Warnings: Noncon, Violence/Gore, and guys who like guys

I got the idea for this from a dream my boyfriend had after we watched Straw Dogs and Glee too close together.

I don't own Glee. If I did I wouldn't be wigging out at the long break between episodes because I would already know what was going to happen!

"Mew."

A giggle.

"Mew. Mew. Mew mew mew mew."

The pair of boys beamed, allowing the fuzz and whiskers to tickle against their fingers.

"It's been forever," the taller one laughed, "I haven't played with a kitten since… well… since long before New York." He was hardly any different from when he'd left the house to perform years before, if a bit more glamorous. He still sat with crossed legs, his clothes still mostly handmade, though he had added some make-up and a gold band on his left ring finger.

"You didn't even have any then, did you? Isn't Finn allergic?" The other man laid his head on the taller one's shoulder, his hand engulfing the kitten held in his palm. He hadn't changed much since he'd gone to New York to help support his boyfriend and to sing, either, though he, too, had added a gold band on his left ring finger.

"Well, only a little allergic, but, yeah. We didn't have any. These are new additions. You didn't have any either, did you, Blaine?"

"No, I've had some," Blaine muttered. "Didn't you ever see them?"

"No, I didn't go to your house much, remember?" Kurt answered, eyes to the window. Will they still be there when we visit your family?"

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "We don't have to visit my family, you know. This trip is mostly for Burt, and for our friends that never left this town."

Kurt gave a small clap, eyes smiling, already distracted, "Quinn's expression when we entered the town was priceless! I've never see her do an expression quite like that- well, not in public, at least. And Puck and Lauren… Why is everyone so surprised we got married? Wasn't it obvious? We went to New York, for heaven's sake!" He gently left the kitten in his hand on the bed, hugging around his husband's shoulders.

"I'm just glad I transferred junior year. I would be totally lost when it came to all of these random guests we're getting. You were always worried about people hating you, but there are a bunch of people who want to see you."

It was a nice sentiment, but Kurt didn't hear it, for at that moment, as if on queue, he heard the "vroom" of a truck as it rolled down his father's driveway. This was the fifth vehicle to visit since the pair had returned to Lima, and it only carried two burly men, both of the type that slammed their car doors too loudly. Kurt couldn't place the one from the passenger's seat, who was more visible initially, but the sight of the driver made him first widen his eyes, then soften them. In the scheme of things, he wasn't Kurt's best friend, or even one of his friends at all, but the surprise was both scary and slightly pleasant.

He clasped Blaine's hand, "Let's go welcome them. This is one you would have known without transferring."

Blaine nodded, lowering the fluffball from his hand to the bed, making sure the mom went over to protect them before they left them alone. The house was so suddenly silent, the kitten's cries drowned out by the closed door, and Burt, Carole, and Finn out to the store.

This was the first visitor they had welcomed completely, utterly alone.

"Dave!" Kurt had already gotten going before he had the door completely open, "Dave, is this your…?"

David Karofsky leaned against the doorframe, eyes roaming over the pair in front of him and lingering on Kurt. The passenger had thick eyebrows and a scowl, his arms crossed.

"This is my friend, Ben. I met him through my wife."

Kurt's face fell. "Oh. Your wife?"

"My wife." He took a step forward. "How are you? This is Blaine, right?"

"He's my husband." Kurt gave Dave a sympathetic look, making a point of clinging closer to Blaine. "And I'm fine."

It was Dave's turn for his face to fall. "Oh. Your husband?" His eyes zeroed in on the gold bands on the pair's fingers. "I'm… I'm glad you're back. Can we come in?"

The meeting had already grown awkward. Kurt wanted to ask Dave about what had happened since he had left, when he had seemed so close to coming out, why he was living a lie-married-, but the disturbingly quiet Ben made him unsure if he should bring it up. It made him think of the time he had threatened him should he ever mention what he knew to anyone. Maybe that was the whole reason Ben had come at all, just to keep him from talking. Then why had Dave come to see him at all? What was he trying to prove?

The pair showed their visitors to the bedroom, gesturing to the numerous chairs that littered the room, the squawking of the kittens having retreated to under the bed. Only Blaine remained standing, rolling on his heels, feeling a little uneasy as Ben took a chair in the corner and Dave settled next to Kurt on the bed.

But Blaine couldn't just ask them to leave. He had never gotten close to Dave, no, but he knew it was probably important to Kurt to know what had become of the first guy he'd ever kissed. He didn't want to upset his husband, not while they were on a hometown visit.

"Well, do you two need anything?" he asked, clapping his hands. All he had to do was be hospitable. They couldn't stay for too long.

"No, we're all right, aren't we, Ben?"

Ben nodded.

"We just want to talk." Dave scooted closer to Kurt, and Blaine clenched his teeth. "We watched one of your plays. You were really good, better than any of the other stars."

"Why thank you." Kurt nodded politely, suddenly much more composed than Blaine. "Are you okay?"

Dave began to nod his head, then stopped dead and sighed. "When did you get married?"

"A couple years ago, not too long after I moved." Kurt inclined his head, "When did you?"

Dave couldn't meet Kurt's eyes, ashamed now that he was out of the public eye, "Not too long ago," he mumbled, "when I realized I'm not as brave as you."

That was it. So either Ben knew of Dave's true sexuality, or being next to Kurt made him not care. Dave knew he was lying. He remembered Kurt had always supported him.

"There's still…"

Dave interrupted, his face contorted, reminding Kurt of the way he had looked that first time, after he had kissed Kurt. "I'm… I'm so glad you're back."

He grabbed Kurt's face, his hands engulfing the other man's head, jerking him up to him and smooshing their lips together all over again. Kurt froze, spine stiffening, nails clawing against the bed. Dave had regressed, was lying and repeating the same mistake all over again…

"Hey!" Blaine was screaming, mingling with the cries of the kittens, who had grown discomforted by the sudden noise. "Hey! Get off of him!" He bolted, strides suddenly long, then stopped dead.

It all happened so fast, at first Kurt couldn't understand why Blaine had stopped, why his knees suddenly crumpled under him. He couldn't understand why his ears were deafened, the kitten's cries as if they were rooms away.

Then he saw the guns clutched in both of his guests' hands.

It was Kurt's turn to bolt, to teleport off of the bed and straight to Blaine's side. He needed to get a phone, call 911, stop all of the blood running from his husband's chest to paint the carpet.

Tears tickled the corners of his eyes, and he suddenly grew aware of the fact that he was crying Blaine's name over and over again.

"Why did you do that? I tried to help you! I tried…" He sniffled, desperately trying to punch in 911, fingers slipping and sticking to the bloodied keys.

The phone was jerked from Kurt's hand, a boot suddenly stomping on Blaine's chest, making him cough gobs of blood.

"Kurt…" Blaine mumbled, eyes fixed to the space behind his husband, "Watch out. Hide."

Two large hands yanked under Kurt's armpits, and he felt the cloth of the bed under him. Blaine was coughing, choking, his hand outstretched, mouthing the word "courage", Ben's foot placed firmly over his wound.

"Courage."

It was the last Kurt saw of his husband before his vision was obscured by the ceiling light in his eyes, his back against the bed, weight on his lower body.

Dave's face was still contorted as he leaned over Kurt, one hand holding both of the smaller boy's.

"No!" Kurt was practically squealing, thrashing around, "You have to let me call an ambulance; you have to get off of me! Nothing's going to change if Blaine dies, or if you beat me. Nothing will change!"

Dave didn't look directly at Kurt, his face going blank, "I… I didn't realize you had gotten married."

From the ground, Blaine cried out.

Kurt flinched. "Dave… Dave… Let me go."

There was so much noise, and the room the sickening smell of blood, it made Dave's head hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, using his free hand to unbutton Kurt's pants.

"No!" Blaine screamed, the sound of a struggle suddenly drifting to the bed.

"I'm sorry," Dave whispered again, "I missed you, I really did."

"Don't… touch… hi… him." Blaine grit his teeth, words broken by bouts of choking.

Dave's grip tightened on Kurt's wrists, his voice growling, "You shut up!"

Kurt gave up on words, his eyes wide, settling for throwing all of his weight against his wrists, attempting to force the much larger man off.

He wasn't strong enough.

As it became slowly apparent that the fight was a losing one, both pairs of pants off and Dave's hand crawling under Kurt's shirt, he didn't completely stop his protests. At first his voice was screechy and loud, rapidly dropping into whimpery mumbles, his mouth fumbling over words: "Dave", "Help", "Phone", and finally "Blaine" before dipping into silence.

The other victim, acutely aware of the fact that his husband was on the losing end of the struggle, went into berserk mode. He was no longer able to talk properly, blood and mucous conglomerating in his throat, but he could flail his arms and legs, trying desperately to avoid pushing up and therefore pushing Ben's foot down. It hurt so much, a blinding, silencing pain- but hearing Kurt's voice saying his name turned it off, if only temporarily.

Ben growled, the first real noise he had emitted all night, shoving his boot down, compressing the bones in Blaine's chest until they were a millimeter away from a crack.

"Be still," he was still growling, "or you won't even be alive to protect your precious husband."

There was a clink, and Blaine didn't have to turn his head to see the gold band being slipped off of Kurt's finger, drifting to the ground, hitting the split-second before Kurt was engulfed.

Ben gave a harsh laugh, "Or ex-husband."

It was too much, Blaine's struggles slowed, and he focused instead on the kittens, watching as they stumbled around in the dark absolutely oblivious to the disaster around them.

Kurt had his head turned away from Dave, his breaths heavy and fists clenching. He tried to detach, to retrace what had happened and why exactly he was on his old bed with Blaine on the floor and Dave in him, but he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't stop whimpering, couldn't stop worrying about calling an ambulance or stop feeling everything that was happening to him.

"Dave… why?"

David Karofsky ran a finger down Kurt's face, "You're my first… that counted."

His movements were slow, savoring the feel of an actual guy, savoring the way Kurt's skin felt, the way his back arched and lowered in conjunction with Dave's movements. He kept one hand placed firmly over Kurt's wrists, the other roaming over the other man's body.

It was looking to be a lost cause for both of the Andersons, the whole trip a grave mistake.

That was when Blaine saw the knife. He wasn't sure who it belonged to- if one of their assailants had dropped it or even if it was Burt's. All he knew was that it was there, tiny but shiny, an arm's length away. That, and the fact that it was their only hope.

He used his fingers to drag his arm over to the object, flexing his fingers to hit cold metal and drag it awkwardly into his hand.

Ben was distracted, more interested in watching Kurt than the shuddering mass under his foot, and the sudden pain in his leg threw him off, making him shriek and fall off of Blaine.

That, in turn, distracted Dave, propelled him up, his eyes blankly fixing on his partner.

It all happened so fast, at first Dave couldn't understand why Ben wasn't jumping up, cursing and growling. He couldn't process why Kurt had leaped to the corner of the bed, his breaths whiny and shuddering, his hands shaking and clutched around Dave's discarded gun. Dave's eyes shuffled from Kurt to the floor, where Ben was sprawled next to Blaine, his eyes wide and unblinking, dark red holes littering his frame, the gun's bullets exhausted on him.

The victims were fighting back.

Before Dave had time to truly process what was happening, before he could again overpower Kurt and seize the gun back, the other man was already back on the floor next to Blaine, fumbling with his downed husband's phone.

"I love you," he mumbled, looking over Blaine's wounds.

"I… love you… too," Blaine managed to wheeze, reaching up to pet his husband. "Hide… be… before he gets you… a… again."

"But you…" Kurt trailed off, eyeing Dave, who was slowly regaining his composure. He didn't have time, and he was painfully aware of that fact. All he had the time to do was nab two kittens and clutch the phone closer. "I'll… I'll call the ambulance. Please don't die."

He bolted just before Dave grabbed after him again, bolted to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and locking it at the same time. He tripped on the way in, his body soaked with blood and semen, slipping and scrambling to the corner on his hands and knees, the kittens squealing with displeasure.

"Kurt!" There were heavy footsteps. "Kurt, come out, I'm sorry!"

Kurt pulled himself into a ball in the corner of the room.

"Kurt, Ben's dead!"

He pulled the phone to his face, eyes wide, and cried, truly cried, for the first time since he and his husband had been attacked. The screen was barely visible through the blood and tears, his fingers hitting the numbers sloppily. "622." "755." "933." "911."

"Kurt!" The pounding at the door began, then grew louder.

He dragged his hand to his ear, covering the one that wasn't already covered by the phone, trying to block out the pounding and yelling and sobbing and kittens squealing and concentrate instead on the ringing.

"911, what is your emergency?"

This was it. He had gotten the call through.

"I… I…" And he couldn't even speak save for crying. "They… They shot my… husband."

"Just remain calm. Are you near him?"

"No, I'm hiding in the bathroom," he moaned. "One of them's outside the door."

"Kurt! Kurt! It was Ben's idea!"

The operator broke through the noise, statement already half-finished, "-address?"

He took a deep breath and stated the address he had repeated so many times as a child and adolescent.

"Just remain calm," she repeated, "stay on the line."

"Kurt, I'm serious!" Dave was growling, the pounds on the door turning into slams.

The kittens squealed even more.

"I'm sorry," Kurt half-sobbed, "but I can't hear you."

One of the slams hit its mark particularly well, almost breaking the lock and rocking the whole room. Kurt flinched involuntarily, holding the phone closer to his ear, no longer half-sobbing, but sobbing for real.

"I can't hear you."

Another hit, and his hand loosened just enough for the phone to shatter against the floor.

"Kurt, open up!"

"Go away," he cried, his first response to Dave since the other man had forced himself on him, his voice starting weak and growing stronger, "Just go away."

"I'm warning you…"

Dave's tone changed so rapidly it made Kurt shudder, his hands gripping his shoulders and eyes clenched shut, prepared for the worst. The door would break this time. He could see it bursting in, feel the fluff in his hands as he hid the kittens behind him, resolve hardened at the sight of his dad's door busted. The ambulance and police wouldn't come in time, and Blaine had probably already gone cold. All Kurt had left were the kittens as Dave advanced, ready to take Kurt for good.

But no such hit came. For one split second, all was calm and silent. Kurt squinted his eyes open. The door was still intact.

Outside, Blaine stumbled, one hand against the wall to prop him up, knife sticking to his fingers with blood. It was no longer shiny, but still tiny, his hand covering all but the tip. He had never imagined walking to be so ridiculously hard, but he couldn't stop now, not now that he had pulled himself up and had reached Dave. Dave, who was in front of the door, shoulder first, ready to ram. Luckily, the door was on the side of the wall Blaine was clinging to, Dave in reach without him shifting his weight. All he wanted was to buy Kurt time, buy him enough time that the door would still be securely locked when the police came. Hopefully he had already called and it wouldn't be long…

The knife didn't have as much impact this time, Blaine's high over and his limbs weakened by the journey. Not to mention the only place he could easily reach was the shoulder, the already thin knife having to penetrate thick clothes and muscle and doing little more than make a paper cut. Paper cuts hurt, though, and Dave twirled, distracted from his "break the door down" campaign.

That was all Blaine needed.

As he twirled, his elbow caught Blaine's eye, knocking him from his perch to the opposite wall, already forgetting about Kurt.

"You!" he bellowed, hands gripping at Blaine's shirt before he could slip to the floor. "I thought you had passed out."

Blaine wheezed, attempting to stab up before Dave turned back to the bathroom door, "I'm not letting you break Burt's door in."

Dave's face reddened with anger, jerking Blaine forward and back against the wall, "You stay out of this. This isn't about you. This is about Kurt. About Kurt and me."

"They're… They're… coming, you know." Blaine was struggling to remain calm, black flecks starting to spread throughout his vision, stabbing desperately at any free patch of skin in his reach. "You might as… well g-give up."

"No." Dave freed one hand of Blaine's shirt, using it to punch him in the face. "Just… just go away."

The punch threw Blaine off, caused him to drop his knife. After a few pointlessly weak punches he realized the attack was over and went limp. All he wanted was for the police to come in time for Kurt. As long as they came in time for Kurt…

Dave reached for his pocket, and at first Blaine didn't understand what he had. Of course, he had taken Ben's gun, that both Blaine and Kurt had so stupidly ignored. Dave's hand was shaking as he raised it slowly to Blaine's forehead.

Behind them, a kitten squealed.

Dave sighed callously, dropping his hand and Blaine, biting his lip as he looked the other man over. "I need to get Kurt before the police come. You'll die anyway."

And this time, as Dave prepared to ram the door, Blaine couldn't will himself to stand.

Inside the room, Kurt was only vaguely aware of the events that had transpired outside the door, too wary to creep closer to the door and attempt to hear better but still having heard enough to know there had been a fight. He also half blocked it out, keeping one ear outside, hoping that sirens would ring out any second, hoping Blaine would make it until then. That was what his thoughts were turned to when the door finally gave way, startling him and causing him to yelp like a girl, involuntarily jumping back against the wall.

Dave's figure was obviously the one in the door, much too large to be Kurt's husband.

Kurt stood shakily, attempting to look his assailant in the eyes. It was over. Blaine was probably dead, and it was over.

"Kurt," Dave cooed as he advanced, extending a hand, "Kurt, stay at Lima. You don't need to go back to New York. You can still help me, if only you stay." He paused in front of Kurt, his face that contorted, pained look, running a finger through Kurt's hair and on down, tracing the lines on the other man's figure, the lines that made him Kurt, beautiful, forgiving Kurt.

"You'll stay, won't you, Kurt? Won't you, Ku-"

All Dave understood at first was that he could no longer talk. When he moved his lips no sound came out, just bubbly liquid. It tasted like iron was running from his mouth and throat. It hurt. His throat hurt, and there was no oxygen, only liquid iron…

It all went black, leaving only Blaine standing behind him, hefting a bloody rotary blade, his breaths wheezy.

"I got him."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he crashed forward into a wide-eyed Kurt, the same moment echoes of sirens entered the pair's range of hearing.

They were all that was left in the demolished room, completely, utterly alone aside from two tiny things.

Two balls of fluff rubbed against the motionless figures.

"Mew?"