A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews. For those interested in the unedited version, it's really not that different, I just removed some language and references to certain body parts. If you want, feel free to read it at kurt_Blaine community at livejournal under the author Canopus74. I really need to set up a master post for this fic now.
Part Five
Colorful lights brightened Lima, Ohio and breathed new life into the small city. Shoppers crowded the mall and the outlet stores on the east side of town. Kurt Hummel could care less about Christmas, but he loved shopping and spending time with his father. Winter break was more than welcomed this year: he had a new family to share their holiday traditions with and old friends to visit. Dalton wasn't exactly everything he'd hoped it would be, but he was harassment-free and in love. It was certainly better than McKinley in a lot of ways.
Blaine was completely different around the Warblers and other students at Dalton. Kurt finally had an idea why the handsome, charming soloist sent so many mixed signals. One minute they were flirting and practicing a duet together and the next thing he knew, they were barely speaking. He knew Blaine had secrets: dark, painful secrets that no one should keep.
Dalton was full of gossip and rumors just like McKinley. Kurt heard a few of the Warblers gossiping about Blaine. They said all sorts of nasty things and accused him of sleeping around with the student council. How else do you think he gets all those solos? Kurt tried ignoring the other Warblers, but he still wondered about Blaine's past and how he got all those bruises on his back.
Blaine sobbed for a long time. Eventually, the older boy slumped against Kurt's chest and clutched his shirt for dear life. Blaine jumped when he placed a hand on his back, but he didn't say anything. Kurt kept his hand there and pushed Blaine's shirt up. Welts and bruises covered the shorter boy's back: some were a hideous yellow while others were a deep purple. Kurt gasped as he touched them. Blaine moaned in pain. He gently massaged the tender muscles and his friend fell into a light sleep.
Someone was abusing Blaine at Dalton, even though the school had a strict anti-harassment policy. It had to be a teacher or someone on the administration staff. Who else could it be? It wasn't exactly an easy subject to approach. Hey, I saw all those wicked bruises on your back-I know someone's hurting you. Why don't you tell me who it is? I can help you, just like you helped me. Kurt tried bringing up the subject twice and Blaine quickly shut down any conversations about unwanted advances or the validity of rumors.
It's still high school, Kurt. Everything that happens at McKinley happens at Dalton. God, sometimes you're so naïve. Are you really going to believe some stupid gossip about me? Blaine rarely lost his temper, but he had absolutely blown a gasket last week when Kurt told him some of the things other students said. It was a stupid move. Blaine shut down after their pleasant discussion. He was still friendly, but something had changed between them. Kurt didn't know how to fix things. Hopefully, he'd cool off during break and fully except his apology.
He had never been so grateful to see Lima than he was yesterday afternoon. Puck showed up at Dalton in Finn's place and drove him home so his stepbrother could make out with Rachel at the movies. Apparently the melodramatic couple had reunited during a holiday party at Mr. Schuester's condo. Finn had sent a happy text when they made up: dude, I love Rachel again-she bought me a Wii! Kurt had simply rolled his eyes and replied: I can't believe you fell for that. Fell for what? Finn had asked innocently. Kurt shook his head and pretended the tall football player didn't actually text him back.
The house was quiet. Kurt didn't mind it for once: Dalton was always crowded. The students were often temperamental and snapped when someone pushed them too far, more so towards the end of the semester. He reveled in the peaceful silence. Burt and Carole had gone to Columbus for a short honeymoon since they could no longer splurge on Hawaii. Finn took advantage of their absence and proceeded to woo Rachel onto third base. His plans included dinner at BreadStix, a foreign film, and karaoke.
Puck was coming over later for a round of Halo and a Grindhouse marathon. If Kurt didn't know any better, he would swear the Jewish teen had a crush on him. Puck was certainly eager to spend time with him lately. It was probably some weird personality disorder manifestation. Kurt had done a psychology term paper on borderline personality disorder and realized Noah Puckerman practically fit the textbook definition. A frantic effort to avoid real or imagined abandonment was one of the symptoms, and the bigger teen definitely demonstrated that trait.
The doorbell rang and he hurried up the stairs, happy for Puck's company. A violent video game followed by graphic, intense movies would distract him for an evening and he wouldn't have to worry about Blaine. At least the shorter teen was in Arizona—far away from whoever was hurting him. Kurt yanked the door opened; surprised when he found Sam Evans standing on the doorstep with a tray of coffee.
"Sam!" He smiled. "I wasn't expecting you!"
Sam stepped over the threshold and eyed the empty living for a moment.
"Finn said you were back from Dalton," the blond boy started, "I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. I know how challenging a boarding school can be sometimes.
"I forgot you went to a place like Dalton," Kurt smiled as he took the cup. "It's different, but it's not terrible."
"I'll bet," Sam muttered darkly, "How's the coffee?"
Kurt blinked as Sam's face distorted into a large, disjointed shape and he stumbled. Black coffee spilled onto the hardwood floor. He hit the ground with an audible thud. Sam's boots appeared in front of his face.
"I'm sorry about this," Sam said, "I really am, but I promise we're not going to hurt you. It's just a ruse."
The room spun in an odd and lopsided circle. Kurt suspected he had a hangover: then he remembered he didn't drink. I promise to never drink again until I'm twenty-one, Dad. He had made the promise last year after drinking excessively with April Rhodes and throwing up all over Mrs. Pilsbury's shoes at school. Kurt still remembered the disappointed and shocked expression on his father's face when he walked into the principal's office. Drinking was off limits. He never broke a promise to his father.
A soft hand trailed down his chest. Kurt tried opening his eyes, but his vision blurred and wavered like the room.
"What are you doing?"
The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Kurt thought it belonged to one of the Warblers: he couldn't place it. Slim, gloved fingers unbuttoned his shirt.
"S-stop."
His protest came out as an incoherent squeak. The hands kept working on the collared shirt. Soon it came off and cool air hit his chest. Kurt shivered and frowned as strong arms pulled him off the bed.
"Why did you take off his shirt?"
Kurt thought he knew the second speaker as well, but all he could see of him was red hair and broad shoulders.
"Don't you watch television?" The first voice asked, annoyed. "We've got to make this look convincing."
The gloved hands ripped Kurt's shirt in half. He tried telling them to leave his clothes alone—but his throat was dry and scratchy. Nothing seemed to be working properly. The white walls swayed and leaned away from the gray carpet. It unsettled him, so he shut his eyes against the basement's motion.
"Break the lamp," the first speaker ordered, "And give me the knife."
"All right," a third agreed, "Don't forget all we need is a just a little blood."
Kurt definitely knew that voice: Sam Evans. Glass shattered as someone threw his slick, metallic lamp onto the floor. He managed to open his eyes again and panicked when a long, curved knife filled his vision. A short Asian teen he didn't recognize snatched his hand and pressed the blade into his palm. Kurt screamed as blood instantly pooled onto the weapon. The skinny boy released his hand and quickly moved out his sight. Someone else tightly wrapped a blue bandana around Kurt's bleeding palm.
"Don't worry, we're not going to hurt you," Sam promised as he finished the impromptu wound care. "I thought you said the stuff I gave him would knock him out."
Kurt stared at the bleached blond in utter confusion, wondering if this was some new twist on one of his frequent nightmares. It was usually Dave Karofsky that showed up in his basement and tortured him—not Sam Evans.
"He must have a higher tolerance than I surmised," the first voice said, "I'll give him a shot in the car, though I doubt at this point he even remembers that you gave him the drugged coffee two hours ago—that should knock him out cold until morning."
"It's the only opportunity we had," Sam huffed, "Finn told me his parents are in Columbus for the weekend, Finn made up with Rachel, and Kurt just got back for the holidays. It's last minute-but you know we aren't gonna have another chance to get him over to Westerville. I came over as soon as I got Finn's text—and I totally ditched Quinn to do this."
"I'm sure your beard can manage for one night," the first speaker mused, "I've seen you exactly twice in the last eight months."
The Asian teenager reappeared and stepped closer to Sam. Kurt stared as they embraced. Sam hugged him back.
"You know what will happen if I don't keep up the pretenses," Sam said mournfully, "They'll send me back Willows-and then you won't see me at all, Scott."
"I'm all for you two getting together again," the red head interjected, "but you know there's no time for that."
"No, there's not," Scott replied, "It's not the same between us anyways, is it Sam?"
"No," Sam agreed, "It hasn't been the same since Wally died."
"He always was the life of the party," Scott said, "right, Desmond?"
"Yeah, he was." Sorrow tainted Desmond's voice. "I'm not sure he'd like what we're doing though."
"Don't chicken out now, Des," Scott sighed, "we've been trying to bring Wes down for the last year."
"We've done a bang up job so far." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Our last plan failed miserably—I'm the one that paid the price."
"I'll admit it wasn't an entirely well thought out plan messing with the student elections," Scott offered, "or trying to mess with Wes-we just went about it the wrong way. How was I supposed to know Wes is a hacker?"
"I wouldn't have run against him, if I'd known that," Sam lamented, "He exposed our little secret to my parents, your parents, and Wallace's parents."
"Integrity is something Wes lacks," Scott replied, "Which is why my plan to expose him didn't work."
"He's a real bitch," Sam spat in disgust, "it's his fault Wallace is dead."
"I think the official status is missing," Scott added bitterly, "We all know he didn't run away."
"I know it," Desmond whispered, "Better than any of you. He was my brother-and I've got scars to prove he wasn't a runaway."
"I'm telling you, this is gonna work." Scott grinned, changing the subject. "This is a much better idea-and all we have to do is stage a kidnapping."
"It's not staging a kidnapping when we really are kidnapping someone," Sam pointed out, "Even if we're setting up someone else to take the fall."
Kurt blinked at the three boys and tried to process their conversation, but he didn't even remember inviting them over. Sam hurried over and lifted him off the bed. Kurt's stomach churned as Desmond grabbed onto his legs. They carried him up the stairs and through the empty living room. He tried fighting their iron grip, but his limbs refused to corporate.
A white, newly washed Ford Expedition waited in the driveway. Scott opened the back door and Kurt suddenly found himself lying face down on the leather seats.
"I'm surprised they had a rental at such short notice," Sam said, "considering it's the holidays and all."
"Most folks don't rent an extra-large vehicle," Scott shrugged, "its not important. All the neighbors will remember is a white car similar to an Escalade. I doubt anyone will notice the difference."
Kurt groaned as someone turned him over. The beige roof blurred and a thin needle hovered above his eyes. He didn't even have time to protest before it pricked his arm.
"We need to get moving, Desmond," Scott said, "I've got to meet Puck in twenty minutes."
The engine started as Kurt drifted into a forced sleep and wondered why he was sleeping in a car.