Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.


He stood in the Dalton parking lot beside his Navigator, but he paused as he unlocked the door and opened it up. "Oh, crap," he pouted.

Blaine looked up from his messenger bag, the keys to his car in his hand. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Kurt slammed the door shut and dug frantically through his book bag, not bothering to lock his car. "Oh, crap, I forgot something," he said. "Now I have to go back and get it."

Blaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Want me to wait?" he offered, his hazel eyes glowing and dancing in the white safety lights of the parking lot.

"No, it's okay," Kurt said. Blaine still didn't seem convinced, his lips drawing down a little bit, and he smiled at him. "Go on ahead. We're leaving a little late as it is, and they'll worry if we're not home soon. And believe me, my dad is a champion at worrying."

"All right," Blaine said, a little warily. "Your house is off exit 219, right?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "And you can call Finn if you get lost. He probably won't be able to explain anything, but he can hand the phone off to someone who can." He brushed his hair off his forehead. "Go on without me. I'll be right behind you, I promise."

Blaine gave him a long look, an odd warm light in his golden brown eyes, and finally smiled. "All right, then," he said. "I'll see you at the house."

Kurt waved as Blaine unlocked his car and revved the engine, then turned back towards the school. He would have to walk all the way around to the opposite end of the campus, towards the exterior entrance to the junior wing. They would be locking up soon- apparently all of Dalton shut down for teacher in-services- but if he hurried, he could probably get to his dorm room and back before he got stuck.

Besides, he didn't want to linger. Blaine was coming over. Blaine was going to stay with him for the entire long weekend.

He resisted the urge to skip.

It was going to perfect. He was determined. Tonight was family Friday night dinner, with his father and Carole and Finn. Tomorrow they would sleep in, and then hang out with the rest of New Directions, maybe at Breadstix. Sunday would be an all-day shopping marathon, probably with Mercedes, maybe Brittany and Quinn too.

Monday would be the best, though. On Monday they would spend the whole day together at home, just the two of them, while his parents were at work and Finn was at school. They would watch movies and he would impress Blaine with his cooking skills, and maybe, just maybe, he could manage to kiss him.

He could feel his cheeks turning pink; he didn't know if it was from the cold or from his happy daydreams of Blaine leaning in to kiss him. It was probably stupid of him to be this moony over Blaine, not when Blaine probably didn't think anything more of him than a shy young thing that needed protection and guidance. But still, that was better than nothing.

He walked up the steps to the junior dorm wing, stripping off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket. But when he grabbed the handle, he realized it was pointless. "Oh, damn," he sighed, jiggling the bronze doorknob. It refused to budge, not even the slightest bit.

He tried a little while longer, hoping that maybe the stupid door was sticking again, but it was all in vain. Heaving a reluctant sigh, he turned around and walked down the steps. At least it wasn't anything terribly important.

He slid his hands in his pockets, digging his cold fingers in the smooth, slippery lining. His coat hung open, and he knew he should probably button it, but his coat had such a nice lining, bright red with a small pindot pattern, and he really wanted Blaine to notice it. Granted, he didn't know if Blaine even had realized he was wearing a new designer label winter coat, but oh well.

He hummed lightly as he walked to his car, parked on the far edge of the lot. His breath puffed lightly in the cold air and his shoes made light crunching sounds on the smooth asphalt. He rounded the corner of the main building and frowned.

An SUV, an older model, was parked a few yards away from him. It didn't look like any of the cars that his fellow Dalton students drove, all of them shiny and new. And it certainly hadn't been there when he left. He glanced around the parking lot, his stomach suddenly twisting in anxiety, and he suddenly, irrationally hoped that Blaine hadn't left yet. His fingers gripped the shoulder strap of his messenger bag.

Suddenly he felt a huge hand grab him from behind, closing tightly around his wrist. He cried out as the hand forcibly yanked his arm back and behind his head, twisting his shoulder in directions it was never meant to bend. His messenger bag hit the ground hard.

"What are you doing?" he screamed. "What do you want?" He couldn't see his attacker's face; it was too dark, and he was looming above him at the wrong angle. Whoever it was yanked at the sleeves of his winter coat, pulling it off until it slid down his back and hit the ground. The cold air wrapped around him.

His breath came hard and fast as his mind raced. Was he being kidnapped? Or mugged? He was probably being mugged. A rich boys' school was the perfect target for a mugger.

"My wallet's in my coat pocket," he said, chest heaving, his voice rising. The big hand clenched over his wrist, stretching his shoulder in the wrong angle until it felt like it was about to pop. The mugger forced him backwards like he was leading in some sort of sick dance. "My wallet's in my pocket, you can take it, just take it, there's…there's a lot of cash in there, please, just take it."

His back slammed into the solid wall of the unfamiliar SUV, the handle digging sharply into his spine. The mugger pushed him back and pinned him against the car. Kurt couldn't see his face, just the shadow of a profile, and he almost didn't want to look.

He let go of Kurt's wrist and his arm fell to his side, limp and heavy, and he swallowed the urge to cry out again. For a second, in the absence of the mugger's hands, he had the sudden wild idea that he could fight back. He raised his leg to kick, but he wasn't fast enough.

The big hands reached for his face, closing around his chin and worming around to his neck, and suddenly Kurt found himself drawn up to his attacker's face. And he was kissing him.

His soft lips hit rough, chapped ones, hot and insistent against his. The kiss was sloppy; the mouth pressed against his was wet and tasted horribly like…like alcohol. Kurt clamped his lips shut and tried to move his leg up to kick, but he was at the wrong angle. He couldn't move.

His attacker bit on his lower lip, surprising him into opening his mouth as he let out a painful moan. Suddenly a tongue forced itself between his teeth. Kurt gagged, bringing his teeth down on the thick tongue, but it didn't seem to have any effect.

The mugger…well, he couldn't really be a mugger now, could he?- kept kissing him, wet and open-mouthed. Saliva dripped down Kurt's chin. The man's big, callused hands slid down the sides of his neck, pulling him towards him, his grip too tight and painful.

The hands kept creeping down, sliding down his neck and down his shoulders, between his shirt and his struggled to lock his arms in place, but his twisted shoulder just hung there, limp and throbbing, and suddenly the protective Dalton blazer was gone, just gone. The man clutched at him, pinning Kurt's arms between their bodies. Kurt grabbed uselessly at his shoulders, scrabbling at his jacket, trying to push him back.

The man ran his hands hungrily up and down his body, his hands hot and weighty. He slid his hands over Kurt's sides, his stomach, his ribcage, even plucked at his nipples through his thin uniform shirt. Kurt shivered, partially from the cold and partially from the awful, horrible, creepy feeling of someone, some stranger, feeling him up.

The man closed his hands over Kurt's slender hips, thumbing his protruding hip bones, and hefted him up. Kurt suddenly found himself balancing precariously against the side of the car, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground and the small of his back pressed against the cold metal of the car. He couldn't breathe anymore. His head swam. This isn't happening, he thought, still fighting to push the stranger's messy mouth away from his. No, no, no, this isn't happening.

The man shoved his crotch up against him, grinding his erection against Kurt's pelvis. He cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth. This isn't what I want, he thought wildly. I don't…no, I don't want it like this!

He whimpered despite himself. Apparently that only served to catch his assailant's attention. He balanced Kurt against the car with one hand, still kissing him sloppily, and his other hand trailed over his chest, down to his stomach, and tucked into the waistband of Kurt's pants. Kurt's heart beat so fast he could feel it leaping against his collarbone. Oh, God, no, he thought.

The hot, clumsy fingers fumbled at the button on his gray uniform pants, digging it against his flat lower belly until it popped through. Then he closed around the zipper pull and tugged it down.

The big mouth broke away from him, and his breath was hot against Kurt's cold cheek. Kurt gasped for breath, sucking in freezing air. It seared his lungs and made his mouth go dry, but he didn't care. He could still taste him, though, him and the warm stinging taste of whiskey.

The stranger pulled back from him, smiling in a dazed, delirious sort of way. He leaned back for just a split second, but it was enough. Kurt's heart stopped beating as he recognized him.

David Karofsky.

He slumped against the car, his throat working compulsively. Karofsky gripped Kurt's waist, letting his unfastened pants slide down his hips, and he leaned close to him, resting his rough, stubbled cheek against Kurt's shoulder as he kissed him on his neck, right below his ear. Kurt turned his head away sharply, but it wasn't enough. Karofsky palmed greedily at his hips as he kissed down the side of Kurt's neck. Kurt tried to call out, to say something, anything, but no sound came out. He was too stunned, too scared.

Karofsky groaned into Kurt's neck as he lifted his hands up to the buttons on his shirt. He unbuttoned them slowly, prodding each one methodically through the embroidered holes until they fell loose.

"No," Kurt murmured as Karofsky trailed kisses down his neck and chest and stomach, kissing and sucking and biting at his cool pale skin. "No, no, you can't…I…I…"

His unbuttoned shirt hung around his slender body, no longer offering him protection from the cold or Karofsky's greedy mouth. Kurt shuddered as Karofsky clamped his death grip on his hips again, lifting him up and ramming his erection against Kurt's. He hadn't even noticed he was aroused, and dully he realized that he didn't feel anything. His body was just reacting to the physical stimulation, but he didn't feel turned on, like he always thought he would be when he finally had his first time. He just felt…numb.

Karofsky rotated his pelvis against his, grunting as he attempted to force Kurt to grind against him at the same pace. "No," Kurt said, his voice slowly gaining a little strength. "No, no, I don't want to, stop it, stop it, stop!"

Karofsky wrapped his left arm around Kurt's slender waist, bracing him between his bulk and the ice-cold car, and his right hand slid inside Kurt's boxer briefs. Kurt lurched forward, his mouth falling open in terror, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't manage to make any sound came out.

Karofsky clamped his hand around him, sliding his hand up and down in firm, measured strokes. "Stop!" Kurt sobbed, his voice finally working again. "Stop it, just stop! Stop!"

He raised both shaking hands, pushing past the pain in his shoulder, and shoved against Karofsky's chest. But his elbows were trembling, and even if he had been at full strength, without the added hindrance of panic, he wouldn't have been much of a match against David Karofsky's sheer size compared to him.

Karofsky leaned forward, nuzzling Kurt's neck, and groaned heavily. His hand continued its steady pumping. Kurt's chest heaved. "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! You weren't supposed to find me here! I was safe here!

Karofsky leaned back, bleary-eyed and frowning. He pulled his hand out of Kurt's underwear and he sagged at the sudden, blessed absence. Karofsky wrapped his arms around him and leaned in to start another kiss, but Kurt turned his head away, slamming his temple against the cold window. He kissed his cheek instead, his lips soft and warm and wet.

"Stop it!" Kurt screamed. "I was safe here! I was safe here! I was safe here!"

Karofsky wrapped his arms under the backs of his thighs, forcing Kurt to wrap his legs around him, shoving their pelvises together. Dimly Kurt realized he was losing it. His emotions crashed, overlapped, terror and panic and the urge to sob and the awful realization that he was on the brink of climaxing. He kept screaming, his mind going blank and fuzzy. His throat ached with exertion, but his body was going limp and he couldn't make himself move. All he had left was his voice.

Karofsky pulled back from him. "Stop it," he mumbled in a thick, choked voice. He clamped his hand over Kurt's injured shoulder and shook him.

Kurt couldn't stop screaming. He was gone.

"Stop it," Karofsky demanded. "Stop it, stop screaming."

Kurt screamed, raw and high-pitched, echoing over the deserted parking lot, crisp and sharp in the cold hair. Something hard rammed into his stomach, pinning him to the car for a brief panic-stricken moment; Kurt choked at the sudden pain and the instant urge to vomit, but he kept screaming anyway.

"I said stop it!" Karofsky screamed right back, spitting in his face.

But Kurt couldn't stop.

A big fist pounded into his eye. His head shot back against the window and bounced back. The fist struck him in the face again, this time into his nose, and Kurt heard the nauseating crunch of bone and cartilage. Blood spurted in a sickening spray across Karofsky, seeping into the red of his letterman's jacket and splattering dark droplets across the white shirt he wore underneath it. Kurt felt hot blood drip down his face, dribbling down his chin and soaking his uniform shirt. The thick liquid seeped through his lips, filling his mouth with salt and copper.

Karofsky slammed him back against the car, ramming him repeatedly against the door, hard and rhythmic. Kurt slumped in his hands, still screaming. It was all he could do.

Karofsky staggered back. Kurt wavered on his feet and slid against the car until he hit the pavement. He still screamed, but his voice was hoarse and fading. Karofsky straddled him, pinning him to the ground. "I told you to stop," he rasped.

He wrapped his hands around Kurt's neck, lifted his head off the ground, and then shoved him back, digging the back of his head into the asphalt. Kurt's mouth gaped open as his air supply was cut off. He stared up into Karofsky's dull, reddened eyes, his lips still moving even though he couldn't muster any sound. The edges of his vision grayed, and with a soft, airless sigh, everything went black.

He didn't know how much time passed before his eyes cracked open, heavy and crusted. His lungs ached as he sucked in a mouthful of cold air. He gulped in another breath, eager and greedy, but residual congealing blood dripped down his throat. His stomach churned and he lurched to his side, vomiting onto the icy pavement.

He laid there for a little while, crumpled on the asphalt, his entire body shaking. The rough ground scraped against the soft, vulnerable skin of his bare chest; his splayed arms prickled as he tried to move them from their uncomfortable positions.

He thought he would hurt more, but he couldn't feel anything. He was just numb, and cold, and shaking.

Dazed, he raised his aching head from the ground. The unfamiliar SUV was gone, but he could see his own car, untouched, across the lot. His car. If he could get to his car, he could go home. If he could get home, he would be safe.

Safe.

Was he ever going to be safe again?

Kurt pressed his palms against the ground, relishing the sharp rough bite of the asphalt, and forced his trembling arms to bear his weight. His legs didn't seem to be injured, just weak. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbling back and forth. His head swam as his horizon dipped around him, and he closed his eyes against the sudden urge to throw up again.

He just had to focus. That was all.

He placed one foot in front of the other, and his entire body rebelled in a sudden burst of pain. His knees shook wildly underneath him.

He couldn't pass out again. Not now. He needed…he needed to get to his car. If he got into his car, he could drive home, and if he could drive home, his dad would take care of everything and he would be safe.

All he wanted was to be safe. Was that too much to ask?

His whole body was throbbing, but he didn't know if it was from cold or from his injuries. Maybe it was both. He didn't know. He didn't know anything.

His pants kept sliding down his hips the farther he walked. His cold, frozen fingers tried to take hold of the zipper, the button, anything, but he couldn't grip anything. So he kept walking, still as stubborn as ever.

His vision faded in and out, making him waver on his feet, unable to balance anymore. He fell forward, stretching his hands out to catch his fall, and his half-frozen hand fell on the icy handle of his driver's side door. Kurt let out a sharp, hoarse, victorious bark, rattling at the handle. With both hands clamped down, he was able to press down and pull, the unlocked door swinging miraculously open.

Kurt stumbled forward, planting his hands on the front seat. He climbed up as best he could, his legs giving out from under him. It was just as cold in the car as it was outside, but this was it. He was in his car.

He settled gingerly into the driver's seat, forcing himself to curl his icy fingers around the wheel. Now…to drive home. He could do it. He could turn on the heat and drive to the safety of his home.

His fingers brushed against the empty ignition. Kurt whimpered.

He hadn't gotten his keys.

He looked desperately across the parking lot. It was too dark to see, but his broken heart sank as he realized dully that his blazer, his coat, and his messenger bag were left behind.

Kurt collapsed towards the steering wheel, his mouth falling open. His chest lurched in a tight sob, but all that came out was a moan. He closed his eyes and curled tightly against the steering wheel, his frozen body shuddering as he cried silently, without the soothing constancy of tears.

He sat there for a long time, cold and aching and fading slowly. By the time a brightly lit car pulled haphazardly into the space beside him and his brother tumbled out, calling his name, he was gone, absolutely lost.


Kurt's eyes flew open and he stared at the blank, bland ceiling tiles of his darkened hospital room. His chest heaved, and he could feel something hot and wet seeping down his cheeks.

Tears. He was crying.

He covered his face with his shaking hands. It was just a dream, he told himself. A dream. That's all.

But he knew it wasn't. He knew that he could remember now, and he knew that it was Karofsky who had done this to him. Hunted him down and destroyed him.

His whole body trembled. It was like he was lost in the parking lot again, cold and terrified.

Courage, he told himself. Courage.

He bit back a sob. He tried to have courage at McKinley, and that didn't work. He tried to have courage at Dalton, and that didn't work.

He saw Karofsky, looming over him in hallways and lunging at him in the locker room and grinding against him beside a parked car.

Don't push me, Hummel.

You tell anyone, I'll kill you.

I told you to stop.

Kurt gripped the thick, dense hospital blankets, digging his hands into the fabric until he could feel the IV needle straining against his skin. It made him feel sick. A lot of things were making him feel sick.

He couldn't tell. Couldn't ever tell. Or worse things would happen. He was sure of it.

"Kurt?"

He turned his head slightly to the side. Carole sat by his bed, sleepy but focused completely on him. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

He couldn't lie, but he didn't have to tell the truth either.

"I had a bad dream," he croaked, and his eyes burned.

She covered his hands with hers. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said. She stroked his hair back from his hot, sweaty forehead, and he resisted the panicked urge to shrink away. "What will help? Do you want a drink of water?"

He nodded, suddenly realizing that his mouth was dry and his throat was sore. Carole squeezed his hand and she got up, walking towards the little bathroom. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the faucet turning and the water pouring into a cup. She walked back over to him and placed the cup in his hands, wrapping his shaking fingers around it. Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and lifted him up, and he drank eagerly, water spilling down his chin.

Carole waited until the cup was empty before helping him lie back down and taking it away. She rubbed her thumb against his cheek, and he knew she recognized the tears on his face. "I'm right here, baby," she said, her voice soft and low and soothing. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe now."

He closed his eyes as she kept murmuring to him, allowing her to lull him into sleepy security. He knew he wasn't safe. He knew he would never be safe again. But he was exhausted and feverish, and her hand was cool against his skin, and soon he fell into a light, listless sleep.


Author's Notes:

This is the hardest thing I've ever written.