Burt Hummel's heart raced with fear, and a distant part of his mind vaguely registered that this drastic an elevation in blood pressure was probably not a good thing, not so soon after his heart attack – but the greater part of his thoughts was consumed with the terrifying reality of the situation in which he'd suddenly found himself.

"Don't… don't hurt him." He hated the tremor in his voice, struggling to keep his words level and calm as he sank obediently to his knees, but it was impossible to focus on his tone, or any possible means of escape, or anything besides the gun in the stocky man's hand – the gun that was pressed tight against Kurt's temple. "Please… don't…"

"Don't do anything stupid," the leader said, blue eyes regarding Burt calmly over the barrel of his gun, "and we won't."

He then put his gun away, and Burt found himself watching for any opportunity that might afford – but the shorter, heavier man's gun was still aimed at Kurt's head. Burt fought the urge to resist as the leader crouched behind him, taking a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He winced as the tape was wound too tightly around his crossed wrists, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain – and immediately regretting it when he saw how Kurt reacted to the almost inaudible sound.

"Dad!" Kurt cried out. "Stop it! You're hurting him!"

"I'm okay," Burt insisted quietly, trying to catch Kurt's gaze again, wanting to reassure his son before he let his emotions get him hurt. "Kurt – I'm okay."

Kurt glanced uncertainly between his father and the tall, blue-eyed man who was now striding purposefully toward him – his concern only slightly distracted by the threat quickly closing in on him – though Burt could focus on nothing else, his heart sinking as the distance between his son and their captor swiftly diminished.

No… no, please don't hurt him… please don't…

A soft, amused smile curved the man's lips upward as he reached to take Kurt's arm, pulling him away from his cohort's grasp and leading him a few steps toward the middle of the room, before letting go of him and taking a step backward. Kurt watched him, not sure what he intended, his wary gaze darting back and forth between the face of his captor and the face of his father.

Abruptly, the man struck out with the back of his fist, hitting Kurt hard in the face and causing the boy to stumble backward, falling hard onto his knees on the floor with a sharp little cry of pain that he swiftly, stubbornly bit back.

"Stop it!" Burt yelled in frustration. "Leave him alone, he's just a kid!"

His protest was completely ignored. Kurt struggled to steady himself, straightening up on his knees, his lips already parted to protest, shaking his head slightly in confused, fearful indignation at the unwarranted attack. Then, in one swift, fluid motion, the leader took his gun from his belt and pressed its muzzle firmly against Kurt's forehead.

Burt's stomach dropped, and Kurt froze, not even breathing for a long, taut moment. His eyes were wide with shock and panic, though he didn't dare look up at the man holding the gun. Burt watched as the boy's hands clenched and unclenched in helpless fists at his sides. Kurt closed his eyes, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat as the gunman pulled the hammer back with a sharp click that sounded incredibly loud in the sudden stillness that had fallen.

Why? He didn't do anything! Burt wondered frantically, too afraid to voice his thoughts aloud – too afraid that he might further anger their captors and make the situation worse. No, don't hurt him, don't hurt him, please God, don't let them hurt my boy…

Slowly, carefully, the man crouched on the floor at Kurt's side, never moving the weapon from its dangerous position. Kurt's harsh, shaky breaths were clearly audible, their pace increasing with fear at the man's increased nearness.

"I asked you if you were alone… didn't I, Kurt?" The man's voice was dangerously soft, patient and leading.

Kurt seemed frozen with panic, blinking rapidly, his lips trembling but seemingly unable to find words. He flinched as the man pressed the gun harder against his head, pushing it back slightly, his voice lowered and warning.

"Didn't I?"

"Yes," Kurt finally managed a hoarse whisper, nodding rapidly. "Y-yes…"

"And you were going to lie to me, weren't you?"

There was a note of cold amusement in the man's voice, and Burt's heart sank. He didn't know what the man was talking about, had no idea what had happened between his son and the robbers before he'd entered the room; but the look of sick terror on Kurt's face made the answer clear enough. Kurt had obviously tried to protect him, tried to keep the robbers from knowing that he was there – until he'd accidentally stumbled into the scene and interrupted Kurt's efforts.

"I… I wasn't…" Kurt stammered, his voice breathless and cracking slightly over the words. Burt knew his son well enough to read his reaction; Kurt was clearly too frightened to even think straight, let alone come up with a coherent answer. "I mean… I don't… don't know…"

"You were thinking about it," the man guessed, his tone soft and knowing. "Weren't you?" When Kurt remained silent, at a loss, he snapped, "Answer me!"

Kurt cringed, nodding hurriedly. "Yes," he admitted in a desperate whisper. "Y-yes…"

"Thought so."

The man reached up with his free hand to roughly snatch a handful of Kurt's hair, jerking his head back hard, and Kurt didn't quite manage to stifle the frightened whimper of pain that rose to his lips. His captor's voice was unsettlingly soft, patient as if he was teaching a difficult lesson to a particularly slow student.

"Let's just establish rule number one right now, shall we, kid? The one thing you need to remember to keep some really, really bad things from happening here tonight. Okay? You listening?"

Kurt nodded hurriedly, helplessly, as best he could, his slight frame trembling visibly, even from across the room. Burt shook with frustration, his fists clenched behind his back, instinctively straining at his bonds, though he knew better than to actually break them – not until he knew he could actually do some good.

He wanted nothing more than to kick these sons of bitches' asses right out of his house, then go to his son and hold him and reassure him that he was safe and nothing could hurt him. He knew, however, that at this moment, with that gun still pressed against Kurt's head, any move he made would only serve to endanger his son's life.

"Good." The leader's voice was soothing, gentle. "Here's the thing: you think about lying to me again?" His words were slow, measured, chillingly calm. "And I will blow your fucking brains out. And then, before you've even drawn your last breath…" He turned Kurt's head roughly by the grip he had on his hair, and Burt's breath failed him for a moment at the panicked look on his son's face as their eyes met. "… then… I'll blow his brains out. Is that what you want, Kurt?"

Kurt shook his head, tears slipping from his eyes as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. "No," he whispered. "No, don't… please…"

"Good." The masked man soothed him, his grip on Kurt's hair easing to a gentle caress that Burt found even more upsetting. "Good boy. Now reach into your pocket and take out your cell phone."

Kurt obeyed immediately, holding it up in a trembling hand. The man took it and pocketed it, handing the roll of duct tape to his partner, who set about binding Kurt's hands behind his back, as the leader made his way over to Burt.

"Yours?"

Burt closed his eyes for a moment, frustrated with having to give up their last source of potential help, but aware that he had no choice. "In my shirt pocket," he ground out reluctantly, then added for good measure as the guy reached to look for it, "Look… you guys can have whatever you want, all right? Anything. Just… just don't hurt my kid, all right?"

His pleading words broke off when the man's hand suddenly stilled in his pocket, and Burt's heart sank with sudden realization. He felt sick as a vivid image filled his memory, of his cell phone – right where he'd left it on his desk in the shop.

"Well, apparently you don't care too much what happens to him, do you?" the man smirked, but there was a hard edge of anger to his voice.

"No… I just forgot, I left it in my office, I swear!" Burt insisted, frustration in his voice as the man across the room took aim with his weapon at the back of Kurt's head. "You have to believe me, I wouldn't lie about this! Not with his life on the line, come on!"

His protest was abruptly cut off by a blinding, brutal blow across his face with the gun in the leader's hand. As Burt struggled just to remain conscious, he was vaguely aware of the sound of a struggle across the room – Kurt's panicked, outraged voice, and a louder, angry voice yelling at him to shut up – muffled and distant, as if he was hearing it from under water.

Kurt, don't… just do as they say…

But the desperate words never left his own mind, as Burt collapsed onto his side, struggling against the dark haze crowding out his vision and coherent thought.

Kurt was trying his best to stay calm throughout this whole ordeal; and though he was, for the most part, failing miserably, he was at least managing to be cooperative and go along with the robbers' demands. Despite his instincts screaming at him to resist, he was consciously aware that trying to fight these guys was a very bad idea.

When he saw his dad go down, however, all his intentions vanished and he simply lost it.

"Stop it!" he screamed, struggling to rise from his knees with his hands bound behind his back. "Don't touch him! He's sick! He's not lying to you, you bastard, get your hands off him!"

The man behind him yelled at him to shut up, grabbing his shoulder and easily forcing him back down onto his knees. Kurt struggled still, trying to shake off the man's grip, yelling at the one across the room to leave his dad alone. His stomach dropped with fear when he saw that his father was not getting up, just lying on his side on the floor, a low, weak groan of pain falling from his lips.

Nothing registered but blind fury as the leader strode purposefully across the room toward him. Kurt glared up at him in tearful defiance.

"You bastard!" he repeated. "Does it make you feel powerful, beating up on a heart patient? He'd give you the phone if he had it, you ignorant…"

His words were cut off abruptly as the man grabbed him by the hair with one hand and by the arm with the other, yanking him up to his feet and slamming him against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from his body. Searing pain shot up Kurt's spine as his bound hands, clenched into angry, frustrated fists, were driven hard into his back. He gasped, struggling for air against the pain as the man shifted in alarmingly close to him, pressing the gun in his hand against Kurt's cheek.

Kurt felt dizzy, disoriented, knew that he would have collapsed to the floor if the larger, stronger man had not been holding him up on his feet. His head felt muddled, hazy, from the sharp blow to the back of his skull – and then suddenly, everything was terrifyingly, electrically clear, as his captor slipped the barrel of his gun past Kurt's parted lips, forcing his head back against the wall again when the weapon hit the roof of his mouth.

Kurt could barely register a sense of relief at the sound of his father's outraged cry from across the room – could barely hear it at all over the rushing of his own blood pounding in his ears – as the man smiled cruelly into his eyes, pushing the gun just a fraction further toward the back of Kurt's throat.

"Stop!" Burt cried out from across the room, desperation clear in his hoarse, ragged voice. "Don't…!"

"Mr. Hummel, unless you want me to just pull the trigger right now," Kurt's captor said softly without taking his eyes from Kurt's, "you'll remain still and silent until you're told otherwise. One sound, one move from you, and your boy will die."

Silence fell over the room, and Kurt wrestled with his own panic, trapped helplessly between the unyielding wall behind him, and the devastating threat of the weapon that pinned him to it. He closed his eyes, feeling suffocated, claustrophobic, his lips struggling to form frantic, pleading words that came out as nothing more than broken, pitiful choking sounds.

"Shhh," the man soothed him, running his free hand through Kurt's hair, his touch deceptively gentle.

Kurt did his best to obey, struggling to swallow around the cold, hard obstruction that made it difficult and painful – trying not to think about what that obstruction was, and how easily it could end his life. His captor smiled cruelly at his obvious panic, amusement in his cold blue eyes.

"You're a stubborn little faggot, aren't you, Kurt Hummel?" he observed softly.

Kurt's stomach dropped at the all-too-familiar word, and the dangerous implications it held in the mouth of someone who had him so helpless, so utterly at his mercy. He shook his head slightly, pleadingly, closing his eyes against the tears that flowed freely down his face.

"You are, aren't you?" The humor had dropped from the man's voice for the moment, replaced by matter-of-fact interest, as if he was simply confirming his assumption. "A faggot? Don't try to lie to me, Kurt, remember what I told you…" He paused, repeating, "Are you?" He leaned in closer, sneering softly next to Kurt's ear with a smirk that Kurt felt against his skin, "Are you a little cock-sucker, Kurt?"

Kurt's face was hot with shame, his heart racing. He struggled to swallow, struggled just to breathe, feeling light-headed and dizzy from inadequate oxygen and sheer panic. He hesitated just a moment before nodding, more afraid of the definite consequences of an obvious lie than of the possible suffering that would follow his admission.

"Thought so." The man nodded, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "It's not like you hide it very well." He let out a soft, derisive laugh, and his partner laughed with him.

Kurt felt as if he was going to vomit, or pass out, or both – which might be a quicker, less agonizing death than whatever this man had planned for him.

"Problem is," the man continued, his tone falsely thoughtful, "you can't seem to keep that pretty, cock-sucking mouth under control. Can you? Can you?"

His last words were repeated in a soft, leading voice that left Kurt no question as to what was the required response. He shook his head slowly, obediently, his entire body trembling violently as the man's free hand came to rest, invasive and too intimate, at his side, toying with the hem of his shirt.

"So I think… maybe you need to learn a little bit of control. You think?"

Kurt shook his head pleadingly, not knowing what the man intended, only desperate to appease him and be freed from the terrifying, overwhelming threat of the weapon now jammed halfway down his throat.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," the man insisted, edging in closer to him. "So why don't you just be nice and sweet and cooperative…" he ordered softly in a hushed, suggestive tone that sent shivers of dread down Kurt's spine, "… and show me just what that pretty little mouth of yours can do?"