Summary: When Kurt is captured by a slave ring he expects all the darkness and pain that follows. What he doesn't expect is his roommate, sweet and caring and smiling from the minute Kurt wakes up. When you're trapped in a literal hell, it's hard not to trust the only glimpse of light, but how can Kurt know if he's deserving of that trust.
Warnings (for this part only): Noncon/dubcon (running theme through the whole fic, some of it will be between Klaine eventually, but it's noncon or dubcon for both of them), bondage, drugging, starvation, watersports (not in a sexy way and not explicitly described, message me if you want a better explanation before reading), slavery, and I think that's it for this part.
A/N: My plan will be to update Beautiful, Brave, Broken every Saturday and this every Monday, let's hope I can stick to that plan.
A/N 2: Also HUGE HUGE thanks to itallstartedwithharry who had been there for me to bounce ideas off of for this fic for months, and helped me look over everything and just make my writing better. You're the best!
Word Count: ~2,100

His face was the first thing Kurt saw when he woke up. Sitting on the floor next to his cot, the boy had a gentle and cautious smile on his face. Kurt tried to jerk away but his arms were trapped in place by straps binding him to the bed. The last thing he could remember was feeling hot and dizzy, trying to get to the Scandals bathroom and then… nothing. He twisted in the restraints, desperate to get out.

"If you don't fight they'll take those off of you sooner," the boy said quietly, with a sympathetic twitch of his lips as Kurt yanked on them again.

"How did I get here?" he choked out. The boy was silent, elbows resting on knees. "Where are we?" he asked instead.

"It doesn't really have a name that I know of," he finally whispered back.

"Why am I here?" he had an idea and he hoped he was wrong.

The boy shook his head and stood, moving to the other side of the room. It was small and claustrophobic, two small cots on opposite walls with just enough space for a single person to walk between them. The feet of the beds rested against a wall with a door. If Kurt craned his neck enough he could see the wall behind them, two cabinets rested on a counter on his side, and there was a metal toilet behind the bed on the other side. It was a prison cell... it was worse than a prison cell.

The boy retrieved a pair of nondescript grey sweats and a dark hoodie from one of the cabinets. He set them on the other bed and started stripping out of his tightly fitted tank and ass hugging shorts, without a thought to Kurt watching him closely. Kurt quickly averted his eyes, and didn't look back until he heard the boy lie down on his own cot.

He was curled in a tight ball, a thin blanket wrapped tightly around him. It was silent for a few minutes, the boy breathing deep enough to hint at sleep, but it was too measured and controlled. He was just pretending.

"Why am I here?" Kurt tried again and watched as the boy sagged in defeat at the fact that Kurt wouldn't just drop the question, but Kurt just couldn't; he needed to know. The wondering was worse.

His voice was resigned when he finally answered him, "You're pretty, young, feisty, I know a few of the guys that will pay heavily to get a chance with you first." Just enough to tell Kurt the nature of his captivity without actually saying it.

Kurt's heart sped up, because he'd known; the boy was young and pretty as well, wearing too little clothing, and was too comfortable stripping in front of Kurt. And honestly, what other kind of crime ring would drug young boys at one of the few gay bars around.

"What will they do to me?" Kurt tried to keep his voice strong but it shook terribly.

And when the boy never responded, Kurt didn't have the courage to ask again.

Kurt twisted fitfully in the bed throughout the night, squeezing his legs together as tight as he could against the insistent throbbing of his bladder. He wanted to call out to the other boy, see if he could let him out of the bed, or get someone that could so he could go to the bathroom, but he didn't even know his name. Instead Kurt laid there, concentrating desperately on not wetting the bed until he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

When he woke again it was to the feeling of someone wiping down his now bare legs. He jerked and tried to pull away but the restraints kept him in place and the hand on his thighs kept his legs firmly spread.

"No, please," he pleaded quietly.

"Shh, shh," a soft voice hushed him and the curly-haired boy's face came into view, blurred from the tears in Kurt's eyes, "I'm just cleaning you up," he said gently, eyes searching Kurt's face for a reaction to his words.

Kurt's brow furrowed until he became aware of the slowly cooling wetness underneath him. He paled, letting out a soft whimper of mortification.

"It's okay," the boy said quietly, "everyone does it when they first get here…" he trailed off sadly. "I had to rip your pants to get them off," he said apologetically, " but I figured no pants was better than wet pants. I'll give you my blanket to cover up, but first i need to change the sheets, okay?"

Kurt nodded, closing his eyes and trying to think of anything but the smell of urine in the air. The boy tugged the sheets out from under him gently and tossed them to the side before grabbing a new set from the cupboard.

"Can you sit up for a little bit?" He asked gently, putting his hand against Kurt's back to help him up when he started to move. He got the sheets on the top half of the bed, "Now lay down and hips up." Kurt complied, raising his hips slowly. The boy pulled the sheet under him and fixed it at the foot of the bed. Then, as promised, he retrieved the blanket from his own bed and draped it over Kurt, tucking it in around his legs for more protection.

The mattress was still slightly damp beneath Kurt, but it was considerably better with the fresh sheets. The boy dumped the towel and sheet in a pile by the toilet and then went back to his own bed. He sat with his back against the wall, watching Kurt carefully.

"What's your name?" Kurt asked quietly.

He smiled softly, "Blaine. You?"

"Kurt," he whispered, licking his lips. "Why-uh… when will they let me out?"

Blaine's smile fell. "When you've broken."

Kurt turned his head to look at him, "Broken? Wha-what does that mean?"

Blaine thought for a minute as if contemplating if he should water it down for Kurt or not. He took a deep breath and decided. "When you're weak, and tired, too hungry and thirsty to fight back. That's when they'll start your training. And if you start to regain your strength and try to fight them, they'll just lock you up again and start the whole process all over, only then you'll be alone, or with some other rebellious soul, and no one will be there to clean you up. The first breaking is easy, it's gentle compared to what they'll do to you if you don't just give in." Blaine's eyes were distant as he spoke, staring at the wall behind Kurt. It sounded rehearsed, like he'd practiced it a thousand times, voice steady and flat and devoid of hope.

Kurt's eyes narrowed, "So you're telling me I should just give in? I shouldn't even try? I should just let them do god knows what to me and not even try to escape?"

Blaine shook his head solemnly, "There is no escape, Kurt."

He was one of them. Kurt's mind reeled at the thought; Blaine was one of them, pretending to be a prisoner to get him to trust him and believe there was no hope so he'd break easier.

"Fuck you," Kurt hissed, and closed his eyes, turning himself away from Blaine as much as he could.

Blaine didn't try to speak to him again and they sat in silence until the guards came to gather him for his "duties". Kurt spent his time mentally scrubbing the grimy ceiling tiles, trying to imagine what colour they were under all the smears and dust. He imagined grey or white, nothing colourful; they had to have been dull to help break the first kids that had been imprisoned in this room. Or maybe they'd already been covered in a thick layer of dirt by the time his captors bought this hell hole. If they bought it.

When he got sick of that he counted every crack in the tiles, getting up to 68 before his neck hurt too much from craning it back to look at the tiles behind him and he had to stop counting. He jerked on the straps holding his wrists to the bed, going for a gentler approach than before and trying to wiggle his hand out rather than tear the straps. It did nothing except make his hands start cramping up from being contorted to attempt to fit through a place much too small for them.

He looked up when the door opened again and Blaine stepped in. Blaine gave him a small smile, but Kurt just glared back before turning away again. Blaine perched on the edge of his own bed, brow furrowed in concentration for a few minutes. He seemed to come to a decision, or whatever he was waiting for happened and he stood up, crossing the short space between their beds and sat quietly on the edge of Kurt's.

Kurt jerked away from him, glaring suspiciously. "What do you want?" he hissed.

"Guard change," Blaine said simply, before producing a bottle of water from his hoodie. He unscrewed the cap and started to tip it over his mouth. Kurt jerked his head to the side, pressing his lips tightly together. "Kurt," Blaine said, slightly exasperated, "it's just water. You have to be thirsty and if you don't drink now you're not going to get another opportunity until tomorrow night, because I'll be gone during the midday guard change, so open up."

"How do I know it's not drugged?" he spat, "This could be just another way to break me. Give me something that will make me happy to do whatever you ask, or a hallucinogen that will terrify me into submission."

"Kurt… I could get in huge trouble for doing this and we only have a few more minutes until the other guard is back outside the door, please, just drink the water." Kurt's throat was dry, begging him to take a little water, but he stayed resolute.

Kurt heard the quiet footsteps coming back towards the door and Blaine gave him one last pleading look that Kurt ignored, giving a short shake of his head. Blaine sighed, put the water back in his pocket, and went back to his bed.

Neither of them went to sleep immediately. Blaine reached behind his small cabinet and pulled out a notebook and a stub of a pencil. He sat with his back to the door, hunched over his notebook, his face was drawn in concentration and Kurt's eyes narrowed in suspicion, trying to figure out what Blaine was writing down and why he was concealing it from him. Was it things he'd learned about Kurt, how stubborn he was, things that could help break him easier, ways to possibly worm past his barriers? Was it just for himself or would he spread it to the other men in charge?

Blaine seemed intent on ignoring him, or just too caught up in his writing to notice Kurt watching him from the other side of the room, tense and afraid of what he could be saying about him.

Blaine shut the notebook after what seemed like forever, letting out a shaky breath before carefully putting it back in its hiding spot. Kurt almost couldn't believe he'd let Kurt see where he put it until he remembered he was strapped to the bed and in no position to retrieve the secret book. Blaine glanced at him as he dug through his cabinet for a change of clothes and Kurt quickly looked away, pretending he hadn't been watching him intently for the past twenty minutes.

He heard Blaine shuffling around a bit as he changed and climbed into bed, and Kurt chanced a peek to see him curled in a tight ball on his bed. Kurt looked back to the ceiling, trying to keep his thoughts off the notebook and what Blaine was writing about him. Trying not to think of what he would have to do to get out of this bed or what would happen to him after. Trying not to think of how he was going to lose his virginity and all the possible disgusting people that could take it from him...and most of all trying to not think about the likelihood that he would never escape this place.