DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own anything that you recognize, whether it be in SVU or Glee.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: TRIGGER WARNING! TRIGGER WARNING! THIS IS A TRIGGER WARNING! HOLY DEAR SWEET FREAKING CHRIST THIS IS A TRIGGER WARNING! PLEASE TREAD LIGHTLY THIS CHAPTER INVOLVES POST SEXUAL ASSAULT SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL IF THIS WILL AFFECT YOU IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM PLEASE!

Also, I again apologize for the characters seeming like they are a little OOC. Still not as used to Amaro, Barba and Rollins as I am with the rest of them. Also again, I know that Cragen is not on the show anymore, but I haven't really seen much of SVU without him, so bare with me/with him being in the story. Reviews would be awesome, please. Thanks!

Chapter 2

"Cheers, everyone!" Captain Donald Cragen lifted his glass in celebration. "Well done."

"Cheers!" The crew responded, each clinking their glasses against the bald captains' own. Detectives Amaro, Rollins,Tutuola, and Benson each took a sip of their beverages and plunked their drinks back down on the bar, each with satisfactory grins on their faces.

It was not very often that they could do this, what with the type of work they do and all the shit they see everyday. Being able to be together in one place that didn't involve someone's life being tragically ruined was a rarity, and when it involved some asshole actually paying for what he did was a real treat.

So here they all were, in some darkened dive bar near Broadway, after many many nights with no sleep, too much caffeine, leads that went nowhere, and a finally closed case. Detective Olivia Benson sat on a black wooden barstool nursing a merlot, the Captain sitting next to her with his glass of water while the guys and Rollins stood around them, each with their signature brewskis.

Rollins leaned against the bar next to Liv and brushed her blonde hair behind her shoulder. "So, Detective, now with that one all done and over with, and you pretty much on lead with everything, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Liv chuckled, though without much humor. "I'm just glad the good guys won this time. It sucks that this doesn't happen as often as it should."

Amanda grinned sadly. "Well, we could get into all the reasons why, but I'm pretty sure that that would take all night and, not to mention, ruin the taste of my beer."

"And we certainly can't have that now, can we?"

"Absolutely not," Rollins responded, which got an actual laugh from the darker haired detective.

The evening continued as such, with little shop talk, a couple drinks, and some laughter, before everyone decided that it was time to take off.

"See you tomorrow!" Liv called out, waving to the rest of her team as they all split off into their designated destinations or vehicles. She heard and saw each of their responses before turning around.

On the walk back to her place, Liv got trapped in her mind, the case they had just closed in her thoughts. A poor teenage girl had somehow gotten into a college party and had been sexually assaulted. Sure, the case panned out how it should, with video and pictures to boot, however the girl's life had now been ruined regardless of the outcome. Many of her friends had turned on her, asserting that she shouldn't have been there in the first place, drinking. Her parents punished her for attending said party, when Liv believed that being raped had been punishment enough. The video and pictures were all over the internet, and the rest of the world called her a slut. Maybe it was a "win," as the captain and the rest of the squad called it, but to Liv, it didn't necessarily feel like one.

Olivia was then pulled from her internal ramblings with a crash and a grunt coming from the alleyway to her left. She turned towards the noise and down the alley she saw a man had collapsed near a dumpster and had fallen to his side. It was somewhat dark, but the sides of the buildings had florescent lighting imprisoned behind wire, so she could actually see the figure curled up on himself. She could tell from his nice, torn up clothing that he wasn't homeless, and from the sounds that were coming from him, he seemed to be in pain.

This man was in trouble.

She approached quickly but cautiously, noticing that he was actually quite young, and very stylish, too, if his completely gelled dark hair and his gray cashmere sweater that was ripped right down the middle had anything to say about that. She reached into her pocket for the cell phone she would have to use. "Hey," she said gently, as to not startle him, and knelt down next to him. "Hey, sir. Sir, are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?"

But she knew. She could tell. The young gentleman's nice pair of black slacks and boxer briefs were down to his knees, there were bruises all over his lower half, and there was blood dripping down him. His knuckles and face, too, had some cuts, and he looked to be gaining a nice shiner underneath both of his eyes. She looked to his exposed torso, also riddled with bruises, and Liv couldn't really tell as blood was leaking down from it, but it looked as if someone had slashed the word "fag" over his heart.

"Oh, God."

Olivia had stumbled upon a hate crime.

Shit.

The man had yet to respond, the only sound coming from him whimpering grunts, and he seemed to shy away from her approach. Well, he certainly didn't trust her yet.

Liv tried again. "Sir, my name is Olivia Benson, I'm a detective with the New York Police Department," she told him, pulling out her badge and moving it to his field of vision. She saw him observe it, and he sighed and nodded, relaxing slightly.

She nodded in response. Good, he trusted her now, at least a little bit. "Can you tell me your name, sweetie?" she asked him softly.

"Bl-Blaine," he managed to get out in a sobbing grunt.

Liv nodded again. Now they were getting somewhere. "Okay, Blaine, can you tell me who did this to you?"

He shook his head. "I-I don't know. I n-never really saw his face," he whimpered. "H-he was wearing a h-hood, and his f-face was covered by a s-scarf or a ski mask or s-something."

Perp was male. Ok. She could work with that.

She could tell he was having problems breathing and the boy looked like he was very close to passing out. Liv finally pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1. "Blaine, I need you to stay with me. I'm just going to call an ambulance, alright?"

He nodded, his breath still staggered. She turned away, bringing her phone up to her ear. "Dispatch, this is Detective Olivia Benson, badge number 4015. I need a bus and squad units on Broadway and 5th Ave. I also need SVU, I've got a 10-22 sexual assault. Victim is male, approximately 20 years old, and it looks like it could be a hate crime. Over."

"10-4, copy that, Detective, over and out," the dispatcher responded.

Liv ended the call and returned to her spot crouched next to Blaine. He looked like he was shivering, so Liv took off her black blazer and covered his lower region up, not caring that it would now be evidence. He flinched for a second, but then latched onto it, seeking any comfort he could.

"Blaine," Olivia beckoned quietly. "I need you to stay awake, okay? What can you tell me about who attacked you? Did he have any tattoos? A distinct smell? Height? Weight?"

Blaine struggled to sit up, and groaned at the stabbing pain shooting down his side. Olivia reached out to help him, assisting him in leaning against the dumpster. Blaine finally looked up to her, her caring brown eyes peering down at him. Her kind, oval face and gentle voice calmed him somewhat, and the soft hand on his shoulder finally made him realize she wasn't going to hurt him.

He exhaled, and she felt some of the tension in his body leave.

Good. He trusted her more now.

He just stared at her, looking as if he were hoping that this guardian angel who came to him in nightmares that he never even thought about wouldn't disappear before him. He started as if he just remembered that she had asked him something. "Um," he stuttered, his breathing labored. "He…was bigger than me. Taller, p-probably weighed more, too. Um, I d-didn't see any tattoos or scars or anything, but he, uh, he smelled a little like, uh, kinda like too much cologne or something. That fake terrible shit that freshman high school boys wear. Made me wanna puke. I dunno. It's all really fuzzy right now."

"Okay, okay," Olivia nodded, her voice still soft. "Did you see which way he went?"

Blaine shook his head. "No. I was f-facing the other way and d-didn't even think to look up."

"Do you know where he came from? Was he following you?"

Again, Blaine shook his head, clutching the blazer covering him. "I-I don't know," He whimpered. "I don't know if he was following me. He must've been, though, right? H-he hit me from behind, I-I never saw it coming."

Olivia took a deep breath and opened her mouth to ask another question, but the young man in front of her interrupted her. "Though, I guess maybe I should have," he said in a near whisper.

The detective scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "Why do you say that, Blaine?"

Blaine gulped before responding. "This isn't the first time someone's beat the shit outta me," he said, dejectedly. He sighed out a sob. "And it certainly isn't the first time someone's called me a fag," he added, glancing down at the slur carved into his chest, the crimson of his blood shining from the florescent lights against his olive skin tone, still dripping downward, before he completely broke down in tears.

Olivia sighed. The poor boy. She reached with her other hand to grab one of his while he brought the other one up to cover his eyes as he cried, and that was how they remained before they could hear the sirens and see the blue and red flashing lights.

It was going to be a long night for them.

**********
A/N: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. You cannot possibly hate me more than I hate myself right now.

I'm sorry.

Review anyway please?