It was all over the news by nightfall. Same old facts rotating on ticker tape, Blaine's photograph smiling warmly from the TV screen. Unaware of what danger he was in, unaware of the horror.

"Dad, dad? I need your help -"

"What? That you, Kiddo? Tell me what's wrong -"

"They took Blaine, dad. They took him and he's gone and my arm is bleeding-"

"Don't move kiddo, where are you? Just tell me where you are!"

"They took Blaine, oh my – he's gone – we need to find him..."

Kurt stared blankly at the screen, unable – or unwilling – to look away for a moment. It was strangely fascinating. Surreal, to him. This odd dichotomy between the words he was reading and Blaine's smiling face. How could he be smiling? How could anyone smile?

All of New Directions were gathered in the main room of the lair by now, but it was quiet. Far quieter than Kurt could remember it ever being. They all knew now – about him and Blaine – but Kurt didn't really care anymore.

Finn so far was the only one he'd seen angry. He'd laid into Kurt as soon as he'd entered the room – "How could you do that to us? With him of all people! Do you knowwho his father is? Did you want to get us killed?" – but the rest had cut him off rather quickly, unnerved by the look on Kurt's face.

Mr. Schuester and his father had explained the situation, before excusing themselves to Mr. Schuester's study to discuss it further. Kurt wasn't sure what they'd said. He hadn't been listening; he'd barely even registered as Artie took his arm and began wrapping it in bandage. All he could see was Blaine's smiling face, winking as he said it:

"But you love me."

And it was true.

"Okay, we've reached our decision, guys!"

Kurt's head snapped up to Mr. Schuester, standing in the door of the room with his father. Everyone else turned to face them too.

"Now, we've assessed the situation and as it stands, it doesn't look good," Burt began, sighing deeply. "Based on what information we received through Artie's tapping the phone lines, Blaine Anderson is being held for ransom by a mutant. Guy named 'Hunter'."

"A mutant?" Santana repeated, "what, is he out for some sort of revenge or something?"

"We believe that's exactly what he's after," said Mr. Schuester. "His terms are for Brom Anderson to pull out of the running for Congress."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Tina frowned. Everybody except Kurt turned to look at her, confused.

"What?" she said, blankly, "It doesn't! Brom Anderson's 'mutant problem' campaign was already on rocky ground after that debate you guys had." She turned to face Burt. "Surely he would've dropped that angle already?"

"Well, the one thing we know for sure is that after this kidnapping, people aren't going to be looking too kindly on mutants anymore." Said Mr. Schuester. "They've kidnapped a teenage boy and are holding him for ransom. People don't like that."

"That's so bogus!" said Finn angrily, "What's this Hunter guy's problem? All he's doing is making things worse!"

"Exactly," said Mr. Schuester, nodding. "Which is why New Directions is going to have to step in."

He strode over to the front of the room to face them all clearly. "Alright, gang: I want everybody suited up! Artie, I want you to track down this Hunter guy and give us coordinates. Make sure there are surveillance cameras, or some way to catch this on film. We want everybody to know who it was that saved Blaine Anderson. We don't want people thinking Hunter is working on behalf of all the mutants – Kurt, what are you doing?"

Everybody turned to stare at Kurt, who had stood up and was following the rest of them to change.

"I'm suiting up." He said coolly, looking Mr. Schuester in the eye.

"No, you're not." said Burt, stepping forward. Kurt just looked at him. "You've got two broken ribs and a sprained wrist, buddy. You're sitting this one out."

For the first time that evening, Kurt's face showed some expression. His eyes darkened into a glare and his mouth formed a hard line.

"I'm going after Blaine." He said stubbornly.

Burt watched his son carefully as everyone slowly vacated the room. Finn tried to stay back, watching the altercation, but Rachel grasped his shoulder and pulled him along after the others.

"This isn't a discussion, Kurt." said his father, once they'd left, "I'm putting my foot down."

"Well what do you want me to do, huh?" Kurt snapped, his frustration finally surfacing, "just sit here and wait for news? Pray to the heavens that he's okay? I don't know if you caught it, Dad, but I really care about him and I'm not just going to leave this for other people to handle!"

"Yes you are Kurt! You were in an accident!" Burt stepped forward, but Kurt shot him a fierce glare. "Look, I know you're upset right now, but Blaine will be fine. You know your team, Kurt. They won't let him down."

"It's not about that." Kurt snapped.

"I know. I know what it's about. You care about Blaine." Burt sighed. "But running off to him now won't change anything. Dead or alive, Kurt, you won't be seeing Blaine again after this and you know it."

The two stood silently facing each other, the air filled with tension. Kurt was no longer glaring at his father, but staring down at the floor between them. His face was blank, different from how it had been before. He looked lost; hopeless. Burt had never seen him like this before, and it shook him.

"You knew it couldn't last, Kiddo." He continued on softly, more determined than before. "He's not like you. He's not safe for you." He took a deep breath: "...I forbid it."

The silence between them seemed to grow into a chasm at his words. "Kiddo?" he said.

"Just one more mission." Kurt lifted his head suddenly, his gaze hard. "Just this mission and then its over."

"I don't know, son-" he began, but was swiftly cut off.

"If you could've had the chance, would you have taken one to say good-bye to mom?"

Burt froze and looked at his son. Kurt was staring determinedly back at him. He then nodded slightly – as though he'd found his answer - before turning away.

"Its – that's completely different," Burt stuttered after him, mind still in shock.

Kurt was already by the door when he turned around and smiled sadly: "No." He said, turning away. "It really isn't."

Alone in that room, Burt had never felt so guilty in his life.

His head hurt.

That was the first thing Blaine felt as he slowly regained awareness. He almost wished he hadn't; it really was hurting rather badly now. Waves of pain seemed to be soaking through the cotton that was now his mind. His eyes were prickly and sore, like he hadn't been sleeping enough. He could feel his arms pulled behind his back, and his feet were bound – his head was lolling uncomfortably against his shoulder, which was pressed awkwardly against the cement floor. It ached dully, but he was too tired to move.

Yet as he came to, and awareness slowly returned to him, the need to move grew within his chest, like there was something important. Something important that he'd forgotten...

"Kurt?" he called out, his voice rough like paper.

The sound echoes off the blank walls and disappeared into the darkness. The room around him was large as far as he could tell, and made entirely of cement. In the distance, he could hear the steady dripping of water, but nothing else. No other noises and certainly no replies.

Where was he? Where was Kurt?

He knew they'd been together; his last clear memory was of his boyfriend's face. They'd been in his car, the radio had been playing, and...

"Kurt?" he called again.

There was nothing but silence.

Blaine's head ached in protest as he shuffled to his knees and quickly looked around. From this angle he could see his cell more clearly: It was indeed big and spacious, with empty crates and boxes stacked haphazardly here or there. He could see the door the door now, too – a large slab of cold grey metal, and a small barred window. Beyond those bars he saw nothing but gloom, and the only light he found was from the opposite wall's window. Pale and sickly moonlight filtered through the slats, inky black sky the only view.

At least now Blaine could be sure it was night-time, but this brought him little comfort. He still didn't know what day it was, and was surrounded by nothing but gloom. He was alone in here: No sign of his captors, and no sign of Kurt.

His captors.

He vaguely remembered a fearsome man with grizzly white hair. He'd been standing - in the centre of the room, perhaps – speaking softly to someone that hadn't been Blaine. Who had he been speaking to – Kurt? No, that didn't seem right...

His memory was too fuzzy, too vague to remember fully. He recalled watching Hunter – yes! Hunter was his name! – shifting and changing before his eyes. Growing taller, then shrinking. Fists extending into claws and changing again. Brom Anderson's voice, frightened and calling to him...Blaine had been hallucinating, clearly, yet somehow he couldn't be sure...

He groaned and shut his eyes at the thought, to chilling to entertain. Monster, his mind supplied, unhelpful, and he buried his face in his knees.

It was then that the sound of scraping metal filled the room, and the door began to slowly open.

Blaine looked up as Hunter entered the cell, was caught in the cold gaze of his captor.

"It's midnight, boy." The monster whispered. Blaine jumped a little, off-guard. His captor's voice was horrifying. It sounded like groaning branches. Creaking hinges. "You haven't much time left."

Blaine shivered at the words, and he couldn't prevent the helplessness that filled him. He was suddenly aware of just how alone he truly was here. Just how vulnerable. Just how scared.

"I-I'll scream." He stammered, but he knew it was useless.

Hunter just smiled. His grin was like the devil's. His figure seemed to fill the doorway, larger than it had ever been before.

"Scream, little mouse-child. Cry and sob to your mother. No one's there to hear you."

The air behind Hunter seemed to glow red like fire. Blaine was so scared, he was sure he'd imagined it at first, but –

"ARRRGHHH!"

A ball of raging fire burst through the doorway. Blaine heard Hunter's scream, but he couldn't see a thing. His eyes were shut against the sudden glare and he didn't open them again when it stopped.

He could hear the sounds of fighting; it filled his ears like thunder. When he dared look up again the room was filled with figures. Figures dressed in black. They surrounded Hunter like a flock of birds, diving and falling back, attacking all at once. Hunter's clothes and skin was scorched, but Blaine had barely noticed. The man was roaring like a beast, filling the air with his angry shouts. He towered over them all, now and kept growing. His head had reached the roof but didn't stop. With a burst of strength he'd smashed right through the ceiling. Cement and metal rained like glass over them all, falling to the floor with a thunderous crash.

Blaine fell to his side, his arms still bound and useless, as a shard of ceiling fell against his head. He heard his name being yelled, and for a confused moment thought it was Kurt.

As Blaine fell, the rest of New Directions kept their sights set on the figure before them. Hunter roared once more from above them, hands curling into threatening fists.

Kurt forced his gaze back to the battle, eyes glowing orange behind his mask. A wall of fire burst over Hunter's head like a dome, preventing him from growing bigger. In the same moment, Quinn had his feet covered in slabs of ice. With a yell, she dodged the giant's fist, shooting icicles as she went.

Rachel had fallen behind, frowning in concentration. In one fell swoop, a block of concrete was raised from the ground and flying at his head. Hunter blocked it with a hulking arm the size of a tree trunk. It rebounded from him and fell crashing to the floor, scattering the fighters. He took another swipe at Finn, his boulder sized fist ready to damage, but amazingly, Finn was able to block the fist with his bare hands. Instead, the attack served a chance for Mercedes to shoot the giant a glare from her laser eyes, burning his arm in the process.

With the others taking care of Hunter, Kurt took the chance to fell behind. With one last glance at the group, Kurt hurried over to Blaine. He was lying prone on the floor, eyes closed and limbs tied.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, not expecting a response. His boyfriend's face was nicked and cut from the accident; they matched Kurt's own. His forehead was dripping blood from where the stone had hit him, and Kurt wiped it away with his sleeve. When he was sure the wound wasn't too deep, he turned his attention to Blaine's hands and feet.

Blaine groaned and opened shifted slightly, his head pounding worse than ever. As the noise and movement around him rushed back to his senses, he felt a warm sensation against his wrists, as though holding them close to a candle. He groaned again, and tried to move away, when a hand stopped him.

"Hold still Blaine, hold still ..." The voice echoed in his skull, soft and musical as the first time he'd heard it...

...He wondered if he was asleep again, but he could feel his skull pounding and the noise of fighting around him. Whatever the case, Blaine did hold still, until the warmth was gone in his hands and returned by his ankles ... he was dully aware he could move his arms again, but they felt like lead and he dismissed the idea...

The warmth disappeared once more, and Blaine rolled onto his back. The darkness was closing in again, but he didn't want to let go. There was a roar from somewhere, but all the sounds seemed distant...he could feel Kurt's hands on him, clinging to his shoulders. He forced his lids open against their will, to find Kurt, to ask him if he was okay...

...and came face to face with eyes that glowed like fire. It was the last thing he saw before falling unconscious once more.

Richard Smythe stepped through the door and into the quiet of his echoing home. The events of that night were seared into his eyelids, mocking his failures and unsuccessful planning.

Blaine Anderson had made it back home. He always would have in the end, had it all gone to plan. A few cuts and some bruises, but ultimately alright. Balance would have been restored to the world: mutants would be in their rightful place with the scum; Richard Smythe would be well and on his way to power.

He had assured Brom Anderson that they're campaign was still strong, and his words were not the product of blind false hope. Richard Smythe didn't believe in hope. He believed in fighting for success.

So when that first video had shown up, he'd found Hunter in the forests outside Columbus and he'd made the deal. He'd assured the monster immunity in return for his cooperation. He'd organised the terms of the ransom. He'd found a hideout for the monster and the boy. He'd made sure that the mutants were to blame and that their reputation for evil was restored once more. Blaine Anderson was a handsome boy, after all. And nobody liked it when handsome boys were kidnapped.

In fact, it had all been going rather swimmingly up until this point. The media had been shocked and the voters even more so. Public opinion polls had been set to go through the roof. By tomorrow afternoon, Blaine Anderson would have been found and returned home, Hunter would have magically escaped, mutants would be hated and Brom Anderson would have the voters in the palm of his hand.

Richard Smythe would have had the voters in the palm of his hand.

Curling his fingers into fists, he knew who it was to blame and he knew what he had to do to punish them. Richard Smythe smiled to himself, whistling tunelessly as he did. Like it or not, The New Directions were going down.

Somewhere in Westerville, Blaine Anderson's phone lit up with one new message. It would be two days until he actually saw it and two days until his heart would be broken.

From: Kurt Hummel
We can't see each other anymore. But I want you to know that I love you and I'll miss you. And that I'm sorry.
Yours forever,
-Kurt