The Dalton Prison Study

http://www.fanfiction.
net/s/7787508/1/The_Dalton_Prison_Study
Chapter: 1/14 Reflected Appraisal Reflected appraisal: self esteem is based on how you believe others perceive you. "So tell me everything. How's New York? How did West Side Story go? Burt said you were amazing as Tony. I'm so upset that I had to work at the hospital and couldn't come and see you." "New York is amazing. I never want to leave. I'm finally getting to do what I always wanted, but it is really good to be back home. It's nice to have a roommate that's not a giant cockroach for once." Finn made a weird face at Kurt, looking confused and slightly insulted. "I mean actual cockroaches, Finn. Not Rachel," Kurt said with a weary smile. Burt snorted into his iced tea, getting an admonishing glance from Carole in reply. "Anyways," Burt said, sitting up straighter in the booth. "We're glad to have you home, Kurt. How long are you staying?" "Just about three weeks. I have to be back by August 1st because we are going to start workshopping a new play. I just wanted to see everyone and hopefully find a job to make a little cash while I'm here. No one's hiring in New York, at least for jobs that don't require sacrificing the small shred of dignity I have left, so I figured while I'm in Lima I could work at a coffee shop or at the mall or something." "Why don't you see if they are hiring here, honey?" Carole asked. "I bet you could make pretty good money in tips." "Oh, God no, I'd rather deliver singing telegrams to old people than work here. Do you know how many carbs are in these stupid breadsticks? Not to mention I'd have to wait on everyone from McKinley. Seriously, Santana used to bring a wheelbarrow in here and demand that they fill it with breadsticks. And they actually did it." "Fair enough. But Kurt, if you are ever low on money, you know you can call us, right? And there's always a job for you at the garage if you want it. Why don't you just help out at the shop while you're home?" "I know, Dad, but you know how hard it is for me to get those grease stains off my hands. My cuticles were a mess last time. Besides, I'm twenty years old now and I can't live off my parents forever. I'm sure I can find a job somewhere. I just need to check out the want ads and see who's hiring. Blaine picked uneasily at his salad, half listening to his mom and dad drone on about some upcoming charity event. He'd only been home for a weekend, and it already felt like eternity. "Blaine? Blaine!" his father called, annoyed "Huh? Oh, sorry. What were you saying, Dad?" Blaine asked sheepishly, his mind still wandering as he mentally mapped out the bridge to a song he was writing. "Blaine, it is rude to daydream at the table. Surely we've taught you better conversation skills than that. Your mother was asking you a question." Blaine flushed bright red with embarrassment. "Sorry Mom, what were you asking me again?" "Well Blaine, your father and I were just wondering about your GPA and your courses for next semester. Did you make the Dean's List?" Blaine managed a tight smile. "Yeah, I did...barely. Organic Chem was brutal, but I managed to pull out a B minus." He looked to his parents expectantly, knowing that waiting for positive reinforcement from them was a losing game,
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http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7787508/1/The_Dalton_Prison_Study
but still irrationally hoping for some sort of acknowledgment. But Blaine's hopes were dashed when his mother simply nodded. His father looked disappointed instead of proud, frowning slightly as he addressed Blaine. "Hmm, just a B minus, you say? Sounds like someone is wasting too much time and not studying enough. You're at a state school, not an Ivy League school, after all. You should be pulling a 4.0 GPA. There's no excuse for B's. I hope you intend to do better next semester. You need to do better in your science courses if you are going to get into a respectable med school. What courses did you register for?" Blaine felt his heart sink at his father's response. He'd learned long ago that it was nearly impossible to earn his father's respect, but that didn't change the stinging feeling he got every time his dad put him down. He felt a surge of anger, more at the situation and himself than at his dad, frustrated that after all these years, he still let his dad get to him. He knew that he shouldn't worry or care what his parents thought, but there was still an innate part of him that craved their recognition and affection. It was human nature after all, and Blaine was especially driven to please others, often at the expense of his own well- being. Blaine knew that this needed to stop, that it had to stop. He was in college now and living on his own for the first time and the truth was that he was miserable following the path his parents had laid out for him. He'd rehearsed the conversation he wanted to have with his parents a million times over. He'd finally tell them the truth and stand up for himself. Because going to Ohio State University and majoring in pre-med had already confirmed what Blaine had known about himself all along. That he wasn't meant to be a doctor. That he would never be the perfect Anderson son that his parents wanted him to be. But no matter how many times Blaine replayed the conversation in his head, the ending was always the same. His parents did not respond well. Blaine knew that his parents knowing the real him meant that their seeming indifference would likely morph into something much worse. And those fears, time and time again, had kept Blaine from being honest with his parents about who he really was. And it was time for all the pretending to stop. With a deep breath, Blaine dove in, starting with the most innocuous detail he could imagine. "Well, right now I'm registered for O-Chem 2, Anatomy and Anatomy Lab, Calculus, and Intro to Political Science. And my adviser said I should also register for one elective, so I decided to sign up for Introduction to Musical Theory and Composing. One of my suitemates took it last semester and said it was a really interesting class." Mr. Anderson made a gruff noise of disapproval. "Music Theory, Blaine? You expect me to pay for a waste of time course like that? You only have four years at OSU to show the med school admissions committee that you are a well-rounded and serious candidate. Surgeons don't noodle around on the guitar. They take MCAT prep courses and study business or economics or government. Those are respectable electives. You need to pick a different elective." Blaine's face flushed with frustration at his father's entirely unnecessary attack on the one course that Blaine might actually enjoy next semester. He'd been dreading another semester full of labs and science courses. The one bright spot had been this music course. Blaine was fairly proficient at the guitar and piano, but was entirely self-taught. He loved performing live and nothing helped him clear his head like writing music. The thought of getting to spend a semester among creative, likeminded individuals and actually learn how to write a song properly was exhilarating. So of course that would mean that it had to be soundly rejected by his parents. Suddenly Blaine was on his feet, his frustration and anger boiling over to the surface. "Fuck this," Blaine thought darkly. He had nothing to lose. And he was just pissed off enough and exhausted from pretending to be someone he wasn't to actually say the things on his mind. "You know what?" Blaine shouted angrily, his voice echoing off the cavernous ceilings of his home's meticulous and ornate formal dining room. "I'm taking the class. You know why? Because I actually like performing. Imagine that; I've finally found something that I'm good at that doesn't make me miserable. Do you have any idea how much I hate Chemistry and Biology? Being a doctor was never my dream. It was yours. And I've gone along with it all this time in the vain hope of pleasing you. Of actually making you happy for a change. But you know what? Fuck that." His father had risen to his feet as well by this point, his eyes dark and ominous with fury. His mother paled visibly at the rising tide of emotion in his voice, physically recoiling slightly when Blaine cursed aloud. But Blaine surged
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ahead, gathering momentum and steam as he let out all the words and emotions that he'd kept locked away for years. "There's no pleasing you, Dad. Nothing's good enough for you. And I'm tired of killing myself to make you proud when that's a hopeless case." Blaine drew in a deep breath, relishing that his father's face was flushed red as well. In fact, it was nearly purple with rage. It felt so good to be getting a reaction for once. Blaine sometimes felt like he could stand up and scream and his parents would simply ignore him or pat him on the head and toss off some non-committal remark. So to have clear evidence that his words were being heard, that he was somehow getting through to his parents for once, only added fuel to the fire. Before his father had time to interject, Blaine surged ahead, wanting to get everything out before he lost his nerve. "Look, Dad. The truth is that I'm an adult now and it's time I started acting like one. I need to live my own life. I can't keep following your plan, especially when it just isn't me. What I love, what I need to be doing more than anything in the world is performing. I like music, I like writing songs, and I love being up on stage. When I'm performing I feel like I can do anything I want. I feel like myself. I don't feel like I'm hiding in someone else's skin. I'm tired of pretending to be something, someone I'm not." Blaine took a deep breath, knowing what had to come next. Two small words that he knew would change everything. But honestly, what did he have to lose? You couldn't lose the love and support of parents who merely tolerated you at best. And so Blaine opened his mouth once more and finally gave voice to what he'd known to be true since he was thirteen. "I'm gay," Blaine said simply. He felt a flood of relief as the words passed through his lips. All the waiting, all the agonizing over whether to come out was over. He took a breath to steady himself, steeling himself to look up at his parents, flinching already in expectation of their reaction. The silence seemed to stretch on forever to Blaine as he waited, barely breathing, for the hostility that was to come. When his father spoke, his words were controlled but contained a biting undercurrent of hatred and disgust that hurt Blaine so much more than his anger or shouting ever could. "Get out of my house. Now. Get your stuff and leave. I don't want to see your face in my house again," He spoke firmly, his mind clearly made up. His eyes were harsh and cold, seeming to look through Blaine rather than at him. Blaine felt his stomach turn to ice with the chill in his father's voice. He dared to glance up just then, needing to see if there was any flicker of doubt or guilt as his dad unceremoniously kicked him out of the house. The eyes that met his were hard and determined, and Blaine's heart sank as he saw his father's lip curl slightly into a sneer of disgust. And it was only then Blaine knew that this was really happening. Somehow, Blaine forced himself to meet his father's gaze, holding eye contact for nearly a minute, staring back resolutely and making it clear that he wasn't backing down. The room was completely silent save for Blaine's harsh breathing and the muffled tears coming from his mother. At last, the chime of an antique grandfather clock cut through the silence and Blaine broke away from his father's gaze, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other as he walked out of the dining room and down a long hallway. He'd just stepped onto the landing, intending to head upstairs to his bedroom to gather his things when his father called out once more. "I want you out of here in ten minutes. And as far as I'm concerned, I no longer have a son, so you can forget about me paying for college or anything you need. You're on your own." Blaine had anticipated as much, but the words still stung, especially hearing his father say that he no longer had a son. He could hear the low murmur of his mother's voice, although it was hard to tell whether she was comforting Blaine's father or arguing with him from where Blaine stood. He glanced down at his watch, confirming that it was just after 7 pm. He needed a plan, and fast. He raced up the stairs to his bedroom, locking the door securely behind him before sinking to his knees on the floor. Shaking hands slowly raked across Blaine's face as he angrily wiped at the tears starting to pool on his cheeks. He took a deep breath and tried to focusing on pulling himself together. Later, there would be time to process and grieve what he'd just lost. But now, he needed a plan. So Blaine began indiscriminately stuffing clothing and supplies into a large backpack, all the while his mind racing as he struggled to come up with a plan. Where could he go? Blaine
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needed a quiet place to gather his thoughts. It had been almost a year since he had moved from Westerville to Columbus for college and his mind was drawing a blank when it came to local hang outs. After stuffing the last of his clothes into his now overstuffed backpack, Blaine took one final moment to survey his bedroom. His home. Correction: what was his home. He scrubbed a careful hand over his face, wiping away the last traces of his tears as he took a steeling breath. He wouldn't let his parents see him upset, adamantly refusing to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him hurt and broken by what had just happened. He flew down the stairs and headed towards the front door. As he walked by the dining room, he caught his mother's eyes. He paused for a half second, lost in her expression. She had obviously been crying, and her eyes were sad and almost...pleading. She gazed at Blaine for a second longer, looking apologetic before slowly shaking her head no. And with that nod, Blaine finally knew that he was completely and utterly alone. He slammed the door behind him, breathing hard against the tears that were already welling in his throat. Where could he go? He needed somewhere to think. Finally an idea occurred to him. The Lima Bean.
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Self presentation: The act of expressing oneself and behaving in ways designed to create a favorable impression or an impression that corresponds to one's ideals. Kurt stepped into the refreshing chill of the Lima Bean, feeling instantly more alert at the scent of espresso beans. He'd studiously avoided drinking coffee throughout high school, as his extremely obsessive and thorough skin care regimen called for avoiding anything that could cause a breakout. But New York ran on coffee, and between the early morning courses and late night rehearsals, Kurt was lucky if he managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. He'd gone from a coffee virgin to a coffee addict in the span of weeks. So naturally, working at a coffee shop seemed like a pretty good fit. Kurt surveyed the shop, trying to get a sense of the environment. There were only two people working when he entered, one behind the cash register and the other manning the espresso machine. The guy behind the cash register seemed to be about Kurt's age and was relatively attractive. Better still was the lack of hideous polyester uniforms to wear. Instead, the employees wore a simple black apron and a small nametag. So far, so good. "Hi," Kurt called, sidling up to the cute guy at the register with a smile. "I saw your sign in the window that said you were hiring. Can I get an application?" "Sure, they're on the far table next to the bulletin board. We're only looking for someone to help out for the rest of the summer rush though. We've got two full-time staff people coming back once the fall semester starts up." "Oh no, that's perfect. I'm headed back to New York in a few weeks anyway. I just need to make a little quick cash before then," Kurt replied, noticing the cute guy's dimples as he smiled. "New York, huh? That's awesome. So if you want to fill out the application now and hand it to me, I'll make sure it ends up at the top of pile. Just let me know if you have any other questions." "Thanks," Kurt replied before walking over to the table to grab a blank application. His eyes scanned the bulletin board overhead, taking in the usual assortment of lost pets, rooms for rent, and music lessons. However, as he stooped down to grab a pen, one advertisement caught his eye. Male College Students needed for Psychological Study on Prison Life $15 per day for 1-2 weeks, beginning July 14. Paid volunteers will be randomly assigned to play the role of either prisoner or guard. Food and accommodations for all participants will be provided. All participants will agree to have their behavior observed and may be asked to give interviews or take psychological tests. For further information or to apply, come to Room 248 Windsor Hall, Dalton Academy. "Interesting," Kurt thought. Fifteen dollars a day plus room and board wasn't bad for a few weeks work. But what really appealed to him was getting paid to play a role. It wasn't exactly starring in a Broadway show, but it was something. A start. Plus, how many times had he cursed his tame, conservative small town upbringing? So many people at NYADA had these fascinating former lives to draw on. They could bring gritty realism to a scene about drug addiction, for example, when the only truly emotional experiences Kurt could draw on were about being bullied in high school. With a shrug, Kurt flipped over the Lima Bean application and quickly copied down the information about the study and where to go to sign up. He glanced at his watch, confirming that he could make it to Dalton before 5 PM if he hurried. Blaine downed the last of his third cup of coffee, his hands shaking with a combination of anxiety and overcaffeination. His thoughts were racing, and it was taking every ounce of his focus to keep from replaying the whole sordid scene with his father for the millionth time in the last few hours. Where could he go? What should he do next? What now? The questions tumbled from his brain in a seemingly endless stream, but so far, no solutions had appeared. Blaine stood, intending to deposit his empty coffee cup in the trash. As he dropped it into the bin, his eyes scanned the bulletin board, taking in the various offers of rooms for rent. All were above his current budget
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which was currently limited to the forty four dollars and change in his pocket. After that was gone, Blaine was completely on his own. Blaine was about to give up on the bulletin board and try to hunt down a newspaper so he could scour the want ads section when a flyer caught his eye. "Hmm, study on prison life?" Blaine thought. "That's random." But as Blaine read on, an overwhelming feeling of relief washed over him. Because this weird ad just might be solution to all his problems...at least temporarily. Full room and board for one to two weeks? That would give Blaine plenty of time to find a more permanent living situation. Not to mention that he'd get paid for signing up for the study. Blaine did some mental calculations. If he did the full two weeks, he could make just over $200 by the end of the study. That should be enough to get a room at a cheap motel or pay a month's rent on a shitty apartment. He scanned the text of the ad, anxious to sign up for the study before all the spots were filled. He jotted down the address and room number for Dalton's campus. If he hurried, he just might make it there before the experimenter left for the day. Kurt sighed as he filled out the seemingly endless paperwork in front of him. Did he really need to tell the researcher that he'd had his tonsils out at age 7? How did that have anything to do with prison life? Kurt rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page. Tell me about your family life. "Hmm, that's more like it," Kurt thought. This is what Psychology was supposed to be like...all obsessed with whether or not Kurt wanted to sleep with his mother. "Ooh, just wait until they find out she's dead," Kurt thought morbidly. Blaine let out an involuntary snort as he read the next question. The researcher gave Blaine an odd look, so Blaine quickly tried to cover the noise with a fake cough. But really, it was fucking poetic that they'd ask about his family life not twenty-four hours after his father had unceremoniously thrown him out of the house. But Blaine was desperate to be chosen for the study, so he decided to leave out most of the gory details. My family is fine, but we aren't that close. They're not a big part of my life, to be honest. It was just my mom, dad, and I growing up (I'm an only child). Hopefully that would be good enough. Blaine flipped to the next page, involuntarily groaning at the pages of surveys still to be completed. But really, where else did Blaine have to be at the moment? So he pressed on, trying to make himself sound like a perfect potential prisoner or guard. Have you ever been convicted of a crime? "Umm, this is supposed to be a simulation on prison life, right?" Kurt thought. He was all for the acting challenge, but he wasn't down with being locked up with a bunch of real hardened criminals. Or worse still, having to corral them as a prison guard. "Whatever," he assured himself. "They probably just have to make sure I don't have any previous prison experience." He circled "no" and moved on to the next question, trying to ignore the slightly uneasy feeling that was settling over him. It would be fine. Any history of mental illness? Any history of mental illness in your immediate family? Finally, a question that Blaine could answer honestly. No mental illnesses to speak of for him unless you wanted to count the mental breakdown that Blaine knew was probably coming at some point. Maybe if he could stay moving, stay busy until classes started up again, he could stave off his eventual collapse. It took everything in Blaine's power not to give a snarky reply about mental illness in the family. Hmm, is asshole an officially recognized disorder? How about pathological narcissism with a side of anger management problems? Would that adequately cover his dad? But Blaine fought hard to push aside his rage for now, because he couldn't afford to not be chosen for the study. He filled in a quick "no" both questions and moved on to the next one. Please read each sentence and shade your response on the provided sheet using the directions below. Shade N if the sentence never describes you or how you feel.
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Shade S if the sentence sometimes describes you or how you feel. Shade O if the sentence often describes you or how you feel. Shade A if the sentence almost always describes you or how you feel. Kurt scanned the list of nearly two hundred questions. "God, would this ever end?" he wondered. But he'd already wasted nearly two hours filling out the forms, so he was determined to see it through at this point. My parents are proud of me. Almost always. People say bad things to me. Often. I wonder why I am going to school. "Never," Kurt bubbled in automatically since he'd never felt more at home than he did at NYADA. After years of struggle, he'd finally found a place where he belonged. I get nervous when things do not go the right way for me. "Sometimes," Kurt bubbled in after some deliberation. Especially when he didn't get a call back after an audition. Was there anything worse than the waiting and not knowing? Blaine flipped the page. Only two more pages to go. He quickly scanned the directions. Respond with never, sometimes, often, or almost always. He nodded to himself and moved to the first question. It seemed simple enough. My parents are proud of me. "Fuck," thought Blaine as he felt tears prick his eyes. Did that really have to be the first question on today of all days? He decided to skip over it for now and move on to some of the (hopefully) more innocuous questions. He'd deal with it later. I worry when I go to bed at night. Sometimes. I feel like I have to get up and move around. Almost always. Blaine wondered if the researcher had noticed how much he was fidgeting as he answered the multitudes of surveys. Sitting still for two hours was a stretch for him, especially when he was worked up or angry. Speaking of which... When I get angry, I want to break something. "Yeah..like my dad's face for instance?" Blaine thought darkly. He settled for bubbling in sometimes. Close enough. I drink alcohol to feel better. "No, but that's not a bad idea. Maybe I should start?" Blaine thought as he bubbled in "never" on his survey. I am someone you can rely on.
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Finally, something that Blaine felt accurately described him. He'd always been the friend that other people came to for help or advice. He bubbled in "almost always." Almost done. "Finished!" Kurt exclaimed, handing the thick folder of paperwork over to the researcher sitting at the desk. Thank goodness that was finally done. "Great," said the researcher. "If you want to have a seat, I'm just going to review your paperwork really quickly and then I've got one more form for you to read and sign." Kurt barely managed to stifle a groan. More paperwork? "I know, I know..." said the researcher. "Trust me; I hate it just as much as you. Stupid university rules and all that. But you're almost done, I promise." Kurt smiled weakly, impatient to get home. He was starving and he was pretty sure he was developing carpal tunnel syndrome from all the writing. The researcher flipped through the pages quickly, nodding in satisfaction that they were all completed. "Okay, everything looks good here, Kurt. So, the last thing we need you to do is to complete a consent form. But first, let me tell you what happens from here." Blaine smiled back at the researcher, relieved when he confirmed that Blaine's paperwork was complete and in order. "One last thing and then you can be on your way," the researcher spoke. "I guess I should start by formally introducing myself. My name is Jason and I'm a graduate research assistant in Dr. Cohen's lab. He's a professor here at Dalton and the lead investigator for this study. As you read in the advertisement, this study looks at prison life. Specifically, we're interested in seeing how average college students adapt to the environment and roles of prisoners or guards. We'll be selecting eight to ten male students for the study on the basis of the surveys and tests you just filled out. After you sign the consent forms, you'll be compensated $15 for your participation today." "Just to review," Jason continued, "in order to be eligible for the study, you have to be available twenty four hours a day starting July 14th and ending July 28th. You'll be provided with housing and three meals a day. You will be randomly assigned to either fill the role of a prisoner or guard and will be expected to follow certain rules in accordance with your role. Your behavior will be observed and filmed twenty four hours a day for the entire time you participate in the study. The video or audio recordings will be used for research and teaching purposes. If you agree to this intrusion of your privacy, I'll need you to initial this statement here on the consent form." Blaine swallowed hard. The study was sounding weirder by the moment. It had a distinct Big Brother atmosphere, but honestly what choice did he have? It was either this or sleep in his car. He quickly initialed the statement and looked up expectantly. What was next? "Okay Kurt, I just need you to initial one more spot, sign and date the bottom, and you are officially done. As I was saying just a second ago, you're expected to participate for the full two weeks if selected. When you initial here, it acknowledges the conditions for being removed from the study. Basically, the researchers reserve the right to remove you from the study at any time if we have reason to believe you've lied on your surveys or broken any of the rules of the study. However, once you begin the study, you can only quit if you have a valid medical excuse. If you decide you need to leave because of an illness or injury, you will let Dr. Cohen know and he'll have a doctor evaluate you to determine whether or not you need to leave the study or if you can safely continue. Similarly, any other need to leave will be considered and decided at Dr. Cohen's discretion. If he thinks you are just bored or want to quit for a trivial reason, he can tell you that you have to continue. That's really the biggest thing. Basically, you should think of this like a contract for a job. So take a minute, look it over, and make sure you don't have any questions before initialing." Kurt grabbed the pen from the desk and quickly scanned the text before scrawling his initials. He was only half listening by this point, his mind occupied with rehearsing his monologue for an upcoming audition. He'd listened to
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this researcher drone on for hours now. Seriously, it's not like he was donating a kidney. He was basically playing dress up and role-playing prison in someone's basement. Kurt was pretty sure he could handle two weeks of that. He looked back to the researcher. "And then I just need to sign and date here?" he asked. "Yes, that's all. Just make sure you put today's date. July 13th, 1971." "Great," Kurt said. "Whew! All done, right? So when will I know if I made it into the study?" "You are our second to last interview, I believe, so we'll decide sometime tomorrow. You'll get a phone call from us tomorrow afternoon and then the study will start first thing Sunday morning." "Sounds good," Kurt said, standing and shaking the graduate student's hand. "Hopefully I'll get to do the study. I'm actually an actor from New York, so I'm sure I'd be really good at playing prisoner or guard." Jason chuckled at the overly eager student. "Ahh youth," he couldn't help thinking. Kurt seemed nave, but sweet. He'd probably make a model prisoner. "Oh great, I'll be sure to let Dr. Cohen know that. Have a good weekend." "You too," trilled Kurt, already halfway out the door. He took a deep breath as he walked out into the open air. "Free at last. At least until Sunday, that is," he thought with amusement. Blaine was still mostly asleep when he heard the phone ring. He struggled off the couch, displacing a heavy quilt covering his lap and nearly tripping over Wes' laconic golden retriever, managing to dodge her paws and only clip the edge of her bushy tail with his foot. "Whoops, sorry, Pavarotti," Blaine mumbled as he stumbled toward the ringing phone in the kitchen. He'd nearly reached the receiver when the answering machine turned on. "Hi, you've reached the Montgomery residence. Please leave a message after the beep." Before Blaine could figure out how to stop the answering machine so that he could answer, he heard a girl's voice, high and slightly confused, come over the machine. It was clear that she was reading from a script, but she still stumbled over her words, sounding perky but also a bit lost. "Hi, this is Brittany calling from Dr. Cohen's lab at Dalton Academy. This message is for Blaine Anderson. Umm...congrat-you...er... Umm, good job on being selected to participate in the study. You've been randomly assigned to play to the role of a guard. We'll need you to come for orientation before the study starts tomorrow morning. You should report to Windsor Hall at Dalton Academy at 6 PM this evening. Please bring toiletries and enough socks, underwear...umm." The girl's voice wavered for a second and Blaine could just barely make out a hysterical giggle. Was this girl for real? "Umm right, so bring like underwear and undershirts and stuff. Enough for two weeks. You'll be provided with your uniform. So yeah, we'll see you at 6 PM! Should be awesome. Please be on time. Okay...bye bye!" Blaine felt a flood of relief. The good news is that he had a place to stay for the next two weeks. He was grateful that Wes had welcomed into his home, but he couldn't sleep on the couch for weeks at a time. Plus, Blaine needed money in the worst way and as long as he didn't fuck it up, he would leave the study two weeks later and two hundred dollars richer. But there was that anxiety again. Guard? When Blaine had been told about the study, he'd really only imagined himself as a prisoner. He wasn't sure if he was up to the challenge of bossing a bunch of fellow college students around. It just wasn't his style. But Blaine knew his options were incredibly limited, so he tried to see this as an opportunity rather than a burden. "At least I've learned enough about bossing people around from my dad to last a lifetime," Blaine mumbled under his breath as he began to pack a bag. Kurt had been stalking the phone all morning. He'd tried to be subtle, but Burt finally asked him why he was tackling everyone to be the first to answer the phone. "Got a hot date or something kid?" Burt had asked, half-joking, but secretly a little curious. "No...god no, in Lima? Could you imagine? What...a hot date to Breadstix? No, I'm just waiting to hear back about a job."
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"Yeah? You decided to work at the Lima Bean?" Burt asked as he washed the last of the dishes from breakfast, Kurt automatically moving in behind him to dry the dishes and put them away as was their routine. "No...I thought about it but I ended up hearing about a two week acting gig so I...auditioned for it instead. They're supposed to call today to let me know if I got the job." "Oh cool...an acting gig in little old Lima, huh? And I thought you said Ohio had no culture," Burt teased affectionately. "Haha very funny, Dad. It's no New York though, okay?" "Fair enough, kid. Alright, well I'm going to go meet Carole down at the garage for a bit. We need to get some new tires for her car. See you this afternoon?" "Yeah, sounds good. See ya, Dad," Kurt said, relieved that his Dad hadn't given him the full inquisition on the possible "job." It would be kind of hard to explain...and he had a feeling that his dad wouldn't be sold on the whole prison thing. Kurt settled onto the couch and entertained himself watching a Sound Of Music rerun on television. He'd just about dozed off when he heard the phone ring. He immediately jumped up and dove for the phone. "Hello?" he said, his voice still a little sleepy. "Um, hi! Is this Kurt?" chirped a girl slightly too loudly. Kurt winced and held the phone slightly away from his ear. "Yeah, that's me," he replied. "Who's calling?" "Super! This is Brittany calling from Dr. Cohen's lab at Dalton Academy. Way to go on being selected to participate in the study! You've been randomly assigned to play to the role of a prisoner. You should..." "So I'm in?" Kurt said with amusement. "Um yeah? I think that's what I just said. Are you super excited?" she asked innocently. "Sure? Let's go with super excited. Why not," Kurt answered. What was with this girl? "Anyways, you were saying?" he prompted after a slightly awkward pause. "Oh yeah, just need to find my place. Umm, you've been randomly assigned to play the role of prisoner. You should be ready to be picked up at 9 AM tomorrow morning at your house. Is the address you put on your form the best place for us to come arrest you?" Arrest me? Kurt thought. Damn, these people are Method. "Umm yeah, the address I put on the form is good." "Okay, so be ready at 9 AM. You don't need to bring anything with you. Any personal items with be complicated...wait..." Kurt brought the phone closer to his ear and made out a muffled whisper. "Oh okay," she mumbled. "Sorry...your stuff will be confiscated. Okay? So that's it. Awesome! Bye bye!" Before Kurt could process or respond, the line went dead. Right. Well, this was getting weirder by the second. But honestly, this whole thing was sounding more and more like a joke. Who knows? Kurt was starting to suspect that the job wouldn't be good for gritty realism, but perhaps it could inspire some stand-up comedy material? If nothing else, it would make for a great story to tell Rachel over a bottle of wine once he made it back to New York. Kurt glanced at the clock, noticing that it was just after 2 PM. He had the rest of the day to prepare for his role as prisoner. First things first: he needed the right wardrobe. Something prison chic. He needed to look...dangerous for
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his arrest. Maybe leather? A little Marlon Brando and a bit James Dean? Oooh and stripes? He chuckled to himself, his mind already racing with possible outfit combinations as he headed upstairs to his closet.
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Moral exclusion: The perception of certain individuals or groups as outside the boundary within which one applies moral values and rules of fairness. Blaine was rushing by the time 6 PM rolled around, thanks to a combination of traffic and getting a little lost while finding his way back to Windsor Hall. It didn't help that he was more than a little anxious about this "experiment" and what he would be expected to do as a guard. He hurried up the stairs to the orientation room and opened the door to find two guys about his age waiting as well. The pair couldn't have been more opposite in appearance and demeanor if they tried. One looked like he'd be very much at home in a prison, either as prisoner or guard. He was tall and hulking, dressed in a well-worn letterman jacket and faded jeans. His face was affixed with a seemingly permanent scowl, and the look he shot Blaine as he entered the room was less than friendly. The guy sitting next to him was tall and lanky, impeccably dressed in a dark gray blazer and crisp button-down shirt. He blatantly looked Blaine up and down appreciatively before giving him a smile that seemed more predatory than friendly somehow. "Oh hey guys...are you here for the study?" Blaine asked, still unsure. The blazered boy was on his feet and at Blaine's side in an instant, extending his hand smoothly as he introduced himself. "We mostly certainly are," he said with a smirk that hinted at something Blaine couldn't quite place. "Sebastian Smythe...and who are you, gorgeous?" Blaine blushed beet red at the compliment. This guy was really laying it on thick. "I'm Blaine," he said softly. Sebastian quirked an eyebrow expectantly and so Blaine stammered on, feeling immediately unsettled by Sebastian's advances. "Uh, Blaine Anderson," he finished lamely, his eyes flickering past Sebastian to the scowling guy in the corner, expecting an introduction. Sebastian followed Blaine's gaze and sighed with annoyance. "Oh right," he mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough that Blaine could hear. "Him." Sebastian turned to the guy slumped in the corner who was pretending to be oblivious to the new guy. But Sebastian prided himself on his powers of observation, and had noticed the jock checking out Blaine not so subtly as he'd first walked in the room. His beefy arms and lettermen's jacket just screamed closeted gay jock to Sebastian. This could get interesting. "Sorry," Sebastian spoke to the jock in the corner, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't think I got your name when you came in." "Dave," the guy mumbled, glancing up from the Sports Illustrated magazine he'd been idly flipping through. "Most people call me Karofsky though." Blaine gave Karofsky a tight smile. "Hey Karofsky, I'm Blaine." "Wonderful to finally meet you, Dave," Sebastian said, emphasizing "Dave" and smirking at the scowl he received in return. It was almost too easy. This guy was going to be fun to fuck with. "So Blaine, prisoner or guard? Because I have some handcuffs and I could think of plenty of uses for them." Karofsky let out a snort of disbelieving laughter at the comment and look of shock on Blaine's face. His face quickly shifted into a mask of anger and disgust however, as he realized that both Blaine and Sebastian were looking at him. "Dude, you need to chill with the homo crap. We can't have a bunch of fags running the prison, alright?" "Ri-ight," Sebastian cracked with a knowing grin. "Wouldn't want that, now would we, Dave? Anyways darling," he started, turning back to Blaine, "you were saying?"
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"Uh yeah, I'm a guard," Blaine supplied, still feeling unbalanced by Sebastian's constant flirting. "What about you guys?" "Yup, we're both guards too," Sebastian replied. "Well, good, looks like we'll all be getting to know each other a lot better in the next two weeks." Before Blaine could reply, an older man in white coat walked into the room carrying a clipboard, looking each of them over in turn and then back to his clipboard before speaking. Blaine quickly took a seat and Sebastian slid into the chair next to his, leaning in closer than was necessary and draping an arm over the back of Blaine's chair. "Hello and welcome to Dalton," the man in the white coat began. "My name is Dr. Cohen. I'm a professor here at Dalton as well as the principal investigator for this study. Each of you should have already met with one of my graduate research assistants and been informed of the basic requirements for this study. However, today I'm going to familiarize each of you with your role as prison guards and go over the rules for the study." "As you already know, this study is meant to examine the effects of prison life on ordinary college students. My goal is to do everything in my power to make this study feel as much like a 'real' prison as possible. A lot of the prison environment will depend on how well you play your role as prison guards. There will be five prisoners in the study. They are also male college students selected using the same criteria and you were randomly assigned to be guards while they were randomly selected to be prisoners." "So let's talk about the rules. The biggest rule is that you cannot physically harm the prisoners. You can't hit them or physically restrain them. Everyone understand?" Dr. Cohen asked, looking up from his clipboard as he finished outlining this rule, wanting to be sure that each participant agreed. Blaine watched with growing concern as Karofsky's face visibly fell at this rule, obviously disappointed that he wouldn't be able to put his physical prowess to use. What the hell? The mere fact that this rule needed stating concerned Blaine. It was just an experiment after all, wasn't it? Dr. Cohen waited until all three guards nodding their assent before continuing on. "As I was saying, you can't hit the prisoners. However, we do want this prison experience to be accurate which means that it needs to unpleasant for the prisoners. To that end, you can create in the prisoners feelings of boredom, a sense of frustration. You can create a sense of fear in them. You can create a notion of arbitrariness, that their life is totally controlled by us, by the system, you, me. They'll have no privacy at all in their cells, and they'll be sleeping in rooms with bars on them. There will be constant surveillance. Nothing they do will go unobserved. They have no freedom of action. They can do nothing or saying nothing that we don't let them. We are going to take away their individuality in various ways. In general what of all this leads to is sense of powerlessness, we have total power over the situation and they have none." "Fuck," thought Blaine. "We have total power and they have none? What the hell did that mean?" If Blaine was being totally honest with himself, it sounded like a recipe for disaster. And it wasn't lost on him that he could have just as easily been selected to be a prisoner instead of a guard. How would he respond to being told he was powerless and that his every move would be watched? He couldn't imagine anyone willing going along with such a thing, unless they were as desperate for the cash or place to stay as he was. And who knows? Maybe they were. Despite his misgivings, Blaine knew he was in no place to object. He was counting on the two hundred dollars he stood to make if he completed the entire two week study. Sebastian slid his arm from the back of Blaine's chair and placed it around his shoulder, pulling him close as he leaned in to whisper in Blaine's ear. "This is going to be good," he whispered throatily. "We're going to have those prisoners on their knees begging for it in no time." He leaned back, giving the obviously horrified Blaine a wink before turning to Karofsky and mouthing the words "It's on." Dr. Cohen gave Sebastian a stern look before continuing. Sebastian flashed him an obviously fake chastened smile and settled back in his seat, leaving his hand resting on Blaine's back.
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"Right, as I was saying, you are free to use any methods at your disposal to keep order and discipline the prisoners as you see fit as long as you don't get physical with them. I will be monitoring the study from an undisclosed location and I will not be directly involved in the study unless an issue arises that demands my attention. But I will be monitoring the behavior of the prisoners and guards 24 hours a day, and any violation of the rules will result in immediate expulsion from the study and loss of compensation. Any questions so far?" Blaine was still too dazed to form a coherent response, so he merely shook his head. He couldn't help but notice that Karofsky was now leaning forward eagerly, seeming excited at the opportunity to abuse his power. Blaine had a feeling that Karofsky was going to be trouble. Sebastian too. He could only hope that he could maintain some sort of order and keep them from going too far. "Great. Well then, if you follow me, I'll give you a tour of the prison and give you your uniforms. You can bring your personal belonging with you and there will be a spot for you to store them in the guard room," Dr. Cohen finished as he made his way towards the door and motioned for them to follow him out into the hall. Blaine struggled to his feet, leaning down to grab his backpack. Just as his fingers could close around the strap, it was tugged from his grasp by Sebastian. "Oh please, allow me," he said flirtatiously. Blaine simply nodded, but fumed internally. He'd only known this Sebastian guy for fifteen minutes, but he was already starting to piss Blaine off. First of all, he was bothered by the fact that Sebastian had automatically assumed he was gay. It certainly wasn't something Blaine advertised for fear of judgment or reprisal. Hell, he'd just come out to his parents this weekend. But more than that, Blaine resented how incredibly obvious and forward Sebastian was being. Blaine was fearful of doing anything that could jeopardize his place in the study and yet Sebastian was practically waving a red flag that said "Gay" in front of Dr. Cohen. And Blaine couldn't afford for Dr. Cohen to decide he wasn't appropriate for the study because of his sexuality. So Blaine sped up, deliberately leaving Sebastian behind as he caught up to the experimenter. "Hi, Dr. Cohen? I'm Blaine." He extended a hand and shook it firmly, trying to exude confidence even though inside Blaine was a wreck. "I just wanted to officially introduce myself. I'm really glad that you selected me for the study. It sounds like a really...interesting idea." Dr. Cohen simply nodded and continued down the hall quickly, leaving Blaine hurrying to keep pace with him. "I...uh...I just wanted to ask you one thing about the study actually," Blaine spoke tentatively. "Hmm, what's that?" Dr. Cohen replied distractedly. "I...uh...I guess I was just wondering about the rest of the guidelines for the guards. I get that we can't hit the prisoners, obviously, but I was just wondering about other rules and guidelines for the prisoners. Like how often they get to eat and how much down time they get, you know...things like that." Dr. Cohen paused momentarily, considering Blaine more carefully this time. "Well Blaine, as I said before, I want this to feel as much like a real prison as possible and in a real prison, the prisoners don't have a whole lot of rights or privileges. But I am going to task you and your fellow guards with coming up with a set of rules for the prisoners, if you want to include one about mealtimes. And as I said before, I'll be monitoring the study to make sure that everyone's basic human rights aren't violated." "Oh okay...good, that's...yeah good," Blaine finished lamely. He felt slightly better to know that there would be at least some oversight, but he wasn't exactly getting a warm and cuddly feeling from Dr. Cohen. Blaine was starting to wonder if he was possibly the only sane or decent person in this whole study, and the experiment hadn't even begun. Blaine, Sebastian, and Karofsky followed Dr. Cohen down a maze of seemingly never-ending corridors and stairwells until at last they arrived in a small basement area. On either side of the hall sat small rooms. Three of the doors contained windows, allowing the guards to easily monitor what was going on inside each cell. Bars covered
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each of the three windows. A fourth room was labeled "Guard Room" and the window on the door had been covered in black felt, giving the room more privacy than the prisoner cells. At the other end of the corridor, there was a door to what Blaine assumed was the bathroom. Blaine looked to Karofsky and Sebastian who were also surveying the small area with interest. Dr. Cohen looked around the room as well proudly, nodding to himself with satisfaction before addressing guards. "Alright guards, welcome to your new home for the next two weeks. This will be your prison. As you can see, there are three cells for prisoners. There will be five prisoners, so there will be two to a room except for one prisoner who will have a single. It will be up to you to determine how you allocate the space. If you look up, you can see that there are cameras along the hall and in each of the prisoner's cells. There is also a camera in the guard room so that I can observe your interactions with one another and your planning meetings." Dr. Cohen opened the door to the nearest cell, motioning to the guards to follow him. "Each cell is identical. There are two beds in the double cells and one in the single. Each prisoner is allowed one blanket and one pillow each. They will not be allowed to bring any personal items inside the cells. In other words, you will have total control over how they spend their time while they are here." He stepped back through the door to the cell, showing them how to operate the lock to ensure that the prisoners couldn't escape. Next, Dr. Cohen led the guards to the end of the hallway. "Through here is the bathroom and shower area. We've removed the stall doors to take away the sense of privacy as is typical in prisons. They will not be allowed to use the bathroom or the showers without supervision from a guard. The prisoners should be bathed once a day in the communal shower with guard supervision. Because of university rules and ethics, this will be the only room without video surveillance which is why it is so important that prisoners are always directly supervised in this room to maintain order." Blaine's face flushed as he thought through the implications of what Dr. Cohen had just said. He was expected to watch a bunch of guys shower and use the bathroom? He turned to Sebastian, hoping that he would share his bewilderment, but Sebastian looked positively gleeful at the development. Dr. Cohen led the guards back into the hall. "You'll notice that there are no clocks or windows in any of the cells except in your room. We want the prisoners to have no sense of the passage of time. Again, you are in control of everything, even if the prisoners think it is day or night." He then led the guards through the hall, pointing out one room off the side of the hall where meals were to take place, another with a two way mirror and intercom where visitation was to take place, and a small room that had once been a broom closet, which he told the guards to use for whatever purpose they desired. Finally, the guards were led into the guard room. "You can place all of your personal belonging in these lockers. In the lockers, you will also find guard uniforms for each of you. Go ahead and put these on now. You'll be expected to wear these uniforms at all times when in view of the prisoners. Once you've gotten dressed, you'll need to work together to come up with a list of five to seven rules that you will expect the prisoners to follow to maintain order. The prisoners will arrive tomorrow afternoon. As soon as they arrive, you'll need to strip search, shower, and delouse them. Then you will have to tell the prisoners the rules you come up with. Everything after that is up to you. We'll be observing you starting now to see how you work together to come up with your list of rules. Goodnight and good luck." And with that, Dr. Cohen was gone, leaving Blaine's mind reeling from everything he had just seen and heard. He looked to Sebastian and Karofsky, hoping they shared his confusion and concern. But instead, they both looked positively gleeful and Blaine felt his heart sink even more. This had the potential to be the longest two weeks of his life. Hopefully, the prisoners wouldn't be as bad as Sebastian and Karofsky, because right about now, Blaine could use a friend. Sebastian was the first to speak up. "Well, this should be downright fun, don't you think Blaine? Lucky that we get all the power because I absolutely love being on top. What about you?" Sebastian gave Blaine a knowing smirk, smiling with pleasure as he watched Blaine flush bright red. The whole bashful schoolboy thing Blaine was doing was really working for Sebastian. It was almost too easy to mess with him.
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"Uh, I don't know," Blaine said, stumbling over his words. "I'm thinking that this study is sounding pretty weird, but maybe that's just me. I guess we should get to work though?" "Yeah," Karofsky spoke up. "I've got a rule. The prisoners aren't allowed to touch us at any time for any reason. Because if one of those homos lays a finger on me, I don't care what Dr. Cohen says, I'm going to beat the shit out of them." Karofsky looked self-consciously to the camera after speaking; having momentarily forgotten that he was being monitored. "Works for me. I wouldn't want anyone making poor Blaine uncomfortable, after all. Besides me, that is," Sebastian responded. Karofsky frowned at Sebastian before continuing. "Okay, so that's the first rule. We also need to show them who's in charge from Day 1. They have to respect us. And we need to show them how unimportant they are. I say we don't even call them by their names. Let's just call them by their prison number." "Interesting," Sebastian responded. "I think that could work. But what should we have them call us? Just guard or something else?" "No, how about Correctional Officer Karofsky? Just last names though," Karofsky replied. "Sold," said Sebastian. "Blaine honey, you are being awfully quiet over there. Why don't you tell us a rule you want to add." "Uhh, we should probably say that they have to eat three meals a day, right? I'm sure we have to take care of their basic needs and all." Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Bo-ring," he started. "Come on, Blaine, you can do better than that." But Karofsky looked intrigued. "No wait, that's not a bad idea. Yeah, they have to eat everything on their plate even if the food is disgusting. We can make them eat all sorts of weird things. It'll be hilarious." Blaine began shaking his head vehemently. "No, no that's not what I meant, I just..." But Blaine was cut off before he could continue. "Okay, works for me," said Sebastian. "If we're going to go with the completely obvious with our rules, I've got one. Prisoners aren't allowed in the guard room or anywhere besides their cells without one of us." Blaine and Karofsky nodded their agreement to this rule. "Okay, what else?" Sebastian asked. "Actually, no wait, I've got another one. The prisoners must follow any and all orders given by the guards. That'll cover a lot of stuff." Karofsky's nodded excitedly. "You know what this reminds me of? Cool Hand Luke. Have either of you seen that movie?" Sebastian nodded in agreement while Blaine shook his head no. "It's an awesome movie. But do you know how they punish the prisoners? They put them in the box. It's like solitary confinement. We should totally do that," Karofsky said, leaning forward and looking to Blaine and Sebastian expectantly. Blaine dropped his head to his hands. Was this really happening to him? How did he end up with two people that clearly took so much joy in hurting others? "I...uh...don't know if Dr. Cohen would like that. There are only going to be five prisoners to begin with, so why would we need to separate them further? Plus, we only have three cells and five beds." "Dr. Cohen said we were on our own. And we can use the closet. Remember? That's the room that he said we could use for whatever we wanted. It's small and dark in there. It'll be perfect." Blaine tried again. "I don't think that's what Dr. Cohen meant when he said we could use it any way we wanted."
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"Oh no? I think that's exactly what he intended," Sebastian smirked. "It's a great idea, Dave. We can use that as punishment if any of the prisoners get out of line or try to start anything." Blaine sighed, his frustration growing by the minute. "Wasn't the idea that we were supposed to come up with these rules together?" "Of course, gorgeous. No need to get your knickers in a twist. But majority rules, you know? But since I'd hate for you to feel left out, how about you give us your idea for the last rule?" Blaine let out an exhalation of breath, wracking his brain to come up with something innocuous. "Umm, how about we specify that they get thirty minutes of recreation a day. But just thirty minutes." Karofsky glowered at Blaine. "Are you kidding me? We don't need to give them recreation time. This is a prison, not a fucking summer camp." Blaine threw his hands in the air. "I give up then. Do whatever you want." Sebastian leaned forward, placing his hands on Blaine's shoulders and beginning to knead them gently. "Man, you are wound tight. I could prescribe something that would help with that, you know." Blaine pushed Sebastian's hands off him roughly. "I'm doing just fine on my own, thanks." "Oh don't be that way, babe. How about this? Last rule can be anything you want. The only catch is that it has to be some sort of punishment, not a reward. Thoughts?" Blaine stared at his hands for a moment. His first thought was to throw it back in their faces and simply say "Screw it; you come up with all the rules." But given what they'd managed to come up with so far, Blaine was more than a little concerned about what Karofsky and Sebastian would come up with if left to their own devices. So he tried to pick the least awful punishment they could think of. "Okay, how about this? Prisoners are required to keep their cells clean at all time. Beds must be made; floors must be spotless, all that kind of stuff. Does that work for you?" "Sure honey," Sebastian cooed back. "It's a little dull, but we'll make it work. Okay! Looks like we've got our list of rules. Shall we strip now?" "What?" Blaine and Karofsky both responded in horror. Sebastian chuckled to himself. "Strip, you know, take off our clothes? So that we can put on our uniforms?" "I'm going to change in the bathroom," Karofsky responded. "I don't want you looking at my junk. It sounds like you'd enjoy it a little too much." With that, Karofsky stalked off, opening the door to the guard room and hurrying down the hall. "Oh he wishes," Sebastian mumbled under his breath. "Closeted jocks are sooo not my type. I much prefer the bashful schoolboys," Sebastian continued with a wink at Blaine. Blaine ignored Sebastian, calling after Karofsky instead. "Wait, one more thing," interrupted Blaine. "How are we dividing the prisoners up? Like, are we each going to be in charge of one cell?" "Good thinking, babe," Sebastian replied. "I love the idea of having my own young minds to mold...or corrupt. We've got five, right? I'll take two." Blaine nodded, relieved that for once his suggestions were being taken seriously. "Um, I'm clearly not as into the whole prison guard thing as you two are, so how about I just take the single cell? Does that work for you?" he finished, turning to address Karofsky.
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"Fine by me," Karofsky responded nonchalantly. "I can handle two at once. So it's decided then?" Blaine and Sebastian nodded in unison. Mission accomplished. Now all they needed were their prisoners.
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Cognitive Dissonance: Discomfort caused by holding conflicting cognitions (ideas, beliefs, values, etc.) or attempting to justify behavior that opposes one's views. Kurt buckled the last strap on his motorcycle boots before standing in front of the full length mirror, admiring his outfit appreciatively. It had taken trying on a lot of potential outfits and a bit of shopping before Kurt had finally found the right look. He was dressed from head to toe in black. The jacket was fitted across his broad shoulders and cut in just the right amount at the waist. On his waist, Kurt wore fingerless black gloves. The jacket was covered in studs and zippers. Paired with the jacket were skinny jeans in black that hugged his body in all the right places. The outfit was finished off with a black studded belt slung low across his waist. It was perfect. Kurt glanced at his watch, confirming that it was just after nine. The experimenter said to be ready by 9 AM. He should go downstairs. The last thing he wanted for his dad, Carole, or Finn to be the one to answer the door. Kurt looked in the mirror one final time, smoothing down a wayward lock of hair, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Shit. Kurt flew down the stairs, anxious to be the first to answer the door. As he rounded the corner, it was apparent he was too late. Carole was at the door, frowning slightly at the police officer dressed in full uniform. "Can I help you?" Carole asked the officer. "Is everything okay?" "Yes ma'am, I'm looking for Kurt Hummel," he responded gruffly. "Oh hey Carole, yeah that's me. I got this," Kurt replied. "Kurt? What's going on here?" Carole asked with concern. "It's nothing, Carole. Really. It's for this job I was telling you and Dad about. Don't worry. Everything's fine," Kurt soothed. "Okay, Mr. Hummel, you'll need to come with me. You are under arrest for armed robbery. You have the right to..." But before the police officer could finish reading Kurt his rights, Burt came flying into the room. "Kurt? What the hell is going on here?" Burt asked, his voice a mix of concern and anger. He stepped towards the cop, drawing up to his full height. "Look, I don't know what you think my son has done, but I can assure you that there's been some sort of mistake." "Dad I..." Kurt started again. "Dude! What the hell did you do? Kurt got busted?" Finn exclaimed with disbelief. "Okay, will everyone calm down, please?" Kurt shouted over the din. "Dad, Carole, Finn, everything is fine. I'm not being arrested for real. It's for an acting job. I'm getting paid to pretend to be a prisoner for two weeks. Long story and one that I'll tell you all about later." "Kurt, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Burt asked, unsure. "I don't like the look of this." "Yes Dad, I'm sure. They're just really into the whole Method thing, hence the squad car and 'arrest' but nothing is going to happen to me. Besides, the money is pretty good and I'm getting paid to act instead of make coffee," Kurt explained impatiently. "Alright, Mr. Hummel, we need to get moving. They're expecting you at the station for booking," the police offer stated impatiently. He placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder and started to guide him out the door.
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Carole exchanged another worried look with Burt. They followed the officer and Kurt outside, watching in horror as the police officer forced Kurt to place his hands against the car and began to pat him down, presumably for a weapon. But Kurt just shrugged and laughed, making it clear that he wasn't taking things that seriously. After the pat down was complete, the police officer prompted Kurt to put his hands behind his back so that he could be handcuffed. The police officer was just about to place Kurt in a squad car when Burt called after them. "Wait! Hold on a minute. Kurt, how are we supposed to contact you?" Kurt looked to the police officer who merely shrugged. "I'm not sure, Dad, but I'm willing to bet we will have telephone access. Even prisoners in real prisons are entitled to make phone calls. How about I just call you after I get settled in, okay?" Burt nodded. Kurt seemed perfectly unfazed by the whole thing, but Burt was nervous. After all, it wasn't every day that he had to watch his son get arrested, even if it was just for an acting gig. He watched with apprehension as the squad car pulled away from the driveway and disappeared down the block. "What has Kurt gotten himself into?" Burt mumbled quietly to himself. Kurt sat silently in the back of the squad car, watching the scenery blow past him. It was a bit of the drive to the station and Kurt was exhausted after having worked on his outfit late into the night only to arise earlier to finish his outfit preparations. His eyelids felt too heavy to hold open, so eventually Kurt surrendered to the fatigue, his head lolling against the window as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Kurt awoke with a jolt nearly an hour and a half later to the sound of a door slamming shut. He sat up quickly, taking a few seconds to reorient himself to the unfamiliar environment. He shifted forward in his seat, groaning slightly at feel of the chafed skin on his wrists from where the handcuffs had dug into his delicate skin. The police officer quickly rounded the car and opened Kurt's door, extending a hand to help lift him from the squad car. "Alright, Mr. Hummel. Let's get you booked," he commanded, all business-like efficiency. Kurt was led into the mostly deserted station and put through a series of mind numbingly boring procedures. His mug shot was taken, he was fingerprinted, and then was told to sit and wait on a nearby bench, his hands still tightly handcuffed behind his back. Finally, he was told that they were ready for him at the prison, so he was once again escorted to the police car, this time with the additional indignity of being blindfolded. "Well, here goes nothing," thought Kurt resignedly. A short while later, Kurt's blindfold and handcuffs were roughly removed and he found himself blinking against harsh fluorescent lights as he tried to take in his surroundings. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust from the darkness of the blindfold to the bright industrial lighting. Once he was finally able to see clearly again, he found himself suddenly wishing he was still blindfolded. They appeared to be in some sort of basement, as there were no windows or natural light giving even the smallest glimpse of the outside world. The air was damp and chilly with the slightly stale, musty odor. Kurt was standing against a neutrally painted cinderblock wall in a long narrow hallway. On either side of him were doors that led to various rooms. Several of the doors had small windows covered by bars, leading Kurt to suspect that these were to be their prison cells. All in all, it was one of the least inviting places that Kurt had seen which seemed to fit with the overly Method, highly detailed prison set up that he'd been on the receiving end of thus far. After familiarizing himself with the bleak surroundings, Kurt turned to look at his fellow prisoners. There were five of them in total, counting Kurt. On Kurt's right, there were two guys about his age, one blond and one brunette. Both were dressed preppily in khaki pants and pastel polo shirts. They were clearly trying to project a blas detachment from their surroundings, but it was easy to see that they were a bit nervous and jumpy underneath the cool demeanor. Immediately to Kurt's left was a tall, well muscled guy with a mohawk and perpetual scowl. Next to the guy with the mohawk stood a tall, slightly lankier guy with beach blond hair dressed in well worn clothing that was frayed and rumpled looking. Rather than surveying the environment or other prisoners, he simply stared at the ground, looking as if his mind was elsewhere.
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"Dude, what's up with this place?" the mohawked guy next to Kurt whispered angrily. "They've got another thing coming if they expect me to sleep in this shithole. It smells like ass in here. I'm Puck, by the way." Kurt smiled at Puck and extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Kurt. Yeah, this place is pretty hideous, but I guess that's the point since they want it to feel like a prison and everything." Before Puck could respond to Kurt, both were half-deafened by the shrill bleat of a whistle. They looked up, Kurt watching in amusement as three guys about their age marched into the room, dressed in full prison regalia. Kurt surveyed each of them in turn, laughing under his breath a little at their stairstep progression. The first guy was tall and stocky with the hulking build of a former jock gone a little flabby now that his high school glory days were over. His eyes were as harsh and unforgiving as a snake's and his chest puffed out comically as he stood in front of the prisoners, clearly already relishing the power his role afforded him. Following behind the jock was a second guard who was nearly tall as the first guard, but with a lean, lanky build. Unlike the first guard, it was clear that he put a fair amount of thought and work into his appearance. His skin was well moisturized and lightly tanned and his hair was sculpted into the casually messy appearance that Kurt knew could only be accomplished with expensive hair products and many minutes in front of the mirror. His eyes flickered with amusement as he took in the prisoners and Kurt couldn't help but notice how obviously he ogled each prisoner, his eyes lingering over chests and legs for slightly longer than was decent. Finally, a shorter, dark-haired guy brought up the rear. His hair was slightly too long and messy, but in a careless way that suggested he simply hopped out of the shower and let it air dry on its own. He looked awkward and uncomfortable in his uniform, nearly tripping over the hem of his pants that were slightly too long for him. Despite the poor fit, Kurt had to admit that he wore the uniform well. All the guards wore khaki colored button down shirts with matching pants. The first two guards were wearing matching aviator sunglasses made popular by a variety of cop shows and movies over the past few years. The lenses were mirrored, making it impossible to see their eyes clearly which Kurt assumed was probably the point of wearing them. However, the third guard simply held his sunglasses, twirling them nervously in his hand as he followed behind the other guards, giving Kurt the opportunity to study his face. Kurt couldn't help but notice that the guard had a nice face framed by light hazel eyes and the kind of eyelashes Kurt would kill to have naturally. But while the other guards appeared excited and raring to go, Kurt could see a surprisingly strong undercurrent of pain and reluctance radiating from the third guard. He held himself like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and looked lost in private thoughts. The guard must have felt Kurt's eyes on him, because he suddenly looked up at Kurt, catching his eyes. Kurt startled slightly before giving him a small smile and the smile that he received in turn transformed the guard's face into something strangely beautiful. The moment between them was short-lived; however, due to the hulking guard at the front of the line letting loose with a speech that Kurt could have sworn came directly from a John Wayne movie. It was so ludicrously over the top and overacted that Kurt found himself trying (and failing) to suppress snorts of helpless laughter. "You think that's funny, lady boy?" Karofsky shouted, his eyes narrowing with fury at the snickering prisoner in front of him. "You do not want to be on my bad side, lady, you got that? Now what do you say?" Kurt merely rolled his eyes, finding it hard to take this walking clich of a person seriously. It was clear that this guy would not be giving up his day job for acting anytime soon. "Umm, sorry?" Kurt responded with icy detachment. "What was that? It should be 'Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky,' you got that, lady?" Karofsky spit at Kurt, already seething with barely suppressed rage. "Was this guy for real?" Kurt couldn't help thinking. This was getting more ridiculous by the second. But in hard times, Kurt was good at reminding himself of the bottom line. "Acting gig, this is just an acting gig, one that I'm getting paid good money for. Just have to sit tight and play my role." He looked up at the guard and tried his best to put himself back into the prisoner role. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky. So sorry, sir. Whatever you say," he spit back, his voice containing only the slightest hint of sarcasm.
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"That's what I thought," said Karofsky, momentarily mollified. "I've got my eye on you, kid. You better get your ass in line or I'll make your life a living hell." Blaine stood before the five prisoners, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, feeling awkward in his own skin and the heavily starched uniform he was being forced to wear. He surveyed the "prisoners" in front of him, curious to gauge their reactions to Karofsky's ridiculous power trip. He felt certain that Karofsky was cribbing most of his lines directly from some crime drama, but his height and bulk did give his words a bit of weight. Seeing the harshness in Karofsky's eyes as well as the perverse pleasure that he seemed to be taking in asserting his authority and dressing down the prisoners, Blaine had no doubt that most of what was being said was not just idle threats. And that, more than anything else that had come so far made Blaine nervous. Blaine had tried to put the prisoners at ease from the start to counter Karofsky and Sebastian's reign of terror, taking a moment to study each prisoner's face and smile at them apologetically, hoping that they would find him reassuring. Blaine was almost immediately drawn to the prisoner in the middle of line-up, particularly to his piercing crystal clear blue eyes and his air of casual indifference. A quick glance at the roll call sheet helpfully provided by Dr. Cohen identified the blue-eyed student as Prisoner 219. Throughout the study, the guards were to refer to the prisoners only by number and not name, a tactic that would supposedly mimic the anonymity of prison life while forcing the prisoners to conform to their roles as prisoners. Blaine found the very idea repellant, but was trying not to rock the boat too much for fear of being removed from the study. Blaine's gaze lingered on Prisoner 219 just a few seconds too long, and suddenly he was being elbowed by Sebastian who gave him a knowing smirk. "You need to put your glasses on, babe. Rules are rules. Once they're on you can stare all you want and no one will notice. Trust me." Blaine's face flushed red and he reluctantly slid his mirrored sunglasses on, wondering if he looked as ridiculous as he felt. Both Blaine and Sebastian were startled when Karofsky suddenly lunged forward, his eyes bulging with a barely suppressed rage and his voice rising in volume and intensity. "Lady, if you don't wipe that smirk off your face right now, I swear to god I'll knock it off for you, got it?" Karofsky' shouted angrily, drawing himself up to his full height and stepping forward until he was looming over Prisoner 219 menacingly. Blaine held his breath, waiting to see how Prisoner 219 would react, ready to spring into action if needed to keep Karofsky from ripping his head off. Blaine was blown away by what came next. The prisoner simply smiled patiently, his lip curling in slight amusement before responding in a voice so filled with mock earnestness that it was practically dripping with contempt. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," Prisoner 219 replied. "Good, that's what I thought," murmured Karofsky. "That goes double for you. When I give an order, I expect you respond the same way. Got it?" Karofsky paused expectantly, obviously waiting for the other prisoners to respond in kind. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," the prisoners replied in unison after a moment's hesitation, the mohawked prisoner to Kurt's left looking practically murderous as he half-heartedly mouthed the words. "Now that's more like it, ladies. Alright, because you are filthy, no good criminals who are probably bringing all sorts of disgusting diseases into our prison, we've got no choice but to shower and delouse you. Then you'll be given your uniforms and assigned to your cells. We picked out some dresses special for you ladies since that's obviously what you're most comfortable in. Now everyone give me fifty jumping jacks while us guards decide what to do with you." The prisoners exchanged glances, wondering if the guard was serious. The blond prisoner on the end was the first to respond. He simply shrugged his shoulders and began to do half-hearted jumping jacks, with the other prisoners following suit. Karofsky motioned to Blaine and Sebastian, bringing them in for a quick conference.
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"Alright so we need to each pick our prisoners. I've got the two guys on the end. They're the biggest and the one with the stupid fucking haircut looks like trouble," Karofsky responded confidently. Sebastian looked at Blaine and Karofsky with amusement, deciding to let Blaine go next, although he was pretty sure he knew who Blaine would pick. "Blaine, you just wanted one, right. Pick your poison." "Uhh, I guess I'll take the one in the middle. Prisoner 219?" Blaine answered gratefully. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about taking care of Prisoner 219 just felt right. It would also help that he clearly had a sense of humor about the whole thing, because Blaine was feeling fairly ridiculous at the moment playing dress up in the basement with a bunch of guys on a power trip. Sebastian smiled knowingly before responding. "Of course you will, hon. Works for me, so it looks like I've got the two on the end." Sebastian leered obviously at each of them in turn before nodding appreciatively. "Sure, they'll do. The blond one's pretty hot. This could be fun." Kurt was panting hard from the exertion of fifty jumping jacks when the guards returned, motioning them to stop. The short guy with nice eyes stood in front of him, extending his hand as if to shake it and then looking embarrassed when Kurt did not respond in kind. "Hey, I'm Bl-uh-Correctional Officer Anderson. I guess that's what you're supposed to call me. Fuck, I'm no good at this. So I'm going to be the one guarding your cell, apparently." Kurt considered the guy in front of him. He was not bad looking, although his best feature (his eyes) was now hidden behind the dark mirrored sunglasses. And he was just so adorably awkward that Kurt couldn't help but feel for him. It was obvious that he hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing, which Kurt could empathize with. Maybe he could even give Anderson a few acting pointers. "Interesting," was Kurt's only response. He couldn't make things too easy for Anderson, at least at first. He was his guard, after all. "Apparently I'm not supposed to tell you my name," Kurt replied after a moment's hesitation. "Research confidentiality or some such thing. I'm 2-1-something. I forget." "Yeah, you're prisoner 219, I know. I've got a cheat sheet," Blaine responded, holding up the index card with the prisoner list from his pocket. "A cheat sheet, huh? What else does it say about me on there?" Kurt asked curiously. "Uh, that's it," Blaine finished lamely, stuffing the index card in his pocket. He ran a hand through his mussed up hair, feeling immediately off balance and ill at ease in trying to talk to Prisoner 219. "So uh, I guess we need to..." Blaine trailed off, unsure how to introduce what was supposed to come next. Because really, how do you say "Hi, perfect stranger whose name I don't even know. Please get completely naked so I can strip search you, scrub you down with some possibly toxic lice shampoo, and dress you in a smock with no underwear for no other reason than that some weird dude in a white coat is paying me to do so." Yeah, that wouldn't be weird at all. But that was the job. As Blaine ran through the wording in his head, trying to find the least awkward way to introduce what was coming next, Sebastian stepped in, leering suggestively at both Kurt and Blaine in turn. "Come on, babe, don't dawdle. We've got showers to get going and these prisoners aren't going to strip search themselves." Sebastian turned to Prisoner 219, feeling smug as he watched his mouth gape open in surprise. "Oh don't look so shocked, love," Sebastian called out. "I'm not buying the sweet little virgin act. You look like someone who'd drop the soap on purpose." And with that, Sebastian linked arms with his two prisoners and tugged them towards the showers, whistling all the way. It took Blaine several seconds to regain his composure before he could even look at Prisoner 219. "I'm really starting to fucking hate that guy," Blaine muttered under his breath. It was the first genuine smile he'd gotten from Prisoner 219 all day. "So uh, if you want to hand me your stuff, I'll put it in a locker for you. You'll get it all back after the study's over,"
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Blaine started, fighting the urge to look anywhere besides Prisoners 219's face. Karofsky and Sebastian's prisoners had already been stripped and had made their way into the communal showers, leaving only Blaine and Prisoner 219 in the changing area alone. The weird blend of intimacy and anonymity was making Blaine's head spin, causing him to feel constantly off balance, as if the ground beneath his feet was constantly shifting, making it impossible to regain his footing. Through it all, Prisoner 219 had been surprisingly blas, following Blaine's directions with little comment or discussion. Blaine couldn't imagine how awkward things must be for Prisoner 219, but somehow he'd managed to project a sense of distance, as if he was above all of it and simply observing from a safe distance. It was disconcerting. Prisoner 219 hesitated for a brief moment, causing Blaine's stomach to flip wildly. Maybe Prisoner 219 was uncomfortable after all. Things would be easier if they could find a way to commiserate over their bizarre shared experience. "Sorry, I can turn around if you want...if that would be easier," Blaine finished lamely, looking at his feet. "No, it's not that. I just don't want my coat to get messed up. It's vintage. I don't think there's any getting around the whole nakedness thing." Blaine couldn't help his sheepish grin. "Fair enough. Here, give your coat to me and I'll hang it up so it doesn't get messed up, okay?" Kurt reluctantly handed over his coat, removing the last barrier between himself and Blaine. He focused on breathing deeply, trying to transport himself somewhere else. It wasn't Kurt standing in front of this complete stranger; it was Prisoner 219. "Umm okay, so it's uh...just through there," Blaine mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on Prisoner 219's face as he gestured towards the door to the communal showers, still feeling his cheeks flush red from second hand embarrassment. He wanted to find the right words to commiserate. He felt desperate to break the tension, but was completely at a loss. Prisoner 219 walked through the waiting doors, posture ramrod straight, resisting the urge to cover himself. Breathe. If Blaine was uncomfortable before, the scene he was greeted with as he entered the showers did little to ease his discomfort. Sebastian and Karofsky were a study in contrast. On one side of the showers, Karofsky was roughly hosing off his charges indiscriminately spraying water and soap into both his prisoners' eyes. Prisoner 474's head hung in resignation, completely submitted to the abuses. However, Prisoner 378 looked ready to strike back as he actively shouted obscenities at Karofsky. As Blaine got closer, he could hear that Karofsky was also muttering furiously, slinging crude insults at both prisoners. On the other side of the communal showers, Sebastian ogled his prisoners, massaging the shoulders and scalp of Prisoner 137 while Prisoner 138 looked on uncomfortably. Both Sebastian and Karofsky seemed fully committed to their roles as guards and seemed to be enjoying their authority, albeit for very different reasons. Blaine looked back to Prisoner 219, horrified at the spectacle before them. He felt a wash of relief as he saw his own horror mirrored back in Prisoner 219's eyes. "What the fuck?" he muttered softly under his breath, still loud enough for Prisoner 219 to hear. "No fucking clue," Kurt replied, a snort of helpless laughter escaping his lips because really? It was either laugh or cry at this point. He locked eyes with Correctional Officer Anderson, and a moment of shared understanding passed between them. But as quickly as the moment came, it faded away, and suddenly their dynamic shifted. "He's not your friend," Kurt admonished himself silently. Kurt was here to play a role. And even if Anderson seemed nicer than the other guards (which wasn't difficult considering what assholes the other two guards appeared to be), he was ultimately still the enemy. Blaine, also feeling the sudden shift in mood, became serious once again. He walked to an empty shower head, turning it on and testing the water temperature until it was warm but not hot. He motioned for Prisoner 219 to join him.
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Kurt reluctantly walked towards toward the flowing water. Anderson extended a hand, leading him underneath the tap and directing the spray. "Is that okay?" he asked softly. "Too hot?" Kurt shook his head, his eyes now staring resolutely at the floor to avoid the light hazel eyes than seemed to bore into his. He could feel Correctional Officer Anderson still studying him. Finally when he could stand it no longer, he let his eyes flicker up to Anderson's. "It's fine...it's good," he reassured, feeling something twist in his stomach at the shy smile he received in return. "Lean back," Blaine directed, pulling a bottle of shampoo from a small bucket on the floor. Prisoner 219 titled his head back obediently, his eyes closing as he let the warm water dampen his hair. After a second, he felt a tentative hand reach up, brushing his hair back off his forehead, fingers running through the strands until it was thoroughly wet. Blaine poured shampoo into the palm of his hand before massaging it gently into Prisoner 219's scalp. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to keep the suds from running into his sensitive eyes. But Anderson somehow read his mind and before Kurt had time to react, Anderson had cupped his free hand against Kurt's forehead, shielding his eyes as he rinsed out the shampoo. The whole experience was strangely intimate and charged with a meaning that Kurt couldn't quite identify, leaving him feeling protected and exposed in equal measure. As Anderson continued gently washing and conditioning Kurt's hair, Kurt felt the room narrow until all he sensed was the heat of the steam surrounding them, his slightly unsteady breath, and Anderson's hands, gentle and tentative. Both Blaine and Kurt were pulled back to the reality of their present circumstances by Sebastian, the always gleeful bearer of bad news. "I think he's clean enough, Anderson. Get a move on. Sooner you delouse and strip search him, the sooner the real fun can begin." Blaine flinched visibly at Sebastian's words and the reminder of the indignities Prisoner 219 was still to face, at his hands no less. Blaine's hands shook slightly as he quickly rinsed the remaining conditioner from Kurt's hair, failing once again to find the right words to communicate his discomfort with what he was being asked to do. Kurt tensed beneath Anderson's hands, feeling the harshness of the environment flood back to his senses. He'd almost lost himself for a moment there, and not to his role as Prisoner 219. It was hard to explain, but he'd felt a strange kinship with Anderson, a shared intimacy that he couldn't place or define. But Officer Smythe's words had brought him crashing back to reality. The truth was that Kurt was being paid to do a job, no more, no less. And while Anderson seemed sweet and genuine, he was also playing a role. He was Correctional Officer Anderson and Kurt was Prisoner 219. Kurt found himself longing to have his wardrobe back, and not just to feel less physically exposed. Kurt had always worn his clothing like armor, using his clothing to communicate who he was. He felt protected in his Prisoner 219 attire as it gave him a tangible reminder of the role he was playing. Already, Kurt felt his disguise slipping and he was almost more frightened of the emotional nakedness and vulnerability than he was of being physically exposed. "Catch, Anderson," Karofsky shouted suddenly, tossing a spray bottle towards him. Blaine managed to catch it at the last second, holding the bottle up to the light to read the label "Rid X Delouse Spray." Beneath the label, Blaine saw a warning in red print. "Spray should be tested on a small area of skin before use to ensure that it does not cause an allergic reaction. Do not spray directly into eyes or mucous membranes." Blaine turned back to Karofsky, intending to ask him how to use it. But he saw that both of Dave's prisoners were rubbing at their reddened eyes and decided that he was clearly not the right person to ask. Blaine turned back to Prisoner 219 who was again staring resolutely at the floor. Blaine chewed on the inside of his lip as he tried (and failed) to catch Prisoner 219's eyes. "Umm hey, so I've got to spray you down with this stuff. It's for licenot that I think you're dirty or anythingI just, umm, I'll be quick and" Blaine stuttered, his face hot with embarrassment. "Dude, stop pussyfooting around and do it already, or I'm going to do it for you," Karofsky shouted impatiently. "This isn't a fucking day spa, it's a prison. You want me to strip search him?" Karofsky asked. Blaine felt Prisoner 219's entire body stiffen at Karofsky's words. Blaine wanted so badly to be anywhere but here, hating what he was being asked to do with every fiber of his being, but he felt an equally strong desire to do what he
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could to protect his prisoner. If his presence kept Karofsky or Sebastian from crossing a line, he knew he had to try. "No, I got it. Go ahead and get your prisoners dressed. I'll be out in one minute, okay?" Blaine responded quickly. Karofsky rolled his eyes at Blaine, before turning back to Sebastian. "Make sure he does his fucking job, will you? And stop feeling up your prisoners, dude. You're creeping everyone else out." Blaine let out a breath of relief and sensed Prisoner 219 doing the same. He began to talk softly, his words loud enough for Prisoner 219 to hear, but not loud enough to carry over to Sebastian. "Okay sorry, I'm going to spray this stuff, okay? Let me know if it stings and I'll stop, okay? Umm, you should probably close your eyes too. You don't want this stuff getting in your eyes." Prisoner 219 was back to his tense and ramrod straight posture, studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially Anderson. He reluctantly closed his eyes as directed and after a moment's hesitation, Blaine placed his hand over Prisoner 219's eyes for good measure, wanting to ensure he didn't inadvertently blind him with the quite possibly toxic substance. Prisoner 219 visibly flinched at Blaine's unexpected touch, causing Blaine to resume chewing on the inside of his lip nervously. He couldn't help but feel like he was doing everything wrong. "Sorry, sorryI just want to make sure this doesn't get in your eyes, alright? Umm, I'm going to spray it on your back first, okay? Might be a little cold. Tell me if it burns and I'll stop." Blaine held the can the recommended 12 inches from his prisoner's skin and began to spray it quickly across the exposed flesh. Prisoner 219 winced slightly at the shock of the cold spray, his skin prickling with goose bumps from the chill. Blaine realized that he'd been holding his breath, waiting for some sort of reaction or response from Prisoner 219, but none came. "Hey, you okay?" Blaine asked tentatively, getting only the slightest nod in reply. "Okay, can you turn around now? I need to spray the rest of you." Blaine removed his hand from Prisoner 219's eyes as Prisoner 219 pivoted to face him. His eyes fluttered closed again almost immediately. "Here," Blaine said, gently tipping Prisoner 219's chin up before covering his eyes protectively once more. "Almost done," he reassured and quickly sprayed the remainder of Prisoner 219's body. Finally, he removed his hand from Prisoner 219's face, gazing at him for a moment, trying to convey everything he couldn't communicate with words with a glance. Mostly, his eyes were pleading and apologetic, already embarrassed by what he needed to do next. Blaine stood motionless for several seconds, while his instincts warred against what he knew he had to do. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't do this. Not to this perfectly nice guy who's done nothing wrong. But if I refuse, I'm sure I'll get kicked out of the study. And then what? Back to sleeping on friends' couches? And how am I going to come up with the money for rent or food? Shit, it's just a study. An experiment. I'm playing a role. So are the prisoners. It's not like any of this was my idea. And is Prisoner 219 really going to have things an easier if I leave? Sebastian and Karofsky would eat him alive. He'll be safer if I stay. I can do this. Deep breath. Just a role. It's not really me. " Blaine forced himself to start talking before he lost his nerve, for once grateful that Prisoner 219 was avoiding his gaze. He stumbled over his words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible. "Um 219, regulations require that you, uh...bend over. I have to search for contraband. Not that I think you have any, but...I have to or I'll get in trouble. So just, bend over, and I'll try to make this fast. I'll just...uh" Kurt interrupted Officer Anderson, unable to stand his awkward narration for one more second. "Could you...just not talk? Or not narrate at least? I know you're trying to be nice, but it's not helping. It's just making things more awkward." Blaine's face stung with embarrassment and guilt in equal measure. He found himself praying that the earth would simply swallow him up. "Yeah...sorry," he finally replied. "Fuck, I'm no good at this." Prisoner 219 let out an involuntary snort of helpless laughter. "Is anyone? It's not exactly something that most people have much practice with, you know?" "You raise a good point. I have to admit I am not prepared for what I've gotten myself into. This is a pretty fucked up experiment so far," Blaine admitted, feeling more at ease now that the giant elephant in the room had at least been acknowledged. "All done by the way," he continued with relief. "Or sorry, is that still considered narrating?"
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"It's fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to be a jerk earlier. I know you're just doing what you're told," Prisoner 219 reassured Officer Anderson. "No, I get it. You weren't a jerk. It's just a weird scenario all around. Anyways, why don't we get out of here? You've got to be freezing." Prisoner 219 nodded and allowed himself to be led from the showers and back into the changing area. "About fucking time," Karofsky practically growled at Blaine as he tossed him a faded gray smock with the number 219 written across the chest in permanent marker. "Hurry up and get him dressed so we can do the rules." Prisoner 219 wordlessly took the smock from Blaine, sliding it over his own head before Blaine had a chance to help him. He was then handed a stocking cap (which he put on as carefully as possible to avoid messing up his hair), and a heavy chain was fastened around his ankle. Prisoner 219 looked back to Blaine expectantly, obviously waiting for something. After a moment of silence, Prisoner 219 spoke up. "Well, where the rest of it?" he asked. The grey smock closely resembled a hospital gown, simply a shapeless tunic that only covered the prisoners to mid-thigh. The thin cotton fabric did little to ward off the chill in the damp basement air. "That's it. That's all you get. What, you don't like your dress, lady? It seems like a perfect outfit for you in my opinion," Karofsky sneered, relishing the opportunity to humiliate the prisoners. "Alright ladies, it's time to line up," Karofsky continued, elbowing his two prisoners until they moved into position, standing shoulder to shoulder, their backs to the wall as they faced the guards. "Time for the rules. Even think about breaking one of them and we'll make your life a living hell, got it?" "Rule number 1: As far as I'm concerned you lowlifes aren't people. You don't have names anymore. You're just a number to us. You will answer to your prisoner number at all times. If any guard speaks to you, you will automatically answer with 'Yes sir, Correctional Officer,' you got it?" Karofsky glared at the prisoners expectantly, pacing back and forth in front of the line as he did so. Several prisoners simply nodded their heads, oblivious, until Prisoner 474 finally called out "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky." The remaining prisoners quickly echoed his reply, and at last Karofsky nodded, momentarily appeased. "That's what I thought," Karofsky spat. "Rule number 2: Prisoners must obey all orders issued by guards at all times. You will do what you are told, when you are told. No exceptions. Got it?" "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," the prisoners chimed in unison. "My turn," Sebastian cooed. "Rule number 3: Prisoners will be assigned to cells. You will not leave your cell without permission. You are not allowed in the guard room, bathroom, or dining hall without a guard escort. Anyone caught out of his cell without permission will be sent to the hole for solitary confinement." "Now what to do you have to say to me?" Sebastian asked. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Smythe," the prisoners once again echoed as one. "Ooh, this is quite fun," Sebastian exclaimed. "I could get used to making all of you my bitches." Karofsky shot Sebastian a look of disgust before continuing to read down the list as he paced back and forth in front of the assembled prisoners. "Rule number 4: Prisoners will be given three meals a day. You are required to finish every scrap of food on your meal plan. If you refuse to eat something, we will make you eat it. Rule number 5: You will be in charge of keeping your cells and living areas clean. Beds must always be made and you will scrub the toilets with your bare hands if I say so. Got it?" "And last but not least, rule number 6: you will immediately stand when a guard enters the room or cell. If a guard tells you to line-up, you will immediately get into formation and be asked to count off your prison number. If you take too long to respond or mess up the count, you'll be thrown in solitary confinement. Got it?"
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"Yes sir, Mr. Correctional Officer Karofsky," the prisoners droned in unison. "Good, now count off ladies," Karofsky directed. "Prisoner 137?" "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," prisoner 137 responded in turn. "138?" Sebastian called next. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Smythe." "Prisoner 219?" called Karofsky. But Prisoner 219's thoughts were on other things and he took a half second too long to reply in Karofsky's eyes. "Hey, I'm talking to you, fag. Drop and give me twenty push ups, you piece of shit." Blaine winced visibly of the harshness of Karofsky's tone, feeling guilty as he watched Prisoner 219 stiffen at the word fag, his face flushing hot with anger. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," Kurt echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He quickly dropped to the ground, performing twenty push ups in rapid succession before stepping back into the line up. Sebastian finished the count, calling out Prisoner 378 and 474 in turn. He then said, "Alright prisoners, time to put you in your cells. Lights out in five minutes." The group quickly dispersed, giving Blaine a rare quiet moment alone with Prisoner 219. He could see how on edge he still was, presumably from Karofsky's harsh words. "Hey, are you...? I'm so sorry. He shouldn't have... I'll talk to him or..." Blaine blurted out, trying to find the right way to address what had just happened. But Prisoner 219 seemed to shut down before Blaine's very eyes, any earlier traces of vulnerability or camaraderie now long buried. "Can you not...just...? Please stop being nice to me. I can't...I just..." Prisoner 219 trailed off, drawing a shaky breath to steady himself before continuing. "Look, I'm sure you are a perfectly nice and decent guy in real life, but I just can't... When you are nice to me, it's so much harder to..." Prisoner 219 trailed off, swallowing hard against the growing lump in his throat. Officer Anderson was silent for so long, Kurt was sure he wasn't going to respond at all when he finally asked, "Harder to what?" Kurt sighed heavily. "Harder to be Prisoner 219. Harder to not be me." Anderson let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a dark laugh and sob. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I get that." Both prisoner and guard were silent for several seconds before Kurt was wordlessly led to his cell, the only single in the room. As soon as he stepped through the door, it was shut ominously behind him, leaving Kurt alone with his thoughts. "One day down," Kurt thought, as the lights turned off. "As long as I stay focused on my character, maybe it won't be too bad." He settled under the thin blanket on the bed, exhausted from the efforts of the day, and quickly fell into a restless sleep.
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Conformity: The tendency for people to adopt the behaviors, attitudes, and values of other members of a reference group. Kurt was jolted awake by a sharp bleat that was sounding over and over again. In his half-conscious state, his first thought was that Rachel had managed to set off the fire alarm with her horrible cooking yet again. But as he rolled over, shivering as he pulled up the thin scratchy wool blanket that did little to block out the dank chill of his current environment, the events of the previous day came rushing back to him. Almost immediately, any residual sleepiness was gone as Kurt sat up in bed and got quickly to his feet, wincing at the indentation the heavy chain had made in his right ankle as he slept, his whole foot stinging with pins and needles as it slowly woke up. Kurt blinked rapidly as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, confirming that he was still in his prison cell alone. But across the hall, he could hear the other correctional officers shouting and shaking their prisoners awake, blowing whistles and shouting numbers and curse words in an endless stream. Bleary eyed and disoriented much like Kurt, the prisoners slowly woke and rose to their feet, following the correctional officers out into the hallway where they had done their first line up the night before. Kurt heard one of the correctional officers call his number, 219. Karofsky? Smythe? He couldn't be sure, but he knew immediately that the harsh bark did not belong to Anderson. All he knew was that when he didn't answer immediately, the yelling shifted to Correctional Officer Anderson. Seconds later, Anderson was at the door of Kurt's cell, swiftly unlocking it, all the while muttering apologies under his breath. "Oh good, you're up," Blaine started awkwardly, half asleep himself and surprised to see Prisoner 219 standing at attention. "I don't think anyone could sleep through that racket," Kurt replied mildly, looking on in amusement as Correctional Officer Anderson quickly tucked the slightly too big khaki shirt into his uniform pants before attempting to smooth down his obvious bed head, the curls springing back into disarray the second his hands left his hair. "Yeah sorry, it's really late. Or early I guess. Depending on your perspective," Correctional Officer Anderson replied, failing to stifle a yawn. "What time is it?" Kurt asked curiously. Blaine's face blanched white at the question. "Umm, I'm not supposed to tell you. That's why there aren't any clocks or windows in here." He looked at Prisoner 219 apologetically, seeming as if he wanted to say more before he glanced back at the other correctional officers and prisoners assembled in the hall. "Anderson, get a fucking move on. Cuff him and get him out here," Correctional Officer Karofsky shouted impatiently, tossing a pair of metal handcuffs that Anderson barely caught. "Sorry," Anderson said again, as he stepped between Kurt and the bed, reaching for him wrists. "Just have to do this for one second," he continued, narrating his movements. "House rules and all." He carefully fingered the red welts that ringed Kurt's wrists from where the handcuffs had cut into his skin the day before. "Ouch," he whispered, wincing slightly as his fingers lightly grazed the reddened skin. "Who put them on that tight? I'll be sure they're a lot looser this time, okay?" Kurt stood rigid and silent, falling back into his role as a sullen prisoner. It had felt like only hours ago that he'd asked, more like begged actually, for Anderson to stop being nice to him. And yet here was Correctional Officer Anderson, apologizing for waking him and gently cradling his wrists in his hands. But as Kurt was forcing himself to remember, those were also the same hands that had strip searched him the night before and were about to handcuff him and lead him into god knows what kind of melee. It was confusing and disorienting. For a moment, Kurt found himself wishing for a different guard whose cruelty was routine and predictable. This whole thing would be easier if he could simply hate his guard, but Kurt was quickly learning that Anderson made it difficult for anyone to hate him.
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Blaine gently latched one of the handcuffs around Prisoner 219's wrist, making sure to leave it on the widest setting to prevent further chafing of what looked to be very sore wrists. He took Prisoner 219's right hand in his in order to place the second cuff, wincing at the feel of Prisoner 219's ice cold hand. "Geez, your hands are freezing," he remarked. "Are you cold?" Kurt weighed Anderson's question carefully in his mind before responding. The truth was that he was incredibly, bone-chillingly cold. The thin smock uniform didn't help nor did his bare feet on the concrete floors. But as a guard, wasn't Anderson at least partially to blame for his discomfort? Plus, Kurt was trying to do everything he could to discourage Anderson from wanting to protect or take care of him because he didn't need or want that. The truth was that Kurt thrived on being self-sufficient. It was part of the reason he'd chosen to take this job instead of asking his dad for the money or working his garage. And while Kurt had been assigned to be a prisoner in this stupid study, he absolutely refused to be the victim. It was something with which he'd had much too much experience in high school thanks to years of bullying. More importantly, it was a part of himself that Kurt was absolutely determined to keep in the past. "A bit but isn't that the point of these lovely prisoner uniforms? To make us miserable?" Prisoner 219 spit back after a moment's pause, his words coming out slightly harsher than he'd intended. "I wouldn't know. This isn't exactly my idea of a good time either, you know," Correctional Officer Anderson responded, his voice soft, but obviously wounded. He silently clicked the second handcuff into place but couldn't help but linger for a moment with his hand over Prisoner 219's, trying to rub a little warmth into his icy hands. He was trying not to take Prisoner 219's sudden shifts in mood personally, but it was hard. Blaine knew that a lot was being asked of Prisoner 219. In less than 24 hours, he'd been stripped, deloused, insulted, and threatened. Several of those things had been at Blaine's hands, no less. And while Blaine wanted Prisoner 219 to feel safe, he wasn't sure that was something he could promise him. All he knew was that he would try to do whatever he could, within reason, to keep the worst of what Karofsky and Sebastian had to offer away from Prisoner 219. But first, Prisoner 219 needed to trust him. He needed to know that Blaine truly was on his side and didn't want to hurt him. However, seeing how quickly Prisoner 219 had shut down the night before, Blaine had a feeling that wasn't going to be an easy task. "About fucking time," Karofsky spat out as Blaine and Prisoner 219 emerged from his cell to join the other prisoners. "Uncuff him and get him in line. Time for the count off." Blaine quickly undid Prisoner 219's cuffs, giving his prisoner's hand what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze as he released him. Prisoner 219 pretended not to notice and wordlessly took a spot against the wall next to the scowling mohawked prisoner. Karofsky had obviously been raring to go for minutes and Blaine watched uneasily as Dave's eyes narrowed and gleamed darkly as Prisoner 219 made his way to the end of the line. "Lady, didn't they teach you to count at whatever homo school you went to?" Karofsky mocked cruelly. Blaine watched in horror as Prisoner 219 slouched against the cinderblock wall, taking his time in acknowledging Karofsky which only served to infuriate him more. Finally, Prisoner 219 made direct eye contact with Karofsky, holding his gaze defiantly for several seconds before speaking. "Sorry, were you talking to me?" he asked disinterestedly. "Of course I'm talking to you, you fucking fag. Do you see any other ladies here?" Karofsky shouted back, his face turning nearly purple with rage as he stepped towards Prisoner 219 menacingly. Blaine's stomach dropped at that word again. Fag. Prisoner 219's face remained impassive, but just as he had the night before, Blaine noticed how Prisoner 219 recoiled slightly at that word. It was clear that the word had some personal significance for Prisoner 219. Without thinking, Blaine took a step forward, wanting to put himself between Karofsky and Prisoner 219 before the situation could escalate further. Sebastian, who had been watching the whole situation unfold with detached amusement, saw Blaine step forward as if to insert himself into the middle of the confrontation. "Bad idea, love," he scolded, placing a restraining hand on
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Blaine's elbow. "He's a big boy, let him handle it." Blaine shrugged off Sebastian's hand, but by the time he'd pulled away from Sebastian's grasp, Prisoner 219 was speaking to Karofsky again, his voice dripping with disdain. "I don't see any ladies here, actually. Just a bunch of boys playing dress up, yourself included. And I guarantee that the meathead academy for lumbering jocks that you attended wasn't exactly the height of scholastic achievement either. But it's much too early to be arguing semantics, especially when I haven't had my coffee yet, so why don't you just tell me what it is you want me to do and we can all get this show on the road," Kurt responded with as much snark as he could manage given the early hour and his creeping exhaustion. God, that felt good. It felt like such a relief to stand up for himself. And while he was sure that his lines would have carried more heft had he been wearing his leather prisoner costume, Kurt couldn't help but feel as if he'd nailed the part of rebellious prisoner nonetheless. Kurt watched as Karofsky stalked over to stand directly in front of him, his eyes dark with fury. He drew up to his full height, his hands balled up into tight fists, looking ready to strike at any second. But Kurt refused to be intimidated, forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly as he stood his ground, meeting Karofsky's glare with a steady gaze. Blaine felt his mouth drop open in shock as Prisoner 219 verbally dressed down Karofsky, barely blinking at the rage that was pouring off Karofsky in waves. His stomach sank as he watched Karofsky move until he was but inches away from Prisoner 219, towering over him threateningly, looking ready to lash out at any moment. Oh god, he's really going to hit Prisoner 219, isn't he? Shit, shit, shit! Blaine glanced towards the surveillance camera pleadingly, hoping Dr. Cohen would intervene as promised to keep Karofsky from breaking the rules. But Blaine was dumbfounded when it was Sebastian who approached Karofsky instead, carrying on a hushed conference and gesturing towards Prisoner 219 and then the other prisoners in turn. Blaine held his breath, hoping and praying that Sebastian's words weren't meant to add more fuel to the fire. Blaine was beyond relieved to see Karofsky nod reluctantly after a brief exchange with Sebastian, taking a step backwards and dropping his fists to his side while still continuing to glower at Prisoner 219. Sebastian smirked at Prisoner 219, his expression cruel and mocking. "So princess, as I was just reminding my good friend here, as much as a black eye and broken nose would be a vast improvement over your current look, he really shouldn't bother beating you up when there are so many better ways to make you suffer. And not just you, your highness, but everyone. Let this be a lesson to all of you ladies. If one of you fucks up, all of you will pay for it. So you better get your fellow prisoners in line. And since your darling little princess here couldn't be bothered to follow a few simple directions, it looks like everyone needs a refresher course. Drop and give me fifty push-ups. All of you. I want to hear you count off your numbers too. If one of you forgets to call your number on count or gives me a sissy push-up, the count will start all over again. For everyone. Got it?" Prisoner 474 was the first to respond to the new directions, wanting to do whatever he could to get through this horrendous experience as quickly and as painlessly as possible. So he called out "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Smythe," shooting a pleading look to Prisoners 137 and 138 who quickly echoed what he said. Slowly, the remaining prisoners all dropped to the floor and began doing pushups. "That's more like it, fairies," Karofsky shouted, regaining his composure as he began to pace back and forth in front of the grunting, sweating prisoners. "Now let's see if you idiots can get this right for once. Count off," he spit, turning to Sebastian. "Prisoner 137?" Sebastian shouted, standing over his small, dark haired prisoner who was dripping sweat as he forced his body up and down in quick succession, stealing a glance at the petite bleached blond prisoner to his left every so often, ensuring that he was keeping pace with the other prisoners. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Smythe," Prisoner 137 called out breathlessly. "Prisoner 138?" Sebastian called, obviously leering as he watched his prisoners bob up and down, the short cotton smocks leaving little to the imagination. "Yes sir...uh...Officer Smythe," Prisoner 138 gasped between push-ups, his arms already shaking as he struggled to keep up with the other prisoners.
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"Not quite, love. That's Correctional Officer Smythe to you. Thank god you're pretty or I don't know what I'd do with you. But you just keep doing exactly what you are doing and I think we'll get along brilliantly," Sebastian purred, obviously ogling Prisoner 138's legs and ass as his smock rode up. Prisoner 138 blushed from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, trying to pull his smock down with one hand between pushups. He shot Prisoner 137 a pleading look, unsure how to respond to Correctional Officer Smythe's increasingly predatory advances without getting himself or all of the prisoners in more trouble. Prisoner 138 shook his head slowly, discouraging his cellmate from responding to Correctional Officer Smythe at all, as his previous protestations had only seemed to encourage his bad behavior. Sorry, he mouthed helplessly. It'll be okay. A less than subtle nudge to the ribs awakened Blaine from his horrified stupor. He glanced down at Prisoner 219 to see that he was beginning to show signs of fatigue like the other prisoners from the seemingly endless sequence of push-ups. But unlike the other prisoners, it was clear that Prisoner 219 was unwilling to let the guards see him sweat, literally or figuratively, forcing his breaths to come out slow and regular despite his obvious exertion while carefully arranging his expression into one of casual indifference. Blaine felt an irrational surge of pride at his prisoner's behavior. Prisoner 219 was obviously stronger than anyone was giving him credit for, Blaine included. And while a large part of Blaine hoped that Prisoner 219 would passively follow his orders without protest like Prisoner 474, there was another part of him who wanted Prisoner 219 to continue to rebel against Karofsky and Sebastian's humiliating and sadistic orders. He just didn't want Prisoner 219 to get hurt in the process. "Oh sorry, umm Prisoner 219?" Blaine called awkwardly, looking apologetic. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Anderson," Prisoner 219 replied with the same slightly mocking, irritated tone he'd used earlier in response to the other guards. He couldn't help but notice that Anderson looked slightly affronted at his reply, correctly sensing that he was being treated like the other two guards. Because that's what he was to Kurt. He wasn't Kurt's friend or protector. He was a guard, no different than the others. And Kurt needed to keep that distinction clear in his mind if he was going to make it through the next two weeks. Blaine tried to keep his face impassive as he turned to Karofsky, waiting for him to continue the count. But the truth was that Prisoner 219's annoyance had wounded him slightly. He understood why Prisoner 219 was keeping him at arm's length, but that didn't mean that it didn't still bother him. "Prisoner 378?" Karofsky barked out, his eyes roaming over his prisoners, looking for any small mistake that he could jump on. Prisoner 378 was completing the push-ups easily, seeming less fatigued by the exercises. Still, he paused for a second, obviously mulling something over in his mind before choking out "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," between gritted teeth. "Prisoner 474?" Karofsky continued. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," Prisoner 474 answered immediately, his voice flat but cooperative as he continued to complete push-ups on shaking arms. "About fucking time you little girls got it right," Karofsky spat out angrily. "That was the most pathetic display of strength I've ever seen. Fuck, I think kittens could probably do better push-ups than you. No wonder you're all wearing dresses. Clearly none of you have any balls." Prisoner 378 was the first to drop from his push up position. "Fuck this bullshit," he shouted angrily, climbing to his feet. He turned to Prisoner 219, extending a hand to help pull him to his feet. "Seriously all of you, just stop. I've done all the playing nice I can take for one day. Let's go back to bed." Prisoner 137 and 138 exchanged a glance. Once Prisoner 137 saw how bad Prisoner 138's arms were shaking, he shrugged his shoulders and dropped to a sitting position, smiling encouragingly as Prisoner 138 collapsed exhaustedly in a heap on the floor. "And who the fuck said any of you were done? Remember you don't do anything without a direct order from a guard first, got it?" Karofsky shouted, standing nearly nose to nose with Prisoner 378. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want, when I want to, asshole," Prisoner 378 spat, refusing to back down. "And if you've
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got a problem with that, I'd like to see you make me stop. Come on, chubs. Show me how you are going to stop me." Next to Prisoner 378, Kurt watched, wide-eyed. He wasn't sure if he was horrified or impressed. All he knew was that Correctional Officer Karofsky was enraged. Kurt watched silently as Karofsky strode in front of Prisoner 378, moving steadily forward until his face was mere inches from Prisoner 378's. Kurt couldn't help but think that if this were a bad porn movie, this would be the moment that Karofsky and his prisoner would kiss out of nowhere. To be honest, between the tacky uniforms, handcuffs, and shower situation, this whole study felt a little like something out of B-movie porn. And maybe that was Dr. Cohen's plan along, Kurt thought with a snicker. He did say something about filming everything, after all. Before Kurt had time to flinch or react, suddenly Karofsky's fist slammed into the wall, mere inches from Kurt's head. Across the room, Anderson jumped, immediately rushing to where Karofsky had Prisoners 219 and 378 pinned against the wall. Officer Smythe rolled his eyes before following after Anderson reluctantly. "I don't know what you think is so funny, fag, but I do know that if there is one more peep out of you..." Karofsky spit, his eyes dark with rage. He turned to address Prisoner 378 who had put a protective arm on Prisoner 219's shoulder, angling his body so that he was placed between Karofsky and Prisoner 219. "If there is one more word out of either of you, I will wipe those fucking smirks off your face so hard that you'll be eating through a straw for the next six months." "You leave my boy out of this," Prisoner 378 protested. "This is between you and me, Fatty. He's got nothing to do with this." Officer Karofsky's face flushed crimson at the insult and without thinking, he raised his arm as if to strike the insolent Prisoner 378. But fortunately for the assembled prisoners, Officers Anderson and Smythe had reached Karofsky by this point. Blaine reached for Karofsky's arm, restraining him while Sebastian stepped forward, holding his hands in front of him signaling Karofsky to calm down. Karofsky shrugged off Anderson's hand angrily, glaring at Smythe with disgust. "What?" he spat in frustration. "What else do you expect me to do?" "I get it, I get it," Sebastian soothed. "But what? You get one good punch in and then Dr. Cohen's in here and both of you are out of the study. Is it really worth it? Remember what I said earlier. There are much better ways to make them pay. We're barely warming up. Just throw his ass in the hole and let's hold a quick conference. Trust me; I have tons of ideas about how we can torture them." Blaine shivered at the hint of menace in Sebastian's voice and the gleam in his eyes. He did not like the sound of that or what it implied was to come. Karofsky was still furious when the guards sat down to strategize over breakfast half an hour later. It probably didn't help that Prisoner 378 had continued with a steady stream of profanity and insults as Karofsky and Sebastian manhandled him into the dark closet currently standing in for solitary confinement that Karofsky had inexplicably insisted that they call "The Hole." "Okay, so what's your grand plan, Sebastian?" Karofsky asked. "We've got to get these prisoners in shape. They're trying to take advantage of us. We need to show them who's boss here and now or the next two weeks are going to be a disaster. I think we should start by shaving the stupid fucking rat tail off Prisoner 378's head. Let's see how tough he is without his precious mohawk." "Uh guys, I'm pretty sure we can't do that. Wouldn't that fall under the category of physical punishment? Besides, I didn't think the prisoners were that bad. They did their count and they all did about a million push-ups when you told them to, Karofsky. Besides, it's only the first day. Give them some time to settle in," Blaine protested mildly, picking at the toast and scrambled eggs on his plate and avoiding eye contact with the other guards. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Karofsky practically shouted at Blaine. "Oh sure, let's just give them some time to settle in," he continued in a mocking tone. "Like I said before, Anderson, this isn't a day spa. It's a prison." He turned to Sebastian, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Can you talk some sense into him please?"
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Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Yes love, you are being a little blinded by your obsession with Prisoner 219. Don't think I haven't noticed. You are letting him get away with absolute murder too. He totally sees through you and he's taking advantage of the situation. And I hate to be the one to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but I'm pretty sure he's not interested either. Time to move on, I think. I'd be happy to share my prisoners with you. The blonde's all mine, but I'll let you have to brunette if you want to play." Blaine's jaw dropped in shock, his face flushing slightly as Sebastian brought up his "obsession" with Prisoner 219. He took a deep breath before letting loose with a tirade of frustrations. "Okay dude, I don't know what you are talking about, but I'm not interested in it. Any of it. And yeah, I'm treating Prisoner 219 like a human being, because news flash...he is. All the prisoners are. I think you're forgetting that they volunteered for the study, just like us. We could have been assigned to be prisoners just as easily as we were to be guards. It's a fucking study, for Christ's sake." "Fine honey, you want to play it that way? Let's play it that way then," Sebastian stated firmly, all traces of previous flirtation and amusement gone from his eyes. "Here's the deal. Majority rules. Just like before. And Karofsky and I are saying that you've been slacking on the guard duty. We may not be able to hit the prisoners but there are plenty of creative ways that we can keep order. And we expect you to back us up and share the workload, unless you want us telling Dr. Cohen that you haven't been following the rules and that he should kick you out, got it?" Blaine swallowed hard. He wanted so badly to stand up for himself and for the prisoners. But the reality of the situation was that Blaine would lose both his temporary home and any chance at being able to find a new one. He was stuck. So instead he found himself rationalizing what he was being asked to do for probably the hundredth time since the study began. It's just a study. I'm only doing what's asked of me. I'm not going to really hurt anyone. Besides, they volunteered for this, just like me. With a sigh, Blaine looked to Sebastian and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, got it." "Good," Sebastian replied with a satisfied nod. "Sorry to get so tough on you, darling. Like I told you before, I prefer being on top. But I don't mind a bit of spanking now and then if someone's been really, really naughty," he finished, the flirtatious lilt now restored to his voice as he gave Blaine a knowing grin. "Great, I'll file that under things I absolutely, positively do NOT need to know," Blaine muttered under his breath, his patience gone. "Agreed," said Karofsky gruffly. "Let's get back to the issue at hand. How are we going to punish the prisoners from now on? What are we going to do to keep them in line?" Sebastian smiled knowingly. "I've got lots of ideas, but why don't we let the new and improved Officer Anderson go first. Blaine, show us that you're with us on this. What can we do to get the prisoners in line?" "Uhh...I don't...I really don't think I'm the best person to..." he stuttered, looking back to Sebastian. But Sebastian just grinned patiently, clearly waiting for Blaine to say something. "Okay...I...uhh...I guess we could make them do more push-ups like before. That seemed to work. It's harder for them to act out if they are tired, I guess. Right?" He looked to Sebastian expectantly, hoping that would be enough. "Mhhm, but that's not exactly a new idea, babe. What else?" Sebastian prompted. "Well...more stuff like that, I guess. Sit ups? Running laps or something? Physical labor? We can make them clean stuff too. Their bunks. The dining room. That kind of thing?" Blaine rambled. Karofsky nodded seriously, clearly mulling the various punishments over. "That's a start, but it's not good enough. We need something more if we're going to keep guys like Prisoner 378 in line for two weeks. Sebastian, I want to hear your brilliant plan now." Sebastian lips curled into a slightly demented looking grin. "Well, haven't your parents or teachers always told you 'words can hurt just as much as fists'? That's the plan. We find out what each of them is most insecure about and then we exploit those weaknesses. Everyone's got a secret or a trigger. It's all about finding the right buttons to push.
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That's step one. Each of us should spend the rest of the day listening in on our prisoners. Find out who they are. More importantly, find out what they don't want us to know. Find their weaknesses. That's step one." Blaine's mouth was open wide with shock. He was almost afraid to ask, but he was hoping that the things he was currently imagining were worse than the reality. "What's step two?" he asked haltingly. "Step two is to use what we know to humiliate them publically. Embarrass them. Make them wish they were never born. Make sure that they know if they step out of line once, we will make them pay. We own them. It's that simple." Blaine turned to Karofsky, irrationally hoping that he wouldn't take the bait. But his hopes were dashed when he saw Karofsky eating up Sebastian's words, nodding in eager agreement. He was trying to find the best way to object to Sebastian's plan without getting himself kicked out of the study by Sebastian and Dave when Sebastian spoke up again. "Oh and Blaine?" Sebastian called casually. "It's your turn to show us that you can be a good guard. We need to know that you've got our backs and can handle the prisoners. That means you're going to be in charge of the next count. Prove to us you're on our side. And until then, we all know what we should be doing. Eavesdrop on your prisoners and figure out their weaknesses. Then tonight, we make them pay." Sebastian's transformation to full blown sociopath complete, Blaine couldn't help but think that Sebastian might as well have been laughing maniacally and stroking a cat. Blaine shivered although it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. Fuck, what am I going to do? "You going to finish that?" Puck asked, eyeing Kurt's picked over scrambled eggs and remaining slice of limp bacon. "Ugh...no" Kurt replied, pushing away his plate with disgust. "Have at it." "Thanks," Puck said, digging in hungrily. "You're not hungry?" "Not for food like this. Runny scrambled eggs and greasy bacon aren't really my thing," Kurt replied. "I don't think the food's all that bad," Sam chimed in. Puck and Kurt both turned to face him, surprised that the previously silent prisoner was finally speaking to them. "Really?" Kurt asked. "Yeah, I mean it's not the best thing I've ever eaten, but it's decent. And more importantly, it's free, you know?" Sam said evenly. "I guess so... To be honest, I'm more than a little worried about what the guards might have done to the food before it made it to the plate. I wouldn't put anything past Karofsky or Smythe," Kurt spoke, wrinkling his nose distastefully. "Aww dude, come on!" Puck moaned, dropping his fork to the table with a clatter as he slid Prisoner 219's plate away from him. "You could've at least waited until I finished eating to tell me the guards messed with the food." "I don't have any proof...I'm just saying. Besides, I took you as someone who would expect the worst from the guards anyways. Speaking of which, what was up with the random rebellion earlier? Yelling at Karofsky just made him go harder on you...on all of us really, didn't it?" Kurt questioned, curious. "Yeah, I agree, dude," Sam piped up. "Why are you trying to make things harder on us? Can't you just roll your eyes and do the bullshit they ask? The way I see it, as long as they aren't doing anything to actually hurt me, I'm just going to grit my teeth and try to get through it as quickly and painlessly as possible. It's worth it for the room and the board plus the money, you know?" "Look, you guys are nave if you think we can just put up and shut up and everything will just be fine and dandy. Unlike you, I actually have experience on the inside." Puck suddenly looked around worriedly, before leaning in and
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speaking in a softer voice. "Umm yeah, keep that on the down low because I didn't exactly mention it on my application. But the point is, I've been to juvie and it only gets worse from here. If they think you're going to just roll over and take it, things will get out of hand even faster. We've got to stand up for ourselves and show them who's really boss." Kurt shook his head, leaning forward, impassioned. "No, that's the thing. It's easy to get caught up in all this bullshit, but it's not real. We're all being paid to act out a part, essentially." Puck studied Kurt carefully for a few seconds before breaking into a wide grin, shaking his head as he spoke. "I like you, kid. You're totally wrong, you know, but I can tell you're a fighter. Even if you do look like a girl. Just stick with me and I'll show the ropes okay? Trust me; none of those meatheads are going to lay a hand on either of us as long as I'm here." "Line up! C'mon, everyone in line...now," Blaine shouted awkwardly, already feeling ridiculous at his halfhearted attempts to corral the prisoners. But he knew he was being watched closely by Sebastian and Dave, so he had to try. Blaine tried to imagine that he was simply playing a role, taking a deep breath to steel his nerves as he paced back and forth in front of the assembled prisoners. "Alright, count off. Do it right or I'll make you do it again," he directed, trying to ignore the eye rolls he was getting from Prisoner 219 and the snickers he could hear coming from Prisoner 378. God, this is awkward. "Right, so Prisoner 137?" Blaine called while continuing to pace back and forth in front of the line, forcing himself to stand up straight and make direct eye contact with the prisoners. Courage. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Anderson," Prisoner 137 droned, stepping forward slightly. Blaine nodded, satisfied, while he internally sighed in relief. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "Prisoner 138?" "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Anderson," Prisoner 138 replied robotically. "Prisoner 219?" Blaine called next, his cheeks burning as he looked to the floor to avoid his prisoner's piercing gaze. Prisoner 219 paused for a half second, seeming to mull something over in his mind as he considered Blaine carefully. Finally, his halfhearted reply, "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Anderson." "Umm okay," Blaine mumbled. "S-ooo, Prisoner 378?" Before Prisoner 378 had a chance to reply, Blaine felt a hand on his back. Sebastian. "Yeah...no," Sebastian scolded. "You're going to have to try a little harder than that, Officer Anderson. Besides, 219 took too long on the count. You know what that means." Blaine scrubbed a hand over his face, thinking. There really is no getting around this, is there? With a deep breath, he replied, trying to make his words sound firm and harsh. "Correctional Officer Smythe is right. You fucked up the count. And if one of you messes up, all of you have to...uhh...suffer. So drop and give me...hmm...20 push-ups?" Karofsky let out an impatient scoff. "Are you kidding me, dude? Are you asking them or are you telling them, because from here I can't. It's time to get with the program, Anderson." "Fine. Drop and give me 20 push-ups. All of you. Now," Blaine shouted mechanically, trying to dissociate himself as much as possible from what was going on. After some grumbling and exchanging of glances, the prisoners slowly dropped to the floor, Prisoner 474 leading the
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charge as usual. Once they were all in position, Prisoner 474 began to count off each push-up for the group of prisoners. Blaine watched, feel relieved and angry in equal measure. He hated himself for what he was doing. He'd been bullied himself, not a lot, but enough to know how it felt. And hadn't his father been bullying his just days earlier when he as kicked Blaine out of the house for simply trying to share his true self with his family? Blaine couldn't help but feel like a coward and a tremendous hypocrite, even if he was only forcing the prisoners to do push-ups. "18 19 20," Prisoner 474 gasped out, as he dropped back to the floor along with the rest of the prisoners. He looked to Blaine, expectant. Shit. Now what? Blaine had no idea. "On your feet now," Sebastian commanded, his voice hard. Blaine felt his heart lift with relief. Oh thank god. Now Sebastian will take over. But Blaine's relief was short-lived. Before he could react, Sebastian slid an arm around Blaine's waist, tugging him close to his body before leaning down to whisper in Blaine's ear. "You're not done yet, honey. Not by a long shot. We're just warming up. Remember the plan from earlier? It's time to insult and humiliate the prisoners and you get the honor of going first. Time to use what you learned about your prisoner to take him down a peg. And make it good. Karofsky and I are watching and you still haven't done nearly enough to prove your loyalty." Sebastian practically purred into Blaine's ear, still managing to sound threatening despite the flirtatious tone. Blaine stared at Prisoner 219, his mouth going dry and his mind blank. How could he insult someone that he'd already grown to like, respect even? What would Prisoner 219 think of him? He already seemed to resent Blaine, any trace of earlier camaraderie having disappeared in the last 24 hours. Blaine knew that he could pretty much forget about Prisoner 219 ever trusting him if he insulted and humiliated him in front of everyone. Prisoner 219 would never forgive him. And Blaine wasn't sure if he could forgive himself either. By the time Blaine had worked all of this out in his head, Karofsky and Sebastian had grown impatient, crowding around him and glaring. "We don't have all day," Karofsky growled, tapping his foot and gesturing towards Prisoner 219. "Get on with it. There's so many things you can mock about him. This should be a piece of cake." Blaine looked to Prisoner 219, his eyes burning, pleading. He tried to say everything with a glance that he couldn't say in words. I don't want to do this. I'm sorry. I don't mean it. Please don't hate me. But Prisoner 219 met his gaze steadily, his eyes a mix of curious and hard. The momentary window he'd given Blaine to the real him, or what Blaine thought was the real him, was closed, and the eyes that met him were guarded and betrayed little hint of sympathy or emotion. Blaine forced himself to study Prisoner 219, looking for any small thing he could use to insult him. Something innocuous. But what could he say? He looked Prisoner 219 up and down. The only thing that stood out was what he was wearing, what all the prisoners were wearing. It would have to do for now. "Umm yeah, nice outfit, 219. Really suits you. Do you wear things like this all the time?" Blaine blurted out. He fought the urge to snicker, hearing how ridiculous his insults sounded even to his own ears. He forced himself to look back to Prisoner 219, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. But Prisoner 219 continued to gaze back at him, his lips curling just the slightest bit as he quirked one eyebrow, as if to say "Really? Is the best you got?" Blaine could sense Sebastian's cold gaze from behind him. He knew he was failing, that he had to think fast or he'd be out of the study with nowhere to go. He thought of his father who had forced him into this situation. Blaine felt his anger rise as his father's words from several nights earlier echoed in his ears. His father had always had plenty to say about Blaine, very little of it kind. But there was one sentence standing out to him. One insult that had been playing on a loop for the past few days. "You're worthless scum," Blaine spat, more to himself than to the prisoner in front of him. And as quickly as the words escaped his lips, he wanted nothing more than to take them back. He looked up to Prisoner 219, seeing that his
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insults had hit their target. Prisoner 219 was struggling to keep his face impassive, but Blaine could see how he'd recoiled slightly and how he was working hard to hold himself together. And in that moment, Blaine just crumpled forward, hating himself more than ever. My dad was right, Blaine couldn't help thinking. I am worthless scum. And I just hurt the one person who might have been my ally in this mess. Fuck. Blaine was nearly knocked off his feet by a round of congratulatory slaps to his back. "That's more like it, darling. I knew you had it in you. But now you can watch and learn from the master, because honey, we're just getting warmed up." "Yeah dude, good job," Karofsky continued. "Nice to know you're on our side for a change." Blaine didn't reply, still speechless by what had taken place. And while the self-loathing didn't appear to be lessening, he also felt a wash of relief at the response he was receiving from Sebastian and Karofsky. He'd managed to pacify them which meant that his spot in the study was safe, at least for the time being. But he couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of his head. The one that kept saying: You've been a guard for less than 48 hours and you've already hurt someone you care about and swore to protect. What's going to be asked or expected of you in a week's time? Blaine bit his lip and sought Prisoner 219's eyes for a second time. There was a half second in which prisoner and guard saw each other for what they really were, before the walls were back up once more. In that moment, Blaine tried to communicate all the complicated emotions he was feeling, the strongest being guilt and self-loathing. Please. Please know that I didn't mean what I said. Don't hate me. God, I'm sorry. Can we...can I...just? You're not worthless. I am. And for that, I am so, so sorry. As Blaine watched, Prisoner 219 took it all in. He swallowed hard, his eyes bright with something... Anger? Frustration? Unshed tears? Blaine couldn't be sure. But then Prisoner 219 set his jaw, dropped his shoulders, standing up tall, and shook his head almost imperceptibly before staring through Blaine. Message received. As far as Prisoner 219 is concerned, I no longer exist. Can I really blame him though? Blaine, momentarily lost in his guilt and anger over what he'd done to Prisoner 219, was pulled back to his present reality by Karofsky addressing him. "Come on, Anderson. Let's call him what he is. He's a fag. You're like the Bride of Frankenstein, aren't you fag? That's right, 219. Come over here and be the Bride of Frankenstein." Blaine could only stare back at Karofsky in mute horror. What the fuck? Blaine was growing increasingly disturbed, because while his halfhearted attempts at insults and humiliation had managed to leave a mark, Sebastian and Karofsky's attempts were barbed, pointed, and absolutely ruthless in the most horrific of ways. Prisoner 219 cocked his head at Karofsky, looking momentarily every bit as confused as Blaine felt. The word fag still obviously stung, but Prisoner 219 seemed determined not to react to any of the insults. Karofsky turned, his eyes falling on Prisoner 378. His eyes gleamed maniacally as his humiliation fantasy grew increasingly more elaborate. "378, put your hands in the air. Why don't you play Frankenstein? 219, you're still the Bride of Frankenstein. You stand here," he continued shoving Prisoner 219 roughly into place. Both Prisoner 219 and 378 continued to stare at him dumbly, confused about exactly what he wanted them to do. "God, fucking idiots! You should act it out. You be the Bride of Frankenstein," Karofsky spoke slowly and condescendingly to Prisoner 219, as if he was too stupid to understand what was being said. Next, Karofsky whirled to face Prisoner 378, "You be Frankenstein. I want you to walk over here like Frankenstein and say that you love your bride, 219. Got it? Now move it." Prisoner 378's face flamed red, then purple with undisguised frustration and rage. He opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a shake of Prisoner 219's head. His eyes seemed to plead with 378 to humor the guards and go along with their latest ridiculous charade. With a deep breath, Prisoner 378 forced himself forward towards Prisoner 219. He hadn't taken two steps when Karofsky started yelling at him again. "I didn't say walk like you, fucking idiot. Go back and do it again."
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Prisoner 378 reluctantly raised his arms over his head, walking stiffly towards 219, mumbling "I love you, 219," robotically under his breath. "You're smiling, 219!" Karofsky yelled, still enraged and drunk on his newfound power. "And 378, that was nowhere near good enough. Do it again." Karofsky smiled cruelly as an idea occurred to him. "Hmm, or maybe you need some help?" he questioned as he simultaneously shoved Prisoners 219 and 378 towards each other, hard enough that they nearly collided head on with one another, causing Sebastian to cackle in amusement. "Come on, 378. Tell your pretty little princess here how much you love him," Karofsky shouted. "What? Fuck that, dude. Not a chance," Prisoner "Say it again, 378. Say you love 219." Prisoner 378 turned on the spot, furious. "No! I am not doing this to my boy!" Karofsky strode towards him, red in the face. "You are going to do it right now, 378, or so help me I will..." But before he could finish, Prisoner 378 roughly shoved Karofsky to the ground. Almost immediately, Sebastian ran to help the other guard up, while Blaine stood back, far too dumbstruck to react. Prisoner 378 continued to lash out and shout, any earlier vestiges of self-control now long gone. "Fuck the simulation! Fuck this experiment! Fuck Doctor Cohen! Fuck all of this!" he roared, tugging on the chain around his ankle before running towards the guards once more, prepared to strike. Thankfully, at that very moment, the door burst open and Doctor Cohen entered, flanked by two research assistants. "Prisoner 378, you're coming with me. You broke the rules of the study and you are hereby dismissed without compensation," Doctor Cohen said, signaling for the two assistants to restrain Prisoner 378 and leading the group out without another word. "Fine then! I didn't need that fucking money anyway," 378 snarled, as the assistants dragged him from the room." He voice rose as he started to disappear from view, wanting to impart a final few words of wisdom. "You keep fighting, 219! Remember what I told you." 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.
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Learned Helplessness: The hopelessness and resignation learned when a human perceives no control over repeated bad events. 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
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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.
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"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
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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.
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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...Okay...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 that look, 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...II-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,
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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
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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?"
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"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
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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.
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Perceived Control: The belief that one has the ability to make a difference in the course or the consequences of some event or experience; often helpful in dealing with stressors. Burt smiled with relief as he pulled Kurt into a tight hug. Kurt looked exhausted and a bit pale, but alive and uninjured, as best as Burt could tell. He wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt and patted his back, slightly startled by the intensity of Kurt's grip. "Hey buddy, you okay?" he asked Kurt, attempting to pull back from the hug so that he could look Kurt in the eyes. But Kurt simply nodded into his dad's shoulder and gripped him tighter, refusing to break away from the hug just yet. Burt gave a surprised and worried glance to Carole who shrugged helplessly, not expecting such a strong reaction from Kurt. After a few more seconds, Kurt pulled away, giving his dad a sheepish, slightly apologetic look before allowing himself to be pulled into another hug by Carole. "Good to see you, sweetie," Carole said as she hugged him in turn. "They treating you okay in here? Getting enough to eat and all that?" Again, Kurt merely nodded silently against her embrace. "It's good to see you guys," Kurt started, motioning for them to take a seat as he sank into a folding chair facing them. "I've missed you." "We've missed you too, Kurt," Burt answered automatically. "When we didn't hear from you over the weekend, we were..." Burt trailed off, trying to find the right words before starting again. "We've been really worried about you Kurt. You take off like that in handcuffs and a squad car and don't even tell us where you are going or what you're going to be doing. Carole and I have been worried sick, not knowing if something happened to you or if you were okay." "I'm sorry..." Kurt sighed. "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm totally fine, though. Nothing to be worried about, Dad." "Really, kid? That's not what I'm seeing here. You look exhausted. What's going on?" Kurt chewed on the inside of his lip, trying to find the right words to express what had happened here so far. Kurt had only been in the "experiment" for three days, but with each passing hour, it felt less like a study and more like his life. How could he explain to his dad that he was Prisoner 219 now? And that Prisoner 219 couldn't let the Officer Smythes and Karofskys of the world to win. Kurt hadn't always been strong enough in himself to stand and fight for what was right, but now, in this moment; he knew this was something he could do. And he had to try, if only for the thirteen year old boy inside him who'd spent his days climbing out of dumpsters and hiding his bruises under long sleeves. "I am tired," Kurt admitted reluctantly. "It's hard to explain, but it's like a real prison...or what I imagine a real prison would be like, given that I don't have any real experience on the inside." "What does that mean?" Burt asked warily. "Because I swear if any of those guards are hurting you, I'm going to..." "Dad, stop," Kurt commanded, looking to Carole pleadingly. Carole took Burt's hand and admonished him as well. "Let's let Kurt talk, honey. Just calm down." "No one's hurting me, Dad. The one rule isn't that they can't hit us or get physical with us." "The fact that they need to state that rule is a bit disturbing, Kurt," Burt replied. "What are they doing to you in here?"
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"Nothing major...just like waking us up in the middle of the night, forcing us to do hundreds of push ups, that kind of thing," Kurt tried to reply casually, but already anticipating a less than positive reaction from his dad. "What?" Burt cried, confused. "Okay, this is ridiculous. Why don't you just come home with us, Kurt? You don't need to put up with this crap. I don't know what that Doctor Cohen's trying to accomplish here, but it isn't worth making yourself miserable." "No no, Dad. I'm staying. I have to stay," Kurt responded, intent. "Kurt, if you are worried about money, we can help you out..." Burt offered. "It's not about that, Dad," Kurt insisted. He looked his father in the eyes, seeing his disbelief reflected back. "It really isn't about the money, I swear. I don't know how to explain it except to say that this is something I need to do for myself." "But why Kurt? You don't have anything to prove," Burt questioned, still uneasy. He could see the resolve in Kurt's face only growing, but he just didn't understand how a silly "acting job" and research experiment had gotten Kurt so worked up. What had this Doctor Cohen guy done to his boy? "I do, Dad. I do have something to prove. Not to anyone else, but to myself, okay? I've lived through much worse than this, and I'm a lot stronger now than I think you give me credit for. I live in New York, for christsakes. I think I can handle a few Lima bullies." Kurt looked at his dad, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Before Burt could respond, there was a knock at the door and Blaine poked his head into the room, looking apologetic. "Sorry guys, I hate to interrupt, but the ten minutes are up and we need to get to our next...uh...activity. But I'll give you a minute to say your goodbyes now," Blaine offered. "I'll...uh...I'll be in the hall when you're done." Burt scowled, but Kurt and Carole quickly climbed to their feet, seemingly unsurprised. "Thank you guys so much for coming," Kurt said gratefully. "I know it's a pretty long drive, especially for a 10 minute meeting, but you don't know how much I needed to see you." "Of course, sweetheart." Carole responded, pulling Kurt in for another hug. "You take care of yourself, okay dear? Try to get some rest if you can. You look like you need it." Kurt nodded, turning to his dad, ready to embrace him as well. But Burt hung back, studying Kurt's face intensely, still seeming unsure. "Kurt, are you sure about this?" he asked. "Yes, Dad. I am. I need to do this, okay?" Kurt answered, holding his father's eyes with a steady, determined gaze of his own. Burt nodded once, sighing a little, saying "I always knew you were the strong one, kid. I love you." He pulled Kurt in for a hug, squeezing him tight. "But be careful, okay Kurt? And promise me you'll leave if anything gets unsafe, deal?" Kurt pulled back, nodding at his dad. "I promise. I will. But nothing's going to happen. I'll see you soon. Just another week and a half, okay?" Kurt's voice shook a little as he tried to reassure his dad. The honest truth was that he'd been in the prison for barely three days and it already felt like an eternity. He was terrified of what could happen over the course of the next week and a half. He bit his lip and swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat and tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. With another whispered "I love you" and a wave, Carole and Burt stepped through the door and down the hall, leaving Kurt completely and utterly alone. Blaine felt horrible when he had to tell Prisoner 219 and his family that their time was up. He could see how Prisoner 219's face had fallen at the interruption, obviously not ready to say goodbye. Blaine tried not to notice how Prisoner 219's father had taken his hand, squeezing it a little, as if he was worried that he might be literally torn away from his son without the physical tether. But the image burrowed its way into Blaine's mind, unbidden, standing in stark
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contrast to his own parental experience. Prisoner 219's father was fighting to stay with his son, while Blaine's own father had fought to rid his home of his only child. Less than week later, Blaine's loss and rejection were still painfully raw, an open wound that hadn't been given a chance to scab over. But feeling the surprisingly fresh jolt of pain at seeing everything he'd never had in a father reflected back in a single gesture, Blaine was starting to wonder if the wound could ever really heal. After warning Prisoner 219 that his time was nearly up, Blaine stepped into the hall, anxious to give them space and privacy in which to say their goodbyes. As Blaine waited patiently, the anxiety he'd been trying to ignore all day started rising once again. He didn't know what Sebastian and Karofsky had in store for the prisoners after the parents left, but he knew it wouldn't be good. Karofsky had all but promised that there would be an escalation in the level of prisoner abuse, and even worse, Sebastian had been quick to remind Blaine that his full cooperation was expected. There would be no place for passivity, for taking the back seat during this count, it seemed. But more than ever, Blaine was resolved to protect Prisoner 219, consequences be damned. The only question was, when the time came, would Blaine have the courage to do what needed to be done to keep his prisoner safe?" Blaine was so lost in thought that he jumped slightly as the door to the visiting room swung open, revealing Prisoner 219's parents leaving reluctantly, waving goodbye to their son. Prisoner 219 also seemed as if he'd been caught slightly off guard, and for a moment, Blaine got a rare glimpse of Prisoner 219 when all his walls were down. From his rapid blinking and slightly trembling chin, Blaine could see that Prisoner 219 was fighting hard to keep himself together. There was a slight desperation, a longing that Blaine had never seen before that radiated from Prisoner 219's face. But though Prisoner 219 looked lost and scared to Blaine in that instant that he allowed himself to simply be, Blaine was even more fascinated by what he did next. Unaware that Blaine was watching him, Prisoner 219 roughly scrubbed a hand over his face, erasing any vestiges of tears from his cheeks. He took a deep breath, forcing his shoulders to relax and roll backward until he was no longer hunched and lost, but determined and resolved. Prisoner 219 must have felt eyes upon him because suddenly his gaze trailed upwards, locking eyes with Blaine's. Blaine barely suppressed a gasp at the fire and resolve he saw burning in Prisoner 219's gaze. The gaze spoke strongly to Blaine, saying everything that Prisoner 219 was thinking and feeling. From now on, I'm not playing. I'm standing up for myself and you can't touch me. Nobody can. Message received. Carole slid her arm through Burt's as the stepped out into the waning sunlight of a hazy summer night. She glanced at him, frowning as she saw how he was staring off into space, clearly lost in private thoughts. "Burt, what's wrong?" Carole asked. "You saw Kurt, he's doing fine. I know it's a little strange, but he's unharmed, isn't that enough?" "I still don't like the look of it," Burt muttered. "Something's not sitting well with me. There's got to be something they're not telling us here. Kurt seemed off to me somehow. And who knows if what he said is true. You heard Doctor Cohen, right? He told us that the visits were monitored. I wouldn't be surprised if Kurt was just saying what he'd been told to say. I can see them threatening him if he says anything bad about the study, can't you?" Carole rolled her eyes at Burt's slightly ridiculous theory. "Honey, really? I don't see it that way at all. It's just an interesting new experience. A research experiment. Besides, do you think the university would let him get away with abusing students under the guise of a research study on their campus? I seriously doubt it." Burt hummed in response, clearly mulling Carole's argument over in his mind. "You may have a point there, but it doesn't take away the fact that I've got a bad feeling about this. I think I'm going to find out more about this Doctor Cohen. Something about him seems off to me. I mean, if there were nothing to worry about, why wouldn't he have stayed and answered our questions? I'm going to do some research. And if I find anything that proves to me he shouldn't be trusted, I'm calling the university to get this thing shut down. Period." As the double doors to the hallway clanged shut, Blaine stood silently with Prisoner 219, wanting to give him a few more precious seconds to collect his thoughts before having to deal with Karofsky, Sebastian, and what promised to be another brutal count. 219 wasn't as slumped and lost as he'd been earlier, but Blaine could see that the slightly
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haunted look still hadn't left his eyes. Blaine ached with the need to reassure Prisoner 219 in some way, wanting so badly to tell him that he was ready protect him, no matter what the cost. But he knew there was no point as his words would only fall on deaf ears. Prisoner 219 didn't trust Blaine, and who could blame him really? Blaine hadn't earned Prisoner 219's trust. Not yet anyways. Blaine hazarded a glimpse at Prisoner 219's face, wanting to see if his walls were up once again. Blaine hated that those walls kept him out, but at the same time, he could see the necessity of them, especially in these extreme circumstances. Prisoner 219 tried to return Blaine's gaze with a casual smile, but only the ghost of a smile flickered across his face, making it clear that he was far from happy. "Are you okay?" Blaine asked gently, expecting a sharp, bitter reply. Or none at all. But Prisoner 219 surprised him yet again. "I'm...yeah...I'm not exactly okay, just yet. But I think I'm getting there." Blaine couldn't pull himself away from Prisoner 219's hypnotizing gaze so he simply stared, wondering about the contradiction his statement implied and the resolve still burning bright in his eyes. It felt like Prisoner 219 had come to some sort of impasse, as if he'd made a plan to act. How, Blaine wasn't entirely sure just yet, but he found himself wondering...worrying really that his plan might bring him more abuse from the other guards. Prisoner 219 was the first to break eye contact, blushing slightly as he focused on the floor. So quiet that Blaine barely heard it at first, he whispered "thanks," his words obviously genuine for once. Blaine simply smiled. "Anytime." With a deep breath, Prisoner 219 looked up again, smiling even more broadly at Blaine, even though Blaine could see the tears still sparkling in his eyes, not forgotten. He gazed down the hall, mentally preparing himself for his return to prison life. Blaine followed his gaze and sighed. "Shall we?" he asked, extending his hand to take 219's arm in his. Prisoner 219 rested his hand on Blaine's forearm. "Lead the way," he replied, allowing himself to be led towards the prison cells once more. Anderson reluctantly led Kurt back from the visitation room to the hallway, strengthening his grip as he got closer to the others, purely for show. Despite appearances, Anderson's grip was solid, comforting even, making Kurt strangely grateful for his presence. Among the noise, chaos, and abuses of the prison, Anderson had given him a small moment of humanity. It didn't change things; Kurt was still a prisoner and Anderson his guard. But it did give Kurt a tiny flicker of hope when he'd thought all hope would be extinguished as soon as his dad and Carole left. Because staring into Anderson's warm hazel eyes, Kurt had known the truth that he'd been trying to avoid all this time. He'd closed himself off because Anderson could see him. The real him. And in this environment, that was a scary thing. Kurt took his place in line with. As usual, Prisoner 138 was to his right but to his left, Prisoner 474 now stood in the gap left by Prisoner 378. Kurt found himself wishing that he still had Prisoner 378 to rely on. It was odd, but he'd felt a strange kinship with Prisoner 378 in those few days they'd shared today despite the fact that they obviously came from two entirely different worlds. And now that Kurt was resolved to fight, he found himself wishing for someone willing to fight with him. Prisoner 474 was clearly not that person. While Kurt had felt isolated from the other prisoners somewhat due to the fact that he was the only prisoner not sharing a cell, he'd gotten to know the other prisoners at least a little bit. Prisoners 137 and 138 were joined at the hip, silently suffering through the counts and various abuses together. Kurt had noticed how attentive Prisoner 137 was to Prisoner 138. While 138 was several inches taller than 137, his white blond hair, pale skin, and lanky frame made him seem fragile. Very quickly, 137 had become protective of 138, checking in with him frequently throughout the counts and doting on him much like an older brother might with a younger sibling. It was sweet to see the two of them weather the experience together, but it also made Kurt's chest ache slightly with the reminder that he was all alone in this experience. He took a deep breath and stood straighter, drawing up to his full height as he tried to look stronger and braver than he felt inside. He wouldn't give Karofsky and Sebastian the
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pleasure of knowing that they could affect him, that they could break his spirit. Courage. Anderson caught his eye, watching him in that way that he seemed to be do increasingly often. Anderson gave him a shy smile, being careful that the expression did not linger, lest the other guards see it and harass him for it. Kurt felt a peace settle over him as the warmth of Anderson's smile reminded of something he hadn't considered until now. Maybe he wasn't alone after all. A shrill bleat from a whistle startled Kurt and the remaining prisoners who were all dead on their feet at this point from exhaustion, both physical and emotional. Kurt rolled his eyes as Karofsky continued pacing in front of the assembled prisoners, rubbing his hands together as though he were a caricature of some cheesy movie villain, looking ready to inflict the torture he had missed out on earlier on the prisoners. "All right, ladies", Karofsky said, rubbing his palms together. "Playtime's over. We're done babying you like your mommies and daddies did. Everyone get your asses on the floor and do 50 sit-ups. When I'm done with you, you won't be able to sit down...I mean up...sit up...for a week," Karofsky shouted. Prisoner 219 couldn't help the smirk and slight giggle that escaped. The dumbass Neanderthal had just told them they wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. Clearly, Karofsky didn't know what that implied. As Kurt watched Karofsky's face immediately flush red, he changed his mind. Maybe he did know what he'd just said. Karofsky's eyes narrowed in rage, focusing in on Kurt, his pent up rage now bubbling over to the surface. "You think that's funny, fag? You think I'm fucking with you? If these sit ups are so easy for you, let's make it a little tougher." Karofsky eyes flitted around the room, landing on Prisoner 474 who was still doing sit-ups, counting silently as he breathed hard with the effort, totally submissive and obedient to the guards, just as he'd been since Day 1. "474, get your ass over here," Karofsky bellowed, gesturing. Without a word, Prisoner 474 rose to his feet, walking over to Karofsky and Prisoner 219, standing at attention, clearly awaiting his next order. "Alright 219, if sit ups are so easy that you have time to laugh, let's try something harder. I doubt that you lift anything than a can of hairspray, so how about push ups?" Kurt simply shrugged before nonchalantly flipping over into a push up position. "Not so fast, homo. 474 here is going to make sure you don't cheat. 474, I want you to sit on his back. I'm sure you have guys on top of you all the time after all. Give me 100 push ups. If you give me wussy push-ups or stop even for a second, I'll make you start the count all over too. Got it?" Kurt let out a wheezy breath as 474 plopped down on his back without so much a glance or word of warning, his arms shaking with the effort of holding 474's weight. He grit his teeth, as he slowly began lowering his arms towards the cold tile floor. How was he ever going to get through 100 of these? Blaine's felt a hot lick of fury grow as he watched 474 unceremoniously dump his full weight on top of Prisoner 219. Blaine watched as 219 struggled to remain in push up position, his arms shaking with the effort of supporting not only his weight but 474's as well. Blaine had been wary of 474 from the start. He hated the robotic way in which 474 followed orders, as if he had no authority or agency of his own. And while most of the prisoners made their dissatisfaction with what they were being asked to do known in one way or another, 474 responded to every command and insult as if he was being asked if he wanted paper or plastic bags at the grocery store. His mildness in the face of such an extreme circumstances was disconcerting. Infuriating, really. Blaine tried to focus on his anger instead of worry. It was hard, watching Prisoner 219 struggling. His gasping breaths and occasional grunts echoed throughout the cavernous basement as he continued to perform push-ups. 38 39 40. He had no idea how 219 hadn't collapsed yet. Blaine was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted and he hadn't been put through one tenth of what 219 had endured thus far. Blaine briefly saw white as 219 went down on one knee with a brief hiss and cry of pain. He landed hard, the weight of 474 on his back causing his leg to smash harshly into the unforgiving cold tile floor. Blaine's hands balled into his
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fists as he watched 474 give a small shrug, seeming unconcerned that his weight had likely just injured his fellow prisoner. What happened to the prisoners banding together? They should be helping each other out, supporting one another. But sadly, ever since Prisoner 378 had left, it had clearly become ever man for himself. Without thinking, Blaine squatted down until he was directly in front of Prisoner 219. 219 was rubbing his knee which was already starting to bruise. "You okay?" Blaine whispered gently, his eyes boring into 219's. Prisoner 219's eyes went wide, giving him a look of confusion that clearly read "Are you crazy?" But Blaine didn't care what the other guards were thinking. He just needed to know that 219 was safe. So Blaine continued to stare at Prisoner 219 until he finally gave in, biting his lip and rolling his eyes slightly, before almost imperceptibly shaking his head no. Fuck. "Dude, what the fuck?" Karofsky called to Blaine, obviously furious at Blaine's response or lack thereof to Prisoner 219 failing to complete his assigned 100 push-ups. "Alright 219, if you don't get your delicate girly bits up and back to doing push ups in by the count of 5, you're going to have to do 200 more push-ups instead of 100, got it? And 474, did I tell you that you could get off him? Get your ass back on his back or you're going to join him in doing 100 push ups." Before Blaine could come up with a response, a way to react to Karofsky's newest orders, Prisoner 219 slowly lifted himself into a push up position once more, grimacing as he straightened out his leg, putting weight on his bruised knee. He lifted his head momentarily, making eye contact with Blaine once more. "Go away, Anderson," he muttered, quietly enough that Blaine had to lean forward just to hear what he said. "I've got this." Prisoner 219 took a deep breath, preparing to start his agonizing push-ups again. But he was wholly unprepared for the sudden weight of Prisoner 474 dropping his considerable weight on his back once more without warning. So once again, Blaine watched in horror as Prisoner 219 crashed to the floor again, his body going out from under him with the weight of 474's body. 474 startled slightly at the sudden jolt and then did something that caused Blaine to lose it completely. He yawned. "That's it, 474!" Blaine shouted, his voice echoing loudly as the sound bounced off the heavy cement walls. "On your feet. Now! I'm not fucking kidding. Up!" Karofsky had started to step forward, intending to discipline both Prisoner 219 and Anderson. But he froze as Anderson started shouting, seeing his eyes darken and the tendons stand out in Anderson's neck as he continued to yell furiously. Sebastian stepped forward, placing a restraining arm on Karofsky's arm. "Let him be. This is what we've been waiting for. He's finally taking things seriously. I'm ready to see him go all psycho on 474, aren't you?" Karofsky rolled his eyes, but did not step further. "Whatever, but 219 isn't getting off that easy. I know Anderson can't stop from making googly eyes with 219, but someone needs to teach that fag a lesson before he gets out of hand and starts causing trouble like 378." "Patience love," Sebastian purred. "And the googly eyes are to be expected. Everyone in this prison is gay or haven't you noticed? Hetero is the minority here." "What? Umm, everyone except me, maybe. I'm not down with that homo shit." "Riiiiiiiight," Sebastian drawled exaggeratedly. "Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the night. Oh, he's doing quite good," Sebastian said proudly, turning back to Blaine before Karofsky had the chance to protest again. Blaine was fuming by this point and had Prisoner 474 up against the wall as he stalked in front of him, wishing for once he was taller than his admittedly short 5 foot 8 inches, wanting to look intimidating. He couldn't take it any longer and so he allowed his frustration with it all, his father, Dr. Cohen, Karofsky, Sebastian, and the other prisoners to flow through him, narrowing on the still blas figure standing in front of him.
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"What's your deal, 474? All you ever do is sit there with that stupid fucking blank look on your face. You're in a fucking prison, do you even realize that? You are a prisoner. You are OUR prisoner. You should be sticking up your fellow prisoners and you just don't give a shit about anyone, do you?" Blaine glared at Prisoner 474 who simply swallowed and continued to stare straight ahead, his posture perfectly erect. He remained so silent that Blaine briefly wondered if he'd even heard him. This only enraged Blaine further. "Jesus! What is your fucking problem? Answer me!" Blaine shouted, barely noticing as tiny flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, landing on 474. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Anderson," 474 responded robotically, still nothing showing on his face. Blaine fought the urge to smack the wall as 474 responded. "This is exactly what I was talking about! Why are you so obedient? Why do you have to be such a passive bitch?" "It's in my nature to be obedient, sir." Prisoner 474 replied automatically. "Well, I fucking hate it. It makes you a horrible prisoner," Blaine shouted breathlessly. He paused, panting slightly from a combination of anger and frustration. As he tried to catch his breath, he noticed Karofsky and Sebastian watching him. Karofsky looked confused while Sebastian was beaming with obvious pride. Blaine was torn between relief that his behavior for once was being approved by the guards, while at the same time, feeling slightly nauseous at the idea of Sebastian being "proud" of anything he was doing. Maybe he'd gone too far? Blaine found his eyes settling on Prisoner 219 as they often did when he felt uncertain. He was still seated on the floor, rubbing his knee, as he watched the scene play out. Blaine was relieved to see that he didn't look aghast, but rather slightly grateful? It was always hard to tell, but Blaine hoped that 219 could see that he was trying to protect him in some small way. Blaine turned back to prisoner 474 who was leaning against the wall, his eyes dead, his posture casual. "Did I tell you to relax? To make yourself comfortable? I don't think so," Blaine shouted. "Yeah, show some respect for Officer Anderson," Karofsky called as walked to join Blaine, scowling down at Prisoner 474. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Karofsky," Prisoner 474 said automatically, standing at attention, his posture almost comically straight and rigid. He stared straight ahead, his eyes blank as he awaited further orders. Sebastian followed shortly behind Karofsky, coming to stand on Blaine's right side, slinging a friendly arm over his shoulder. "Great job, love. Welcome to the dark side. I knew there was some anger deep down in there. Glad to see you finally taking control. And I totally agree, 474 is a bit of prick. It's no fun to make someone your bitch when they just lie there and take it like a dead fish. I like prisoners with a little fight in them." Sebastian leaned in, whispering the final words into Blaine's ear. "Although your little prisoner 219 may have a bit too much fight in him, if you know what I mean. Don't be so obvious, babe. Most guys like it when you play hard to get. And the whole savior complex is a bit played out, don't you think? Just something to consider." Blaine roughly shrugged off Sebastian's arm, the weight feeling like a noose the longer it was anchored around his neck and shoulders. He felt his skin prickle slightly with a combination of guilt and embarrassment. If he was totally honest, hearing Sebastian say "welcome to the dark side" quite a bit. For the past day, his major goal had been to maintain his dignity and humanity despite the increasingly harsh environment. He'd made it a priority to protect 219, to be sure that he was not hurt, but at what cost? Karofsky cleared his throat, looking to Blaine. He was obviously waiting for Blaine to give the next round of orders to Prisoner 474. As the other prisoners, Karofsky, and Sebastian stared at him, waiting expectantly, Blaine felt suddenly ashamed and put on the spot. He couldn't do this. He wasn't this guy. Or he didn't want to be that guy any more at the very least.
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Blaine turned to Prisoner 474 who continued to stare ahead blankly, a slight smirk on his face. "Prisoner 474?" Blaine called suddenly. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Anderson," 474 answered automatically. "We're going to try this one more time," Blaine warned, still wanting and needing to understand why 474 was always tripping over himself in his haste to obey each order, even when it meant hurting his fellow prisoners. Where was his sense of loyalty? He truly couldn't comprehend 474's actions, but desperately wanted to, if only so that he could see the humanity in 474 once again. "Why are you so damn obedient? Why do you follow our orders without thinking about your fellow prisoners?" Blaine started. Next to him, Karofsky made a loud scoff, obviously disapproving of Blaine's line of questioning. Karofsky would be perfectly happy with all of the prisoners turning on one another as it would make his job easier. Blaine took a deep breath and rephrased his question, hoping to appease Karofsky while still getting the answer he was seeking. "I mean, why would you throw your fellow prisoner under the bus like that? No one likes a tattletale. And us guards, we have each other's backs," Blaine stated, gesturing towards Sebastian and Karofsky, relieved to see them both nodding in agreement. "Why don't you have the other prisoners' backs?" Prisoner 474 continued to stare straight as he replied, his monotone reply still almost robotic-sounding and betraying almost no trace of emotion or personality. "I am just a prisoner, Correctional Officer Anderson. You are my guards and so it my job to obey you. I want to be a good prisoner so I must be obedient." Across the room, Blaine watched the other prisoners respond to 474's statement. Prisoners 137 and 138 exchanged baffled looks, shaking their heads simultaneously as if to say, "I don't get him. What's his deal?" Prisoner 219's reaction was less muted. He looked obviously frustrated and a bit angry as he rolled his eyes. Blaine felt his own anger rising at the look reflected in Prisoner 219's face. And before he had a chance to think, the words were tumbling out of his mouth, more fiercely than he'd anticipated. "Bullshit! Don't give me that "I'm just obedient by nature BS. You're not in here for being upstanding citizens after all. I think you're just a smug bastard. You're patting yourself on the back for being a good prisoner but you don't realize that everyone hates you. The prisoners hate you and so do the guards. You're not in touch with reality. You don't see what's really going on here, what's important," Blaine shouted, breathing heavily. "You're totally right, love," Sebastian responded, stepping forward and patting Blaine on the back. He pointed an accusatory finger at Prisoner 474. "Anderson is right. He has you pegged. You're a self-righteous, pious asshole. I think you need to hear what everyone else thinks about you." "Prisoners, on your feet," Sebastian continued. "Isn't 474 a self-righteous, pious asshole?" he asked. After a moment's hesitation, the other prisoners replied as they'd been taught. "Yes sir, Correctional Officer Smythe," they called in unison. "Let's make sure that he knows it then. Repeat after me 474 is a self-righteous, pious asshole." There was a slightly longer pause this time during which Blaine could see each prisoner reacting to this newest command. Prisoner 138, in particular, looked aghast, recoiling slightly at the harsh words he was being asked to repeat. Prisoner 474 did not react, continuing to stare ahead steadfastly. But Blaine could see that his eyes had lost some of that glazed over look that had so infuriated him minutes earlier. There was a flash of something in his eyes, a great sadness masked only by an even more powerful desperation. Desperation for what? Blaine wasn't sure, but if he'd been pressed to answer, he'd guess that it was desperation for survival.
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"Ladies? I'm waiting..." Sebastian trilled. "474 is a self-righteous, pious asshole," the prisoner droned as one. "That's more like it. Keep going. Say it until I tell you to stop," Sebastian commanded, his eyes flashing with delight as Prisoner 474 swayed slightly, finally giving some reaction. Blaine felt his stomach drop as the prisoners continued to repeat the same words over and over. 474 is a self-righteous, pious asshole. Blaine had wanted to shake Prisoner 474 up a bit, get him to react, to show some signs of life, mainly because he knew how badly 219 and the others needed an ally. But he hadn't meant for his words to be used as a weapon against 474. Blaine watched with growing nausea as 474 bit the inside of his lip, clearly trying hard not to cry. Too far. I went too far. Who am I going to be by the end of this experiment? An hour later, Blaine's mind was still reeling from what he'd done. Releasing that anger had been a relief, but it hadn't been worth the guilt that followed, particularly when he realized that he'd hurt Prisoner 474. Granted, 474 had hurt 219, and not just emotionally. Blaine had been forced to watch with growing concern as Prisoner 219 dragged through a another brutal count, dragged through an endless series of push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks on a bruised and increasingly swollen knee. He didn't know how 219 was getting through it. Blaine was dead on his feet, and he only had to watch. As his worry grew, Blaine found it easiest to focus on everyone but 219. At least with the others, their pain and fatigue didn't leave as big as a sting. Because every time he saw 219 stumble or wince, Blaine could swear it caused him physical pain as well. "You call those sit-ups?" Karofsky suddenly yelled at 137 who was grunting with exertion as he barely managed to lift his chin to his chest. "You're going to do them all over again. Start the count over and do them right this time, or next time the punishment will be worse." After a while, even the guards seemed to grow tired with the endless shouting and exercises. Blaine was silently praying that they'd soon call an end to the count, if only out of boredom. Sebastian stared at the two prisoners under his command, obviously looking for a way to humiliate them even further. "Why don't you both get down on the floor and hump each other?" he suggested darkly. 137 and 138 stared at each other, dumbfounded. Surely he wouldn't...? "You heard what he said!" Karofsky roared. "Get down and hump the floor or I'll force you to do it and it won't be gentle," he warned. "And you," he said, pointing at 474. "Get down and hump the floor too." 474 was the only prisoner to make a move, immediately dropping to the floor and beginning to grind against it, his eyes cold and unfeeling. Prisoner 219 tried and failed to suppress a choked giggle at Prisoner 474's sudden thrusting. There was obedient and then there was this. Prisoner 474 was practically the guard's puppet at this point and it was ridiculous. "What's so funny lady? You think this is a joke?" Karofsky screamed. "He's humping the floor," Prisoner 219 said wryly. "I'm supposed to take that extremely seriously?" "Well, maybe it will be less funny when it's you," Karofsky retorted. "Get down on the floor and..." he stopped suddenly, shaking his head. "No screw that. Stay right there. Prisoner 474, on your feet," Karofsky commanded. Blaine watched, nervously. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Karofsky had planned. "474, hump 219. Let's see how much he likes it. Now! And I don't want to see any snickering out of either of you." 474 stepped forward and began to do as commanded, completely ignoring Prisoner 219 in the process. 219 kept his face neutral and tried not to react, but Blaine could see how uncomfortable he was by the stiff way he was holding himself. Blaine's mind reeled as he tried to come up with a plausible way to get Karofsky off of Prisoner 219 and back to yelling at someone else.
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Kurt glared at Karofsky as he was assaulted by Prisoner 474. He refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable this latest indignity was making him. But Karofsky simply met Kurt's gaze and returned the hardened look, considering him carefully for a moment before speaking. "I don't like you, 219. You've been nothing but trouble from Day 1. And you know what, I don't think you can handle men's work. So while the rest of them do push-ups, you're going to sing Amazing Grace cause your faggy little girl arms can't handle it. All the rest of you, get down for push-ups while 219 serenades you." Kurt hadn't been prepared for this. He had been expecting more push-ups, another verbal dressing down, anything but that. Little did Karofsky know that music was a source of strength for Kurt, a balm that soothed his wounds. He would have smiled if not for the coronary it was sure to cause Karofsky. He'd been missing his clothing that he often wore like a protective shield of armor. His clothing allowed him to play a role, to choose the image that he wanted to project. But Karofsky had no idea that performing provided similar protections from Kurt. It would allow him to escape the horrors of the prison environment, if only for a few precious minutes and with any luck he might be able to transport and inspire his fellow prisoners as well. Kurt rolled his shoulders forward, projecting an air of confidence. Karofsky's not hurting me like he hurt Puck. Nobody is. I'm just going to stand here and sing my heart out, and if they don't like it, they can all go fuck themselves. I go to NYADA. I've got this. "Let's move, lady! We haven't got all day!" Karofsky yelled, bringing Kurt out of his reverie. He took a deep breath and began to sing, pouring all the emotion he had into the words of the song. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. Kurt's voice gathered strength as he sang, effortlessly swelling towards the next line. I once was lost but now am I found, was blind but now I see. The prison went completely silent, the only noises being the sweet melody of Kurt's voice and the regular breathing of the prisoners as they continued to do push ups, exhausted but swept up in the beauty of the song. Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come. T'was grace that brought us safe thus far, and grace will lead us home. Kurt felt goose bumps erupt over his whole body as his voice soared and echoed off the cavernous basement. In some ways, Karofsky had chosen the perfect song for him to sing. Kurt wasn't religious, but he had to admit that the words spoke to him and his current situation. Across the room, Blaine was speechless, breathless even at what he was hearing. 219's voice seemed to have cast a spell over all three guards, but no one more so than Blaine. 219's voice was high and clear and unlike anyone else's he'd ever heard. While the voice was good, amazing really, it was the emotion and passion that 219 was pouring into each word that had caused Blaine's skin to prickle with goose bumps and his eyes to well with tears. Blaine reluctantly drew his eyes from 219 momentarily, curious to see how everyone else was reacting to the miracle in their midst. Surprisingly, everyone seemed nearly as rapturous as Blaine, although they tried to hide their interest with varying amounts of success. The prisoners continued to do push ups, but all seemed invigorated by the musical accompaniment. Even Karofsky was looking at 219 with interest. Blaine realized that he was staring a little too hard, because Sebastian was elbowing him in the ribs. "Come on Anderson, it's never gonna happen. Stop drooling and do your damn job." The words were harsher than usual and
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there was almost no trace of the flirtatious lilt that usually accompanied Sebastian's words. Blaine looked up to Sebastian, detecting a flash of...was that jealousy? It seemed no matter how hard Sebastian tried to hide it, he was every bit as impressed by 219 as everyone else. Blaine was struck silent once again by the beauty of 219's voice as he repeated the simply lyrics of the first verse one final time, each note perfect and filled with emotion. Blaine snuck a quick look at 219's face, taking in the way his whole face and body was seemingly lit from within as he performed. It was mesmerizing and had he encountered this person, this version of 219 under any other circumstance, Blaine had a feeling that it would have been love at first sight. I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind but now I see. And Blaine did see. For a moment, he'd been given a window into 219's soul and what he saw was breathtakingly beautiful. 219 finished the song and looked to Karofsky expectantly, the radiant smile on his face suggesting that he thought he'd won. Meanwhile, Karofsky was trying to contain his conflicting rage and was it...admiration? He wasn't sure, his emotions so jumbled up that it was nearly impossible to make sense of them. Karofsky had been so sure that making 219 sing would humiliate him and finally squash his rebellious spirit. Instead, 219 seemed more confident than ever, as if he was drawing strength from the song. And frustratingly, his voice was actually pretty good. And 219's face when he sang...it was different. Not friendly exactly, but open. He looked like someone you could tell your problems to and that could cheer anyone up with a smile. What are you thinking? Karofsky chided himself. You shouldn't be admiring guys, especially faggy ones like that. Besides, it's your job to make him suffer, and those other two are looking at him like they're under his spell. Get it together, idiot. "You sound like a girl" Karofsky managed. He knew it wasn't the most creative of insults, but he had nothing else, no way to sort through his feelings towards 219, especially now with an audience. 219' barely reacted, his face seeming to say that he wasn't affected at all by Karofsky's words. Karofsky knew he should be furious at 219's knowing smirk, so why did he feel the slightest bit proud? Blaine had had enough. He could see Karofsky getting worked up and was sure that whatever punishment he was coming up with next would probably harm 219. Despite all the ups and downs of the day, Blaine still intended to make good on his promise to 378, so he forced himself to assume the tough guard persona which felt completely at odds with his true self. "All right, you pieces of shit, get in your cells. Lights out." He walked back to the guard room before Karofsky and Sebastian could object. Later there would be time to sort through his complicated feelings toward 219. But for now, 219 was safe and that was enough. Minutes later, Kurt sat alone his cell, sifting through the events of the day and trying to decide what his next move would be. Today had been incredibly difficult but he felt like he'd stood up for himself, and refused to let the guards beat him. It felt really good. Singing seemed to have triggered something within Kurt. He was starting to re-evaluate his role. Maybe he was a fighter, like 378 had said after all. But how could he continue to fight? Kurt desperately wanted a way to show the guards that they didn't own him. He was resolved that he find a way to show everyone involved with the study that Kurt Hummel wasn't the victim anymore. He allowed his eyes to slip shut, exhausted from the long day and even longer evening. As he drifted to sleep, the only thought in his head was this. I know my worth. You haven't broken me yet, and you never will. Whatever you've got, tomorrow I'll be ready for it, so bring it on.
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Groupthink: The tendency of a decision-making group to filter out undesirable input so that a consensus may be reached, especially if it is in line with the leader's viewpoint. Kurt woke up the next morning determined to come up with an idea to stand up to the guards. He needed to find a way to show them that they didn't own him. But he'd promised his dad that we would stay safe, so any type of physical confrontation was out of the question. Kurt mentally reviewed the rules; They had certainly gone over them countless times during the counts, so he could recite them from memory. Which rule would be easiest for him to break and hardest for the guards to fight? He landed on the rule about mealtimes he had to eat everything, right? That was it. Kurt resolved to go on a hunger strike. The more he thought it over, the better idea it seemed. He'd read about many people who had gone on hunger strikes in protest. Besides, the food they were being served wasn't that great anyways. Too soon, the guards were blowing their whistles, waking their prisoners. Anderson unlocked his door, avoiding eye contact as he spoke. "All right 219, time for breakfast." "No," Kurt said, as mildly as possible. He sat on the bed, staring at Anderson, who appeared to be flustered. Anderson was about to reply when Smythe walked by, herding his prisoners into the dining room. "What's the matter, baby?" he asked. "It's time for breakfast, move your sweet ass." "No," Kurt answered again. "Not hungry, sorry." "All right, sweetheart," Smythe tried again. "Very funny, ha ha. But seriously, you need to eat. You remember the rules, right?" Kurt just gave him his patented glare, waiting for what was next as calmly as he could. By then, the other prisoners had crowded around his cell, and Karofsky was glowering behind them. "If you're not gonna move, I will make you move. I will drag you to breakfast kicking and screaming if I have to. I don't give a fuck what Doctor Cohen says." "Leave him," Anderson said. "He's mine, I can take him." Kurt was pretty sure that the bravado he was showing around the other guards was for show, given the trepidation he seemed to be showing as he walked towards the bed and sat next to him. "Look," Anderson said, almost in a whisper. "You really, really need to eat. I mean, it's not like we're giving you very much to begin with, and you know how those counts get. Is everything OK? Are you sick? I can get the doctor if you want." Kurt wasn't sure if Anderson was faking it or not. It was hard to be sure with him; at least with the other two, they consistently hated him. But Kurt knew what he had to do, despite the lingering suspicion that Anderson was acting out of genuine concern. "What do you care, Anderson?" he spat, glaring at the crowd. "Oh, just let him starve!" shouted Karofsky. "He'll be ready to eat by lunchtime, and if he isn't then we force him." And with that, he motioned for the other prisoners to follow him to the dining room. As the others passed, they each shot Kurt a look, 474's eyes lingering longest. Their looks were seemed to burn through Kurt's skin. The stares of the guards he could handle, he could understand. Kurt supposed that he had unwittingly increased the punishments for the others with his hunger strike, but he'd perhaps naively hoped that standing up to the guards might help rally the other prisoners to his side. He settled back against his bed, resigned to the fact that he'd be fighting this battle alone. Anderson stayed back for a moment, and when he was sure the others were gone, he leaned over to whisper a quiet encouragement to Kurt. "I do care. Get some rest, all right? And let me know if you need anything," he finished before running to catch up with the others.
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As the day wore on, Kurt refused lunch as well, and Smythe and Karofsky became more and more determined to make him suffer. The counts were getting even longer, and Karofsky in particular seemed to take perverse pleasure in coming up with new ways to humiliate Kurt. The other prisoners were forced to participate, and he was forced to ignore their angry stares, which had only increased in frequency and intensity. But Kurt endured it all with the straightest of faces, speaking only when necessary, and trying to ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach. Prisoner 474 stopped Kurt as they were headed back to their cells after the latest count. "You'd better get it together. All you're doing is making it worse for everyone," he said in a terse whisper. His expression dark, his eyes flashing, and Kurt suddenly found himself wishing for a return to the blas prisoner from the day before. Kurt took a deep breath, fighting hard to keep his growing guilt and nervousness from derailing his plan. He'd been so determined to win some of the other prisoners over to his side, to get them all to band together to fight back against the guards. But the reality was that the prisoners continued to ignore one another for the most part, except for 137 and 138, who seemed to be clinging to one another more with every passing hour. And while Kurt knew that what he was doing needed to be done, he was starting to doubt his ability to play the role as leader of the prison rebellion. He'd certainly seen enough movies to know - wasn't there supposed to be a rebel who banded everyone together in prison movies? Wasn't he supposed to be the leader who got everyone on his side and then helped to plan their escape? What was keeping everyone else here? It was a job, nothing more, nothing less. Or at least it had started out that way. He had a feeling that he might be the only one not desperate for the money that they stood to make if they completed the study. And money could be a powerful motivator. Despite his guilt and confusion, Kurt was resolved. He understood the need the others had to keep silent and follow orders, but it was equally important to Kurt that he continued to do what he could to fight back. If not for the others, then at least for himself. As Kurt was still mulling this all over in his head, Anderson came to the cell door, alone this time. "OK, 219, you've got to be starving. Just come out and eat something, please?" Karofsky, who had been walking 474 out of his cell across the hallway, suddenly wheeled around and turned on his fellow guard. "What the fuck are you doing, Anderson? You think that if you just play nice you're going to keep order here? If this little fuck doesn't want to play by the rules, do you know who looks bad? We do, especially you since he's your prisoner! It makes us look like we don't know what we're doing! Do you wanna know how you're supposed to deal with people like this one? I'll show you how we do it!" Karofsky took the sausages off the tray that Prisoner 474 was holding and shoved them through the bars into Kurt's mouth. "Eat up, homo. I bet you love eating sausage, don't you?" Kurt spit out the sausage as fast as he could, and dropped the rest on the floor, all the while maintaining the hard yet smug look, staring at the guards as if to say What else have you got? Karofsky's face turned beet red as he raised his fist in Kurt's direction. Smythe pulled him back, but once Karofsky broke free, he turned his attention to the open cells behind him. He ran into the cell shared by 137 and 138 and threw the sheets off the bed, then stormed into 474's and began to kick the bed, scattering the sheets, before finally overturning it. "There!" he roared. "You see that? You think it's so funny, don't you? Let's see how you like it when everyone else has to suffer. "He pointed to the other prisoners. "Against the wall! Let's go!" The other three hurried to obey, standing in their line, facing Kurt, as he willed himself to disappear. They're not going to break me. I'm in control here. "Why don't you all tell your friend here what he did?" Karofsky was telling them. "Prisoner 219 did a bad thing. Tell him that your cells are now a mess, because of what he did. I wanna hear you all say it loud and clear, 'Prisoner 219 did a bad thing. Because of what Prisoner 219 did, my cell is a mess.' Ten times. Let's go." "Prisoner 219 did a bad thing. Because of what Prisoner 219 did, my cell is a mess,"the others droned, over and over. To Kurt, it sounded like there was only one of them, but he forced himself outside of the situation. They're talking to Prisoner 219. Not me.
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When the chant had finished, Karofsky had each of them go up to the door in turn and bang on it, saying "Thank you, 219," as they left for dinner. "Well," he asked when all three prisoners had finished banging on the door. "Had enough yet? Will you be joining us?" Kurt sat back down on the bed. "No, not hungry, sorry", he said, using the same mild tone he had used at breakfast. "All right, we warned you. Into the hole, now. And pick those sausages off the floor. You're going to hold onto those sausages and sit in the hole until you're ready to eat them." And with that, Kurt was dragged into a small dark closet and forced to sit down, still carrying the food he refused to eat. It took Blaine nearly 30 minutes to convince Karofsky and Sebastian that he could handle the night watch and that they should get some sleep. Thirty minutes of worrying, waiting, and wondering. Thirty minutes of Prisoner 219 sitting alone in the dark. Blaine wondered if he was cold. Hungry? Sad? Scared? Blaine wasn't sure, but he knew that he ached with the need to find out and make it okay. Finally, when Blaine was certain that Sebastian and Karofsky were sleeping, he ventured towards the dark closet currently serving as solitary confinement. He carefully opened the door, making sure it didn't creak too loudly before peering inside. Prisoner 219 was sitting at the back of the small closet, his back against the wall, and his knees drawn up to his chest. His hands were tucked beneath his knees as he curled into himself, looking much younger than his 19 years. "Hey," Blaine managed simply. "You okay? Everyone's sleeping so you can come out now." He tentatively offered a hand to help Prisoner 219 up. Prisoner 219 blinked rapidly against the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, squinting up at Anderson who offered him a hand. "No, I'm fine," he replied tersely. "Everyone else is in bed. C'mon, you don't need to stay in there all night. Aren't you hungry?" Blaine asked, confused. Prisoner 219 sighed heavily. "I told you, I'm fine. Go away, Anderson. I can take care of myself." "You need to eat something at least. I'll bring you some food," Blaine offered, feeling as if he was starting to get whiplash from Prisoner 219's sudden shifts in mood. Were they friends or was Blaine the enemy? He could never predict which it was going to be. Prisoner 219's eyes grew hard at Blaine's direction. "You too? I'm not eating. What don't you get about that?" "No, no, no..." Blaine hurried to correct, holding his hands up in surrender. "Not like that. I'm not here to force you to do anything. I just want...I need to understand. Why aren't you eating? Are you sick?" "Of course you don't understand," Kurt said bitterly, although some of the harshness had left his features and eyes. "How could you?" Blaine was growing frustrated. He was trying, really trying, but getting shut down at every turn. He understood that there was trust to rebuild after the cruel words he'd said to Prisoner 219 two days earlier, but how could he earn Prisoner 219's trust if he wouldn't talk to him? "Look, I may not understand, but I'm trying. That's got to count for something, right? You can talk to me. Just tell me what's going on." He looked down at Prisoner 219, suddenly feeling uncomfortable about looming over him while he sat in a shivering heap on the ground, a visual reminder of the vast difference in power that each had. Without thinking, he knelt down, sitting himself on the ground beside his prisoner in the small space that the closet allowed, his khaki covered knee resting beside Kurt's bare knee. God, he must be freezing, Blaine thought, feeling how quickly the cold from the tile floor leeched through his thick khaki pants. Wordlessly, Blaine slid off his well-worn
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OSU fleece jacket that he'd zipped over his guard uniform, attempting to ward off the dank chill of the basement prison. Knowing that Prisoner 219 was unlikely to accept any assistance were it directly offered, Blaine simply laid the jacket over 219's shoulders. 219 looked up as if he planned to protest but after a particularly violent shiver, he stopped, sliding his arms through the arm holes and sinking into its warmth gratefully. Prisoner 219 finally made eye contact with Blaine, giving him a questioning look. Blaine shrugged, knowing instantly what he was implying. "What? You wouldn't come out, so I'm coming in instead. Now tell me what's going on. Why aren't you eating? Are you sick? Or is it something else?" "No, I'm not sick," Prisoner 219 started, his voice soft and a bit shaky. Already, Blaine's mind started racing. He sounded...weak. Blaine's stomach tightened as he began chewing on the inside of his lip, noticing the sharp copper taste of blood almost immediately as he opened the same gash from where he'd been worrying his lower lip between his teeth all day. "Then what?" Blaine asked, honestly confused. "You've seen what it does to them," Kurt responded simply. "Who? Sebastian and Karofsky?" Blaine asked. Almost immediately, he realized his mistake. "Oh shit," he groaned, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sebastian huh? He would have a ridiculous name like that," Prisoner 219 chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm not going to tell on you," he continued. "But yeah, I was talking about them. You saw how they reacted when I refused to eat." "Yeah, they were furious. But what do you get out that, besides the obvious? I mean, doesn't it just mean that they punish you even more? And aren't you hungry? You can't honestly be planning to not eat for the next week and a half?" Blaine asked, still confused. "If that's what it takes," Prisoner 219 answered instantly. "Look, I'm sure this is hard for you to understand, but what they are doing isn't okay. Someone has to stand up to them. And this is the one thing that I can control that affects them. They need to know that they don't own me," he spit out, building up steam. He glanced up to Blaine, taking in Blaine's khaki uniform. "All of you need to know...you don't own me." Blaine flinched visibly as Prisoner 219 said "all of you," thus lumping him in with Sebastian and Karofsky. That hurt. Yet again, it felt like two steps forward, one step back with 219. "I'm well aware that I don't own you," he said simply, trying for restraint. "I just don't want you get hurt. I do have your best interest at heart, whether you believe it or not." Prisoner 219 simply shrugged, looking away. Blaine could feel the chill in the air, this time having nothing to do with the temperature of the basement. "So I'm guessing that I'm not going to convince you to eat something now? No one will know but me, I swear," Blaine tried one last time, sensing the futility. "No, I'll be fine. The food is disgusting anyways," Prisoner 219 said, failing to suppress a yawn, looking exhausted. "And you're not going to come out? Don't you want to sleep in your bed?" Blaine coaxed. "No, I'm fine here. Really, Anderson. You don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself." Blaine sighed. "I'm sure you can, but that's not going to stop me from worrying," he replied honestly. Prisoner 219's eyes softened a bit. "I'm good. Really." He looked down at the jacket still wrapped around his shoulders. "Thanks for the jacket," he continued, starting to slide it off his arms.
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"No, no...Keep it," Blaine insisted. "You need it more than me." He rose to his feet, sensing that the conversation was over, brushing dust from his pants as he stood." Prisoner 219 gave him a shy, grateful smile, zipping the fleece jacket up once more and snuggling into the folds. He rested his head against the wall, feeling a creeping exhaustion pulling his eyelids shut, even as he fought back another yawn. "You should get some sleep," Blaine encouraged, seeing Prisoner 219 fighting to keep his eyes open. "So this is goodnight, I guess?" he asked, feeling suddenly awkward and overly formal. "Goodnight Anderson."
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Possible Selves: The ideal selves that a person would like to become, the selves a person could become, and the selves a person is afraid of becoming. May 18th, 1960 Kurt blinked in the bright sunlight, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his suit, the wool scratchy and too hot, the tie feeling more and more like a noose around his neck. All around him, people wept quietly, the collective outpouring of grief more numbing than anything else. Kurt continued to stare at the damp grass, being sure to look anywhere but there and gripped his dad's hand a little tighter. Kurt kept his face stoic as people began to come forward, one by one, pausing in front of the place where Kurt did not want to look before offering hugs, pats on the shoulder, and words of comfort that washed over him like a wave, unheard and unwanted. But he sensed that something else was coming as the crowd began to thin and his dad gripped his hand a little tighter, seeming to steel himself for something. Kurt allowed himself to be lead forward by his dad, still staring steadfastly at the ground. Suddenly, there was a sound, a low rumble and creak, and the sounds of grief around Kurt magnified. His father was bending down slightly, pressing something into his hand, but Kurt could barely register it over the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart. He finally looked up then, glancing at the object that had been thrust into his hand. A single yellow rose. His mother's favorite. Kurt swallowed hard, trying to breathe against the growing tightness in his chest. His dad finally spoke then, his voice hoarse and raw sounding. "Kurt... Hey buddy, look at me, okay?" Kurt slowly forced his eyes upward, focusing on his father's face while struggling mightily to block out the background. "Hey kiddo..." Burt spoke sadly, staring down at his son, looking much too grown up for his eight years in his dark suit. "You doing okay? We're just gonna put the flowers in the..." Burt stopped and drew a deep breath, unable to continue. "J-Just toss your flower in like me, okay buddy? Then we're going to go back to the house with everyone and get something to eat." Kurt chewed on his lip nervously, not wanting to do what his dad told him, but because that would mean looking there. But he'd promised his mom that he would be brave, so Kurt simply nodded, watching with wide eyes as his dad tossed the yellow rose into the...hole. Wait, what-? Kurt was confused. Where did his mom go? Kurt could see his dad looking to him expectantly, waiting for Kurt to mimic his actions. And Kurt was honestly lost, because as much as he's tried to avoid looking there, he knew that his mom had been there in that...box. But now she was gone. On instinct, he took a step forward, peering down into the hole. Several feet down sat the box, which had been lowered into the earth, explaining the cracking, rumbling sound Kurt had heard minutes earlier. Kurt felt his chest constrict as he noticed the single yellow rose lying on top of the coffin, the brightness seeming so out of place against the dark mahogany wood and deep brown earth. Kurt sank to his knees at the edge of the hole, breathing heavily. His mom was still in there. It was dark down there and scary and what if she couldn't breathe? Kurt knew somewhere in the back of his mind that his mom was gone, and that it wasn't really her in there, at least not anymore, but that did nothing to stem the panic that was quickly overtaking him. Kurt began to cry in earnest, gripping the yellow rose that his dad had given him between his fingers so tightly that he pricked his thumb on a thorn, barely feeling the pain as a drop of red blood oozed out. He tugged at the tie around his neck, feeling as if it was strangling him. It was so hot and he couldn't breathe and everyone was staring at him and all he wanted was his mom. There were hands on him now, lifting him to his feet, whispered words of comfort, and he was being pulled away from the ground. Away from his mom. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to be trapped in that hole. Through the darkness, he could just make out the whispered words of comfort and clung to them like he was drowning.
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"Shhh buddy, it's okay. It's okay now. I know, Kurt. I know. You're okay. I'm here." Blaine was pulled from his uneasy sleep by the sound of banging. He shivered slightly, reaching down to pull his duvet closer, startling slightly when his hand found nothing but cold cement wall. With a groan, he forced his eyes open, finally remembering that he wasn't safe in his dorm bedroom. He sat up straighter, wincing at the crick in his neck from having fallen asleep sitting up against the wall while on guard duty. He glanced down the hall nervously, confirming that the door to the guard room was still shut, meaning that neither Sebastian nor Karofsky had witnessed his latest failure as prison guard. He had a feeling that literally falling asleep on the job was going to do nothing to help his case when Sebastian inevitably ratted him out to Dr. Cohen. Blaine's eyes were just fluttering closed again from sheer exhaustion when another noise startled him. There was that loud banging noise again followed by what Blaine swore was a...whimper? What the hell? Blaine stumbled to his feet, curiosity and a vague sense of dread propelling him down the hall towards the prisoner cells. He peered into the first cell, smiling slightly at surprisingly domestic scene, even amongst the harshness of their shared environment. Prisoners 137 and 138 had moved their beds together against the wall of their shared cell. Prisoner 137's hand was stretched onto Prisoner 138's bed, resting carefully on Prisoner 138's forearm, seemingly to reassure him, even in sleep. Before Blaine could move on to check the next cell, a muffled scream pierced the silence of the darkened hallway, this time leaving no question who or what was making the sound. Prisoner 219. Blaine felt his stomach drop at the raw fear in Prisoner 219's voice. Hurriedly, Blaine made his way to his prisoner's cell, freezing at the sight of the single bed sitting empty. Shit, 219 was STILL in solitary? Blaine rushed towards the closet, wincing as another bang echoed down the hall. Finally, his hand closed around the door knob, turning it quickly, needing to see Prisoner 219. Fuck. The door was locked. Blaine fiddled with the lock, swearing repeatedly under his breath at the memory of the key Karofsky was wearing on a lanyard around his neck. Now what? At the sound of another whimper from the other side of the door, Blaine was on his knees, pressing his ear to the thick wood as he tried to listen. "219?" Blaine called tentatively. "Hey, you okay in there? It's just me...Anderson. Everyone else is asleep. They've got the door locked, but I can try to get the key from Karofsky if you're hurt...or?" Blaine waited with bated breath, but there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing on the other side of the door. "219? Please...I just need to know that you're okay. Can you... Will you just talk to me for a second? What's going on in there?" Blaine listened carefully, his face crinkling with confusion at what he heard next. "Stop," Kurt gasped shakily. "Please, she can't breathe in there. I can't...we can't breathe. Just make it stop... Oh god, please." Blaine felt an ache in the pit of his stomach at the sound of Prisoner 219's gasps and desperate pleas. He still wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew that Prisoner 219 was scared. He needed help. "219, it's okay. It's okay now. I know you're scared. I know. But you're okay. I'm here. Kurt was sobbing now, little gasping breaths and whimpers that escaped against his will. But through the darkness, he heard a familiar voice telling him that it was okay. "D-dad?" Blaine was halfway on his feet, his hand still pressed against the wooden door as if Prisoner 219 could see or feel his
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touch when a single word stopped him in his tracks. Dad? It hit him all at once. Prisoner 219 was obviously dreaming, having a nightmare. That explained the crying, the heavy breathing, and the words that didn't quite make sense. Blaine felt a pull of longing as he realized that even in his sleep, Prisoner 219 was seeking out family. What must it be like to know even in the depths of a nightmare that your father was there for you? Blaine had no idea, but ached with a longing to have a home, a family like 219's to cling to. Blaine drew in a shaky breath, forcing his mind away from those dark thoughts. No, right now, Prisoner 219 still needed him. His cries were growing louder and Blaine feared that he might wake up Sebastian or Karofsky at any moment. He shuddered to think what they might do to 219 if they found him in such a state. "Hey, 2-1..." Blaine started, before trailing off. Stupid study and stupid fucking rules... What's his name? Frustrated, Blaine tried again. "Hey buddy, it's okay. Just breathe. You're safe. I'm here. I won't let anyone hurt you, okay? Just sleep. Everything will be okay in the morning." Blaine held his breath, waiting to see if his words would work. Slowly, 219's breathing started to even out, the whimpers becoming quieter and less panicked. Blaine felt the knot in his stomach lessen just the slightest bit, but he still ached with a need to see Prisoner 219 with his own eyes, to know that he was safe. Blaine didn't know how or why, but 219 had awakened something in him he'd never experienced before. Suddenly, his earlier worries seemed insignificant. Blaine didn't give a shit about Karofsky or Sebastian or Dr. Cohen. All he cared about was making sure that Prisoner 219 was okay. And in that moment, Blaine knew he was finally ready to stand up, to do whatever it took to keep him safe. He pressed his hand against the door once more, whispering, "You're safe. Everything's okay, now. I'm going to protect you. No one will hurt you as long as I'm here. I promise." Blaine yawned as he finished buttoning the khaki uniform, readying himself to face his fifth full day of guard duty. Despite his lack of sleep and bone-weary exhaustion, Blaine was surprisingly energized with purpose. He knew what he had to do now. He knew why he was here. And he was ready to do whatever it took to get Prisoner 219 to trust him so that he could keep him safe. He'd made a promise to 219, one that he was determined to keep. Blaine strode into the dining room where the prisoners reluctantly picked at their food while Karofsky and Sebastian paced in front of the assembled prisoners, their eyes narrowed as if to daring the others to rebel as 219 had. And where was 219? Blaine scanned the room nervously, but there was no sign on his prisoner. "Hey Karofsky," Blaine greeted, anxious to rid himself of Dave as soon as possible so he could find 219. "Time for me to take over. You can go grab a nap now." "About time. I've had about all I can take of these idiots for one day. Do you think you can handle keeping them in line for once, Anderson?" Karofsky looked to Sebastian, exchanging a wary glance. It was clear that neither of them fully trusted Blaine. Join the club, Blaine thought darkly. "Yeah Karofsky, I've got it. We're not going to have any problems today, okay?" Blaine reassured automatically. He was willing to say whatever needed to be said at this point to get rid of Karofsky so he could find out where Prisoner 219 was and ensure that he was okay after the events of last night. Karofsky gave Blaine a disbelieving grunt, looking to Sebastian who quickly waved him off. "Don't worry, love. I'm more than capable of keeping Anderson and the prisoners in line." "Whatever," muttered Karofsky, already halfway out the door, leaving Blaine, Sebastian, and the prisoners to fend for themselves. Blaine watched Karofsky leave, waiting until he was out of earshot before asking the one question that had been on his mind since he awoke. "Where's 219? Shouldn't he be in here with everyone else?" Sebastian sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Where do you think? Same place he's been since yesterday. And no, he shouldn't be in here. This is the dining room, and since your delicate little
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flower refuses to dine with the rest of the prisoners, he's right where he belongs." Blaine was on his feet almost immediately. "He's still in solitary? Jesus, Sebastian! He's been in there for almost 24 hours. I thought even Dr. Cohen frowned upon that. Has anyone even checked on him? Made sure he's still alive?" "Karofsky went in there earlier and tried to force him to eat. But your pretty pretty princess wouldn't eat and didn't want out. Karofsky seriously almost beat the shit out of him, but I stopped him. You're welcome, by the way," Sebastian quipped, obvious annoyance starting to show through at Blaine's one track mind. "He did what?" Blaine spat, his hands balling into fists on instinct. "Fuck...okay, I'm going to go get him out of there." "You'll do no such thing," Sebastian replied, his voice suddenly cold. "You're on duty now. You have to stay here and help me keep these prisoners under control. You're going to do your job, Blaine. Cherub Cheeks can follow the rules like the rest of the prisoners or he can rot in there as far as I'm concerned." "I am doing my job, Sebastian. 219 is my prisoner. If something happens to him, I'm responsible. And I'm pretty sure it's not going to take two people to keep these guys under control," Blaine continued, gesturing to the assembled prisoners who sat silently picking at their food and eavesdropping on the guards' conversation. And without another word, Blaine stood, grabbing the set of keys off Sebastian's belt and heading towards the door, forcing himself to tune out Sebastian's shouted threats as he left the dining room and headed down the hallway towards the closet where 219 was still entombed. "Hey 219?" Blaine called as he reached the door, not wanting to startle him as he opened the door. "I'm coming in, okay?" "I'm fine, Anderson," 219 muttered. "And I'm not eating, so don't even bother." "Okay, okay," Blaine soothed, already feeling off balance. "Like I said last night, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to." Blaine fumbled for right key and began to unlock the door. "I'm still coming in," he warned. "Fine," Prisoner 219 huffed out. Seconds later, Blaine was gazing down at Prisoner 219 who was huddled in the corner, looking exhausted and drawn, blinking in the bright light. He felt a small rush of familiarity and something else he couldn't quite but a name to at the sight of his fleece jacket still wrapped around 219. It felt right somehow. "Hey," Blaine breathed as he continued to scan 219's face, worrying at his even paler skin and the deep purple shadows beneath his eyes. "Hi," Prisoner 219 echoed with a small twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Blaine was on his knees before he realized what he was doing, automatically sliding into the closet to take a seat next to 219 just as he'd done the night before. 219's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise but he didn't comment on the development, choosing instead to slide over, making room for Anderson to sit beside him. Blaine slid in next to 219 gratefully, reveling a bit at the slight press of his knee against 219's. His eyes were drawn back to Prisoner 219 almost immediately, studying his face carefully, still worried. 219 caught him staring almost immediately, and Blaine blushed, giving him a shy smile. "Hey..." 219 rolled his eyes again, affectionately this time, or so it seemed. "Yes, you said..." "Right," Blaine mumbled, blushing brighter. His face turned serious as he looked to Prisoner 219 again. Up close, 219's skin was so pale it was practically translucent, contrasting dramatically with the purpled bruise-like circles that ringed his eyes. He looked exhausted. Unwell. Blaine began chewing on the inside of his cheek as his stomach began
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to knot up again. He needed to get 219 out of here. Now. "How are you doing?" he asked gently. "Oh, fabulous. Never better. I'm thinking about asking Dr. Cohen if I can book a cell for my next vacation. You?" Despite the sarcasm, there was little bite to 219's words. "Same. I think I might change my career plans. Drop out of OSU and go into the police academy or prison guard school or wherever it is they train you up in how to be an asshole." Prisoner 219 chuckled at Blaine's response, flooding Blaine's chest with warmth. Anderson couldn't help but notice how 219's whole face transformed when lit up with a smile. God, his smile. But Blaine's elation was short-lived as Prisoner 219's chuckle turned into a dry, hacking cough. Instinctively, Blaine patted him on the back until the cough subsided, his eyes now worried as he watched 219 carefully. "You okay?" Anderson asked with undue concern. "I'm fine," 219 replied automatically. "No really, how are you feeling? Are you getting sick?" Prisoner 219 scoffed. "No, I'm not sick. Just a little tickle in my throat. It's really dry in here." He looked at Anderson, shaking his head at the naked worry in his eyes. "I told you, Anderson. I'm fine. I don't need anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself." "Yes, you mentioned that. And I'm pretty sure I told you that I knew you could take care of yourself, but it wasn't going to stop me from worrying. Sound familiar?" Prisoner 219 sighed heavily. "Vaguely." "Okay, so humor me for a few minutes, alright? Still not going to eat?" "Nope," Prisoner 219 replied immediately, folding his arms over his chest to emphasize his point. Now it was Blaine's turn to sigh. "And I take it there's no talking you out of that? Even if I bring you some food and make sure Sebastian and Karofsky don't find out about it?" "Yeah no...still not happening." "Okay, well when was the last time you had something to drink? Is that why your throat's so dry? Because you can't go that long without water... You'll get dehydrated and..." "Anderson, stop. Breathe. I haven't had any water since they locked me up here yesterday afternoon, but I'm not opposed to something to drink. I'm thirsty. Just water though." "Okay," Blaine nodded, relieved to be able to do something concrete to help. "Okay, let's go get you some water then," he said, standing and offering his hand to 219, intending to help him up. "Uh uh," 219 warned, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving solitary. That wasn't part of the deal." "Seriously? C'mon 219, you don't need to stay in here any longer. Karofsky isn't on duty anymore. He's sleeping so you don't need to worry about him." "I'm not worried about him," Prisoner 219 spoke, his voice suddenly hard and determined. "But the deal was that I either had to eat or stay in here. And I'm not eating."
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"Oh god, that was forever ago. Nobody is going to remember unless you bring it up," Blaine protested. Prisoner 219 gazed back at him with a look that clearly said, "Come on, really? Even you don't believe that." "Okay fine, maybe Karofsky remembers but he's sleeping so you don't have to worry about him. And Sebastian..." Blaine sighed heavily, knowing that Sebastian would be less than thrilled to have 219 out of solitary confinement, but Blaine was determined. He'd have to find way to convince Sebastian to let 219 go back to his cell. "And fuck Sebastian...he's an idiot. He'll just have to deal with it," Blaine finished lamely, still trying to formulate a plan. "Oh, is he now?" an icy voice came from the doorway. Sebastian. Fuck. Prisoner 219 watched in horror as Sebastian stepped inside the narrow closet, extending a hand to pull a stunned Anderson to his feet. Sebastian was obviously fighting to keep his face impassive, but it was clear to see his hurt underneath. While a sheepish Blaine rose to his feet, Sebastian smoothly reached down, snagging the keys to solitary confinement out of Blaine's pocket. "You won't be needing these anymore," he said coolly, pocketing them and looking to Blaine as if daring him to protest. "Sebastian, I I didn't... I I'm sorry," Blaine sputtered, panicked. To be totally honest, he didn't really give a damn about hurting Sebastian's feelings, but he did care about not getting kicked out of the study. If Sebastian decided to report him to Dr. Cohen as he seemed on the verge of doing now, there would be no one left to protect 219. And that was a risk Blaine was unwilling to take. "That's quite enough out of you for now, Anderson. And gee, I seem to remember something about Doctor Cohen saying one of the biggest rules was no first names. I wonder how he's going to feel about you breaking one of his rules?" Sebastian spat, his voice all false earnestness with a surprisingly biting undercurrent of fury. "And what are we going to do with you, babycakes?" Sebastian continued, addressing Kurt. "Now that you know my first name, we can't have you interacting you with the other prisoners. You might share your insider knowledge. Well, guess it looks like you've earned yourself another night in hole. Better get comfortable because it's going to be a long night. I'll make sure of it." "Seba-... I mean, Smythe," Blaine corrected himself. "Look, I'm the one who fucked up here. Don't punish him for my mistake." "I'm not. I'm just keeping him right where he - belongs," Sebastian spat, emphasizing every word. "And you are going to keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you. Now, get your ass back in the dining room and cuff the prisoners so we can move them back to their cells. And then you and I are going to have a little chat. Got it?" "Yeah, I- I will. I just have to do one thing first," Blaine replied, looking back to 219 worriedly, uneasy about leaving 219 alone with Sebastian. "And what would that be?" Sebastian asked impatiently. "Water. I'm going to bring him a bottle of water," he replied, gesturing towards 219. "He hasn't had anything to drink since last night and we're going to get in big shit if he gets dehydrated and blacks out." Sebastian's entire body clenched in obvious frustration. After a moment's silence too long, he drew a breath and looked back to Blaine, his calm, quiet voice somehow more menacing than the obvious anger and threats that had come earlier. "Fine. Make it quick. I'll wait here with him until you get back. And then you're going to get your ass into the dining room and do your fucking job. Got it?" "Got it," Blaine replied, practically running down the hall to retrieve a bottle of water, not wanting to leave 219 alone with Sebastian for a second longer than necessary.
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He was back in seconds, bending down and handing a chilled bottle of water to Prisoner 219 while exchanging a meaningful glance, trying to communicate everything he hadn't the opportunity to say with his eyes. "Thanks," Prisoner 219 replied gratefully, immediately screwing open the top and downing nearly a third of the bottle in one long gulp. Blaine smiled in reply and gave 219 what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the knee. "Alright, enough flirting with the virgin bride," Sebastian warned. "C'mon, we've got work to do." Blaine nodded, peering over Sebastian's head at Prisoner 219 one final time. "You okay?" he mouthed. Prisoner 219 gave him that look before finally nodding minutely. "Enjoy your stay, princess," Sebastian snarled. "Don't plan on seeing the light of day for quite some time. Blaine cringed. "I'm sorry," he mouthed apologetically to 219 before the door was swinging shut, leaving 219 alone and in the dark. "Oh stop your moping, love," Sebastian admonished Blaine later that afternoon. "I'm tired of seeing that sour mug on such a pretty face." "I'm not moping. Just doing my job," Blaine replied with irritation. "I thought that's what you wanted me to do. No one said I had to be happy about it." "Look, the whole star-crossed lovers thing you've got going on with 219 is starting to wear thin. Your poor baby penguin may have a nice face, but I've seen his equipment..." Sebastian leaned forward, massaging Blaine's shoulders as he purred the last few words into Blaine's ear. "And trust me when I say that he's got nothing on me where it counts." Blaine shrugged off Sebastian's wandering hands angrily. It had been like this non-stop since Karofsky went off duty save the fifteen minutes that Sebastian has spent reaming him out in front of everyone for breaking "guard code" and getting too attached to Prisoner 219. But Sebastian seemed all too eager to "kiss and makeup" and Blaine was starting to wonder if he wouldn't prefer the yelling over the relentless flirting. "What's your problem, baby? We both know what you want and I can give it to you," Sebastian replied coyly. "Dude, look I've had it. You're delusional. I don't want this. I don't want anything to do with you. So just please, for the love of god, keep your hands off me," Blaine shouted, gathering steam. "And them! Just keep your hands off everyone. Give it up!" Sebastian was on his feet in flash, his eyes gleaming darkly, all traces of flirtation and warmth gone. "And why is that exactly, huh? Why don't you want me, Anderson? You're clearly gay and I'm way out of your league, so if anyone's delusional here, it's you. So why don't you want me? Maybe it's because you're stuck on your girly little fag prisoner?" Blaine completely lost control then, all the pent up frustration anger being released in a stream. "Don't you fucking talk about him like that! Don't you dare talk about any of them like that. They're people. They aren't just toys for you to play with. They are human beings. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sebastian rolled his eyes, letting out a dark laugh at Blaine's sudden rage. "Oh, how's it up there on that moral high ground, honey? Welcome to the real world. Look, here's the deal: you need to start doing your job. Your job isn't to fall in love, it's to regulate. You like 219 soooo much? You think he's such a great person. Fine. You deal with him and just wait and see how you like it when I tell Dr. Cohen that you are hooking up with the prisoner and giving him special favors behind the scenes. You've got 'till lights out to get your little boyfriend with the program or you're out of here. I don't care what you do. Blow him for all I care, but he better be a model prisoner by lights out or so help me god, you're gone. And you really don't want to know what Karofsky and I will do to him once you aren't here to be his hero. Get it together, Anderson. Before it's too late."
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Blaine spent the rest of the day in a panicked daze, sleepwalking through his guard duties while internally he was still reeling. Blaine had no doubt that Sebastian's threat was genuine, but he had no idea how to keep 219 safe. Prisoner 219 seemed so determined to stick to his convictions and Blaine had a feeling that no amount of coaxing or convincing would be enough to get 219 to agree to eat and become the "model prisoner" as Sebastian dictated. But Blaine was running out of options, so when he found a moment to sneak away, he took it. He escorted Prisoners 137 and 138 to the bathroom, leaving them there alone to wash up and take care of business while he stole down the hall to the closet where 219 was still trapped. Blaine cursed as he reached the door, realizing that Sebastian still held the only set of keys to the hole. "Hey, 219?" Blaine called softly, tapping tentatively on the door was he spoke. "It's me. How are you doing in there?" "I'm fine," came a muffled reply from the other side of the door. "Seriously Anderson, you need to stop worrying about me. Aside from boredom, not a lot is going on in here, you know?" "Look, something's happened," Blaine began urgently, deciding honesty was his only option at this point. "I don't have much time, but I need you to trust me when I say that you're not safe if you stay in there. I know that you want to stick to your principles and I respect that, I really do, but if you don't start eating and at least pretending to follow the rules, Karofsky and Sebastian are going to hurt you. I don't know how, but I know they'll find a way to do it and get away with it. They...they want me gone, 219, and if they succeed in getting me kicked out of the study, I won't..." Blaine took a deep breath, forcing down tears of frustration, fear, and panic. "I can't protect you if I'm not here. You'll be all on your own and there'll be no one left to stop him. Please 219... I just...I don't want to see you get hurt." Prisoner 219 sighed audibly, pausing for several moments before finally replying. "I know," he said simply. "I heard Sebastian yelling earlier." "You did?" Blaine asked, honestly shocked, his cheeks coloring slightly as he remembered all the crude comments Sebastian had made about Blaine wanting to have sex with 219. "Oh god... If I..,said anything to offend you, I'm so..." "Anderson, stop. You have nothing to apologize for. Thank you for standing up for me. You're the only one who seems to give a damn." "Of course," Blaine replied, instantly relieved. This was good. Kurt heard Sebastian's threats, which means he'll take them seriously. "Okay...so you'll come out then? You'll eat?" Blaine asked. "No." "No?" Blaine asked, panicked and more than a little confused. "219, please...you know that Sebastian was serious. If you don't do what they ask, they're going to hurt you. I'll be out of here by tomorrow morning. There's still over a week left in this damn study and I don't want to even think about the awful things Karofsky and Sebastian will have come up with by then," Blaine spoke in a rush, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Look Anderson, no matter what I said before, you're a good guy. And I appreciate that you're trying to help. But this is important to me. It's not just a study any more. I have something to prove. It's just something I have to do...for me. I don't expect you to understand, but nothing you say is going to change my mind. Kurt listened carefully for Anderson's reaction. For a moment, there was nothing but silence and the sound of Anderson's ragged breathing. Then Kurt heard a loud thump as Anderson pounded his fist into the wall in frustration, cursing under his breath as he did. Kurt held his breath, his resolve weakening slightly at the pleading quality to Anderson's breath.
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"Please..." Blaine tried once more, his voice breaking slightly. "Will you just...just...think about it, okay? If you don't want to give in to the other guards, then just drop out. Hell, I'll even help you escape if you want to leave tonight. I...I just can't deal with the thought of you staying here without me. So don't give me an answer now. Just think about it." Blaine's voice grew distant as he turned, seeing Prisoners 137 and 138 open the door to the bathroom tentatively. "Fuck... I've...I've got to go before Sebastian catches me. But I'll be back. Promise me you'll think about everything while I'm gone, okay?" And before Kurt could form a coherent reply, Blaine was gone, wearily re-cuffing the two prisoners and leading them back down the hall towards their shared cells, stooped over slightly as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Anderson? Anderson! Dude, what the fuck?" a harsh voice shouted, finally cutting through the turmoil raging in Blaine's mind. "Huh? Uh, what? I mean...sorry, what was that again, Karofsky?" Blaine tried to cover lamely. He'd spent the last hour going through the motions of the count on autopilot, his mind still trying to formulate a plan to convince 219 to leave the study. He'd given up any pretense of trying to be a "good guard" and was doing the absolute bare minimum, scarcely caring that he was about to be kicked out of the study penniless and homeless. Right now, the only thing that mattered was 219 and trying to find a way to ensure his safety. Karofsky rolled his eyes, before speaking, enunciating each word as if he was speaking to a mentally handicapped child. "I said, it's your turn to come up with a punishment. Since your precious little 219 is still refusing to eat and play by our prison rules, his fellow prisoners are going to be left to suffer the consequences. And it's your turn to come up with the punishment. Make it good. I'm pretty sure that Sebastian has made the stakes crystal clear. Blaine nodded, as if lost in thought while he continued to consider what could be done about the current predicament. He glanced up at the other prisoners who were dead on their feet, panting heavily from the hours of physical exertion. Aside from Prisoners 137 and 138 who continued to cling to one another at every possible opportunity, it was clear that it was every man for himself. And maybe that was the bigger issue. If Anderson couldn't be here, maybe the prisoners could come together to protect one another? Safety in numbers, perhaps? Blaine smiled as inspiration struck. 219 needed to know that he wasn't alone. Maybe he could get the other prisoners to sacrifice something in exchange for getting 219 out of solitary confinement. Blaine was desperate, so he quickly decided it was worth a shot. "Okay, I've got something. Listen up prisoners. I told you once and I'll tell you again. You are bad prisoners. You don't have each other's backs like you should. You're going to all be punished together, so it's about time you acted like a group. I'll give you two options. This is your one chance to get 219 out of solitary..." "Oh god," Sebastian groaned. "Not this nonsense again." "Just...give me a second. If you don't like my punishment, you can come up with something else, okay?" Blaine replied. "So here's the deal. Give up your blankets for the night and we'll let 219 out of the hole. If not, he's staying in there indefinitely and you'll officially be the worst prisoners ever. You decide." Karofsky was the next to protest. "Oh come on, dude. That's the stupidest punishment I've ever heard." Sebastian placed a restraining arm on Karofsky. "Now hang on a minute," he started, a slightly evil gleam in his eye. "Let's just see where this goes." He turned to the panting prisoners. "Alright ladies, line up. You heard Officer Anderson. You've got two choices and I want each and every one of you to tell 219 your decision. Move out."
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Blaine followed close behind the last of the prisoners, biting his lip nervously. He didn't like the slightly demented look in Sebastian's eyes. What if his plan backfired? Karofsky's reluctantly followed along with Sebastian, grumbling the whole way. Sebastian banged roughly on the door to the hole, smoothly unlocking it before flinging open the door, seeming to take pleasure at the sight of 219 wincing in the suddenly bright light. "Good morning, love. Enjoying your stay?" Sebastian snarled. "Of course, the accomodations are lovely, thank you," 219 replied mildly, feeling slightly vindicated by the momentary flash of anger in Sebastian's eyes. "Glad to see you're enjoying your stay. But your boyfriend here just won't shut up about how we need to let you out...blah blah blah. So he's come up with a brilliant plan to save you. Between you and me, I think he's got a bit of a hero complex and just likes saving the pretty pretty princess stuck in the dungeon, but I'll save the psychoanalysis for Dr. Cohen. Anyways, here's the deal. Prisoners, I want to you to come up here one and a time and give your answer to 219. And 219, don't forget whose idea this was." Blaine swallowed hard, already regretting his plan. He looked to 219, trying to communicate everything with a glance. Dear god, please let this work. Don't make 219 hate me. Again. "Prisoner 474, you're up first. What will it be? Are you giving up your blankets so 219 can go back to his cell?" Blaine fidgeted nervously. This was it. Prisoner 474's response was the one he was most unsure of, given that 474 rarely seemed like more than the guard's puppet, not an independent being. Prisoner 474 stared at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with 219. Blaine's heart sank and he immediately knew that he wasn't going to help 219. "I'm going to keep my blanket," 474 mumbled, at least having the decency to look ashamed of himself as he replied softly. "I'm sorry, love, but you'll have to speak up. Nice and loud. I want to make sure everyone can hear you. 474 sighed heavily but repeated, "I'm keeping my blankets" as asked. Kurt stared resolutely as 474, trying hard to keep his face impassive. But he had to admit, it stung to see his fellow prisoners refusing to help him. He looked at Anderson, taking in his pained and stricken expression. It was immediately clear to Kurt that Sebastian had orchestrated this entire scenario as yet another way to fuck with Anderson. 219 was determined not to give him that satisfaction, so he gave Anderson a reassuring smile. "And 474, why have you chosen not to help 219? After all, he is your fellow prisoner just like Officer Anderson was saying earlier." 474 ran a hand over his face, looking horrified. "Do I have to have a reason?" he asked. "Yes, each of you is going to tell 219 the reason for your decision. Nice and loud, love." 474 hung his head in shame. "Because Prisoner 219 did a bad thing," he droned robotically. "Okay, thank you 474. You can get back in line now." Sebastian's eyes scanned the two remaining prisoners, deciding to call on the second weakest prisoner next. "Alright 138, you're up." Kurt watched as 137 & 138 hurriedly finished their whispered conference, breaking apart. Prisoner 138 reluctantly
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separated from 137, fidgeting with the hem of his prison smock in a vain attempt at hiding his shaking hands. Sebastian immediately picked up on 138's fear, and decided to use it to his advantage. "Come here, baby," he cooed gently. "Nothing to be afraid of," Sebastian continued, maneuvering 138 until he stood directly in front of Sebastian. Sebastian placed his hands on 138's shoulders, massaging them inappropriately as he continued to whisper reassurances. Kurt couldn't help but notice how 138 trembled harder as Officer Smythe touched him. 137 watched Sebastian carefully, his eyes flashing with a hint of fury as he watched 138 shift uncomfortably. "Okay sweetheart, are you going to give you blankets to 219? You can always share my blankets in the guard room if you get lonely," Sebastian leered, causing 138 to shudder. 138 looked near tears as he looked up to 219. "It's okay," 219 mouthed, already anticipating 138's reply. "I'm sorry, but no, I'm keeping my blankets," 138 spoke shakily. "Good boy," Sebastian praised. "And why don't you want to share with 219?" 138 looked at the ground, shaking his head. "Because 219 did a bad thing, sir." "Brilliant," Sebastian crowed, giving 138 a lingering pat on the ass. "Now off you go. 137, it's your turn now!" 137 stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on 138's shoulder and squeezing it gently as they passed one another. "Okay 137, you know the drill. What's it going to be?" "Can I- I need... I want to ask 219 something first," he stuttered. Karofsky groaned, clearly growing impatient. "Smythe, let's get this show on the road, okay?" "Quickly 137," Sebastian warned. "Umm 219? Do you even want out?" 137 asked directly. Prisoner looked up at 137, surprised at the question. He looked at Anderson, whose eyes were pleading, making it clear that he knew how badly he'd screwed things up. With a deep breath, 219 replied. "I'm perfectly fine here. You guys don't need to give anything up for me. It's okay." 137 nodded, seeming relieved. "Okay, if he wants to stay in there, let him. I'm keeping my blanket too. Sorry." "And your reason?" Sebastian asked. "It's what he wants. He brought this on himself," 137 replied. "Okay, well that was one big waste of time," Karofsky grumbled. "Lame punishment, Anderson. Alright ladies, back in line. I want to see 100 push-ups from all of you. And none of those wimpy girl push-ups either. On the ground!" Sebastian flashed a victorious smile at Kurt. "219, always a pleasure. Enjoy your stay." And with that, Sebastian slammed the door to the hole shut, leaving Kurt alone in the darkness, any last glimmers of hope extinguished. Kurt sighed heavily, remembering Anderson's guilt stricken face. He now knew what Anderson had told him earlier to be true. Once Anderson was inevitably kicked out, he would be entirely and utterly alone. Kurt rubbed at his reddened, tear swollen eyes, blinking tiredly against the sudden influx of harsh fluorescent light.
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He let out an involuntary groan, shivering slightly despite the warm fleece jacket zipped around him. Before his eyes could adjust to the light, a hand made its way through the darkness, reaching for him. A warm, familiar voice, low but insistent. "C'mon, get up. You're coming with me." Anderson. Kurt allowed himself to be pulled to his feet wordlessly, still disoriented and half asleep. "Where are we g-" Kurt started. "Shh, quiet. Everyone else is asleep. You'll see in a minute. Just trust me, okay?" Kurt made a noncommittal noise under his breath He still wasn't sure that he trusted Anderson, but at this point, he was too tired and curious to argue. Kurt found himself stumbling slightly as Anderson continued to tug him down the hall. Immediately, Anderson's free arm wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he continued to lead Kurt by the hand. "Careful, it's pretty dark at this end of the hallway," Anderson whispered. "Almost there." Anderson stopped at the end of the hall, peering back towards the prisoner cells and guard room before opening the bathroom quietly and gesturing for Kurt to enter. Kurt gave Anderson a strange look before reluctantly following him. "Okay Anderson, what are we doing here?" Anderson simply gave Kurt a shy smile, shutting the bathroom door quietly behind them before leading Kurt to sit on a bench near the lockers. "Only room without cameras," he started. "Come sit with me. Please?" Kurt sat down with a sigh, still looking to Anderson for further explanation. When none immediately came, Kurt tried again. "Anderson, I was asleep..." "I know...but it didn't sound like it was very restful. I could hear you yelling..." Blaine trailed off, staring at the floor as rubbed the frayed seam of his untucked guard shirt between his fingers. With a deep breath, Blaine looked up, his eyes filled with sympathy and boring into Prisoner 219's. "And crying...you were...having a nightmare, right?" Blaine finally continued softly. Prisoner 219's mouth widened in surprise. "I-I...I didn't know anyone could hear...that you could..." he trailed off, blushing. "Hey, it's okay," Blaine soothed automatically, his hand landing on Prisoner 219's shoulder. "Like I said, I'm the only one up right now. No one else heard. I just...I wanted to help. It sounded like a bad one, though. The nightmare, I mean. Same one as last night?" Blaine asked gently, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he spoke, fully anticipating that he would be shut down by Prisoner 219 at any moment. "Yeah, it was," Kurt replied immediately, shuddering slightly at the memory of his earlier panic as the walls seemed to close in on him from all sides. Suddenly Kurt frowned, whirling to face Anderson. "Wait, how did you know that? I didn't say anything to you about having a nightmare last night. Jesus, are you guards even spying on our dreams now?" "Hey, hey, hey," Blaine hurried to reassure, holding up his hands. "I swear I haven't been spying on you or anything. I just...I heard you last night - while you were in solitary. You were kind of...whimpering. I was talking to you through the door for a while to try to calm you down. At first, I didn't...I didn't realize you were having a bad dream. But I thought...it seemed like the talking calmed you down. You don't remember?" "I-I-...wh.." Kurt stuttered, lost in thought and momentarily rendered speechless. "That was you?" he breathed. "I
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thought I'd just dreamt that too." Kurt finally looked up at Anderson, a dazed but slightly appreciative look on his face. "Yup, that was me." "You were...you kept saying that I was safe and that nothing bad was going to happen to me..." Kurt remembered. "Uh yeah..." Blaine responded, still unsure. "You sounded upset, but I wasn't sure...I couldn't tell why right away. Just that you were scared, so..." "And you said that you were going to protect me. That you wouldn't let anyone hurt me," Kurt continued, stunned. Blaine blushed beet red, looking down as he twisted his hands in his lap nervously. "I-I...I wasn't sure...I j-just thought...I wanted to..." "Thank you," Kurt interrupted. He stared at Anderson, waiting for him to look up. Finally, Blaine hazarded a glance up and their eyes locked. "Seriously, Anderson. Thank you," Kurt continued gratefully. The smile Kurt received in return was breathtaking, lighting up Anderson's entire face. "You're welcome. So I...uh I have something for you," Anderson started, standing up and opening a nearby locker. Kurt watched him, curious. Carefully, Blaine removed a paper plate covered in foil before sitting back down. "It's food. I saved you some pizza that the guards ordered for lunch. Will you please just eat?" "Anderson, we've been through this." "I know, but I have to try, okay? I'm worried about you. Look, I'm out of here first thing in the morning, so I swear no one will know but me. Please?" "You're out of here for sure?" Kurt asked, feeling surprisingly sad at the thought. "Yeah, Sebastian and Karofsky confronted me after the count. They said I'm not doing my job. They're going to go to Dr. Cohen first thing in the morning to tell him that I've been breaking the study rules. You know that things are only going to get worse for you after I'm gone, right? I'm sure that they're determined to ride you twice as hard. You need to keep your strength up if you're going to survive another week. So will you please just eat something? You must be starving." "Fine," Kurt finally acquiesced with a resigned groan. Blaine smiled, obviously relieved, as he passed over the plate of pizza. "Thank you," Anderson said, smiling as 219 began to nibble on a piece of cheese pizza. "So..." Blaine started, suddenly feeling shy as they sat together in comfortable silence. "So..." 219 echoed, chewing slowly. Blaine smiled back at 219, his mind racing. There were so many things he wanted to share with 219 that he scarcely knew where to begin. "So listen, I have to tell you something. I don't care what those assholes said, you have an amazing voice. Where did you learn to sing like that?" "I'm a performer," Kurt said proudly, relishing the memory of his new life in New York. "I go to NYADA actually. Ever heard of it?" "The Dramatic Arts School in New York? Yeah, of course I've heard of it. People say it's impossible to get into though. I'm impressed. How'd you swing that?"
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"Four years of toiling in glee club and school theater productions and a hell of an audition song." "Wow, that's awesome. What'd you sing?" "As Long As He Needs Me." "Oh yeah, I know that song it's from Oliver, right?" Kurt glanced at him, obvious surprise on his face. "Yeah, that's the one." Blaine let out a laugh at 219's expression. "Is it that shocking that I know the song?" "Honestly? Yeah. I mean, in Lima, Ohio? I guess I just didn't peg you for the musical theater type. Are you a performer too?" "Huh? No...not a performer. I don't have the talent, not like you anyways. I always wanted to do glee club but according to my father, singing was a waste of time. I thought about doing something with music in college, but it feels a little bit like it's too late to start now, you know?" "Not really...it's all I've ever wanted to do so I honestly can't imagine doing anything but performing." Blaine smiled at Prisoner 219, admiring his certainty. He knew that the theater world was notorious for rejection and heartbreak, and realized what conviction it must have taken for 219 to make it to NYADA. To make it out of Ohio. It was hard not to be envious when he was sitting across from someone who had the life he's always wanted, had dreamed of since he was kid. Blaine knew that he probably wasn't strong enough to go after what he wanted, odds be damned, but it was hard not to wonder. If he'd had has family's support? If his parents had encouraged rather than discouraged his love of the arts? Where would he be today? "That's amazing that you've always known what you wanted to do and now you're living it? It's got to be such a rush, huh?" Blaine asked wistfully. "And your parents they're supportive? They don't mind you living so far away in New York?" "Completely supportive. They're amazing. My dad whines from time to time about how far away New York is and how expensive the plane tickets are...blah blah blah. But I know he secretly loves it. He's never missed one of my shows. Even when I was just in a crappy student theater production a bunch of NYADA students were doing in some off-off-off Broadway dive." Blaine smiled warmly, trying to ignore the ache in the pit of his stomach, that longing for a home that he'd never really had. At least not a home like 219 had. "That's really awesome. It must be amazing to know how much they love for who you are." Blaine paused a moment, drawing a deep breath and swallowing against the hard lump growing in his throat, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Kurt watched Anderson carefully, seeing how emotional he'd become when the conversation shifted to family. He gave him a sympathetic glance but stayed silent, deciding not to probe further unless Anderson invited it. It was hard not to wonder about Anderson's home life. Maybe there was some truth to Sebastian's constant assertions that Anderson was gay? Blaine quickly reined in his emotions in enough to continue. "They seemed really nice when they came for visiting day. I wanted...I was trying to give you guys your privacy, so I left the intercom off, but I could tell how much they care about you from their body language." "Wait, you didn't spy on our conversation?" Kurt asked, shocked. "No...I didn't think it was right. Besides, I figured if you wanted to tell your family how awful all the guards were being, that was your right, you know?
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"Well if I'd known you weren't listening, I just might have told them..." Kurt replied, chuckling. "No, honestly, my dad wanted me to leave. Begged me to leave actually. But I told him that I wasn't budging." "Yeah okay, about that..." Blaine interjected. "That's what I don't get. The prisoners are being treated like absolute shit. Why are you all still here? I think if our roles were reversed, I would have left by now. So what's the motivation? Is it because you need the money or...?" Kurt rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling up to the surface yet again. Anderson seemed nice and Kurt knew that he was trying to do the right thing. But he honestly didn't get it. This had quickly become more than just a study for than Kurt. He had something to prove. When he was younger, he'd been weak. This was his chance to stand up for himself. To fight back. "No, it's not about the money. It's hard to explain and I don't think you'd really understand anyway." Kurt replied coolly. Blaine sighed as he watched 219 put up his guard yet again. He'd been so sure they'd reached a breakthrough. For a moment, it seemed as if 219 trusted him. Blaine knew he was out of time. If he was going to get Prisoner 219 out of here, they'd have to act quickly. "I want to understand, 219. I really do. And more than anything, I want to get you out of here. Now. Pleas, .let's just leave. We can go together, okay?" Kurt shook his hand adamantly, his frustration growing. "We've been through this, Anderson. I'm staying. End of discussion." Blaine got to his feet and began pacing in front of 219 nervously, obviously lost in thought. "I just don't understand what's so important here. What's the big deal if you leave? Who cares what these assholes think about you as long as you're safe." "No, you don't get it," Kurt said, his voice harsh but determined. "So help me understand. Aren't you scared? Do you want them to hurt you? Think about your family, 219. What would your dad say if something bad did happen to you?" Kurt was on his feet in a flash, standing inches from Anderson, his voice rising in volume as he grew progressively angrier. "Don't you dare! You don't know my dad. Don't bring him into this. This is between me and you. I'm not doing this for you. I'm not doing it for the other guards. I'm not even doing it for my family. I'm doing it for myself. No one is going to beat me down or make me run away. I'm stronger than all the other guards and prisoners put together, damn it, and it's time people stop treating me like a child!" Blaine dropped to the bench, head in hands. How had he so badly miscalculated? How did he manage to screw things up with 219 again? Any trust that he'd built had clearly just been extinguished by his careless words. Blaine knew that his intentions were good and pure, but with sinking certainty, he knew those intentions counted for less than nothing now. He'd failed. Again. "I- I don't know what else to say, 219. I don't want you to get hurt and I can't protect you. What other options do we have?" "I don't know about you, but I'm not out of options. I'm staying. And by the end of next week, every person in here will know that nobody is going to bring me down." Kurt gazed defiantly at Anderson, breathing heavily. Anderson gazed back, dumbfounded. "Okay..." was all he managed. "I had to try." "Yes, and I had to say no. I think I'd like to go back to my cell now." Blaine felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach, but somehow managed to lead 219 back to the hole in silence,
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completely wrapped up in his own thoughts. 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."
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Bystander intervention: Willingness to assist a person in need of help. 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.
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"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.
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"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?"
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"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
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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 blas 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
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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
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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 nave 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.
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Repression: The basic defense mechanism by which painful or guilt-producing thoughts, feelings, or memories are excluded from conscious awareness. Blaine sighed as he slid the well-worn slip of paper into his pocket. No matter how long or hard he stared at it, it seemed no more information would magically appear. There were still only nine items listed in Blaine's sloppy scrawl and so far those items had proved woefully inadequate in finding the real flesh and blood Prisoner 219. Goes to NYADA Was in glee club (not sure which high school though Carmel? McKinley?) Lives with his dad, stepmom, and stepbrother His mom died when he was young Has an amazing voice Brown hair Blue eyes Taller than me maybe 5'10 or 5'11 Lives in NYC, just visiting his family in Ohio for a few weeks The last week had felt like a waking nightmare, in some ways even more so than the prison he'd left behind. His single minded devotion to finding Prisoner 219 had meant that Blaine hadn't spent much time worrying about his family situation or how he would afford to support himself at OSU without his parents' contribution. But as Blaine came up empty time and time again, he felt himself losing hope that he would ever find the enigmatic stranger with the crystal blue eyes and voice of an angel.. Exhausted and dead on his feet, Blaine needed a place to rest and think. Just across the parking lot stood The Lima Bean where the whole ordeal had begun just weeks earlier. Blaine dug around his pocket, finally coming up with enough change to buy a cup of black coffee. But what the money would really be buying Blaine was a safe, quiet place to regroup before starting his search anew. Kurt barely glanced up as the bell on the door jingled, signaling a new customer. They'd been unusually busy for a Friday afternoon, and Kurt still had two cappuccinos to make and a pile of dishes that needed washing. Kurt had mostly been gateful for the pace of his new job, which left precious little time to think about the things he'd witnessed in the prison. There was something refreshing about clocking in and out, knowing that he could leave the day's slights and dramas behind and simply go home at the end of the day. And when Kurt found his thoughts straying to the prison and the many awful memories it conjured up, he refocused by counting down the days until he would be back in New York. Only a week to go and he'd be out of Lima, leaving the many awful recent memories far, far behind. "What can I get you?" Kurt asked in a bored, but polite voice, his eyes still focused on wiping down the foamed milk that had spilled on the counter. "Oh my god, it's you," a boy breathed, his voice much too excited for a Friday afternoon coffee run. "Mmhm," Kurt mumbled, bored, still not bothering to look up. "And what would you like?" Blaine pushed through the door of the Lima Bean, the door tinkling softly as slid it open. He ambled towards the
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front counter dejectedly, his steps heavy with exhaustion and waning hope. His heart leapt into his throat as he glanced at the barista behind the counter reflexively, blinking rapidly as if the boy in front of him was a mirage that might disappear at any moment. It was... It couldn't be... But it was. It was him. "Oh my god, it's you!" Blaine exclaimed dumbly, still baffled and frankly speechless. But the vision in front of Blaine was unmoved, giving a noncommittal hum of acknowledgment before asking for Blaine's order. Blaine craned his neck around the espresso machine, wanting to connect with the crystal blue eyes that had haunted his every waking moment and dream for the past week. "No..." he spoke, trembling slightly. "It's YOU." "What can I get you?" Kurt asked, growing impatient. "It's you... Prisoner 219!" a voice exclaimed, causing an involuntary shiver of fear to run down the length of Kurt's spine. Kurt's head snapped up until he was staring into the eyes of a face that had been burned into his memories. "That is NOT my name," Kurt shouted, his voice echoing loudly across the half empty coffee shop. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed at the stunned boy in front of him. "Prisoner 219!" Blaine exclaimed obliviously, still stunned and more than a little excited. Blaine was thrilled when finally, the boy in front of him reacted, his head swiveling until he finally made eye contact. Blaine's excitement was tempered as he watched the color drain from his prisoner's face and the smile fall from his face. "That is NOT my name," he shouted causing Blaine to recoil at the bitterness and anger in his voice. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Oh god, I'm doing this wrong...again," Blaine mumbled, horrified. He threw up his hands in his rush to explain. "No, god...I'm sorry," he started, glancing to read the nametag haphazardly pinned to the brunette's apron. "Kurt? Hi, I didn't mean...I...I'm just so happy to see you, I..." Kurt's eyes narrowed suspiciously, reaching down to cover his nametag just a half second too late. He felt anger bubbling up in his chest and he stared back at the stammering boy in front of him. This wasn't right. "God, what's your deal? Did you follow me here, Anderson?" Kurt interrupted angrily. "What? No...no that's not... I've been trying to find you, but I didn't follow you here... I just wanted to... I needed to..." Blaine babbled helplessly, still reeling that his prisoner had a name and was standing right in front of him in the flesh. Blaine forced himself to take a deep breath before starting over. "I'm Blaine," he said, extending his hand towards Kurt. But Kurt simply looked at Blaine's hand disdainfully, making no effort to offer his own. "Blaine, huh? Guess I didn't recognize you without the stupid uniform and sunglasses." Kurt arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down plainly. "You're shorter in person." Blaine blushed beet red and slowly withdrew his hand. Everything seemed to be going wrong again. He was desperate to make a connection with Kurt, to explain and seek forgiveness, but it was becoming apparent that Kurt had no intention of making that an easy task. "So?" Kurt asked impatiently. "Why are you here, Blaine? How'd you track me down?" "I I've been trying to find you," Blaine started. "Ever since the study ended actually... I just knew I needed to talk to you. I wanted...I still want to make things right. I want to explain. But they wouldn't even tell me your name, so it
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wasn't easy. He pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, dropping it onto the counter between himself and Kurt, smoothing out the wrinkles as he gestured towards the list of everything he knew about Kurt. "I wrote down every single thing I knew about you. Everything you told me during the experiment. I've been using it to try to track you down, and here you are," he finished, still amazed by the series of events that had finally brought the two of them together. Kurt automatically snatched the list off the counter, leaning forward as he began to read the list aloud. "Goes to NYADA, was in glee club... Mother died a long time ago?" He dropped the list suddenly, looking up at Blaine as if he'd suddenly grown an extra head. "What the fuck, Anderson? Are you stalking me now? Is this another weird experiment cooked up by Dr. Cohen? God, wasn't the prison enough power for you? Do you really have to fuck with my real life too?" Blaine ran a hand over his face in frustration and panic. "God no, please Kurt... This isn't how I wanted this to go. Look, can we please just start over? I'm trying to... I want to explain myself and what happened in the prison. I need you to understand..." "There's nothing to understand," Kurt replied, suddenly weary. "Look, are you going to order coffee or what? Because I've got other work to do." "Yeah, of course. Umm...can I get a medium drip coffee, please?" Blaine asked. He hung his head, feeling unspeakably guilty, as he watched Kurt grab a cup, his hand shaking almost imperceptibly as he poured Blaine's coffee. With a deep breath, Blaine forged ahead again, knowing with sickening certainty that his words wouldn't be enough, but still needing to get them out nonetheless. "Kurt please, there are things I need to tell you. I need to apologize. I need to explain why I did what I did... I know it won't change anything, but I need you to understand." "Not necessary," Kurt replied automatically, as he reached for a lid for Blaine's coffee cup. Both Kurt and Blaine looked up as the bell on the door jingled, signaling the arrival of two more customers. Kurt breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for a distraction from Blaine and all that his sudden appearance had triggered. With a nod, Kurt slid the coffee across the counter towards Blaine. "Here you go. That'll be 75 cents." Blaine wordlessly handed Kurt a dollar bill, his mind racing. He was running out of time. Kurt handed back his change, nodding with finality. "Thanks. Have a great day." Blaine panicked as he watched Kurt try to end their interaction. Before Kurt had a chance to address the next customer, Blaine blurted out what he'd been trying to express ever since he'd first walked into the coffee shop "Kurt, please! I stopped the study for you. I was the reason the study got shut down early. It was all I could do to protect you...I know it's not enough, but I really tried," Blaine's voice broke slightly on the last word, his eyes searching Kurt's face. Kurt was dumbfounded, looking wordlessly at Blaine with a blank expression. Kurt startled slightly as someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He swiveled, coming face to face with his manager Julia. "Everything okay here, Kurt?" Kurt nodded numbly, glancing from Julia to Blaine to Julia again. "I'm fine, Julia. My friend here was just about to leave," he spoke while glaring back at Blaine, as if daring him to say otherwise. "Oh-kay..." Julia hummed, sensing the tension. "Well, why don't you walk your...friend out and I'll help the next two customers for you. Just don't take too long, alright? I'm supposed to go on break in about ten minutes." "Sure," Kurt breathed, not wanting to cause more of a scene. "I'll be right back. Thanks Julia." Kurt was certain that visible steam was pouring from his ears as he led Blaine outside wordlessly. As soon as the door slid shut behind them, Kurt whirled to face Blaine, fuming. "Look, this is my job. This is where I work, okay? What makes you think that you have the right to come here and bring up this shit?"
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Blaine's face blanched as he threw up his hands in surrender "No, I know... I...I'm sorry, Kurt. I just I..." Kurt interrupted, the words tumbling out of his mouth as his fury grew. "I never asked you to protect me, okay? Quite the opposite, in fact. I told you I could take care of myself and I meant it!" Blaine looked near tears as he reached for Kurt, needing desperately to make a tangible connection with him so that he could make himself heard. He needed Kurt to understand. Things had gotten off track so quickly and his desire to make things right had increased tenfold now that Kurt was standing in front of him. Blaine ached at the anger and pain in Kurt's voice but it seemed as if every word he spoke widened the gulf between them. "Kurt please," Blaine begged, his voice trembling. "I know...I'm not explaining myself well, but I just want... I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." "You're sorry? A fuck lot of good that does me now... Look, the study is over. Finished. What makes you think you have the right to come here and bring up this shit all over again? That's all in the past... where it belongs! Just forget it ever happened and move on, okay? I have." Kurt gazed at Blaine coldly, his jaw set and finality to his tone. Blaine felt the last bit of hope go out of him as he stared back at Kurt. He forced himself to take a slow, shuddering breath, swallowing thickly against the lump in his throat and hot tears threatening to spill onto his cheek. "Okay," he said simply, deflating a bit as he replied. "I..I understand completely. I'll leave you alone now...if that is what you want." Blaine sighed as Kurt shook his head vehemently, confirming that he wanted nothing more than to be done with him. "Okay, I'll leave you alone then. It may sound crazy, but I just had to know that you were okay, Kurt. I know it doesn't change anything, but I still needed to tell you how sorry I am...about everything." Blaine forced himself to give Kurt a tight smile, feeling as if he was swallowing broken glass but going through the motions nonetheless. "I'm just glad that you're okay, Kurt. I shouldn't be surprised I guess...it was clear you were the strong one from the start." Kurt stiffened slightly at Blaine's parting words. He watched, transfixed as Blain forced an obviously pained smile, seeming near tears. But it was what Blaine said next that truly surprised Kurt. Kurt hadn't known how much he needed to hear someone else acknowledge how strong he was until he heard Blaine say just that. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It wasn't enough to forgive all that happened before, but it made him feel as if, maybe for the first time, that Blaine had actually seen him. Not Prisoner 219, but the real him. Kurt. Blaine gazed at Kurt, reluctant to call an end to what he had to assume would be their last conversation. Kurt's expression seemed to soften just slightly, but it was enough to give Blaine the courage to ask one last thing of Kurt. "Okay, I don't want to...but I'll leave you alone now if that's what you want. But please, just take this," Blaine begged, slipping a folded piece of paper into Kurt's hand. "It's my number. Please keep it and just...know that you can call me anytime, okay? If you ever need...or want to talk, or if you think of something...anything I can do to even start to make things right." Blaine stopped, his voice trembling audibly as he tried not to burst into tears. "Just...I know you want nothing to do with me now, but please just keep the number, okay?" After a loaded moment of silence, Blaine finally hazarded a glance up, his watery hazel eyes locking with Kurt's bright blue eyes. Kurt stared back at him, seeming to study Blaine's face before reluctantly taking the piece of paper, barely glancing at it before sliding the slip of paper into his pocket with an almost imperceptible hum of acknowledgement. It was more than Blaine had dared to hope for. "Thank you," Blaine whispered. "Please, please call me if you need anything, okay Kurt? I...I'm glad that I ran into you," he continued. Blaine reached out a tentative hand, needing to make contact with Kurt one last time before he was gone. Kurt stared at him reluctantly, refusing to extend a hand to shake, so Blaine settled for giving Kurt an awkward pat on the shoulder before withdrawing his hand. "Goodbye Kurt," he spoke with finality. Kurt seemed relieved, settling for a nod before turning to head back inside without another word. Blaine forced himself to turn as well and propelled himself forward on shaking legs while every fiber of his being screamed to turn around and try again.
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Kurt sighed audibly as the door closed behind him, grateful for the physical barrier between himself and Blaine. He pulled the slip of paper that felt as if it was burning a hole in his pocket from his pants and headed towards the trash can, intending to throw it away immediately. Kurt couldn't be sure why he felt a need to glance at Blaine's retreating form, but before he disposed of the slip of paper, he watched as Blaine stumbled towards the parking lot, swiping frantically at what Kurt assumed were tears streaming down his cheeks. But it was Blaine's posture that truly gave Kurt pause, making him look frail and weary as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. And as Kurt mulled over everything Blaine had said, he found himself slipping the scrap of paper back in his pocket. Just in case.
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Catharsis - The process of expressing strongly felt but usually repressed emotions. "Mhmmff," Blaine moaned, pulling a pillow over his face in an vain attempt to block out the incessant ringing, nearly rolling off Wes' couch as he did so. The phone continued ringing, the sound barely muffled by the pillow barrier. "But I'm tired," Blaine whined to no one in particular as he reluctantly pushed himself into a sitting position. He glanced at the glowing display on the microwave, frowning at the numbers he read there. 3:28 AM. Who the hell was calling Wes at this hour? Blaine was nothing if not a good guest, so he forced himself out of the warm cocoon of blankets on the couch and headed toward the still steadily ringing phone. He couldn't believe that the noise hadn't woken Wes or Wes' parents yet. He stumbled toward the kitchen, snagging the receiver off the counter and answering tentatively in a hoarse, sleepy voice. "Hello?" There was only silence on the other end of the phone for a moment, but something told Blaine not to hang up. "Hello?" he called again, slightly louder. "Anyone there?" Blaine could hear breathing now, more panting really, coming across the line in short gulps and gasps. Then there was a sob, and Blaine froze, wondering... Could it be? "B-Blaine?" a familiar voice finally croaked, before quickly devolving into sobs again. "Kurt?" Blaine whispered, his heart hammering in his chest. "I- I-" the voice stuttered before breaking into gasping sobs. "Kurt? Oh god, what's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?" Blaine listened breathlessly, but the line stayed silent save for the sound of Kurt's hysterical pants and sobs. As it became clear that Kurt was hyperventilating, Blaine intervened, desperate for reassurance that Kurt was safe. "Hey...hey Kurt? You've got to breathe, okay? Don't try to talk right now. Just breathe, Kurt. Nice and slow." Blaine waited while Kurt choked back a sob, quieting a little at his words. Blaine continued to mumble reassurances to Kurt, all the while listening for Kurt's shuddering breaths, sighing slightly in relief as his breaths slowed little by little. "Good, Kurt. That's better. I just need to know are you somewhere safe?" "Mmhmm," Kurt managed before dissolving into sobs again. "Okay good, Kurt. Just remember to keep breathing okay?" Blaine rushed to soothe. "And you're not...hurt? Physically, you're okay?" he asked worriedly. The only reply Blaine received this time was a loud gasp, spreading ice through Blaine's veins. "Kurt? Are you okay? Do I need to call 9-1-1 or something?" "God no!" Kurt choked out. "Oh good," Blaine replied instantly, dizzy with relief. "Sorry, I wasn't sure.. I'm just...worried about you. What's going on, Kurt?" Kurt mumbled something indistinctly, the pain in his voice coming through clearly even though the words did not. "Sorry, what was that Kurt?" Blaine asked. "Deep breaths," he reminded Kurt automatically. "Take your time." There was silence for a moment, and then Kurt's trembling voice came across the line, clearer this time. "Why? Why
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didn't...you...stop them?" Blaine heard his pulse pounding, the loud whooshing of blood echoing in his ears as he sank against the kitchen counter, the force of Kurt's words nearly knocking him off his feet as his stomach dropped with sickening recognition. "Shit," he whispered before realizing what he was saying. "Oh Kurt... God, I-... I'm so...sorry." He tried to say more, but the words wouldn't come initially, blocked by the lump of guilt and fear that had been blocking his throat since the moment he realized Kurt was gone. Knowing that what he needed more than anything was to see Kurt, to try to explain, in person, Blaine forced himself to swallow against the lump and speak up. "Kurt? Where are you? Are you still in Ohio?" Kurt was crying harder now, panting and gulping as if desperate for oxygen. But he somehow managed a quiet hum of acknowledgement. "Okay Kurt, breathe. You've got to breathe, honey," Blaine encouraged, his mind running on autopilot as he reached across the counter for his car keys, tearing a scrap of paper off a grocery store flyer and rooting around in the nearest drawer until he found a pen. "Take a few deep breaths," Blaine continued to direct. "Good, Kurt. That's good. Listen, can you tell me where you live? I'm going to come over, okay? I just need your address." It took several more minutes of coaching and Blaine asking Kurt to repeat his address several times, but Blaine finally got the information he'd been desperately seeking since the moment the study ended. Blaine glanced down at the hastily scrawled address, beyond relieved to finally have the opportunity to make things right. "Okay, Kurt. I'm on my way right now. I'll be there in ten minutes. Just keep breathing, okay? Nice and slow. I'll see you soon. Just hang on a little longer..." Blaine's heart leapt into this throat as he pulled onto a modest street, his eyes immediately going to the figure curled in the fetal position on the driveway outside a small but inviting house. Blaine had broken numerous laws in his short drive, arriving at Kurt's house a mere seven minutes from the second he'd hung up the phone with Kurt. He was out of the car and halfway up the driveway before the engine roar finally died down and abruptly stopped. Startled by the silence, Blaine called out softly as he approached Kurt, not wanting to startle him much as one might carefully approach a wounded animal. "Kurt?" Blaine called. "Hey, I'm here. You okay?" He quickly knelt down next to Kurt, his hands hovering several inches above Kurt's shoulders, uncertain about whether or not he should touch him. Up close, Blaine could see that Kurt was shaking with cold, his upper body heaving slightly with the force of his sobs. "Kurt?" Blaine tried again, but Kurt's face remained buried in his lap. Finally, the desire to reach out and make contact outweighed Blaine's concerns about how Kurt would react to his touch. He gripped Kurt's shoulder briefly, squeezing it in what he hoped was a reassuring manner before sliding his hand down to Kurt's back, rubbing slow, gentle circles across it. Kurt stiffened slightly as Blaine's warm hand made contact with his shaking upper body. Finally, Kurt lifted his head from where it had been cocooned in his lap, turning his head to the side and gazing up at Blaine through watery, tear-soaked blue eyes. Blaine's face wavered in front of his for a moment, Blaine's eyes impossibly sad and warm and dark in the dim light. Blaine couldn't suppress the desire to touch Kurt again, reaching out and tucking a lock of wayward hair behind Kurt's ear before whispering a single word. "Hey..." It was all Kurt needed to hear since Blaine's eyes communicated everything else. Immediately, Kurt launched himself into Blaine's arms, nearly knocking Blaine over with this force of his embrace. "Wha-?" Blaine gasped, startled as Kurt's arms wrapped around his neck, his grip fierce and desperate. But Blaine quickly regained his composure, wrapping an arm around Kurt's waist and allowing him to burrow deeper into Blaine's arms. Kurt buried his face in Blaine's shoulder, spreading the dampness from his tear streaked face to
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Blaine's t-shirt almost immediately. But Blaine didn't mind, bringing his free hand up to stroke Kurt's hair, all the while whispering reassurances into his ear. "Shh, it's okay, Kurt. I've got you. You're safe, okay? I'm not going to let you anything happen to you." Blaine continued to cradle Kurt protectively in his arms, stroking up and down his back over and over as he repeated the same reassurances like a mantra. He was dumbfounded by the sudden shift in circumstances that had brought him from thinking he would never see Kurt again to kneeling in Kurt's driveway while Kurt sobbed into his shoulder. It was overwhelming but Blaine was so grateful for the second chance to make things right with Kurt. Blaine's heart ached at the tears that were flowing freely in a seemingly never-ending stream as well as the pain and desperation in Kurt's voice. Blaine knew that he bore at least some responsibility in everything that Kurt had been put through in the past few weeks. The thought of causing Kurt any more pain was so repellant that it made Blaine feel physically ill at the mere thought. Looking down, Blaine smiled slightly as he recognized the fleece jacket that Kurt was ensconced in as the OSU jacket that Blaine had given Kurt in the prison. But a particular violent shiver from Kurt quickly refocused Blaine on the task at hand. "Hey Kurt?" he called gently, rubbing Kurt's back. "Yeah?" Kurt sniffed. "You look cold. Why don't we get you inside where it's warm, okay? Then we can talk. Sound good?" Blaine asked tentatively, pulling back slightly from Kurt's embrace so he could look at his tear stroked face. Kurt nodded quickly, swiping a hand across his face, looking embarrassed. "Sorry..." "No, don't say that. I'm so glad you called, Kurt. You have no idea," Blaine rushed to reassure as he climbed to his feet, extending a hand to help Kurt up. Blaine thrilled at the feel of Kurt's hand in his, squeezing it tightly rather than letting it go once Kurt was on his feet. It felt good to be able to soothe Kurt in such a tangible way, so Blaine slid his free arm around Kurt's waist, holding Kurt's hand as he led them indoors. Blaine managed to get Kurt settled onto the couch with little resistance. Kurt started to make a small noise of protest as Blaine disappeared, but was quickly rendered speechless again when Blaine returned seconds later with a cozy afghan and box of Kleenex. He quickly joined Kurt on the couch, swaddling the shivering boy in front of him in the blanket, making sure it was wrapped tightly around his shoulders and rubbing his own hands over the soft fabric to generate some additional warmth before settling back against the well worn sofa. Next, Blaine grabbed the box of Kleenex, carefully wiping at moisture on Kurt's tear dampened cheeks, almost impossibly gentle as he gazed back at a Kurt with a sympathetic smile. "Starting to warm up?" he asked softly. Kurt blushed and bit his lip, looking away as he nodded. "Thanks," he whispered. "Of course," Blaine replied instantly, looking relieved. There was a moment of charged silence while Kurt and Blaine simply gazed at each other, neither one quite sure where to begin. After a moment, Kurt broke Blaine's gaze, looking down at his hands as he began to twist a loose thread between his fingers nervously, his eyes filling with tears yet again. "Hey..." Blaine started, capturing Kurt's hand in his, stroking his thumb along Kurt's knuckles soothingly as he cocked his head to the side, leaning in a bit in an attempt to meet Kurt's gaze. "Look at me... What happened?" Kurt shook his head angrily. "I don't know why I'm so upset... It's so stupid to get worked up over a silly dream!" "C'mon, don't say that," Blaine admonished gently. "It's not stupid... You had another nightmare? Like before or something different?" Blaine felt his stomach clench as he recalled Kurt's desperate cries the night he'd been locked up in solitary confinement, remembering all too clearly how helpless he'd felt at not being able to touch or even see Kurt, having to rely solely on his voice to reassure Kurt.
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"No, it was different this time," Kurt choked out, starting to cry again in earnest as he remembered the horrible nightmare that had haunted him nightly since the study ended. He finally ventured a glance up at Blaine, melting a bit at the sight of Blaine watching him with a look of such tenderness on his face that it left Kurt breathless. Blaine nodded sympathetically, silently urging Kurt to continue as he continued to trace slow circles across the back of Kurt's hand, his calloused fingers warm and grounding. Kurt dropped his gaze, drawing strength from the sight of his hand intertwined with Blaine's while he tried to find the right words to explain the source of his panic. Blaine bit the inside of his lip, forcing himself to stay silent even as Kurt began to cry harder. It was clear that Kurt needed a minute to gather his thoughts and steel himself mentally before explaining the sure to be horrific nightmare, but it was tortuous to sit silent while Kurt cried when all Blaine wanted to do was pull Kurt into his arms again and whisper reassurances in his hair. Instead, he focused on the feel of Kurt's trembling hand in his, warm, solid, and real. After a moment, Kurt broke the silence, his voice wavering as he began to narrate his nightly horrors. "I was back in the prison. They were kicking me, hitting me... Saying just terrible things. The same things I heard every single day for four fucking years," Kurt managed, his voice low and rough in the darkness of the living room. Blaine's heart broke at the anger and bitterness in Kurt's voice. He was partially to blame for the pain Kurt was in. And knowing that Kurt had suffered the same kind of abuse in the past? Well, that just brought Blaine to an entirely new level of guilt. Blaine was terrified to say the wrong thing, so he simply sat, silently begging Kurt to continue, even while another part of him was terrified to hear more. "God, Blaine.." Kurt continued, his voice harsh. "Do you know what it's like to be called worthless? To be told you are meaningless, that you mean nothing?" "I- I-..." Blaine stuttered, knowing all too well how much it hurt to hear those words "It's a horrible thing to say... You are so amazing that I can't imagine why anyone would say something like that to you." Kurt suddenly pulled his hands away from Blaine's grasp as if he'd been burned. Blaine looked up at him, shocked and more than a little confused. Kurt was looking directly at him, his eyes suddenly hard and burning with anger. "A horrible thing to say, huh?" Kurt shouted. "It wasn't just anybody saying those words, Blaine. It was YOU! You are the one who called me worthless. And more than anything else, those are the words I can't get out of my head." "Kurt, I-" Blaine rushed to explain, horrified. He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut as he was reminded of the words that had been ringing in his ears since he'd been kicked out of his own home. The same cruel and cutting words he'd aped in a moment of desperation early on in his career as Officer Anderson. "I think your exact words were 'worthless scum' actually. Did I get that right, Blaine?" Kurt spat. "Kurt, please," Blaine begged, tears welling in his eyes. "Let me explain..." "But you said it, didn't you, Blaine?" Kurt interrupted, all the anger draining from his face until he simply looked weary and so broken. Blaine swallowed hard, and forced himself to nod, though every cell in his body was screaming in protest. "And that's just it, Blaine..." Kurt sighed, his voice breaking. "Fag and homo and lady? That's nothing. Those insults barely register anymore. I hear them every day. But you...you pretended like you were a good guy. You acted like you cared about me. And then you said that I was worthless. That I was scum. It's your voice that I can't get out of my head at night.." "Oh Kurt..." Blaine spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know exactly what that's like. Listen, all I've wanted to do since the study ended was find you so that I could explain myself. I know what I said...what I did is
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unforgiveable. So I'm not asking for your forgiveness. But please, will you just listen? Can I explain?" Blaine gazed at Kurt, every ounce of guilt and desperation clearly written all over his face. Kurt studied him closely for what felt like an eternity before slowly nodding. "Okay...okay," Blaine said nodding repeatedly as he steeled himself to tell his story, lost in thought. "So I was totally serious when I said that I know what it feels like to have those words echoing in your head every night. Those exact same words actually. Because what I said? Those awful things I said to you? Kurt, please, please believe me when I say that those words weren't me. I was repeating something that I heard. Those were the words echoing in my head before the study even began and in a moment of desperation, I reached for what I knew." Blaine twisted his hands in his lap uncomfortably, biting his lip before finally braving a glance up at Kurt. Kurt stared back at him, still angry and obviously confused. "I'm sorry... I'm not doing a good job of explaining myself, am I?" Blaine muttered. "Let me start at the beginning... I- I just-...," Blaine dropped his head to his hands, running a shaking hand over his face as he bit back sobs. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. "Why did you sign up for the study in the first place, Kurt? Was it for the money? The acting challenge? For me, it was fucking survival." Kurt's head snapped up as the word survival registered. He studied Blaine's reddened eyes and shaking hands, starting to realize just how little he truly knew about Blaine, particularly who Blaine was before the study began. Unconsciously, he nodded, urging Blaine to continue. Blaine felt Kurt's eyes on him and he broke, the weight of his guilt and all that had happened to him in the past month no longer able to be buried. He felt hot tears stream down his cheeks as he continued to narrate his own waking nightmare, voice shaking as he said the words aloud for the first time. "Four days before the study began, I came out to my parents. I told them I was gay, Kurt. Something I'd never told anyone before... And they responded by kicking me out of the house. They told me I was disgusting, that I was worthless, and that I was no longer their son. They cut me off without any warning. I didn't even have anywhere to go... All I cared about was having a place to stay: a roof over my head, some food to eat, and a little money and time to think about what I was going to do next. So I'm sitting at the Lima Bean and I see the ad for the study and I think, "Fuck, I can pretend to be a prisoner for a week. I need the money. A prison cell will be better than sleeping on the street." "It never even occurred to me that I would wind up being a guard. I'm a lot of things, but power hungry isn't one of them. I felt uncomfortable from the first minute I became 'Correctional Officer Anderson' and I'm sure it was obvious to everyone. I didn't fit in with the other guards from the start and I was getting a lot of shit from them. They were constantly telling me I was violating the rules or 'Guard Code,' whatever the fuck that is... They were threatening to turn me in to Doctor Cohen and get me kicked out of the study. I was stupid and I was desperate because I felt like I didn't have anywhere else to go. So when they said I had to insult you too, that I had to follow the rules...I listened. When it was time to insult the other prisoners, I was lost, so I went with what I knew. Those words...those awful words...the things I said to you. Those were the words I couldn't get out of my head, that I still can't get out of my head, because they were the last words my dad said to me." Kurt sat, dumbfounded. He'd been so wrapped up in his own survival that it never occurred to him that things might be equally bad on the other side. But hearing how Blaine had been bullied behind the scenes by his fellow guards, Kurt found himself oddly empathizing with Blaine's situation. And Kurt could scarcely imagine the pain of being so soundly rejected by your own parents. The rawness and pain in Blaine's voice was so tangible that Kurt felt the last of his anger towards Blaine melting away as he realized how much more they hand in common then he'd initially realized. Blaine swiped angrily at the tears still streaming down his cheeks, hating himself even more for being so weak when it was Kurt who'd been hurt by Blaine and not the other way around. He'd been too scared to look at Kurt since he'd started his story, terrified that he might see the same disgust and rejection that he'd received from his father mirrored back in Kurt's eyes. "Listen Kurt...I'm not telling you this because I think you should forgive me. I don't expect that from you, after what
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I did. I just needed you to know that even though I said those words, I never believed them, even for a second. You are the very opposite of worthless, Kurt. You're strong and brave and amazing. I know that and so does everyone who meets you." Blaine finally worked up the courage to look at Kurt, who was staring back at Blaine slack-jawed, his expression blank but not no longer angry. Blaine was elated - blank and surprised was better than he had dared to hope for given everything he'd put Kurt through. The heady combination of elation and relief buoyed Blaine, giving him the courage to say what he'd desperately wanted to tell Kurt since the moment he first realized Kurt was gone. "Kurt, this may sound crazy, but as awful as that whole study and experience was, I don't regret signing up for it...because if I hadn't been in the study, I wouldn't have met you." Blaine's eyes were locked with Kurt's now, smiling through tears as he finally spoke aloud what he'd long known to be true. Kurt inhaled sharply, overwhelmed with the flood of contradictory emotions that continued to ebb and flow, making Kurt feel as if he was on a rollercoaster he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get off. Like the irresistible pull of the tide against the shore, Kurt and Blaine were slowly tugged closer, neither sure who had initiated the movement. All Kurt knew is that it felt inexplicable, impossible, and right all at the same time to be this close to Blaine. From his new vantage point, Kurt could see the tiny teardrops still clinging to Blaine's unforgivably long lashes. Without thinking, he reached out a tentative hand, swiping at the moisture that had collected along Blaine's cheek. Blaine sighed, leaning into Kurt's touch, Kurt's fingers running whisper light over his cheekbone. They were close enough now that Blaine could feel Kurt's warm breath against his cheek and it felt like the most wonderful thing in the world. Unconsciously, Blaine's gaze slipped down to Kurt's full pink lips, wondering for a moment. Once he realized what he was doing, he quickly jerked his gaze up to Kurt's eyes once again, blushing with embarrassment. He expected Kurt to look angry or at least confused, but instead Kurt looked amused and maybe a bit curious? Blaine had just long enough to tell himself that he was simply imagining Kurt's curiosity before Kurt's lips were colliding with his, leaving no more room for doubt. The kiss was tentative and gentle at first, both boys still trying to wrap their heads around what was happening. But once Blaine at last gave himself permission to hope, to trust that what was happening was truly real, he was quickly swept up. He'd scarcely allowed himself to dream that Kurt would forgive him so the thought of Kurt letting Blaine into his life in such an intimate and tangible way would have been laughable. But now that the impossible was happening, Blaine could see the ephemeral threads that had led him to this very moment, to Kurt. And despite all the pain that both endured, he wouldn't have changed a thing. Blaine, having given in fully to the experience now, slid a palm down Kurt's spine, inciting an involuntarily shiver as he deepened the kiss. Kurt's lips parted as he leaned into the kiss, his desire growing with every passing second. The kiss felt right in a way that nothing that had come before it ever had, and Kurt was finding that he was already addicted to the sensation of Blaine pressed against him, pulling him closer as they breathed as one. Teeth and tongues crashed together, both boys surging forward searching for heat and taste and friction and more. Blaine could feel the teary dampness still clinging to Kurt's cheek as he slid a hand across his face, tugging him closer before settling his hand against the nape of Kurt's neck, stroking at the impossibly smooth skin of Kurt's neck and jaw. Both of their lips had the faintest tang of salt, a reminder of their earlier grief and newfound elation. Kurt could swear he could feel Blaine's heart beating against his own chest, the same staccato beat playing out through his own body as his pulse pounded and his skin thrilled at Blaine's touch. They finally pulled away, both breathless. Blaine stared at Kurt, taking in the faint blush of his cheeks, doing his best not to groan audibly as he looked down to Kurt's now swollen, slightly parted lips. Blaine wanted nothing more than to capture those lips once more, sharing the same breath until even their heartbeats were as one. But as quickly as Blaine had been swept away by the intensity of his feelings for Kurt, doubts started to crowd his mind, and before he knew it, he was rambling, terrified of leaving anything unsaid. "Kurt, I-... I'm so glad that you... that you don't hate me. But I just need you to know how much I hated myself, still hate myself for what I did to you. It wasn't okay. There's no reason for me to ever treat another human being like that and I'm so sorry. All I wanted to do since the moment the study ended was to find you and explain myself. I know
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that I don't deserve a second chance, Kurt, but please can we just...start again? I want this to be something that lasts." Kurt stared at the nervous, babbling boy in front of him, feeling an outpouring of tenderness. Blaine's anxiety was palpable, and Kurt found himself automatically stroking his hand up and down Blaine's arm as he begged for a second chance, wanting desperately to reassure him. "Yes, Blaine. Of course we can." He sniffled, wiping at his damp cheeks, laughing through tears at the sheer unbelievability of all that had happened. "Oh god, I'm a mess!" he exclaimed, embarrassed. "Here," Blaine said with a wide grin, handing Kurt a wad of Kleenex. Blaine lifted his hand to Kurt's temple, smoothing his hair while Kurt blew his nose almost comically loud, causing both of them to collapse into a slightly hysterical fit of giggles. Blaine was the first to regain his composure. "I'll start," he announced. "Hi, I'm Blaine. I'm hopelessly fucked up and have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but I know I want you in it." Kurt's grin was impossibly bright in the dim light of his living room, leaving Blaine stunned and speechless. "I'm Kurt," he spoke, extending his hand to Blaine. "And I think that sounds like a marvelous plan..."
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Unconditional positive regard - Complete love and acceptance of an individual by another person, such as a parent for a child, with no conditions attached. October 1, 1981: Coming up tonight on ABC New Presents: Is it possible for a good person to turn evil? Do you think you have an inner demon, or do you think that you could ever be swayed by bad influences, people or systems? Could you or someone you know be convinced to hurt another person, simply because someone in authority told you to? The truth may surprise you. Linda: Hello, I'm Linda Coppel and this is ABC News Presents. Tonight, we bring you the story of one of the most infamous research studies in the field of psychology. You've probably all heard of The Dalton Prison Study, a week-long experiment on the psychological effects of prison life on prisoners and prison guards. Led by Dr. Richard Cohen, a then prominent researcher in the field of social psychology, the study recruited ordinary college students for a week-long study that would basically amount to playacting either prisoners or guards. Eight young men were recruited to participate in the study and were paid $15 a day. Dr. Cohen and his team aimed to test the hypothesis that the inherent personality traits of prisoners and guards are the chief cause of abusive behavior in prison. The results of the study shocked the nation as ordinary young men quickly turned on one another, inflicting sadistic and dehumanizing physical and psychological on torture. The study demonstrated that all people have the capacity for evil under the right circumstances and led to much needed ethical reforms to protect the rights of vulnerable research subjects. On the tenth anniversary of the research study, we bring you an exclusive interview with the participants of The Dalton Prison Study. Hear about their experiences as prisoners and guards as they walk us through the horrific conditions they were forced to face and find out how those experiences continue to affect them ten years later. Nick Duval: Prisoner 137 and Jeff Sterling: Prisoner 138 Linda: Nick, Jeff, what did you think when you first arrived at the prison? What was the environment like? Nick: It was pretty intense. They had us picked up from our houses, handcuffed, the whole nine yards. We were blindfolded when they brought us into the actual prison so we wouldn't know where we were. They had cells with bars on the door and tiny cots with a bare mattress. I remember telling Jeff that it didn't look like a very cozy place to spend two weeks. Jeff: Yeah, we definitely weren't sure to make of everything at first. It was intimidating. Linda: And you were both assigned to be prisoners, obviously. What was that like? Walk us through the first few days of being a prisoner. Nick: Well, it was definitely weird, but it wasn't so bad at first. Jeff: It was boring, mostly. Nick and I got assigned to share a cell and we became close friends almost immediately once we realized how much we had in common. Linda: You were both guarded by Sebastian Smythe, correct? What was he like as a guard? Jeff: Umm, he was a bit of a creep to be honest. Nick: (laughs) Yeah, he was hard to read. He was either super nice and flirty or he was screaming at us to do push-ups. Look, I know how intense everything became in that prison, and I don't really know anything about Sebastian outside of the study, so I don't want to rag on the guy too much. I mean who am I to say that I wouldn't have done the same thing if I was a guard? Wasn't the major message of the results, after all? Linda: You raise a good point. Did you read the results of the study when it was first published?
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Nick: We did, yeah. The results came out, what - like a year after the study? By that time, I'd gotten over the stuff that we had to deal with in the prison. I'd moved on. We both had. And we were curious. We had almost no contact with Dr. Cohen and the study ended so abruptly that we got very little information about the goals and hypotheses of the study. It was fascinating to hear more about the guards and the psychology behind why they did what they did. It definitely helped me understand them a little better, even Sebastian. Jeff: Look, if we're honest, he was pretty awful to us during the study. But it was a good learning experience. We went through a difficult experience, we endured it, and we're stronger today for having gone through it. We were lucky that we had each other to lean on. It definitely made the whole process easier. And Nick is my best friend. We're so alike and I sometimes wonder what might have happened if I hadn't signed up for the study. Nick: We would've met eventually. Jeff: You think so? Nick: We would've found a way. Sebastian Smythe Correctional Officer Smythe Linda: Sebastian, I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to be here with us today. I think it's safe to say that you weren't very eager to do this interview? Sebastian: I think that's a safe assumption, yes. Look, business is booming and this study is something I did for six days when I was a kid. Ten years ago. Not exactly top of the priority list, you know? Linda: That's understandable. But you have to know how important this study is to the field of psychology, even ten years later? Sebastian: I guess. Linda: I'd like to start at the very beginning. You were selected to be a guard. Were you happy with that role? Did you ever think about how things would have been different if you'd been a prisoner? Sebastian: I never would have been a prisoner. Simple as that. Linda: But surely you are aware that everyone was randomly assigned to be a prisoner or guard, so isn't it equally likely that you could have been a prisoner? Sebastian: Look, I went into this study knowing that I wanted to be a guard. If I'd been assigned as a prisoner, I would have quit. It's not like I needed the money after all. Linda: Well, that leads me to the next question? What exactly did motivate you to take place in the study? Sebastian: I like being in charge. In the bedroom and out of it, if you catch my drift (winks). Linda: So it was the power that attracted you to this study? Sebastian: Abso-fucking-lutely. Linda: Well, you certainly were one the more forceful guards in the study. Can you walk us through the punishments you devised for the prisoners? Some of them seemed quite cruel and sadistic to an outsider. Sebastian: Look, you weren't in the prison so you have no idea what it was really like. I was doing what Dr. Cohen asked me to do. But I'm a big believer in never doing anything halfway. It's served me well in my business dealings. So if I was going to be guard, I wanted it to be abundantly clear that I was in charge and that the prisoners shouldn't even think about breathing without my permission. And ultimately, that's what I accomplished. The punishments and
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methods I used were just means to exert my control. But I do have to admit I'm still quite proud of the creativity that went into some of the punishments. Linda: Well, the answer seems obvious, but I'm going to go ahead and ask anyway. Sebastian, do you have any regrets about the study and your behavior? Sebastian: None at all. Are we done here? Sam Evans Prisoner 474 Linda: Next we go to Sam Evans, better known as Prisoner 474 in the study. Sam, I wanted to talk with you about how you handled the pressures of prison life. While many of the prisoners found active or passive ways to revolt, you seemed very withdrawn and submissive. I was told that some of the guards even nicknamed you "Sarge" behind the scenes because you were so compliant and good at following orders. Talk to me about why you chose this strategy. Sam: I don't know that I would say I "chose" that strategy. That's just how I was coping back then. I was already in a bad place when the study started and everything that happened in the prison just made it worse. Linda: What was going on before you signed up for the study? Sam: My parents had both lost their jobs. They'd been out of work for a good six months before the study started. I've got a younger brother and sister and even with my income from odd jobs, it was hard to support the family. I was desperate for money so I wouldn't be a burden on everyone. That's why I signed up for the study. And I told myself that I would just keep my head down and do whatever it took to get through it. I honestly blocked a lot of it out. I was there, but I really wasn't, you know? Linda: Really? What do you remember from the study? Sam: Lots of whistles blowing, pushups, shouting, and general chaos. Linda: One thing I found fascinating about the study was that the abuse wasn't just limited to guards on prisoners. There were many prisoners who targeted one another. Talk to me a little bit about your feud with Prisoner 219. Sam: What feud? I never had an issue with him. Linda: We actually have some footage of the incident to which I'm referring to. Would you like to see it? Sam: (nervously) I guess so. Archival Footage Day 3 of The Dalton Prison Study Officer Karofsky: 474, get your ass over here. Alright 219, if sit ups are so easy that you have time to laugh, let's try something harder. I doubt that you lift anything than a can of hairspray, so how about pushups?" Prisoner 219: (shrugs, moving into push-up position) Officer Karofsky: Not so fast, homo. 474 here is going to make sure you don't cheat. 474, I want you to sit on his back. I'm sure you have guys on top of you all the time after all. Give me 100 pushups. If you give me wussy push-ups or stop even for a second, I'll make you start the count all over too. Got it? Prisoner 219: (breathing hard) 1 2 3 4 5... Prisoner 219: ...38 39 40. (219 collapses) Officer Anderson: (to 219) You okay?
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Prisoner 219: (shakes head no) Officer Karofsky: Dude, what the fuck? Alright 219, if you don't get your delicate girly bits up and back to doing pushups in by the count of 5, you're going to have to do 200 more push-ups instead of 100, got it? And 474, did I tell you that you could get off him? Get your ass back on his back or you're going to join him in doing 100 pushups. Prisoner 219: (whispering) Go away, Anderson. I've got this. Prisoner 474: (yawns disinterestedly before dropping down on 219's back again) Prisoner 219: Oof...(collapses to the floor) Officer Anderson: That's it, 474! On your feet. Now! I'm not fucking kidding. Up! Officer Anderson: What's your deal, 474? All you ever do is sit there with that stupid fucking blank look on your face. You're in a fucking prison, do you even realize that? You are a prisoner. You are OUR prisoner. You should be sticking up your fellow prisoners and you just don't give a shit about anyone, do you? Jesus! What is your fucking problem? Answer me!" Linda: So Sam, now that you've seen the footage, can you walk us through what was going through your head? Sam: (whispering, near tears) I had no idea... Linda: I'm sorry, Sam, but I didn't quite catch that. You were saying? Sam: I honestly had no memory of that. I must have...I guess I blocked it out. Linda: Really? Well then, how did you feel watching that scene? Sam: Awful, just awful. I had no idea I'd hurt Prisoner 219 like that. I swear it wasn't intentional, I just...I wasn't me then. I can't explain it but it felt like I was outside my body watching those things happen to someone else. Linda: It sounds like the study continues to affect you, even today, ten years later. Sam: (sighs heavily) It does. I thought I'd gotten past it for the most part. But it took a lot. When I left the study, I...I wasn't in a good place. I felt like I'd let my family down by taking off like that. They had no idea where I'd been. I just disappeared on them when they needed me the most. I was too ashamed to face them, so I left town. I hitchhiked around, getting odd jobs here and there. I did a lot of things I wasn't proud of. I always sent whatever money I could save back to my family, but they had no idea what had happened to me. I didn't even tell them about the study until months later. Linda: You said that you'd started to get past the study? What helped you move on? Sam: I met a girl. She's beautiful and strong and she doesn't take shit from anyone, even me. Especially me. I think she saw through me pretty quickly and pushed me to talk about everything that had happened. She helped me resolve things with my family and get a real job. And two weeks ago, she agreed to marry me, officially making me the luckiest man alive. Linda: She sounds wonderful. Sam: Mercedes is amazing, she really, really is. Linda: So Sam, before we interview the other guards and prisoners, is there anything you'd like to say? Anything you need to get off your chest?
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Sam: I'd really like the chance to apologize to Prisoner 219, I mean Kurt, if I could. Now that I've seen what I did to him, I feel like I owe it to him. Linda: I'm sure that can be arranged. David Karofsky Correctional Officer Karofsky Linda: David, thank you for being here today. We've spoken with many of the prisoners who described you as this very intimidating figure. Tell us a little bit about your persona as Correctional Officer Karofsky. David: Well, when I entered the study, I was just a kid. Dr. Cohen didn't tell us much about the study aside from the fact that it was meant to study prison life. I thought about it a bit and decided that the point of the study had to be to prove how harsh and cruel prison life can be. So I basically made the decision that I'd do what I could to help reinforce Dr. Cohen's hypotheses. I took on the persona of this brutally harsh guard based on things I'd seen in movies. Linda: But certainly there must have been more to it that than? From the footage we've seen, it seemed like you were enjoying torturing the prisoners. David: (sighs) Look, it's taken me a long time to confront what I did and make peace with it. When I left the study with a pat on the back from Dr. Cohen and $200 in my pocket, I honestly had no regrets. And I won't lie, I did enjoy having that kind of power over people. I said and did some horrible things, things that will haunt me to my dying day. But I'm a different person now and I'm no longer living in the past. Linda: You said you're a different person now? What made you change? David: I became a father. There's nothing that forces you to examine yourself and your life choices like bringing a new life into the world. It occurred to me that one day my son would be in a class and he'd learn about The Dalton Prison Study and my involvement in it. The very idea of that made me feel sick. I think that's when I first started to realize that what I'd done was wrong. I could make a lot of excuses for my behavior and claim it wasn't "the real me" doing those horrible things, but ultimately I hurt other people. That's not okay. I didn't want my son to grow up thinking that was okay, so I really started to work through it and do what I could to make things right. Linda: Well, that's remarkable, David. So now you feel like you've made things right with everyone? David: I've had a chance to really reflect on my behavior and work through what I did and why. But the one thing I've never had the chance to do is to apologize directly to the people that I hurt most. I still want a chance to say how sorry I am to Sebastian, Blaine, Kurt, Sam, Nick, Jeff, and Noah. I hurt them all in various ways. So if it's okay with you, I'd like to read something I prepared for today. Linda: Go right ahead. David: To the participants of the Dalton Prison Study, I want to start off by saying that I take full responsibility for my behavior. I was abusive, cruel, and sadistic. I was constantly looking for your weaknesses so that I could exploit them. I took pleasure in seeing you hurting, physically and emotionally. I won't make excuses for why I did those awful things. All I can tell you is that I'm no longer that person. I spend my days trying to put something good out into the world so that I can hopefully counteract all the negativity I caused. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not today, then maybe someday in the future. I hope you are all doing well and please know that I think of you often and wish you all the best. Linda: Powerful words. David, thank you so much for being here. Linda: Before we conclude with our final interview of the evening, one note. You may have noticed that we've spoken to every participant of The Dalton Prison Study except for one, Noah Puckerman, Prisoner 378. Unfortunately, Noah is currently serving a two year sentence in Allen Correctional Institution for a burglary charge and as a result was not able to be with us today. We also attempted to contact Dr. Richard Cohen, the principal
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investigator of The Dalton Prison Study, but we received word from his attorney that he was not willing to be interviewed on camera or provide us with a statement. Now finally, I'd like to introduce two of the most well known participants from The Dalton Prison Study. Kurt Hummel, then known as Prisoner 219, was the leader of a passive rebellion who went on a hunger strike to protest the prisoner treatment and conditions. Because of this, Kurt received the lion's share of the abuse from the guards. He was force-fed, spent hours locked in a tiny closet serving as solitary confinement, made to participate in degrading simulated sex acts with other prisoners, and constantly harassed by the guards. Despite his treatment, Kurt refused to quit the study or let his spirit be broken, instead continuing to fight for better rights and treatment for all the prisoners until the study was abruptly discontinued after six days. Blaine Anderson, then known as Correctional Officer Anderson, was the anomaly among the guards in the Dalton Prison Study. While other guards willingly lavished abuse and punishments on the other prisoners, Blaine mostly hung back, remaining a passive rather than active participant in the atrocities. But ultimately, it was the repeated abuse of Prisoner 219 and the relationship developing between prisoner and guard behind the scene that led Blaine to finally make a stand. When Blaine couldn't take the constant harassment, abuse, and torture that the prisoners were being subjected to, abuse that he felt powerless to stop, he made an anonymous call to the Westerville Police that changed everything. Kurt Hummel: Prisoner 219 and Blaine Anderson: Correctional Officer Anderson Linda: Kurt and Blaine, thank you for being here today. Kurt: Thanks for having us. Blaine: (smiles) Great to be here. Linda: There's so much to discuss with this fascinating study, but I want to start at the beginning. What attracted you to the study? What made you want to sign up? Kurt: Well, I'm an actor so I love a good challenge (laughs). In all honestly, I signed up because it was easy. I was studying musical performance in New York at the time and had just come home for a few weeks. I wanted to find a part-time job that would be willing to take me on for only a few weeks, and this seemed like a pretty easy job at the time... Linda: Little did you know... Kurt: (sighs, shaking his head) I had no idea what I was getting myself into... Linda: And Blaine, over to you. What made you sign up for the study? Blaine: (flatly) Desperation. Linda: Okay, can you tell us a little more about that? Blaine: I'd been kicked out of the house a few days before the study began. I was in desperate need of money and a place to say, and this study came along when I was at my lowest point. Like Kurt, I thought it would be a piece of cake, and believe it or not, $15 a day was a pretty decent chunk of change at the time, especially when you take into account that room and board was already taken care of. Linda: Kurt, I want to talk to you a bit more about your experience as a prisoner in the study. Watching the footage back, it's easy to see how much Blaine was trying to keep you safe behind the scenes. But you weren't aware of that, at least initially, right? Tell us about your first impression of Officer Anderson. Kurt: I hated him (laughs). Honestly, he was the nicest of the guards, but that did mean much to me at the time. It was very black and white to me. I could tell that he was a good guy deep down, but he was a guard, so he was the
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enemy. Linda: And Blaine, what about you? How did you feel when you were assigned to be Kurt's guard? Blaine: Well two things. First, I hated being a guard. I spent the entire study terrified of breaking the rules or getting caught helping Kurt because I felt like I couldn't afford to get kicked out of the study. At the same time, I was scaring myself with the things that I was doing and going along with. Watching that video back of me hurling insults at the prisoners and getting up in Prisoner 474's face, it still scares me. That's probably the closest I've ever come to snapping. If I'd gone further... (shudders). Well, I don't even want to think about that. Kurt: But it wasn't like you were doing that for no reason, Blaine. You were trying to protect me. Blaine: (sighs heavily) I was...but that doesn't make it right. I could've really hurt someone, Kurt. Kurt: I don't believe that. I don't think you have that in you. Blaine: (turns to Linda) See, this is why we're so lucky to have found each other. I don't know how I would have dealt with things if I hadn't had Kurt to reassure me. Linda: I see that. Blaine, earlier you mentioned there were two things you wanted to say in relation to being Kurt's guard. What was the other one? Blaine: Well, the second was just that you mentioned being assigned to be Kurt's guard, but that's not quite right. It wasn't random. I chose him. Linda: Really? Blaine: Yeah, the guards got together and we decided who would take which prisoners and I picked Kurt. Linda: And what drew you to Kurt? Blaine: There was something about his spirit even then... It's hard to put it into words. But he looked the most alive. He wasn't openly hostile or defiant, but there was something in his expression that basically dared anyone to mess with him. I was drawn to that quality. It's one of things I love most about Kurt. Kurt: Aww, honey! He's totally the softie in the relationship, can't you tell? Linda: You two are very sweet together. But Kurt, now that we've heard from Blaine, tell us when did you first start to see Blaine as something besides the enemy? Kurt: It was hard for me. There would be these moments when I'd feel like I'd see the real Blaine and we'd connect, but then something would happen to remind me all over again that he was the enemy. I was scared to let him in because it seemed like a dangerous thing to do. Linda: Tell me about those moments when you started to have feelings for him. Kurt: Well, the biggest moment was probably on the night before the study ended, when he pulled me out of solitary and took me to the showers so that I could eat. Blaine: You were kicking and screaming the whole way... Kurt: I was, but I secretly appreciated it. I just didn't want you to know it. I was still frustrated with Blaine and the whole situation, but it was hard to deny how much he cared about me when I saw the effort he'd gone to. Linda: I've just got to ask. That was also the night that Blaine asked you to quit the study with him. Why didn't you just leave then?
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Kurt: In my head, the most important thing in the world was making sure I didn't let the guards see me sweat. I didn't want to feel as if anyone could "break" me. I'd been bullied many times in the past, so sticking it out became a point of pride for me. And every time the violence and cruelty increased, I was that more determined to stay. Blaine: And I didn't get that at the time... Kurt: Right, I was beyond angry with Blaine for suggesting that I just quit as if it was no big deal. So I shut him out again. Linda: And Blaine, what was going through your head that night? How did you feel when Kurt refused to leave the study with you? Blaine: It was awful. I felt so hopeless. It seemed like every time I'd start to make a connection with Kurt, something would get in the way and we'd be back at square one. I've told Kurt this since then, but it honestly felt like stepping around landmines only he could see. Linda: And is that what led you to call the police and report the study? What was the breaking point for you? Blaine: I think it came down me finally knowing that there was nothing I could do to get Kurt out of harm's way. Maybe I was nave or arrogant, I don't really know, but up until that moment, I still believed that there was a way out of it for both of us. I wanted to be the hero, as cheesy as that sounds. And when Kurt refused to leave or even talk it over with me any further that last night, I knew I needed help. I did the only thing I could think of in the circumstances. I'm just glad it worked and kept Kurt safe. If he'd been hurt, I don't know that I would have ever forgiven myself. Linda: So your actions were mainly motivated by your feelings for Kurt? Is that a fair assumption? Blaine: (blushes) Yeah, you could say that. I'd love to say that I was all noble and stopped the study because of my moral objections or for the good of humanity, but in all honesty, I was only thinking of Kurt. I just knew I needed him to be safe. Linda: It's clear that you two developed quite a bond despite the hopeless circumstances. I have one final question for both of you. Let's start with you, Kurt. After everything you went through, do you regret signing up for the study? Kurt: Not for a second. I got Blaine out of the ordeal and that's a priceless gift I wouldn't trade for the world. Linda: And what about you Blaine? Blaine: Despite the awful things that happened, I'm grateful for the study and I don't regret signing up for it at all. Kurt has taught me so much about myself. He gave me the courage to be who I really am and to follow my dreams. I couldn't imagine life without him. So much so that I asked him to marry me about a year ago. (Blaine and Kurt hold up their intertwined hands to display their matching wedding bands). Unfortunately, we live in a country that still won't recognize our right to legally marry yet. But at the end of the day, we have each other, and that is a lot more important to us than some silly piece of paper. Linda: Well, I know I speak for our viewers when I say that we wish you two all the best. Thank you for sharing your story. Linda: And that concludes tonight's program, a study about the evil that otherwise normal men can do to one another. The study rocked the psychology community when it was first published, and even ten years later, all the participants have been profoundly affected by the study in various ways. While it would be easy to dwell on the numerous ethical principles that this study violated or the disheartening things that the study suggests about our very humanity, instead we want to leave you with a bit of hope. Ten years ago, a prisoner and his guard were brought together by a series of seemingly random events. Despite being pitted against one another, they formed an enduring
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bond and stood up together against the abuse running rampant in the prison. Despite the hopeless place in which these individuals first met, we've seen forgiveness, redemption, friendship, and even love spring up. And it is this message of hope, of enduring despite seemingly impossible circumstances that I hope you will carry with you tonight and beyond. I'm Linda Coppel for ABC News Presents. Goodnight.
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