Chapter 6: Everything Falls Apart

Disclaimer: Actually I do own Glee and Criminal Minds! Now if you believe that, I want to warn you that the nice man who's been emailing you isn't really a Nigerian prince….

Please remind yourself of the warnings in Chapter 1.

Dave played his music loud and was careful to drive the speed limit. Thanks to all the pop he'd had when he was waiting that morning he had to stop to pee. Instead of going to a rest area or gas station he took an exit—Pottersburg—and drove down a few country roads before stopped at a deserted stretch and peeing off the side of the road. He'd already turned off Hummel's phone, but now he stomped on it a few times before throwing it into the ditch.

He wasn't intending to open the trunk but paused when he glanced at it. One of the taillights had been kicked out and the front half of a foot was sticking out.

Dave yanked the trunk door open. Hummel must have been trying to rub the duct tape off his mouth; it was coming loose around the edges. He looked frightened, which pleased Dave; he hated it when Hummel acted like nothing bothered him, like Dave was beneath his notice.

Dave didn't say a word. He took the blanket out of the passenger seat and spread it out on the gravel shoulder of the road. Then he got the roll of duct tape and tore off a few big pieces, which he put firmly over the first gag. He stroked Hummel's cheek as he patted the edges into place, and Hummel jerked away. Dave laughed.

He picked Hummel up, unconcerned with his struggles, and carried him to the blanket and rolled him up in it, feet to neck. He wanted to wrap him head to toe but thought maybe Hummel wouldn't be able to breathe then, and Dave didn't want to accidentally kill him. Dave secured the edge of the blanket with more duct tape and then put Hummel on the floor of the backseat of the car. He closed the trunk and hoped he wouldn't get stopped in the next 30 miles for the broken light.

He wasn't stopped. Hummel flopped around like a fish for 10 minutes or so, then quieted.

"Breathe," Kurt thought. "Breathe. Oh god Blaine oh my god oh my god it was him all along, is Blaine dead? He can't be dead, he—OK. Breathe. Don't cry. If you cry, your nose will get blocked and you won't be able to breathe. And you are not dying in a smelly blanket in the back of a car."

Kurt couldn't believe how easily he'd let Karofsky abduct him. He'd even helped, getting into the trunk like an obedient pet and putting the duct tape on himself. That was the big thing he remembered from talking about self-defense with the girls; never get into the abductor's car. That sent chances of survival plummeting down. He wasn't sure how much, but he remembered it was a lot.

But Blaine was there before him again on the ground and Kurt hadn't even had a chance to see if he was still breathing or how much blood there was in his dark hair. Karofsky would absolutely have hit Blaine again, Kurt was sure of it. The threat was just as genuine as when Karofsky had asked Kurt if he'd told about The Kiss, and said if Kurt did tell anyone he'd kill him. In that moment, the threat of that bloody piece of metal was all Kurt could understand. He hadn't had a choice.

Some car expert he'd turned out to be though. If he'd managed to pop the trunk he could have gotten someone on the highway to notice him for sure; waving as much of his foot as he could fit through the broken taillight didn't seem to have done anything besides get Karofsky to take more precautions.

Was this Karofsky following through on his threat to kill Kurt? But if it was, why go to so much trouble? Why not just kill him in the parking lot? For all that he knew perfectly well who had hurt Blaine and stolen him, Kurt realized he had no idea who Karofsky was. There was a gleam in his eyes that looked unhinged, and as afraid of him as Kurt had been back when he went to McKinley, it was nothing to how dangerous Karofsky seemed now.

The car was moving slower now, turning more corners. It was off the highway. Kurt told himself that when Karofsky tried to get him out of the car, Kurt would headbutt him and crawl to the next house. If he lay still now and Karofsky didn't suspect anything and got dazed, and Kurt managed to get to the next house and stand up despite the tape and blanket and get the doorbell with his nose or shoulder…. They were stopping.

Karofsky got out of the car and went briefly into the house before returning for Kurt. Kurt tried the headbutt, which Karofsky easily dodged as he threw Kurt over his shoulder. The blanket took the power out of his attempted kicks. Kurt tried to get a good look at the area as he was taken inside the… cabin? He saw it was a wooded area and the buildings were much further apart than in a city. He could just make out the outline of another cabin beyond some trees. Even if the headbutt had worked, he never would have made it that far.

Still, his heart stuttered in his chest as the door closed behind him. "Why are you doing this?" he tried to ask, but the tape made it unintelligible. It didn't look like Karofsky was listening anyway.

He carried Kurt into a... oh god, into a bedroom, and dumped him on the bed, unrolling him from the musty blanket. Kurt half-expected to see bloodstains and piles of human hair, but the room was clean and unremarkable.

Karofsky had a knife now, a very big knife. "Don't struggle," he ordered, and Kurt found the order pretty convincing. He forced Kurt onto his stomach and used the knife to cut through the duct tape. Then he flipped Kurt back onto his back and put what looked like a strip of leather on each wrist before tying both to the bed. When he tied Kurt's ankles to the bed and then cut the tape from them, Kurt felt like a sacrificial lamb. He had never been so scared, and had no idea what might be next. As Karofsky tugged off Kurt's shoes, Kurt's mind raced with ideas, each more sickening than the one before it.

At first Karofsky did nothing. No, that was wrong—he stared. He swept his gaze over Kurt like he was memorizing every detail. Kurt tried to take comfort in the fact that he was wearing clothes at least, but it was small consolation, since the stare made him feel like he was naked. He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Karofsky, but still felt the other's presence.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that; he had no sense of time. He thought about his father and whether he knew yet that Kurt was missing. Carole and Finn would comfort him. Well, Finn might comfort him, but he also might say the worst possible thing. He would call everyone though and tell everybody in New Directions. The Warblers would be gathered at the hospital waiting for word on Blaine but some of them would be out looking for Kurt. Some of them had heard a little about Karofsky, but no real details and not his name. Blaine was the only one who knew everything. Dalton's security would be furious that someone had gotten through their protection, but Kurt knew it wasn't their fault. It was his fault for venturing off-campus. It was all his fault.

He knew Karofsky was still there because of the other boy's breathing. It sounded loud in the quiet room.

Kurt tried to think about anything but Blaine because when his thoughts turned that direction they became a roar of Blaine Blaine Blaine and he started to panic. He wished he believed in God so he could silently pray and derive some kind of peace from it. But all he could see was Blaine at that awkward angle on the ground, the blood pooling around him.

He heard the growl of a zipper and felt like his heart was pounding in his ears. He still didn't open his eyes, and jumped about a foot when he felt large hands on his own pants. He flinched away but the hands unbuttoned and unzipped them anyway. They did not pull the pants down or touch his underwear, just hovered by the zipper for a moment.

Kurt wasn't that surprised when his Dalton blazer was unbuttoned and pushed open, but he was completely unprepared for the cold hand sliding under his shirt and undershirt, resting on his stomach and then moving farther up his chest before stopping over his heart. It was like a large, cold weight pressing into him. The other hand touched his cheek, moved upward, fingers threading through his hair and gripping a handful. They weren't pulling his hair; it was more like his head was being held in place.

Then he felt lips on his neck.

They were gentle kisses, feather-soft, which made it somehow worse.

"Open your eyes," Karofsky said, and when Kurt didn't he bit lightly at Kurt's neck, using his teeth and tongue to make a mark. Kurt gasped behind the gag, but didn't open his eyes. If he opened his eyes it would be real. Karofsky had already taken too much from him; he was the first boy to show an attraction to Kurt, but it was a twisted attraction. It didn't make Kurt feel flattered and desirable, it made him feel dirty. He had stolen Kurt's first kiss with a boy, for all that Blaine had assured Kurt it didn't count, and turned something that should have been breathless and awkward and sweet into something violent. And while he hadn't been the only one at McKinley to bully and humiliate Kurt, he was the only one to inspire genuine fear.

In the few weeks since Kurt and Blaine had started dating, they'd been content with kissing—wonderful kissing—and fully-clothed cuddling. Blaine had nibbled along his neck, dropping kisses and teasing Kurt with his tongue, whispering endearments and telling Kurt, "I'd want you no matter what you looked like, but you're just. So. Beautiful." Kurt had felt like something precious. He'd scolded Blaine lightly for running his fingers through Kurt's hair and messing it up, and Blaine had petted the hair back into place and told Kurt he looked like a pleased cat.

Karofsky had no right at all to touch Kurt in the same way, to make a kiss feel cold and frightening when he knew a kiss could send warm pleasure fluttering and uncurling in his stomach. So no, Kurt would not do what Karofsky said. Kurt felt the large fingers tighten in his hair and braced himself for some punishment.

But just then, an alarm or timer of some kind started beeping. For a moment Karofsky didn't move, but then Kurt heard him sigh and the hands withdrew. The mattress moved as Karofsky stepped away. The hem of Kurt's shirt was left in disarray and it rode up, exposing Kurt's stomach.

Karofsky silenced the alarm and said, "I have to go home for a little while." That surprised Kurt into opening his eyes; Karofsky looked annoyed, but not at Kurt. He disappeared into the adjacent room and after a minute Kurt heard a toilet flush. Karofsky's jeans were rebuttoned when he came out and he asked casually, "Do you need to pee?"

He hadn't been aware of it through the fear before, but actually Kurt did. He nodded mutely. Karofsky untied him from the bed, leaving the leather straps dangling from Kurt's wrists and ankles. He had the knife ready in one hand, and wrapped the other arm around Kurt's middle to half-escort, half-carry him to the bathroom. Once there, he let Kurt go and retreated to the doorway, where he stayed, watching.

Kurt could never have imagined going to the bathroom with someone watching him, much less a kidnapper, much less David Karofsky. He told himself to be grateful Karofsky hadn't "helped" him, and he needed to pee so badly his humiliation wasn't enough to stop him.

After washing his hands, Kurt glared at Karofsky and very deliberately refastened his pants, tucked in his shirt and buttoned his blazer. In response, Karofsky set the knife on the counter-well away from Kurt-and stepped forward, once again easily trapping both of Kurt's wrists in one hand, catching at the blazer and tearing it open again. The buttons went flying everywhere. Somehow, Kurt's school tie had been left undisturbed until now; Karofsky loosened it and pulled it off, then ripped the front of Kurt's shirt open as easily as the blazer. He let go of Kurt's wrists long enough to drag the blazer and dress shirt off, leaving only his undershirt.

Once his wrists and hands were free of the layers of cloth, Kurt struck out with all his strength, the blow sending Karofsky staggering back a step. Kurt tried a high kick, which Karofsky mostly dodged but which still glanced off his hip. Kurt had his back to the wall and was lightning fast with his hands flat in cheerleading "blades". He tried to slide along the wall towards the door-and the knife-while keeping Karofsky at bay.

But it wasn't to be. Karofsky surged towards him and slammed Kurt against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. It was hard to catch his breath with the tape over his mouth and Karofsky made short work of restraining him again, wrapping one of the leather straps around both wrists and fastening it. And now Kurt could feel that it wasn't just a strip of leather, but an actual leather cuff.

He was pressed into the wall by the weight of Karofsky's body, and his cotton undershirt had never felt so thin. Karofsky smirked at Kurt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants just like before. Then he gave Kurt's pants a quick tug; not enough to pull them off, but enough to leave them hanging dangerously low on Kurt's narrow hips.

He dragged Kurt back into the bedroom and retied him to the bed. With one last look of mingled fury and want, Karofsky shrugged on his coat and left the room, closing the door behind him. Kurt thought he could make out the front door opening and closing a moment later.

He didn't understand why, but now that he was alone the panic he'd been holding at bay all afternoon bubbled up and he shook, tears streaming down his face. Trying to stop himself from crying just made it worse. He tried to rub away the tears on his shoulder—his shoulders already ached from being tied awkwardly above his head.

And even when the tears were gone he kept steadily rubbing his shoulder against his cheek, pushing at the edges of the duct tape gag. He was only noticing now how cold the room was; he doubted heat was turned on in the cabin any higher than necessary to keep the pipes from freezing. His shirt and blazer were in a pile on the floor in just the next room, but they might as well have been in Paris for all the good they did him. He shivered and wondered how long Karofsky planned to leave him here.

After a few minutes he started stretching and moving his legs as much as he could within the restraints in a mostly-futile effort to stay warm.