Based on a prompt from the glee_angst_meme livejournal community. I won't post the prompt here because it does contain many spoilers for the story. But do heed the warning that this does involve non-con of a graphic nature and will have a lot of potentially triggery moments in the attack scenes, the aftermath and ultimately, the recovery.

This is a looooong work in progress (41 pages written, with my approximation of being about a third of the way through my original story outline). I admit to having had a bout of severe writer's block that kept me from updating recently, but I am starting to work on this one again. I'm also hoping that as I start putting it out there for a new audience (a large part of it is already posted on the angst meme-though I am doing some re-writing to fix some things that bothered me before as I post it here) and getting some feedback (please?) it will help me get the motivation going and gain some momentum again.

Timeline Note: This story was plotted and writing started during the first season so it does go a bit AU from what's happened (though some of it not nearly as far off as I thought it would be!) on the show during 2nd season. Carole and Burt are not married, but she and Finn are living with the Hummels. It's still a fairly new arrangement for them. Kurt is still a Cheerio (it's before their Nationals) but Mercedes has already left the squad. Blaine and Sam were not introduced yet and may or may not be written into the story (undecided; I'm leaning toward yes and making this even a little bit more AU but…still thinking on that…)

And so now, after my long-winded author notes, here's "To the End".

Mercedes Jones couldn't sleep. For the most part, she was okay with that because she got a big kick out of the adorable way Kurt Hummel gabbled in his sleep whenever she tried to move away from him. And she certainly didn't mind the way he was cuddling up to her, draping his arm around her waist and occasionally nuzzling against her neck. So really, she didn't mind that he was sleeping contentedly while she lay awake.

The problem was that for the past several minutes, she swore she could hear someone (or perhaps something) creeping around upstairs. Maybe it was just her nerves, spending the night in a strange place for the first time and all. She just didn't know all the old quirks and haunts of the Hummel house. Sure, she'd been in Kurt's room countless times, but it had always been with Kurt awake and flittering around doing all sorts of Kurt things that kept her amused and oblivious to anything else.

She and Kurt were alone in the house. Or at least they were supposed to be. Mr. Hummel was out of town at some auto parts auction, and Ms. Hudson had gone with Finn to the All-State Basketball Tournament. So the creaks and thumps she was hearing were probably just…the furnace kicking in or water in the pipes or…

Something.

Mercedes tensed as she heard the door at the top of the stairs creaking open, confirming that something wasn't right in the house. Someone was here that shouldn't be.

Uneasily, she peered back over her shoulder, beyond the still sleeping Kurt, trying to see who was coming. Hoping-praying—that it was Mr. Hummel home early, or even Finn or his mom. She saw a beam of light-a flashlight-and a pair of cowboy boots came into view at the top of the stairs.

Whoever the person was stopped, though, before they became fully visible. Mr. Hummel really didn't strike Mercedes as being a cowboy boot sort of man. He was more sneakers or on occasion loafers perhaps. And even if he were the cowboy boot sort, she doubted that Kurt would've let him wear the worn out ones she was seeing. She could practically hear Kurt in her head calling them "monstrosities".

That meant that the person-a man, she judged from the size of the feet, ruling out Ms. Hudson-at the top of the stairs was not Mr. Hummel. And she was certain it wasn't Finn. She'd know his long skinnyass legs anywhere.

For a few moments Mercedes just froze, unsure what she should do. Should she hide? Should she scream bloody murder? Should she…? What?

She should wake Kurt. That's what she should do. But she had to make sure that he stayed quiet. She had no idea why this man in ugly outdated and ratty cowboy boots was in the house, but she didn't consider for even a moment that he was a welcome visitor.

She rolled over carefully, placed one hand over Kurt's mouth, and then gently shook his shoulder. "Kurt," she murmured directly into his ear, so softly it was barely audible. When at first he didn't respond, she shook him a little bit harder, keeping her eyes on the figure still standing at the top of the stairs.

She looked back to Kurt when she felt his lips moving against the palm of her hand. He peered back at her, questioningly. "There's someone in the house," she mouthed the words to him. When his brow furrowed, she put a finger momentarily to her lips to signal him to stay quiet before she moved her hand away from his mouth. Her hand trembled as she motioned for him to look toward the stairs.

When he did exactly that, she felt him tense and knew immediately that indeed, this was not just some innocent occurrence. Kurt reached out and grasped her hand as he eased quickly and silently from the bed. Once he was up, he reached to take her arm and steady her as she carefully followed him. It took her a moment to realize why he was looking longingly at his vanity near the stairs, but then she spotted what he was really looking at. His cell phone was there, charging. Her own was in her backpack, which she'd left upstairs.

Despite the situation she felt slightly calmer as she felt his hand against the small of her back as he guided her across the darkened room and into to his walk-in closet. He parted the clothing on one of the racks and firmly pressed her to move against the wall before he let the clothes drop back into place. It wasn't the most original hiding place, and there was little chance that if anyone actually looked that they wouldn't see her immediately. But it was the only option they had while someone was blocking the only exit. She heard a tiny bit of rustling above her as Kurt reached up to pull something from the shelf. A moment later she felt her feet and ankles being covered with a blanket. She almost laughed with giddy nervousness at the ridiculousness of the action; like that was going to stop anyone from spotting her? She was too frightened, though, to laugh; her entire body was tense and she felt as though her heart was going to explode.

Mercedes expected Kurt to join her but was startled as instead, he moved away, pushing the closet door almost, but not completely, shut. Where was he going? She was tempted to go after him, stop him from doing whatever fool-headed thing he was thinking of doing. But she couldn't make herself move. Besides, Kurt was one of the smartest people she knew. Maybe he had a plan.

If he did, it wasn't a good one.

"Shit!" she heard an unfamiliar man's voice. And then there was rapid pounding down the stairs followed by clear sounds of an intense struggle. She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh followed by a cry of pain that could only have come from Kurt. "Give it here-!"

"N-uh!" she heard Kurt protesting, and felt tears forming in her eyes as she heard him being struck again. She winced as she listened to what she surmised was Kurt being thrown against his vanity, knocking his numerous bottles of cleansers and crèmes to the floor. A few moments later she heard the man begin cursing again.

"What the hell's going on down here?" a second unfamiliar voice called, and Mercedes could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"Fucking kid is home! He had a cell phone."He sounded relieved a moment later as he added, "I got it; he didn't get a call out."

"I thought your cousin said the house would be empty."

"It was supposed to be once the old man was out. He said Hudson always brings his mommy to the tournaments."

What was rather scary about the man's words was that the house was supposed to be empty. Kurt was supposed to have gone with the Cheerios to an invitational, but apparently that particular competition didn't allow vocal performances. Coach Sylvester had pulled no punches when she'd informed Kurt that he'd better stay home sick because without his vocals, he was less than useless to the squad.

That someone actually knew that the house was supposed to be vacant, though, was a very scary concept.

"You alone?" the second man asked.

Mercedes flinched and had to bite her tongue not to cry out a few moments later when she heard Kurt being hit again.

"Let's try that again. Are you alone?"

"Yes. I am alone," Kurt answered tersely. "Unless you want to count the guy hiding behind that lamp and the lady in my closet?"

Don't antagonize them, Kurt, Mercedes silently willed. She cringed as she heard one of the men laughing.

"What the hell? We were told you were a boy, not a girl," the first man mocked.

"Yes, I have a high voice," Kurt snapped haughtily. "That does not make me less of a man."

"Man?" The man only laughed harder. "Oh that's rich. How old are you kid? Twelve?"

"That would be such a clever put down…if you were six."

"You've got a pretty smart mouth on you, boy," the second man cut in.

"Oh, why thank you," Kurt replied with mock graciousness.

Kurt, stop! Mercedes wanted to yell at him. She usually admired his strength and the way he stood up to bullies, but right then, the way he was exerting that strength made her absolutely terrified for his safety.

"Now," Kurt continued, oblivious to Mercedes' silent pleading, "as stimulating as this conversation is, I would appreciate it if you would do whatever it is you have come to do and get out of my house." After a few beats-during which Mercedes envisioned that the two men were giving Kurt strange looks for making such a bold request-Kurt let out an annoyed sigh and began to explain as though he was talking to someone with the mental capacity of a three-year-old. "It is unlikely, given my size versus yours and my lack of munitions to your lovely collection of weaponry, that I could stop you from taking what you want to take or ruining what you want to ruin. So, please, just do it and get out."

"You're giving us permission to…take what we want to take?" the second man asked. Mercedes shivered at the lower, more dangerous tone his voice had suddenly adopted.

"No," Kurt replied, sounding far less self-assured than a moment earlier. Mercedes could hear what she presumed to be the rustling of Kurt's clothes as he backed away from the men. That sound was followed by the men following right along after him. "I'm just saying that I won't be able to stop you. So…take what you're going to take, and get this over with." Kurt's voice was even more muted and Mercedes cringed, imagining that they now had him cornered and unable to retreat any further.

The next words spoken were so awful that Mercedes hoped she heard them wrong.

"I think what I want to take…" the second man drawled out slowly, "…is that pretty mouth of yours."