Of course, it would have to be the same damn locker room.

Burt's threat and whatever discussion Paul Karofsky had had with his son were apparently quite effective, because in the week that Kurt had been back at McKinley, he'd barely caught sight of the other boy. Since Kurt had stopped skulking around, he'd passed Karofsky in the hallway a few times, but Karofsky always lowered his eyes and picked up his pace, as if to pass Kurt as quickly as possible. Kurt didn't like the idea of outright stalking Karofsky (it was just too weird to contemplate), but it looked like it was the only way he was going to be able to have the privacy to put his plan into action.

He'd talked to Blaine about it, and his boyfriend was the only one who knew what Kurt was planning. He hadn't even told Santana. Blaine was extremely unhappy about Kurt's idea; not only did he think it might be dangerous if it backfired, the whole thing was just completely distasteful to him. Kurt had pointed out, though, that it wasn't how he wanted things, either. But something had to be done, and Kurt just didn't see any other way of forcing Karofsky's hand. Blaine had been disappointed, Kurt knew, but understanding. "You're the one who's stuck there, Kurt," Blaine said, kissing the back of his hand gently. "I have to trust that you know what you're doing. Just please, be careful." Kurt had melted into Blaine's embrace, assuring him that as awful as what he had to do was, the end result would be worth it.

So that was how Kurt found himself lurking outside the locker room before Karofsky's gym period. He had finally figured out why Karofsky showed up ridiculously early for gym and football practice. As closeted as he was, it was likely a good idea to reduce the amount of time he spent around other undressed guys. Kurt figured he had at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, before anyone else showed. So as soon as he saw Karofsky enter the locker room, and heard the bang of his locker opening, he slipped inside as well.

It was like déjà vu all over again. Karofsky, hauling his ratty sneakers out of the locker, momentarily oblivious. And Kurt, filled with anger, ready to confront his enemy, rather than running and hiding. He crept up to the open door of the locker and stood behind it. Karofsky slammed it shut, and Kurt was quite satisfied to see the larger boy nearly jump out of his skin when he saw Kurt standing there. "What the fuck are you doing here, Hummel?" he asked, and Kurt was further pleased to hear the unsure note in Karofsky's voice. He'd definitely caught Karofsky off-guard, which could only help things along.

"We need to talk," said Kurt calmly, his tone belaying his thumping heart.

"I'm not supposed to be around you," said Karofsky dismissively. "Get lost."

"Not until I've had my say," Kurt said coldly. "And believe me, you want to let me get on with it before anyone else shows up to hear me talking."

There was fear in Karosky's eyes, but he tried to bluff. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the locker. "Be my guest, homo," he said.

With no warning, Kurt's palm shot out, and landed on the locker with a loud bang that had Karofsky jumping even more than the first time. Kurt narrowed his eyes, letting the rage seep in. All the ruined clothes. The meals he couldn't eat because of constant nausea from fear. The nightmares, and having to leave all his friends behind. And he thought about Santana, high bitch diva supreme, brought down into the dirt because the asshole in front of him had called her a dyke. "For starters," he said, staring into Dave's suddenly wide eyes, "you're going to stop with the hate speech." He ticked off on his long, slender fingers. "Homo. Faggot. Queer. Dyke. They all end, starting now. Do you get me, Karofsky?"

Dave recovered his bravado a bit after a moment, shaking his head to remind himself that this was only Hummel threatening him. The scared little queer who'd run off crying to some gay Hogwarts because Dave had picked on him. He tried to ignore the voice that told him he'd done a lot more than pick on Kurt. That voice told him all kinds of things he didn't want to hear, from Jesus, that dude's ass is fine to Maybe you could join glee and it wouldn't be the end of the world. Dave had gotten pretty good at ignoring that voice. "And why would I want to do that?" he sneered.

This was it. Kurt focused his anger until it was a fine point of white hot fury. It was the only way he could make the words come out of his mouth, and follow through with what he had to do. He took his hand off the locker and pressed it against Karofsky's chest. "Because if you don't?" he said, letting his anger seep through clearly in his voice. "I will tell everyone what you did to me in this locker room."

"I didn't-" Dave started, denial always, always his first response to even the very thought of that day so many months ago.

"Shut up," said Kurt. "There's no one here but you and me, and we both know what happened. You kissed me. You forced it on me. And after you did it once, you leaned in and tried to do it again. You would have kissed me plenty more, if I hadn't pushed you away."

Dave was glad that he had the support of the lockers at his back, because his knees were trembling and threatening to give out. No, he tried to convince himself. That's not exactly how it happened. Except of course, that it was. And Kurt would just not stop talking about it.

"You wanted me to kiss you back. Maybe you even wanted me to throw my arms around you, and tell you I wanted you, too. As if!" Kurt said, spitefully.

"Stop it!" cried Dave, hating how his voice cracked, and tears began to sting his eyes.

If there was ever a moment that Kurt thought of abandoning the plan, this one where Karofsky's plaintative cry seared his ears, brain and heart was it. He hated, just hated doing this. But it wasn't about him, or even Santana. It was about every other gay boy or girl that was going to be spared the outward expression of Karofsky's self- loathing, at least until graduation. There was no right to be had in the situation, just greater and lesser degrees of wrongness.

Kurt took his hand off of Karofsky's chest, backing up a step. He stared at Karofsky, willing himself to have the courage to continue. "You're a bully," he said. "and a coward, and a hypocrite. I can't do anything about the last two, but I can sure as shit do something about the first." He made sure Karofsky made eye contact with him before continuing. "No more abuse, Karofsky. No more slushies, or locker slams, or name calling. Not to anyone gay, straight or halfway in between. It's over. I don't care what you tell your fellow Neanderthals. You can tell them that your Dad's on the verge of sending you to military school, or that you've found Jesus, or whatever. But if I even hear a whisper that you're back up to your old tricks, I'm going to Jacob Ben-Israel and giving him the scoop of the century. David Karofsky, total jock, manly-man and homophobe? He's 100% homosexual, and as into dick as I ever imagined being."

Ice sliding down his spine, Dave tried for one last attempt to regain the upper hand. "No one would believe you," he said shakily.

Blaine had said exactly the same thing. So Kurt told Karofsky what he'd told his boyfriend. "Sure they would. Especially once Jacob starts digging. Because it's not like I'm lying. I'm sure if he asks around enough, he'll be able to find some girls that you tried to be straight with, only to find that you couldn't quite, uh…rise to the occasion." Kurt knew he'd hit that nail on the head when he saw how quickly the blood drained from Karofsky's face. He tried not to think about how sick it made him, and continued. "Or maybe a boy or two who caught you looking a little more than allowable by the guy code in the showers. And I'm sure if anyone were to get a hold of your laptop, the browser history would be extraordinarily revealing."

Karofsky snapped. He grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and slammed him up against the opposite lockers. Kurt was sure that Karofsky was going to literally kill him this time; but then Karofsky's face fell and he shoved himself away from Kurt. After a moment, he looked up at Kurt, defeat plain on his face and in his posture. "Fine," he said listlessly. "You win." And with that, he shuffled out of the locker room.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind Karofsky, Kurt felt his gorge rise. He just made it to the toilets before falling to his knees and vomiting up the little bit of lunch he'd been able to consume earlier. When he was finally finished, he braced his forearms across the bowl and rested his sweaty forehead on them.

Kurt hoped with everything he had in him that he'd made the right decision.

I know, I know! Angsty story is angsty! All I can say is that I've finally written something that I fervently hope I *never* see on the show. Reviews are appreciated, but kindness even more so. I have to admit, I'm a little shaky after writing/posting this one.