This is a dark, dark fic that contains a brutal rape, homophobia, bad language and other dark and twisted things that make me happy inside. I don't own any of the characters - I just make bad things happen to them.

I'm British, and as such, American slang and terminology might be a little out, though I've tried my best. I've only watched the show up to the episode where THE kiss happens, so it might not be canon. I hope you enjoy it anyway. It was inspired by a great fic, 'Victims don't tell' by 'Necrofeeliak'. If you haven't read it, I suggest you check it out =] Now, on with the story...

Dave Karofsky was a bully.

It was a title bestowed upon him ever since the second grade, when he and a couple of his friends had cornered a smaller kid in the school bathroom and proceeded to take turns punching him in the stomach and relished the sounds of his anguish. It could have been because he was smaller than they were. Maybe it was the fact that he wore glasses and they didn't. Perhaps it was because that even way back then, at such a young age, he could somehow sense in his inner instinct that this kid was different. That this kid was a homo and as such, deserved to be mistreated. Whatever the reason, that single act defined Dave's life from that point. He was, and always would be, a bully.

If he had the choice, he would have picked a different label for himself altogether. He'd rather have liked to be clever, but there was no chance of that; all you had to do was look at every report card he had ever received to know that that would never happen. He'd have settled for being funny, but not everyone seemed to laugh with him. Sure, his buddies would laugh and high five him when he slammed someone into the lockers or threw a slushie in an unsuspecting face, but it was mean laughter after a cruel deed, not the type of warm laughter after someone had told a particularly funny joke.

Mostly, he just wanted to be liked. He was popular, sure, but for all the wrong reasons. He liked that people were afraid of him; it meant that nobody was dumb enough to mess with him, but he did sometimes wish that this wasn't the case. People at school seemed to avoid him at any cost and this pleased and angered him in equal measures.

It was Sunday evening, and he was naked and looking at himself in the full length mirror in his bathroom at home. He was, as always, disgusted with what he saw. Truthfully, there was no need for Dave to feel like this, and maybe someday he would grow out of that phase and when looking back, realise that like most teenagers, he was just at a self conscious and self-loathing point in his life. But on this very day, all he saw when he looked at himself was a hairy useless lump, a good for nothing waste of space. A fucking fag.

The mere thought of the word as it crossed his mind repulsed him, and he visibly jolted, like he had been struck with a hot poker. He couldn't be gay, he wouldn't be gay. He wasn't a homo. He was tough, he was strong, he wouldn't take shit from anyone and anyone that tried to give him shit would have found themselves in hospital, every bone in their body broken. Homos wouldn't do that. They'd lie down and they would take it. The very idea that he could be one of... them... it offended his entire being deeply.

Dave's whole body shook with rage and he watched his mirror double go through the same. He bunched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, mentally forcing himself to hold back and to not punch the mirror like he so wanted to do. It was the same every time he had gay thoughts - he wanted to reach out and hurt something. Or someone. It didn't matter what or who it was; the only purpose of said thing or person served as only one need: An outlet for the self-loathing that was bottled up inside of him. He needed to cause hurt to lessen the hurt he had inside himself.

He wasn't gay, he wasn't. A gay guy wouldn't chase every bit of skirt at McKinley High. It didn't matter if most of the girls at school weren't interested in his advances, it didn't bother him. But it proved that he wasn't a homo, because homos didn't try and get with girls. And that time that he found himself staring at Terrence Fisher's ass a little longer than necessary didn't matter - he had put that incident down to the fact that Terrence, like himself, was a jock and jocks compared other jocks bodies in the locker room. It didn't make him queer. Didn't make him like Hummel.

Hummel. Kurt fucking Hummel, who walked around the school all high and mighty, like he hadn't a care in the world. He was so unashamed of being the way he was that it made Dave feel sick inside. It was like he didn't even care that he was gay, that he was a homo, and acted like it wasn't a bad thing at all. On the contrary, he acted like it was completely normal, didn't even fucking try to hide what he truly was. And though the beatings kept coming and coming - mostly at the hand of Dave's own fists - it didn't change who he was. And it frustrated him that after every beating, it only seemed to make him gayer. More open. Even more fucking high and mighty. Aside from beating him to his death, Dave wasn't sure what it would take to stop Hummel flaunting his sexuality in his face. Taunting him with it. Making him want what he couldn't have...

Fuck, there were those thoughts again. Dave had stripped himself of his clothes in the bathroom in order to have a shower, but he couldn't trust himself to have one now, not with those thoughts lurking about his mind waiting to corrupt him. When he was thinking of those things, when he was thinking of Kurt Hummel and all the other things he shouldn't have been thinking about, it was like an uncontrollable sensation flooded his body. And he found that when he was naked and thinking of Kurt Hummel and all the other things he shouldn't have been thinking about, that his hands - through no fault of his own - crept down to his dick and tugged at it until he felt sweet release.

And he would be released. For a second that is. A second was all he had until his whole body was then engulfed into a snarling, disbelieving rage because he had just done what he shouldn't have done thinking about things he shouldn't have been thinking about. He snatched his boxers from the floor and put them on. His dick strained against the tight material but he didn't and wouldn't do anything about it now. He put on his socks, and then his jeans, before pulling his sweater over his head. He felt better now. Better now that he couldn't see his own betrayal - rock hard and desperate despite his best efforts to will those thoughts that made his dick hard away. He picked up his dry, unused towel from the floor and unlocked and opened the bathroom door, making his way down the corridor to his bedroom.

He could hear shouting downstairs; the usual obscenities being thrown back and forth by his parents. When it first started, back when he was eleven or so, he felt compelled to go down there to protect his mother from his father's unpredictable rages. But he soon learnt that his mother gave as good as she got. Whether she was throwing glasses at his father, who had to duck out of the way to escape being struck by one of them, or he was laying into his mother, one hand around her throat and the other smacking the shit out of her for no excuse other than the fact he needed an outlet for his anger didn't matter. It all led to the same conclusion: That no matter what Dave did, or what he said, or how much he got involved, it would all end the same. They would apologise to each other, they would make up with each other, and they would then both tell Dave that he was a disappointment as a son, an embarrassment to the family and a waste of human life.

He didn't know if it stemmed from the time his dad found the Internet history on his computer when he was thirteen. Faced with all the gay porn sites that Dave had frequently browsed didn't sit too well with the burly, senior Karofsky male and he had shown his disapproval the best way he knew how: with his fists. It was because of that incident that his parents seemed to hate him, either that, or just because Dave really was a waste of human life as they so frequently told him after they'd screamed a torrent of abuse at each other. Either way, he certainly hadn't dared to go online again for any reason, unless the house was completely empty and in the instances that it was, he now made sure to delete anything and everything that belied the fact that he wasn't queer.

Upon entering his bedroom, he shut the door behind him and leant his back against it and heavily sighed. He looked around the four walls of his spacious haven. This was not a homo's room. Posters of semi naked chicks adorned almost every inch of the four walls, along with a couple of posters of bikes, and wrestlers he admired. Nothing gay about that. Sure, Hummel probably had posters of his idolised female pop stars and actresses in his faggy bedroom too, but that was because he wished he was them, no doubt. So guys would look at his worthless ass and think of him in the way guys looked at girls and wanted them. Maybe he had some posters of wrestlers in his room too, to perv over them and masturbate while thinking about unnatural acts taking place between them. The idea disgusted Dave to his core. He had posters of wrestlers in his room because he was a jock, because jocks kept their bodies in shape and admired other jocks who kept their bodies in shape and there was nothing wrong with checking out the competition, especially if the competition was a still image that wouldn't suddenly shout out and accuse him of staring at their tight abs, their perfect arms… the way their wrestling underwear clung so fucking tightly to their muscled bodies...

Fuck. He was finding it hard to escape the thoughts today. His room suddenly didn't feel like a safe haven anymore and he banged the back of his head against his bedroom door, in an attempt to shatter these thoughts from his soul. He wasn't queer. He wasn't. His car keys lay on the desk next to his computer - the one he dared not use unless he had complete privacy - and he grabbed them before he flung open his bedroom door and ran down the stairs two at a time. His parents were still arguing, over what he didn't know. But it meant that they barely registered him as he passed through the lounge where they were shouting vehemently at each other which made him wonder why they were even still together.

If they heard the front door slam, they certainly didn't react to it as Dave could still hear them even as he was outside and the bile continued to spew out of their mouths, certainly not lessening at his departure. It was nine o'clock at night and as they were in early February and Winter had not yet surpassed the town, it was dark outside. Making his way to his car, he unlocked the door and got in the drivers seat before he slammed the door shut behind him. The silence was treacherously golden. Silence meant he could escape the hell of his home life. Silence meant he was faced with the inner voices in his mind. The ones that told him to give up the pretence and live his life being who he truly was. He turned his key in the ignition and the rumbling of the engine interrupted the silence.

It wasn't fair. Even driving as fast as he was, he could still see blurred figures on the streets as he passed them by; some of them couples, holding hands, obviously in love. That's what he wanted. He couldn't be gay. He couldn't be. He wasn't. Wasn't like Hummel. Hummel embraced his sick lifestyle; made it seem like everyone opposed to it was in the wrong and he was oblivious to the fact that indulging in his disgusting desires didn't make him some sort of out-and-proud hero, it made him a freak. This very fact angered Dave the most. He wasn't gay, and he would kick the shit out of anyone who accused him of it but he had to admit that he wasn't normal. But that was fine, because he kept his feelings repressed and made out like he was like everybody else and ultimately, in the end, he would be like everybody else, no matter how much his mind tried to trick him, to make him submit. Fags submitted. Straight guys did not.

And yet, did Hummel really submit? Had he ever? He had drove his fists into that fags stomach more times than he could remember and it hadn't changed a thing. Hummel was still proud and Dave still had self hatred coursing through every inch of his entire body. He hated him. He hated him more than he had ever hated anyone or anything in his entire life. Because he was a constant reminder; a constant teasing and a constant taunting reminder that Hummel was true to himself and he was not. It infuriated him to no end and he pushed his foot down on the accelerator just that little bit harder to go just that little bit faster. A horn tooted from the car in front of him, no doubt a warning to back off. Fags backed off. Straight guys did not.

He hated thinking about Hummel, yet these days his thoughts revolved around nothing else. From the moment he woke up to the moment he drifted off to sleep, it seemed all he thought about was Kurt fucking Hummel. The boy wasn't even anything special. He didn't have the build of Azimio, nor the good looks of Terrence, (not that he was paying attention to other guys bodies or good looks, as he wasn't gay). He could have snapped Hummel in two without breaking a sweat. He wanted to break Hummel in two - wanted to completely destroy the boy that had been haunting his thoughts and not allowing Dave a chance, not a single chance to just focus on the objective and be normal. He wanted to annihilate him, make him see once and for all that despite his best efforts; despite the fact that he acted like he was in the right and everybody else was in the wrong, that at the end of the day, he deserved to be punished for what he was. It wasn't right. It would never be right. He overtook the car in front, even though it meant illegally going onto the other side of the road where he could potentially collide into oncoming traffic. When his car had fully passed, he swerved back into the correct lane of the road, and accelerated even harder and drove even faster.

Kurt Hummel should have been strangled at birth. Dave certainly would have done the act if Hummel happened to be his son - he would have been doing the planet all over a service at killing him at birth, so he wouldn't have the opportunity to corrupt and turn others who were trying to lead normal lives. Normal people didn't need that shit thrown at them. Hummel's dad, Burt, was it? Burt was a friend of his dad, still is in fact, despite that Dave's dad put Burt's boy down at very opportunity behind his back, and why shouldn't he? Hummel was a fag and he deserved it. But it puzzled Dave, because Burt, although he was an old guy, clearly used to be like a jock like him, one of them. And they don't tolerate faggots, not now, not ever. And yet his son came out of the closet and he didn't so much as bat an eyelid.

Dave would have battered the shit out of the spineless little cunt, had it been his son, because he would rather have no son at all than have a disappointment as a son, an embarrassment to the family and a waste of human life. He could see it so vividly - could see himself so clearly on top of Hummel's skinny body, one hand clamped tightly around the boys throat as he choked the life out of him. Go to sleep gay boy, go to sleep forever so you can no longer infect us decent human beings. Could see him losing consciousness, could see Hummel's lifeless body beneath him, completely open to anything that he could and would subject him to. Hummel was a fag and he needed to be taught that lying down and accepting that particular role in life wasn't right. He would pin him down and he would enjoy the pitiful struggle beneath him as Hummel eventually realised he would have to accept the fate Dave was about to bestow upon him...

Fuck, he was there again, and he pressed his foot on the accelerator even harder. At moments like this, Dave prayed for a brick wall to appear in front of him just so he could drive straight into it and end his torture forever. At times like this, he simply wanted to die. He couldn't live like this, and yet he was angry at the thought of Hummel making him feel like he should end his life, just because he wouldn't stop unashamedly flaunting his own. It was his fault that he was this way. Cars, traffic lights, street lights, figures on the street and houses all whizzed by as Dave drove even faster to escape his own torment. Hummel, and his kind, had ruined his life. Had Dave not known that there were other options out there, he would have had a normal life; wife and two kids in a house in the suburbs and everything would have been normal and fine. But it was Hummel swanning around school like he owned the place that had violated him; made him turn into something that he could have avoided if he didn't have temptation lingering so close. He hated him. He fucking hated him...

Dave suddenly became conscious of the fact that he was driving too fast and if he didn't slow down and collect his thoughts, that he would crash his car. And though the thought of his car colliding head on with a lamppost and wrapping itself around it with him in it soothed him in a weird way, he wouldn't give Hummel the fucking satisfaction. He decreased the speed and remembered what Hummel had said to him last Friday. You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are. Fuck you, Hummel and fuck everything that you stand for. Those words were like a knife to his gut. He was anything but ordinary. If he was ordinary he wouldn't have given those words a second thought - but the mantra of Hummel's words had been on a constant loop through his mind over the entire weekend and he felt that if he didn't do something about it he would snap.

Another car horn sounded from nowhere, causing Dave to hit his brakes. He took in sharp gasps of breath deeply as he realised how close he'd come to hitting the car in front of him; how close he had come to ending it all, just like he wanted and yet what he refused to do because it would mean that that faggot would win. He took a right and then pulled into the kerb before switching his engine off entirely, left with silence being interrupted by the sound of his own heavy breathing. His thoughts were out of control and he wanted to take it out on something, right now. He hit his steering wheel in frustration, but it did not feed the anger that coursed through his veins. And then, a gift from the angels above.

Hummel.

Kurt fucking Hummel walking down the very road he had just parked on. He switched off his car lights and though the disappearance of the glow shadowed Hummel's appearance, he could still see the way he strutted down the street. In his feminine, fairy clothes, his feminine, fairy way that he walked down the street, clutching his fucking fairy handbag like he was a fucking woman. A woman all alone down a dark street. Hummel was no better than the useless girls at school, and it was no wonder that Dave never stood a chance; not with the frigid bitches that attended McKinley. No matter how hard he tried, they were never interested in him, never gave him a fucking chance to prove how utterly ordinary he was. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as Hummel approached. Such a confident walk for a faggot roaming the dark streets as though he had every right to do so - just like any normal human being, only Hummel wasn't normal, wasn't right. He was a faggot freak of human nature and to Dave it seemed that if nobody had taught him his place in life, then he was justified to do just that right here, right now. Dave's heartbeat was drumming up an explosion and it showed in the way he was breathing so heavily. But he paid no attention to that. He only paid attention to the figure looming ever so closer - that cocky strut, the swinging of the hips, his feminine clothes and his girly features and fuck, it didn't matter at this precise moment what was right and what was wrong and what Dave should have been doing and what he shouldn't - all he felt was the burning, consuming hatred inside of him. And he needed it sated.

He allowed Hummel to pass his car. The boy didn't even glance inside. Why would he? He thought he was perfectly safe, perfectly justified in walking down a dark road at night like any other normal human being would have, the idea of an assault barely crossing his mind. He was about to learn that that would be the biggest mistake of his life...

There'll be another chapter of this. Hopefully sometime this week. If you enjoyed then please review :) I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments about the fic.

Johnny. x