giving the three guards no more than a cursory glance.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I just wanted to let you know that we will be holding a visitation period this afternoon. I need the prisoners and prison area to be presentable so that the parents won’t object to their children participating in the study. If any of them complain to the university, we will be forced to release them and the entire study will be jeopardized. So it’s very important that you keep this in mind: if any parent complains and forces us to end the study early, you will not receive your promised compensation.”

Blaine’s eyes widened at the thought of not getting paid after all he’d already gone through and sacrificed for this stupid study. He felt an uneasiness settle over him as he tried to picture the prisoners, especially 219, reporting on the events of the last three days to their parents. The study would be shut down in a heartbeat. It was going to take some serious damage control to erase what had been done to the prisoners in the past few days. But before Blaine even had a chance to bring up the incidents of the previous night, he turned to see that Doctor Cohen had disappeared yet again.

Karofsky dropped his fork to the table with a clatter, looking at Sebastian and Blaine in turn, obviously agitated. “So our prisoners are barely listening to us or respecting us as it is, one of them went apeshit last night, punched me in front of the other prisoners, and nearly started a riot, and now the doctor wants us to play nice? Is he fucking crazy? How does he expect us to keep these fags in line if we have to make everything all warm and fuzzy for Mommy and Daddy?”

“Patience, honey,” Sebastian soothed. “We can work this to our advantage, trust me. We’ll be nice to them for one day, make them think that everything will be all right, and lull them into a false sense of security. They’ll be so happy to see dear old mom and dad that we could have them on their knees begging for it with a wave of our hand. And then once the parents are gone, we really make them pay. They won’t know what hit them.”

Karofsky mulled this over in his mind for several seconds before nodding, looked momentarily appeased. Sebastian turned to Blaine. “Looks like you get your wish, honey. Enjoy playing nice with your prisoner while you can, because tonight we’re really going to let them have it. Your count last night was a step in the right direction, but it wasn’t nearly enough to show us whose side you’re really on. Karofsky and I expect 100% commitment and loyalty from you tonight. Time for you to impress me, babe.”

“It’s been three days!” Burt shouted, incensed. He was just sitting down to breakfast with Carole, but for once was too worked up to eat. Three days ago Kurt had been pulled from the house, handcuffed, and put into a squad car, all the while insisting that there was nothing to be worried about and promising to call. That had been the last time Burt or Carole had spoken to him, and Burt swore he could feel his blood pressure steadily rising with each hour that the phone did not ring.

“I know, honey. I know. I’m sure he’ll call soon,” Carole soothed, trying to mask her own growing concern for the sake of Burt’s health.

“This is ridiculous. I’m going to go down there and find him. Who knows what those people are doing to him?” Burt rose from the table, brushing toast crumbs off his lap as he stood.

“Go where, Burt? You don’t even know where he’s working. He just said something about an acting gig,” Carole reminded him. “Sit down and eat your breakfast, Burt. There’s nothing we can do about it right now. I’m sure he’ll call soon.”

Burt sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “I have to do something, Carole. I can’t just sit here waiting, not knowing if he’s alright or not. And it’s been three days already. What if he doesn’t call?”

Carole shook her head, thinking. “I don’t know. I guess if we haven’t heard from him by Friday, we go to the police? They had to know something about it because I’m pretty sure that was a real squad car that Kurt was picked up in. In the meantime, we could try calling some of his friends. Finn doesn’t know anything, but we could try Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana to see if they’ve heard from him recently, okay?”

Burt nodded eagerly, already on his feet again as he headed towards the phone.

“No, no, no…sit. Breakfast first. We can’t call this early anyways. They’ll all still be sleeping. We’re lucky if Finn crawls out of bed by noon, remember?”

Burt reluctantly acquiesced, settling back into his chair and spearing a piece of fruit with his fork, chewing slowly as he skimmed the sports page of the local newspaper. Carole began washing dishes in the sink as husband and wife settled into the pattern of comfortable domesticity. Both were jolted by the sound of the phone ringing, echoing through the silence of the kitchen.

Burt was the first to reach the phone. “I’ve got it,” he called to Carole as he picked up the receiver. “Hello?” he answered eagerly.

“Hello, this is Brittany S. Pierce. Is this Mr. Hummel? Are you Kurt’s daddy?” a perky female voice inquired.

“Yeah – uh yes, this is Burt Hummel. Kurt’s…dad,” Burt answered, perplexed. Irrational fear gripped his heart. “Is he okay? Did something happen to him?”

“Oh no…something happened to him? What happened?” Brittany asked, horrified.

“What? No…I’m sorry,” Burt practically shouted, going white. “I’m asking you, not telling you. Is Kurt okay?”

“Oh, I get it. You were playing a trick on me. That wasn’t very funny though,” Brittany admonished, totally serious.

Burt’s quickly turned from white to red with frustration. God damn it, what does a father have to do to get a little information about his son? Carole put a steadying hand on his forearm, looking at him questioningly.

“Listen ma’am, I haven’t heard a word from my son in three days and I’m worried. Can you tell me why you are calling? Please,” Burt tried again, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“Okay!” Brittany replied, cheery once again. “Just let me find my place.” There were muffled sounds of shuffling and then Brittany was back, clearly reading from a script of some kind.

“Hello! I am calling from Doctor Cohen’s lab at Dalton University. Your son has been selected to participate in an expert…expertim…oh okay…in a study on prison life. We would like to invite you to prison visiting hours this afternoon between 4 and 5 PM in Windsor Hall, Room 20-”

“Hang on, hang on,” Burt interrupted, fumbling in a junk drawer for a pen. “Let me grab something to write this down on.” Carole grabbed a small notepad off the nearby table and handed it to Burt just as Burt’s fingers closed around a blue pen. “Okay, could you say that again?”

“Hello! I am calling from Doctor Cohen’s lab…” Brittany started again, using identical inflection as she read the script for the second time.

“No – no…” Burt interrupted. “I don’t need you to read the whole thing again; I just need the last part.”

“Which sentence do you want me to start on?” Brittany asked, obviously confused. “My script has five sentences. I told Doctor Cohen that was a lot to memorize so he said I could just read it as long as I sounded perky. I told him I always sound perky. I have to sound that way because I’m a cheerleader. Also I’m happy a lot because I love life and my girlfriend is really pretty and…”

“Whoa there, Brittany,” Burt called, head in his hands. “Okay, how about this. I’ll ask you questions and then you tell me what your script says, sound good?”

“Oh cool, it will be like when I was on the Academic Challenge Team? I was really good at answering the questions about cat diseases. We got to go to Nationals in Detroit, but we lost because they didn’t ask any questions about cats at that competition, so I couldn’t lead our team to another victory.”

“That’s uhh…that’s too bad, Brittany. It will be kind of like that, sure,” Burt replied with a hopeless shrug. He was getting the distinct impression that Brittany was, well…special. Any other day, he would have plenty of patience for her well-intentioned but misguided rambling, but today was not that day. Not when he was so worried about Kurt and desperately needed information.

“Okay, Brittany. Your paper says from 4 – 5 PM today, right?” he asked slowly.

He waited for several seconds while he listened to Brittany read through the script, whispering the words under her breath as she did so.

“Yes, 4-5 PM,” she finally replied.

“Great,” Burt encouraged. “And what was the name of the Hall where the meeting is taking place?”

“It says Windsor Hall, Room 208,” Brittany replied after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Perfect, thanks Brittany. That was very…uh helpful,” Burt praised. “And you said the name of the person in charge is Doctor Cohen? Can I talk to him, please? I’ve got some questions for him about what Kurt’s doing.”

“Oh, Doctor Cohen isn’t to be disturbed at any time for any reason. He fired the other helper because they gave his phone number to a participant. I don’t want to get fired. I’m trying to save up money to buy a new collar for my cat.”

Burt sighed. “Do you have his phone number, Brittany? I won’t tell him that you gave it to me. I just need to know that my son is safe.”

“No, he didn’t give it to me, I swear,” Brittany replied innocently.

“O-kay,” Burt sighed, his frustration rising again. “What about the meeting tonight? Will Doctor Cohen be there then?”

“Oh yes, he said he will introduce himself to the parents at the meeting and then I have to tell the guards which parents belong to which prisoners so that they don’t know the prisoners real names. He said that was a very important job because of research condif…cofind…umm…a c- word that means secret or private. I know what it means because he told me to look it up and I did. My girlfriend helped me find the word in the dictionary and everything,” Brittany reported proudly.

“That’s good, Brittany. Listen, we’ll be there at 4 PM,” Burt informed. “But could you do me favor? Let Doctor Cohen know that we want to talk to him at the meeting. I’ve got some questions for him.”

“Okay, I will be sure to write down your very important message,” Brittany reassured. “So we will see you at 4 PM and you can see me and Kurt and Doctor Cohen then. Okay? Bye bye,” she sang, hanging up the phone before Burt could reply.

With a baffled shake of his head, Burt also hung up the phone. Carole looked to him expectantly, clearly every bit as on edge about Kurt’s whereabouts as Burt had been earlier. “Well?” she asked. “What did they say? Are you going to get to talk to him?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Apparently this ‘acting gig’ he keeps referring to is actually a research study on prison life at Dalton University in Westerville. That was one of the researcher’s assistants calling to invite us for prison visiting hours this afternoon. I tried to get more information about what exactly they have Kurt doing, but the girl was totally clueless. Anyways, the head of the study, a Doctor…Cohen,” Burt finished, consulting the scrap of paper on which he had hastily scrawled the details. “Yeah, Doctor Cohen will be at the visiting hours this afternoon and I’m not leaving without some answers. And I want to hear from Kurt himself that he’s safe. Something about this whole business feels a bit shady to me.”

After finishing another grueling count at Smythe’s hands, Kurt stood against the wall of the corridor, trying to keep his exhaustion from showing, silently pleading with the universe that he would be able to go back to his cell and just get a little rest. Karofsky strode in front of the line, obviously about to let loose with another one of his pointless tirades, and Kurt could only will it to end quickly.

“Listen up, ladies” Karofsky snarled. “This afternoon, your parents are coming to visit you so they can see what pathetic lowlifes you’ve become. Now, the people in charge say we have to make you look pretty and treat you decent so your parents don’t decide their poor babies can’t handle the big bad prison. But don’t think for one second that you deserve any of the luxury treatment you’re gonna get today. And if you try telling your parents that this is anything other than paradise, we’ll make you wish you were never born. Trust me when I say that a night in the hole will be the least of your problems. Now move out!”

Anderson came towards Kurt wordlessly, gesturing towards the locker room. Kurt allowed himself to be undressed and led to the shower room once again, mentally closing himself off from whatever torture was next. But as always, Anderson was gentle and tentative, seeming determined to make the experience as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. Kurt watched, dazed as Anderson adjusted the temperature of the water and gestured for him to come forward.

There was that gaze again, those light hazel eyes that bored into his. In those brief seconds, Kurt couldn’t help but feel like his very soul was exposed, the very intensity of the charged moment leaving him breathless. It was too much.

Kurt knew that he was strong enough to survive the physical and emotional abuse the other guards were flinging at him. He’d learned a lot through his years of torment growing up. And the biggest lesson he’d taken away from the incessant bullying was that bullies couldn’t hurt him if they couldn’t get to him. So with time, Kurt had learned how to build walls, to keep people out. It had become a coping mechanism, a protection, and at times a necessity.

It was only since Kurt had moved to New York and immersed himself in the theater world filled with likeminded individuals that he’d learned to start letting people in again. Still, it took a while for Kurt to feel comfortable letting a new person see the “real” him. Because being vulnerable, being open and exposed in that way meant that people would have the opportunity and all the ammunition they needed to hit him where it hurt most.

And maybe that was what unnerved Kurt about Anderson from the start. It felt like Anderson could take one look at Kurt and see into his soul. Suddenly, Kurt wasn’t in control of who he let in and when. And just as predicted, letting Anderson in had inevitably led to him getting hurt. Kurt had asked Anderson to stop being nice to him so that it would be easier for him to keep playing his role as prisoner. Prisoners and guards weren’t supposed to be friends. But when it had mattered, Anderson has proved himself to be every bit as capable of cruelty as Sebastian and Karofsky. Maybe “worthless” didn’t seem like such an insult in comparison with the various gay slurs that Karofsky tossed off without a moment’s hesitation. But that word, especially coming from someone who’d seen a brief glimpse of the “real” Kurt, stung.

Kurt drew a deep breath, wincing almost imperceptibly at the memory of the night before. He remembered how he’d swallowed against the lump in his throat and blinked back the hot tears determined to spill down his cheeks. As he came back to the present, still emotionally drained from the memory, he was surprised to see Blaine continuing to stare at him, a pained expression on his face that seemed to suggest he’d seen some of those same emotions play across Kurt’s face just now. Kurt forced himself to look away from those piercing, pleading hazel eyes, shivering slightly although not due to the chill in the air for once.

Anderson was silent for a moment, seeming to mull something over in his mind before he spoke. “Why don’t you tell me about your family while we do this?” he asked. Kurt sensed that Anderson wasn’t issuing a command, but seemed to be genuinely curious.

Even through the anger and frustration Kurt felt over the events of the previous evening, he recognized that Anderson was the only guard who was treating the prisoners like human beings. Unlike Karofsky in one corner, roughly hosing Sam off as he stood frozen, eyes closed, or Smythe on the other side of the showers, lewdly pressing up against his prisoners, Anderson was gently rubbing shampoo into his scalp, just as he had that first night. Anderson was attentive to a fault, shielding Kurt’s eyes from shampoo before it even registered to Kurt to close his eyes and repeatedly checking in with him, asking or gazing to be sure Kurt was comfortable before proceeding. But even with the decency Anderson was showing him now, it didn’t erase the fact that he’d insulted him, and if the other two guards had their way, Officer Anderson would probably only do worse as the study went on. Time and time again, Kurt came back to the same thought. It would be so much easier to play his role as prisoner, to keep those defenses up, and most importantly, to not be Kurt but Prisoner 219 if he kept Anderson at arm’s length.

“Look, Anderson, can we just…not do this? Let’s just both do what we have to do and get it over with.”

Anderson looked down resignedly.  ”Yeah…OK…I’ll just, uh…”

Kurt interrupted. “And can you please stop with the staring and the ‘are you okays’ too? Just go ahead and be a guard and stop pretending that you care about how I’m feeling.”

Anderson backed up slightly, recoiling as if he’d been slapped. He stood gazing at Kurt with thatlook, the one that seemed to see straight through him, for what felt like minutes before he nodded once to himself. He looked at the ground for a moment and took a deep breath, appearing to steel himself, before he found Kurt’s eyes gain. He opened his mouth slightly, as if he had more to say, but something in Kurt’s hard look seemed to stop him.

So softly that Kurt could barely hear him over the rushing water of the showers, Anderson replied, “Yeah…I- I-can…” He bit his lip, finding Kurt’s eyes once more before nodding resolutely. “Okay,” he said, slightly louder before resuming his job of bathing Kurt, all the while trying hard to blink back tears before they could escape his eyes, appearing lost in thought once again.

Blaine helped Prisoner 219 dress in silence, all the while cursing the fact that he was being forced to do everything for his prisoner in the first place, when Prisoner 219 had made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with him. He supposed that was the point of the study, to make the prisoners feel helpless by forcing the guards to be in charge of even their own most basic needs. While he understood Dr. Cohen’s goal on an intellectual level, the longer he was in the study, the more he wondered what the point of the study truly was and whether it was worth it in the end.

Blaine watched Prisoner 219 tap him foot impatiently. To an outside observer, it would appear as if he was merely bored and annoyed by Blaine’s intervention. But Blaine felt like he was getting to know the real Prisoner 219, whoever that was, or getting glimpses at least, and it seemed more like he was anxious about something. Blaine took an educated guess and decided that Prisoner 219 was probably excited and nervous to see his family. Perhaps Blaine could reassure him? It was worth a try, given that he was desperate to do anything he could to earn back Prisoner 219’s trust.

“Um, just so you know, the parents are supposed to arrive by 4 PM,” he started, looking nervously to Prisoner 219, expecting to be shut down at any second. But Prisoner 219 just looked at Blaine, momentarily surprised and then…was that relieved? Blaine couldn’t be sure. But Prisoner 219 gave him a tiny nod, giving his tacit consent for Blaine to continue.

“Yeah, so a girl named Brittany is supposed to let me know when they get here and then I’ll take you to one of the visiting rooms and try to give the three of you some privacy. Unfortunately, Dr. Cohen says you guys only get ten minutes for visitation, but…” Before Blaine could finish, he was interrupted by Kurt.

“The three of us?” Kurt questioned, his voice more hopeful than Blaine had heard it sound since the beginning of the study.

“Uhh yeah, Brittany said that you were going to have two visitors. Your mom and dad, I guess?” Blaine asked.

“Stepmom and dad, actually,” Prisoner 219 answered gratefully, relief clearly playing across his face.

“Oh cool,” Blaine responded. “That’s good, right?” he asked, momentarily thinking about he’d feel if it was his dad who was coming to visit.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Prisoner 219 replied, flashing Blaine a genuine smile, causing his face to light up and Blaine’s whole body to tingle with warmth. Wow. There’s the “real” Prisoner 219. Or whatever his real name is. I think I’d like to meet that guy one day.

Carole let out a sigh of relief as they walked into the clean, comfortable lobby of Room 208. She glanced at her watch, confirming that it was still 15 minutes until 4 PM due to Burt’s insistence on leaving early (“But Carole, what if there’s traffic? I don’t want Kurt to think we aren’t coming. Better safe than sorry”), they appeared to be the only parents who had arrived. She took in the reception area with its looming bookcase full of academic texts and journals, fresh cut flowers in expensive looking vases adorning the coffee table and reception desk, and a small end table displaying punch and an assortment of pastries. Cheery instrumental music was being piped in from a speaker overhead and a smiling blond girl in a cheerleading uniform greeted them enthusiastic.

“Hello! Welcome to Doctor Cohen’s research lab. What are your names?”

“I’m Carole and this is Burt Hummel. We’re Kurt’s parents,” Carole replied with a smile.

The cheerleader scanned the list of names at least three times before she found Burt and Carole’s names, checking them off carefully. “Umm okay, here are your nametags. You should probably write your names yourself because I am horrible at spelling.”

Burt stepped forward, smiling knowingly. “You must be Brittany,” he said, extending a hand to shake her hands. “Did you let Dr. Cohen know that I need to speak to him?”

“I wrote down your message exactly like you said it and handed it to him,” Brittany relayed proudly.

“That’s uh…good, Brittany, but what did Dr. Cohen say? When is he planning to talk to us? Before the visit with Kurt or afterwards?”

“Oh, he didn’t respond to my message. He hardly ever does,” Brittany responded, as if this fact should be obvious to everyone.

Burt let out a heavy sigh of frustration, his patience shot from the interminable conversation he’d had with Brittany this morning as well the three days of waiting that had preceded that conversation. Talking to Brittany was like trying to converse in a foreign language with someone who only spoke English. “Well, when I might be able to speak with him then? I’ve got quite a few questions for the good doctor,” Burt continued sarcastically, irrationally hating a man he hadn’t even met yet.

“He is a good doctor!” Brittany responded cheerily, clearly missing the sarcasm in Burt’s tone. “Umm, he’s supposed to be here at 4 PM. Maybe then?”

Burt nodded in exhaustion, allowing himself to be led from the front desk and into a chair by Carole. He rubbed a hand over his face, before looking to Carole, surprised to see his anxiety wasn’t mirrored in her face. To the contrary, she looked relieved and more relaxed than she had earlier.

“Carole,” he began, warningly. “I don’t like this. I really don’t. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is just something off about this whole thing. What kind of doctor has children arrested from their own homes?” Burt looked around before lowering his voice and continuing. “And I don’t want to sound like an awful person, but what kind of study hires a girl like her to be in charge, huh?” he asked, nodding in Brittany’s direction.

“Burt!” Carole admonished. “That’s not very nice. She seems like a perfectly nice girl. She’s just a little…”

“Clueless. She’s completely and utterly clueless which wouldn’t be such a big deal except that she would appear to be the only person that can give us any answers. I need to know that Kurt is okay, Carole.”

“I know, honey. And you will get to see him soon. Then you can ask Kurt himself if he’s doing, okay? And who better to get an answer from than the source, you know?”

“I guess so,” Burt replied reluctantly, trying hard to ignore the gnawing worry that had settled into the pit of his stomach, allowing Carole to take his hand as he settled into the chair to wait. Just a little bit longer.

Nearly forty minutes later, there was still no sign of either Doctor Cohen or Kurt. The other parents who’d since arrived were all beginning to exchange worried glances. But Burt, who’d been waiting the longest, was nearly apoplectic with rage, pacing the room and making no efforts to hide his growing agitation. Burt and Carole had each tried talking to Brittany to get an estimated time of arrival or any information about the reason for the delay, but she gave them the same canned reply each time, obviously reading from a script and unwilling or unable to say more.

Suddenly, all heads in the room swivel as an older man in white coat enters the reception area. “Hello and welcome, parents. So sorry for the delay, but your sons were just finishing up a hot dinner and dessert in the prison dining room. You’re all about to be escorted to visiting rooms to meet with your children, but unfortunately you’ll only have about 10 minutes to visit with them before their scheduled recreation time at 5 PM. I know they are looking forward to seeing you,” Doctor Cohen told the assembled parents as he slowly, almost imperceptibly, began backing towards the exit while continuing to speak. “Research regulations dictate that your visits are monitored, just as they would be in a regular prison,” Dr. Cohen quickly spat off, not waiting for questions or signs of protest from the parents. “Enjoy your visits and thank you for visiting Dalton University.” And just as he spoke the final word of his prepared remarks, Dr. Cohen’s hand closed around the doorknob and he quickly began to exit the room.

“Now wait one second,” Burt shouted as he watched Dr. Cohen open the door as if to step out of the room. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” he continued, fuming with fury as Dr. Cohen ignored his cries, shutting the door in Burt’s face and locking it securely behind him.

Burt tested the doorknob, confirming that the door was indeed locked as he suspected. Furious, he strode to the front desk, calling out to Brittany. “Hey, where did he go? I need to talk to him right now.”

“I’m sorry, but Doctor Cohen is not available. He’s in a meeting,” Brittany answered matter of factly.

“No…no he’s not! I just saw him walk through that door. There’s no way he’s in a meeting five seconds after he walked out of the room. What’s through there anyways? His office?”

“Umm, no it is a private hall that leads to the faculty parking lot. Why?” Brittany asked innocently, still completely clueless.

“Because that would seem to indicate that unless his meeting is taking place in the parking lot, he’s not actually in meeting. He’s just trying to duck questions from us parents!” Burt shouted.

Carole walked over to him, putting a restraining hand on Burt’s arm. “Burt honey, not so loud. Besides, it’s not her fault. You’re yelling at the wrong person. Let’s just wait and see Kurt first and find out how’s he doing before we do anything rash, okay?”

Burt looked to Carole, ready to protest before his attention was diverted by a curly-haired boy about Kurt’s age dressed in a khaki uniform. He strode to the desk, showing a piece of paper to Brittany who read it carefully before pointing to the two of them.

“Uhh hi, sir and ma’am,” the boy spoke hesitantly. “I apologize for the delay. We’ve been really busy getting everything ready for your visit.” He looked around the room, confirming that they were alone. “I’m Blaine,” he said, extending his hand to shake hands with Burt and Carole in turn, giving them what he hoped was a sympathetic but reassuring smile. “I’m sure you must be really anxious to see your son. Why don’t you follow me and I’ll take you to him right now?” Blaine offered, holding open the door for Prisoner 219’s parents.

“Nice to meet you, Blaine,” Carole replied with a warm smile. She took Burt’s hand and tugged him down the hall along with her, waiting for Blaine to close the door and take the lead as he led them through a maze of stairs and corridors. Burt allowed himself to be led along, his mind still stuck on how he’d like to find Dr. Cohen and give him a piece of his mind.

“Here we are,” Blaine said at last, pointing to a door with a sign reading “Visitation – Prisoner 219. I’ll give you some privacy,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I have to observe, but I’ll be back here. You will have ten minutes with him and then I have to get him to his next…uh scheduled activity. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Burt looked as if he was about to protest, but Carole silenced him once more with a hand on his shoulder. “We will, Blaine. Thanks for your help. And thanks for taking care of our boy.” And with that, Prisoner 219’s parents disappeared through the door, pulling it shut behind them and leaving Blaine in the silence of the hallway with the words “thanks for taking care of our boy” echoing in his head. They had no idea how far from accurate those words were.

Blaine was startled by a tap on the shoulder. He spun around to see Sebastian grinning at him. “So those are Prisoner 219’s parents, huh? They are so…blue collar. I bet they watch NASCAR and everything.”

“What do you want, Sebastian?” Blaine asked wearily.

“Fine…no need to get testy, love. It’s not like I called your precious prisoner’s parents white trash or anything. That was me restraining myself. Anyways, I’m supposed to tell you that once you get into the observation room, you’ll need to flip the switch on the intercom so that you can listen in on their conversation. Make sure that Prisoner 219 doesn’t say anything bad about the prison or what’s going on here. If he so much as breathes a single word that isn’t sunshine and roses, you go in there and cut the visit off immediately, got it?”

Blaine nodded reluctantly.

“Good. Karofsky and I’ve got our eyes on you, Blaine. You’re pretty to look at so I’d hate for you to have to leave, but if you fuck this up, there’s no way that I’ll be able to keep Karofsky from ratting on you to Dr. Cohen, got it?” Sebastian asked. Blaine nodded again, and satisfied; Sebastian gave him a quick pat on the ass, directing him towards the observation room. “Get your ass in there, then. If any prisoner is going to give us trouble now that 378 is gone, it’s 219. Make sure he doesn’t make problems for us.”

Blaine forced himself not to flinch at the unwanted contact from Sebastian and strode into the darkened observation room, relieved for a moment to himself away from the prying eyes of Sebastian and Karofsky. He looked through the two way mirror, watching with interest as Prisoner 219 embraced his father, his father holding him tightly for almost a minute before letting go. And in that minute, Blaine saw everything that he’d always wanted but never had in a relationship with his father. As soon as Prisoner 219’s dad released him, he was swept up into another hug by his stepmother who also looked him over carefully and planted a kiss on his forehead, causing Prisoner 219 to blush slightly. But it was obvious to Blaine how much Prisoner 219 had missed his family from the way he was blinking rapidly, trying to keep tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes, just as Blaine had done the night in the shower the night before. Blaine shuddered slightly at the memory of his confrontation with Prisoner 219 the night before. What had Prisoner 378 said? Protect him. And more importantly: don’t hurt him again. Blaine took a deep breath, finally resolved. He turned his chair so that he was facing away from the observation mirror, leaving the intercom switch untouched. He didn’t care what Karofsky and Sebastian had told him. He wasn’t going to spy on Prisoner 219’s private time with his family. If Prisoner 219 wanted to tell his parents about the abuses he’d suffered here, Blaine wasn’t going to do anything to stop him. In fact, part of him almost wished that Prisoner 219 would tell his parents and get the study shut down.