May 6, 2012, 3:41 p.m.
All You Needed Was Me: Chapter 28
E - Words: 2,262 - Last Updated: May 06, 2012 Story: Complete - Chapters: 35/35 - Created: May 06, 2012 - Updated: May 06, 2012 663 0 0 0 1
Kurt glared at Marco as much as he could with both of his eyes swollen. The man had turned sadistic with his torture methods, putting hot sauce made with ghost chilis on his tongue and laughing as the sauce literally burned Kurt's tongue. He'd offered him food only to find out it was rancid and letting Kurt vomit all over himself. That was unforgiveable. Everything else he could handle, he'd found the strength within himself. But to sit back while Kurt ruined his clothes? That deserved retribution as nothing else would. Marco had never bothered to tie him down again, Kurt was too weak to run anyway. Marco liked to be thorough and petty all at the same time. He'd come over and punch Kurt in the stomach and then kick him in the knee or shin as he walked away. His huge size 14, steel-toed shitkickers left his legs throbbing and unable to move right.
Currently he was alone in the room and he couldn't get his body to cooperate in getting any sort of movement going. Besides, Marco would be back soon. He always was.
The heavy thud of his boots was the only warning of his approach. Marco came into the room wearing his trademark grin. The grin that had fooled Kurt at first. The grin that he now knew only meant Marco enjoyed being a sadistic fucker.
Marco held up two pieces of shiny metal. "Know what these are, Kurt?"
Kurt could only find the strength to shrug.
"Well, they can be quite fun to play with if you know what you're doing. I'm gonna show you what I mean. First I gotta run to the bathroom. Do you need to go? Oh wait, I don't care!" he laughed and walked off to the bathroom, setting the shiny pieces on the table next to the bat and the knife and the pickle fork. Kurt would never be able to use a pickle fork again. Not after it had been used on him.
As soon as he heard the bathroom door closed, he pushed himself to stand, demanding that his legs cooperate. This was his moment. He had to find the strength to do this or he might never get out of this basement alive.
Of course he knew what those pieces of metal were. They were sai swords, and he knew how to use them. He could use them very well. He didn't think he'd ever even told Blaine. It was such a random skill that he never knew if he'd ever have a chance to use it. He'd had to sell his set before he moved to New York. They had helped pay his bus fare.
His body seemed to know what was required of it, so he walked quickly to the table and picked up the swords. His fingers were in unbelievable pain from having several of them broken. But he gritted his teeth and began passing the swords through his fingers, twirling them expertly to his sides, in front of him, and behind him. His hands knew the movements as well as his lungs knew how to breathe. He couldn't even count how many hours he'd practiced with the swords, wishing he could use them on bullies like Karofsky. Now he could. Kurt couldn't let himself wonder if he'd have the stomach for what he had to do. There couldn't be any doubt going in. Otherwise, Marco could overpower him and the retribution for that might be fatal.
He shoved his arms out, stabbing the air before swirling the swords again and coming in to the center from both sides. Nodding, he was satisfied that he could do this. He felt empowered, strengthened and ready for what could be the most dangerous moment of his life.
Kurt walked quickly to the wall where Marco wouldn't be able to see him when he came out of the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush and the door open. Really, even henchmen needed to wash their hands, cuz ew! Focus, Kurt, he told himself. His hands tightened on the swords, feeling the power in the cold steel.
"Kuuurt," Marco called. "Where'd ya go? You don't really think you can get out of here, do you?"
Kurt heard those boots approaching and got into a fighting stance, the swords ready. Marco came around the corner and saw him.
Laughing, he stopped and just stared. "Really, Kurt? You think you can do something with those pig stickers?"
Kurt stepped away from the wall and began twirling the swords around his fingers expertly, up, over, and through his fingers.
Marco looked impressed. "Well, I honestly didn't see that one coming."
Kurt threw himself forward, the swords flashing around his hands. Marco didn't move fast enough and the first sword sliced through his shirt, blood immediately leaking from the wound on his chance. Kurt darted backward and danced from foot to foot, ready for the next strike.
"You little bastard," Marco growled, all sarcasm and teasing gone. "You are gonna pay for that."
Marco came at him, throwing a punch at his head. Kurt ducked down, twirling around with his knees bent and threw the sword out in front of him. Marco screamed when it pierced his stomach and again as Kurt's second sword joined the first.
As quick as before, Kurt moved backward, trying to ignore the blood and other things dripping from the swords and from Marco's stomach.
This time as Marco lunged at him, Kurt was ready. He was about to duck again when he saw Marco's foot try to sweep his out from under him. Kurt thanked Sue Sylvester and the Cheerios and leapt into splits in the air, plunging his swords out at the same time, crossed over each other before jerking them harshly apart.
He landed on the floor, panting and in pain. Marco was staggering, mindless, as his throat lay open, blood pouring from the fatal wounds.
Marco tried to speak but his vocal cords had been sliced and all Kurt could hear was the wet sounds of him dying.
Kurt didn't even watch him fall to the floor before he sprinted for the stairs to try and make his escape. He had no idea if there were other people up there, but he was ready. Later, when he was safe, he'd think about the fact that he'd just killed a man.
"Kurt!" came the most beautiful voice in the world.
"Blaine?" Kurt called back, his throat sore from the hot sauce.
"I'm here, baby," he heard and then the room went black.
Cold water in his face woke him up. Why would Blaine splash water in his face? Kurt opened his eyes as much as he could and gasped.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," Marco said, sitting on his usual chair in front of Kurt, holding an empty cup. "You were having one hell of a dream. I almost had to tie you down again. What were you dreaming about?"
Kurt swallowed, disappointment flooding him. Just a dream. But it had lent him more strength if nothing else. "I dreamed of killing you," he rasped.
"Aw, I'm touched," Marco said with a grin. "And because I'm so touched, I'm going to give you a treat. How about the pickle forks again? You sure liked that last time. Had you squealing like a little pig," Marco said, walking over to the table.
Kurt looked desperately, but there were no sai swords. It had all been part of the dream. Now he had to live through the pickle forks again, those thin little blades that Marco liked to stab into random parts of his body.
Blaine, where are you, he thought miserably and screamed hoarsely at the first stab.
. . . . .
"So we have three possible locations for where Kurt is being kept," Jason told Blaine as he came out of the room where the mole, Hal was being kept. Jason was rubbing his knuckles, but had a piece of paper in his hand.
"When do we go?" Blaine asked, standing up, ready to move.
"You aren't going anywhere, boss man. Any one of these could be a trap and you'd be dead before we could do anything about it," Jason said.
"You expect me to sit here while Kurt is who fucking knows where? While he could be hurting and scared? Are you fucking kidding me?" Blaine yelled.
"Yes, I expect you to stay here. Wouldn't you rather find Kurt alive or would you rather die because you walked in on a trap?"
"I fucking hate you," Blaine bit out.
"I love you, too," Jason said with a wink. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I called in my second hand man. He'll lead the second team as we scout these locations."
"You do whatever you have to do to get Kurt back alive. When is he getting here?" Blaine asked, suddenly exhausted.
"He's coming up right now. He sent me a text," Jason said at Blaine's questioning look.
A moment later there was a series of knocks at the door. At the correct sequence, Jason opened the door.
"Hey, man, thanks for coming," Jason said, letting him in.
"What else was I gonna do today? Go to classes or some shit?" the man said.
Blaine rolled his eyes, recognizing the familiar voice. "Puck? Seriously? This is your second hand man, Jason?"
Puck grinned. "Hey, I learned some mean skills cleaning pools," he said laughing.
Blaine swore to himself that if he kept cracking jokes, he'd bash his mohawked head against the wall. Luckily, he didn't have to.
"What's the situation?" Puck asked, his grin disappearing and a new expression of concentration taking its place.
Jason told him everything, Puck nodding and asking intelligent questions occasionally. Soon they had a plan and split into three groups. They told Blaine they would contact him as soon as they knew anything. They knew Blaine would want to be there when Kurt was found and they wouldn't deny him that.
All too soon, Blaine was alone. The smallest of crews stayed behind to guard him and watch things on the monitors.
Blaine walked back over to his apartment, despising the feeling of helplessness. He was sitting down to a cup of coffee when his phone rang. It was a strange number, but he answered, hoping it was news, though the guys had just left minutes before.
"Finally, you're alone," a voice said. "I was starting to think I'd have to wait all day to get you rid of those goons."
"Who is this?" Blaine demanded.
"Oh, I'm sorry. We've never officially met, have we? Though I feel like I know you already. I am Chandler Smythe, father of the man you killed."
"Where is Kurt?"
"So you aren't going to deny you had something to do with my son's death?"
"I want to know where Kurt is," Blaine said between clenched teeth.
"Alright, well I guess we can discuss your part in all this after you've joined our little party," Smythe said and rattled off an address. It wasn't on the list of addresses Hal had given them.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," Blaine said.
"Excellent. Until then," Smythe said and hung up.
Going to a picture hanging on the wall, Blaine took it down, revealing a safe in the wall. Quickly entering the combination, he opened it and pulled out a small handgun. He tucked it in the back of his jeans before shutting the safe and replacing the picture. He hurried to his car and drove to the address. It was in a normal neighborhood of houses that all looked the same. Pulling up to the address he'd been given, he didn't try to hide or sneak up to the door. Striding quickly, he went and opened the door and boldly walked in.
The tall man with the smirk on his face could only be Chandler Smythe. The green eyes were the same, the thin face was all too familiar.
"I'm so glad you could make it so quickly," Smythe said formally.
"Fuck off. Where's Kurt?" Blaine said.
"Now, now, Mr. Anderson. Some manners wouldn't kill you. While a lack of manners might kill you," he said, chuckling at his own joke.
Blaine just stared at him.
"Okay, fine, we'll just get right down to business then. Darrel here will be relieving you of any weapons or whatever you may have brought with you," he said.
Blaine's lips tightened, knowing they would find and take the gun, but anything that would get him to Kurt faster would be fine.
Soon enough, his car keys, phone, wallet, and gun were all sitting on a table.
"You won't mind if we take our own precautions," Smythe said, nodding at the Darrel.
Blaine was handcuffed, gagged, and blindfolded before being led through the house and down some stairs. He had no idea what awaited him, but as long as he was near Kurt, they could figure some way to get out of there.
"Marco, we have another guest for you," he heard Smythe say.
A whimper came from somewhere to the side of him. He struggled to get closer to the sound, but was jerked back.
"Excellent," he heard a gravelly voice answer.
"Make sure he stays tied down at all times, he's a slippery little asshole," Smythe said.
"You got it, boss," the man said.
Blaine was quickly and efficiently tied to a chair. He tried to tug against the bonds, but there was no way he was going to get out of this.
"Take the blindfold off," Smythe commanded.
The cloth was removed and Blaine blinked against the bright light, trying to locate Kurt.
When he finally looked at the person sitting in front of him, his stomach tried to revolt and his body went cold with shock. That person couldn't be Kurt. Not his Kurt. Not his beautiful boy. Tears streamed down his face, unbidden. Oh god, Kurt, what have they done to you?