Bad Johnny.

I'm so sorry that this took so long to update. I tried to get it down within a month and then a month passed and I vowed to get it done within two... Well here's presenting chapter eight after two months and one day.

This chapter is from different perspectives and does not move the story forward... you'll get why at the end.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and I hope you enjoy the installment even though it took long to upload =]

Having to deal with the filth at Dalton made Banks sick to his stomach.

It made him sick to have to physically be around these queers twenty four seven, having to breathe the same air as them, live in the same space as them. And most of all, it made him sick to his stomach that this once fine institution known as Dalton - a school he himself had attended many years ago - was now home to scummy little gay boys, fucking faggots that should have been strangled and killed at birth to do the rest of the world, the decent people, a favour. A new one arrived today too. Hummel. He looked queer as fuck. He couldn't wait until he got his hands on him.

Banks tilted his head back and took a long swig from his glass. His chosen poison for the night was vodka - and lots of it. The measurements had started somewhat sensibly earlier on but by now had increased to a fifty percent vodka and fifty percent coke mix. A couple of the other teachers were on night duty tonight and as it was Saturday tomorrow, he'd get a lie in. Queers wouldn't; the mentors would see to that, but as the night was free and it was almost midnight, he figured he deserved a drink. For putting up with having to watch the boys so intently all day. Only to make sure they didn't step out of line, of course...

A dark cloud of fury washed over him then and he sank back more of his drink to rid the thoughts from his mind. It was like he couldn't escape. It was everywhere he turned. He saw the way the boys gave little lingering looks to each other, wistful, just wishing that they had some alone time so they could get up to whatever sick things that homos did when they were together. He saw the way they watched each other in the showers; sly glances when they thought nobody was looking, checking each other out... He watched them, but only to make sure that everything ran smoothly and the sick fucks didn't get any ideas. And really, when it came down to it, faggots were nothing more than dogs; they'd fuck anything with a dick if they had half the chance. He watched their cocks stiffen when they were presented with other boys naked bodies in the showers...

So he had to beat them then, he had to put them in their place because otherwise, how would they ever learn? And they did end up learning, eventually. Most of them. The ones that wanted to learn. And as he drove fists of steel into stomachs and slammed heads against walls so hard that it threatened haemorrhage, it provided him with a temporary distraction from the bile that rose up from his stomach and threatened to spill and it made him more determined to beat the gay out of them, out of all of them.

He cast a drunken look round his bedroom. The living quarters for the staff and mentors were, as they should be, much more luxurious and homely than any of the dormitories for the Dalton scum, but at this moment, the room seemed small and it was like the walls were closing in on him. He felt trapped. He needed to get out of here. He needed...

Banks gave his head a shake and took another long sip of his drink, letting the vicious liquid slide down his throat and lighting an inferno in his stomach. He hated when he got like this, but it was no surprise when he had to be around these fucking queers for as long as he was. He started to get hot under the collar and irritated and he could hear taunts and mocking laughter ringing in his ears so loud he thought his head might explode. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take it anymore. The rush of laughter grew louder and more mocking and now he could visualise the faggots pointing at him. Smirking. Whispering. Looking at him. Looking at him as though they wanted him, which they did. He was a man and they liked men. Fucking dirty scum.

Banks' eyes caught sight of the wooden cross mounted on one of the walls and though he wanted nothing more than to look at anything else but that, he remained transfixed, completely unable to look away. Panic started to rise into his chest as he knew what was coming and his breathing became more erratic as he slowly realised the end result and even though it might put all of his hard work at risk, he couldn't help but want it. Even though it might unhinge him to the point of absolutely no return, he couldn't help it. Keeping his eyes locked onto the cross and silently pleading to God for deliverance, he allowed more of the vodka past his lips and eventually finished the glass.

But he now knew that redemption would not be granted for him tonight. He was too far gone and he was fucked. He was fucked and he was as ugly as sin. The taunts grew louder but Banks continued to stare at the cross until he could not let it consume him any longer. He stood up, breaking eye contact with the cross quickly, the sounds of shrieking laughter and blood rushing through his ears vanishing almost as quickly as he did so. He didn't realise how drunk he was until the sound of the chair he had been sitting on crashed to the floor and broke through his haze. He giggled stupidly for a moment before the depression washed over him once again and had he not been so strong, he would have sank to his knees, buried his face in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Sobbing for what might have been, could have been, but never was...

No. Although punishment might have been needed or deserved, he would not torture himself any longer tonight. He was too far gone and past the point of no return. There was only one thing that would sate his hunger now. And until he got it, he would be constantly empty inside...

Having to deal with the daily grind of Dalton life made William Crewe sick to his stomach.

It wasn't the disgusted kind of sickness, but the type that was caused by fear and fear was in abundance at Dalton Academy. The teachers knew it, the mentors knew it and the students knew it. The only ones that seemingly didn't know it were the parents and this crushed William's spirit more than anything. He thought his parents loved him, yet if they truly did then how could they send him to such a place? Why? When he was first transferred here, they had sent him off with bright eyes and warm smiles, thinking that he would be safe. And for a foolish, fleeting moment, just seconds before their car pulled away from the academy, he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had gotten Dalton all wrong. That the rumours and horror stories surrounding the institution were just that, and that it might be okay. But as soon as the main gates closed and he was shoved inside the notorious academy, he realised that everything he had heard was true. Perhaps worse.

He had written his parents letters during the first month of his being there. He had poured his sadness and grief into those letters, yet the words he wrote could not express enough at how much pain and sorrow he was suffering from in this vile place. Maybe that's why they didn't seem to care and didn't respond? The tears that fell onto the papers and blurred some of the ink probably dried by the time it reached them and so maybe they just thought he was homesick and that he'd get over it? He knew there were no phones or outside contact available to the students but why didn't his parents ever come and visit or try and get in contact with him? Other parents never came, but he didn't have the type of parents the other boys had. He had conversed in late night conversations during his first couple of weeks at the academy and realised that when the boys spoke with bitter hatred about their parents and the fact that they had sent them there, he didn't feel the same way about his own. His parents loved him. They wanted him to do well. Him being sent here was for his own good, they had told him. After a couple of months had passed without any reply back from his letters, his own bitterness had started to seep through his good nature threatening to consume him entirely and rotten his inner core...

A new kid arrived today. Through the mumbled whispers between his classmates when they were sure nobody was listening, William learned that his name was Kurt Hummel. He caught a glimpse of him when he first arrived. He looked decent and kind and William's heart sank at this. He had been at Dalton long enough now to know that the nice boys always ended up turning nasty and the nasty ones ended up turning nastier. It was a shame, but he felt more sorry for those who started out normal. The ways of Dalton would keep pushing and pushing at them until it had squeezed out every drop of humanity they held and replaced it with an empty shell, a mere shadow of the being they once were. Kurt would no doubt end up like one of them, especially when William learned he had been assigned to Karofsky, the cruellest mentor at Dalton...

"Eyes to the front, Crewe!" Beesley, the music teacher, ordered, and William snapped out of his thoughts at once and complied. He audibly gulped; the action was uncontrollable, but his compliance was enough to satisfy Beesley who did not punish him for this and instead nodded to the man sitting down at a piano in the corner of the music room. At his request, the man started to play a beautiful melody and it was enough to nearly bring William to tears. He missed his music so much and being able to get back into it, even as just a brief respite from the horrors of Dalton, were the best moments of his being here. It did not come without a price though, and William suppressed the urge to shudder as the thought of the vocal cool downs entered his mind. Beesley was an old man with thinning grey hair who was very much set in his ways and his way of making sure the boys retained their vocal cords after long singing sessions were repulsive. Still, if it meant that he had to go through that to keep his spot in the Warblers, he supposed it was worth it. Just.

He snatched a look at his fellow Warblers. There were only a few from his own dormitory. Anthony Adams, a tall, lanky guy who barely uttered a word but who when he sang, had one of the most purest, sweetest voices he had ever heard, and Wes Bailey, whose low baritone fitted into the chorus line simply perfectly. There were five others from various other dormitories and he himself made the eighth member. As the piano melody slowed down and then started into a familiar song, William's heart gave a jolt. They had sung this song together before and their harmonies always sounded so beautiful. He was one of two countertenors who could sing in a high pitch so was a match made in heaven with the voice of Terrence Litchfield, a boy from dormitory ten, whose voice was similar to his. They were both singing the lead vocals of the song with the other boys providing the harmonies in the background.

We used to walk through fields of green
We used to sit by clear blue streams
We used to be so happy, me and you

William concentrated on the singing and focused less on the actual words, for if he did, he would surely break. He hadn't known this song before he joined the Warblers and the connection he felt with the lyrics every time they sang it seemed sometimes too much for him to handle. It reminded him of a time that seemed so long ago when he felt that what he was enduring back then was the worst he could have possibly gone through, though now he knew that was far from the actual truth at all...

We used to do such silly things
We used to make love in the rain
We used to, yes we used to

William closed his eyes briefly and gathered his emotions in check as the other Warblers joined in with the chorus.

Then you went away
Leaving me with the memories we made
Memories of those sweet yesterdays
Spent with you
Spent with you
And even though you're gone
I still think so often of you
And the things that we no longer do
Like we used to
We used -

The door to the music room burst open then and the noise it made when slamming against the wall brought the Warblers to an abrupt halt. Beesley turned to the intruder angrily and his features only softened slightly when presented with Tierney, an ugly rat-faced mentor.

"What do you want, boy?" Beesley snarled. He was one of the few teachers who seemed to hold the mentors with the same disrespect he held for the students.

If he was bothered by Beesley's tone, Tierney didn't show it. "Banks wants Crewe in his headquarters," he drawled. His gaze turned to William and his lip curled upwards into a mean sneer. "Now."

Beesley looked irritated but all the same nodded and then turned to William. "You heard him, Crewe. Go."

There was a deadly, silent atmosphere in the room after William's summoning had been announced, though it wasn't addressed, of course. As was the Dalton way, the students looked straight ahead and pretended nothing had been said and nothing was taking place around them. William's heart sank as he shuffled forwards towards Tierney whose eyes were glinting dangerously as Beesley turned his attention back to the rest of the boys. "Now, from the beginning of the chorus..."

Though Tierney was slightly smaller than William, he grabbed his forearm roughly and yanked him to the door as the dulcet tones filled the room once more.

Then you went away...

He couldn't do this.

He could not do this.

And yet, he was going to. He knew it. He had known it all along. He had already resigned himself to doing it. Had already resigned himself to the self-loathing that was going to swamp him afterwards and the thought made him want to curl up in the foetal position, but it was too late. He had sent for Crewe who was now on his way to his room, if he knew what was good for him.

Banks' head was spinning and his heart was racing at a million miles an hour but the alcohol coursing through his veins was just enough to stop him from jumping out of the window to end it all right there and then. And really, when he thought about it, it was okay, and everything was going to work out okay. Because Crewe was almost a girl, probably should have been born a girl. Just a stray chromosome or some shit had gotten in the way and made him a boy, but that was fine, because Crewe was a girl.

He couldn't go through with this.

He absolutely in no uncertain terms go through with this, and yet, what choice did he have? Banks would kill him if he didn't show. Not that Tierney would have let him blatantly show any sign of disobedience in disregarding Banks' orders.

The journey through the Dalton corridors was a silent one. All the other students were in bed, save for the Warblers, who were granted to stay up later on Fridays, because Beesley had ordered it so. Something about their vocal cords being stronger after hours, whereas William knew that practice took place after hours because of what occurred after the practice. And quite honestly, as disgusting and degrading as it was, he would have rather stayed in the music room with the others and gone through the post-singing ritual than have been summoned to Banks' headquarters. Banks was the cruellest teacher at Dalton and his punishments were legendary. But William hadn't done anything wrong, not that this usually mattered at Dalton, but to be summoned to a teachers private headquarters for no apparent reason was genuinely uncalled for, especially after lights out. Unless the suspicions surrounding Banks were true...

Banks apparently had certain favourites. Certain playthings. Certain boys he liked to keep as his own. All the teachers displayed signs of arousal from punishing the boys in class and some were more blatant than others, but it was unknown (at least to William) that they invited them to their bed. He had a certain churning of despair in the pit of his stomach that he was about to become Banks' newest toy. This didn't bode well, especially as how Banks supposedly got bored of his toys rather quickly and it didn't go unnoticed by the students (but never vocalised, of course) that when his playing seemingly became too out of hand, his toys became battered and broken.

He was pleading, but knew it was to ultimately no avail. Because no matter how much he pleaded, how much he begged, how much he cried and screamed and prayed that this wasn't going to happen didn't matter. It was going to happen. The stench of stale booze and filthiness was radiating from his stepfathers body in waves and the fury that glowed in his eyes was enough to make his whole body shake with terror. His stepfather was a huge man whose muscles rippled muscle and as he entered the once safe sanctuary of his bedroom and lingered at the doorway, sneering spitefully and staring at a twelve year old Michael Banks like he was a piece of meat, he wanted nothing more than for his life to end at that very moment.

"Faggot." It wasn't a greeting, an insult nor a question, but a statement; a declaration that was stated slurred courtesy of the bottle of vodka he had downed throughout the evening. His mother was out of it downstairs and now he had his stepfathers undivided attention, whether it was wanted or not.

His stepfather blocked the entire doorway, his huge gut spilling out obscenely over the tight buckle of his leather belt holding up his jeans and he knew he had nowhere to run. On instinct, he had gotten out of his bed and backed himself into a corner of his bedroom as soon as he heard the heavy footfall coming up the creaking stairs, but it didn't matter. He was trapped. He had locked himself in the bathroom once before but the animalistic sounds of his stepfather pounding away at the door before he eventually kicked it off the hinges and dragged him out by the hair was enough to deter him from trying that again; it had truly petrified him. He had received the thrashing of his life for that little stunt and it didn't make a difference, because he had still been made to get on his knees and take him into his mouth and the guttural groaning from the larger, older man as he thrust himself into his throat and violated every inch of his being made him literally gag and vomit. He could still taste him in his mouth to this day.

His mother found out. Eventually. And despite the hysteria and the wild, crazy look in his eyes as he relayed what had been taking place as she had passed out in a drunken stupor night after night, she had stood by her man.

His stepfather, perhaps knowing that he was potentially in deep shit, had come up with a solution. There was a place for kids like him, he had sneered. A place that would put him on the straight and narrow, to stop him coming up with these sick lies he was spouting and would rid him of these sick fantasies he so obviously wanted to try. This kid was dangerous, his stepfather had said. Homos were ruining society and sending at least one of them to an institution like Dalton would rid the decent folk of at least one more of them, his stepfather had said. Because if they didn't do this, then that would make them fag enablers

It was how he had found himself being pulled out of his school and transferred to Dalton Academy.

He was running, but knew it was to ultimately no avail. Because no matter how fast he ran, how cleverly he hid, nor how adeptly he ducked and dodged and just kept running didn't matter. They were going to get him. But the only instinct in William's mind at the moment was to get away.

The delighted cheers and catcalls ringing in his ears courtesy of his tormentors chasing after him was chilling; they seemed genuinely spurned on by the fear that was surely radiating from his body in waves and though this caused him to run faster, it only made them more determined to catch up to him and deliver his punishment for being, in their eyes, a sick faggot.

He continued to run as fast as his legs would carry him. He had chanced staying late after school had ended one day to use a computer for an English project he had to finish. It was a decision he would ultimately come to regret. He had left the school grounds on a cold October evening and had just started to walk the ten minute journey home when he spotted three figures at the end of the street. Even through the darkish sky and the fact that they were quite a way away he knew that the figures were those of his tormentors who had made it their mission to make his life miserable.

As he ran in the opposite direction and could hear the heavy pounding of boots on pavement behind him as they chased after him, he knew he wouldn't get away tonight. And it was confirmed as the rush of stampeding grew closer and closer until he felt a tight grip on the back of his shirt and the next thing he knew, he had been slammed to the floor, his head banging heavily on the kerb, pain reverberating through his skull as he closed his eyes and groaned his pain weakly. He looked up at the trio grinning down at him and saw one of them was holding a rope tied into the shape of a makeshift noose.

"Time to hang a faggot," he heard one snicker. He closed his eyes and prayed.

His parents were in pieces by the time they reached the hospital, having been driven there by two policemen who had showed up on their door after being alerted to the scene of a crime by a concerned neighbour who had seen a figure swinging from a branch of a tree. The rescue had happened just in the nick of time; they had cut down a purple-faced and barely-conscious William. He was shaking; and refused to talk about his ordeal and did not dare to name who had done this to him.

For his own safety, and at his parents best interests, it was how he found himself being pulled out of school and transferred to Dalton Academy.

All this came rushing back to William as he was pushed into Banks' dormitory by Tierney, who then left the two alone. William's eyes widened and his heart gave a lurch as he saw a noose on Banks' bed and Banks breathing heavily, looking at him in a cross of the most disgusted revulsion and sickening lust.

ONE MONTH LATER.

William couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep at Dalton at the best of times, but the whimpered moans coming from Kurt Hummel's bed were haunting and every time one was vocalised from his throat softly, William came closer to getting out of bed to comfort him. Being out of bed after hours was of course an extremely punishable offence, but so distressing were the screams that William almost forgot about that. He just wanted to comfort the boy who was obviously suffering nightmares from the aftermath of his first session with the Ring. He suppressed a shudder at his own experience with the Ring. He remembered it all too well and would not wish that on his worst enemy.

Kurt cried out again and this time, William sat up and swung his legs out of bed with the intention of going over to Kurt's bed to calm him down. It was at that moment, however, that Kurt too sat bolt upright in bed, screaming out loud and panting heavily, having obviously woken himself up and freeing himself from the horrors of whatever nightmares he had been having. At the same time, heavy footsteps that William recognised as belonging to Banks came closer and closer to the dormitory and William threw himself back down in bed quickly and willed Kurt do the same. The door was flung open and William could feel Banks' presence in the dormitory without even laying eyes on him.

"What, may I ask, did I just hear?"

William kept silent, hoping, though knowing it was fruitless, that Banks would think that they were all asleep and maybe the disturbance had come from another dormitory. But Banks stayed there and asked again, "I'm going to ask one more time, what did I just hear?"

William's mind flashed back to when Banks had summoned him to his bedroom and had proceeded to beat the living daylights out of him before tying the noose around his neck and threatening to string him up from the rafters if he didn't do exactly as he said. William had been petrified and had done whatever Banks asked without hesitation. He could still taste him in his mouth to this day.

And when Banks had finally let him go after his release, he had said: "You fuck with me and I'll fucking string you up for real, faggot. You might be one of the few who get out of here. Would be a shame of you to fuck it up for yourself, eh kid? Might get the chance to see your parents again, though, obviously not if I'm gonna have to finish off what those high school bullies of yours started, huh?"

He didn't know whether Banks was telling the truth or not. He didn't know anything anymore. But either way, the reminder had stayed with him for a very long time, and did its intention well of keeping him in check. So maybe subconsciously, trying to stay in line, to perhaps get the chance to get out of here and be back with his parents once more, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "Sir, Hummel was yelling out in his sleep."

He hadn't said it maliciously, nor to try and get Kurt in trouble at all, it had been purely an instantly regrettable moment of desperation, a chance to be back with his family, but as soon as the words had been spoken, William wished he could take them back. Especially when Banks marched over to Kurt's bed and pulled the covers from his bed, exposing a vulnerable Kurt. He had delivered a bare-ass spanking to Kurt in front of the rest of the boys and had made William count each one, which he did, in a shaking voice. After Banks had left, and the dormitory fell silent again, William could feel the hostility towards him lingering in the air, though it wasn't until the next morning he was subject to his dorm-mates obvious disgust towards him. He wanted to explain, but nobody gave him the chance to do so. It was as though that single act of what they thought had been unnecessary backstabbing had completely alienated him from the 'Them Versus Us' unspoken policy.

Things had gotten even worse once Joseph Maloney arrived a couple of days later. If William had apparently backstabbed Kurt then what Joseph ended up doing to him was off the charts. And when Kurt and Blaine had heatedly confronted Joseph about it in the dormitory after Kurt had returned from being punished by the principal, William's heart began to race all over again at the thought of Banks catching them out of bed after hours.

"You're sick," Blaine snapped.

"Aw, did I hit a nerve?" Joseph replied mockingly.

"You are sick," said Kurt. "It's bad enough that the teachers and the mentors put us down, but the one thing we can't do is turn on each other."

"Guys..." William had warned, softly, as the confrontation had gotten more out of hand. The voices became louder and the boys had apparently forgotten where they were, and what time it was. He was trying to warn them to stop, before...

And then Banks had come in, demanding to know what had happened.

"CREWE!"

"Sir?"

"What's going on in here, Crewe?"

William hesitated, only for a split second, but in that split second he saw the dangerous glint in Banks' eyes, the way his features tightened ever so slightly as a forewarning of the ongoing reminder he had sent William packing with, that night when he had finally had enough of him.

"Sir, Hummel came back from the principals office and started arguing with Maloney."

"And what was the argument about, Crewe?" Banks had a cocksure smirk on his lips and his tone was mocking, as he stared William down, knowing that he exerted complete control. It should have made him hate him more, and it did, but William detested that it also made him more scared of Banks. Since he had entered the dormitory, all thoughts and memories over the altercation between Kurt and Joseph flew from his mind; the only thing he was feeling right now was fear. Just fear of Banks.

"Sir, Hummel got sent to the principals office by Karofsky about an hour ago and he thinks it was down to Maloney. Hummel came back and started shouting at Joseph and then Anderson joined in too and they ganged up on him." Was that what had actually happened? He couldn't remember. The words he was saying were just as much of a blur as what had just occurred.

Banks ordered them to go back to bed after that, but not before announcing a boxing match between Kurt and Joseph in tomorrows Gym class. The thought made William's heart sink. Joseph was taller and seemed much tougher than Kurt. He probably wouldn't stand a chance. He fervently hoped that he would though. Even though Kurt had glowered at him after Banks departure before he lay down in bed - an obvious sign that the garbled, robotic words from William's mouth were not something Kurt wanted to hear - he still thought of him in a higher regard than Joseph, who William had only known him for a couple of days yet already despised him. If Kurt got fucked up by Joseph, or worse still, Banks just let the fight carry on until the unthinkable happened (and William knew Banks could, and would, make one beat the other into a coma), then it would be all his fault for opening his mouth.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you, Kurt. I'm going to fuck you up so bad, you'd think I was a mentor." Joseph taunted.

Kurt didn't answer and nothing more was said for the rest of the night, least of all by William, who spent it with his body buried under the covers, hot tears running down his cheeks as he silently hated Joseph, hated Dalton, hated Banks and most importantly, himself.

In reference to the authors notes at the beginning, when I said the story doesn't move forward I meant in the sense that after this chapter we're still at the same place we left off at last chapter. Sorry to those who were hoping/expecting the Gym fight in this chapter. It happens in the next one, I promise!

I'm not a musical person, so if I made any errors in regards to the terms used in the Warblers scene, I apologise. The Warblers will be featured again in future chapters and they might need a new member, seeing as Wes has not yet returned from the principal's office... The song and lyrics from that scene is We used to by Dolly Parton.

Again, thank you so much for reviewing and I will get my arse into gear and hopefully the next wait won't be as long.

All the best,

Johnny :)