Summary: Prison orange is so not Kurt's color, but unfortunately that is the least of his troubles when he finds himself in a place where dropping the soap is more than just an annoyance in the shower. With no street skills and sparkly pink toenails, things aren't looking up for Kurt-especially when he's assigned to the cell of the terrifying bully who landed him in this place in the first place. But there are a lot of things for Kurt to learn about Dave Karofsky (including the fact that he knows damn well how to make you le'go his Eggo) and a lot of things for Dave to learn about Kurt Hummel (including the fact that he knows damn well how to help heal a heart.)
Author Notes: I didn't know if I wanted to post this because it's another abused!Dave fic and, therefore, is canon only to Never Been Kissed. But I like my angsty fic and tough Dave and I've been known to watch Oz on occasion, so, here we go anyway... (And yes, I mentioned the Jizz in My Pants song again in this. Look it up on youTube if you've never heard it. It's by The Lonely Island and it's hilarious. Sorry, but I just love that song. It's so perfect for Finn.)
Just FYI on my WIPs: I hate reading WIPs because I always feel I can't trust the author to write more, LOL. Therefore I make myself update my WIPs at least once a week, sometimes more often. So if I haven't updated in a timely manner, please feel free to bug my lazy ass. I've been way distracted playing Puck on a Facebook RP, hehe.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongeth to the creators of Glee and such. Ryan Murphy, don't bother to sue me, I ain't got nothin' to take! (And I don't wanna go to jail, either!)
NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING: In this story there will be mentions of physical and sexual abuse, attempted non-con in the future, language, boy/boy sex in the future. This version will be edited down to an R rating to fit the R/M guidelines of . I will make a note on any edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the unedited version that includes the smut, you can find this version at:
sparklybat [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] cellmate
(Replace the [info in brackets] with the correct symbol.)
Ch. 1: Right to Remain Violent
It had taken Dave years to perfect the image of his father's dangerous grin, but the effort had definitely served him well. The moment he had flashed his pearly whites, all the part time do-gooders on the team had punched out early and fled to their other jobs as mindless followers of the mocking masses. Justin Bieber on steroids had retreated to the back of the locker room where he was shuffling through a pile of dirty socks with headphones stuffed in his ears, like he couldn't quite hear what was going on—despite the fact that the cord was dangling down at his side, connected to nothing. Puckerman was busily admiring his own arm muscles, muttering the occasional compliment to them like they were thinking persons. Even roller boy had turned his wheels in the other direction as he awkwardly tried to lift himself up enough to slip on his cup. But hey, everybody in McKinley High was well aware that being the bully—or even the oblivious onlooker—was a lot easier job than than being the good samaritan. And while it might not be the best investment in the long run, it paid a hell of a lot better until they started counting up the karma.
Hudson's face was almost as red as the pair of Spiderman boxers he was wearing as he stood before them, his back against the lockers, hands placed awkwardly over his crotch. It didn't do much to hide the wet spot.
Dave let out another loud laugh and then began to sing in a mocking, high pitched voice. "I jizz right in my pants, every time you're next to me! And when we're holdin' hands, it's like havin' sex to me! You say I'm premature, I just call it ecstasy! I wear a rubber at all times, it's a necessity! 'Cause I JIZZ IN MY PANTS!"
The howls of laughter made the locker room sound like a cross between a monkey habitat and an execution chamber, with a little locker banging and foot stamping on the side.
"Whaddya think, Hudson?" he questioned, flipping a limp wrist in his direction. "Should I sign up for the Gleek squad? I got your theme song down pat, I think." He smirked as Hudson tried, unsuccessfully, to clench his fists in a threatening way while still covering the cum spot on his shorts. "You need to start wearing one of those tampony maxi lady pad things in your panties, bro! No wonder you can't get girls to put out. You're finished before the checkout girl gets around to scannin' your Trojans!"
"Go to hell, Karofsky!" Hudson snapped back, yanking open his locker and pulling out some sort of baggie. He tore it open and began to wipe himself with… what the hell was that?
"Shit, Hudson. What did you start keeping baby wipes with your jock strap?" Dave flashed his Danger Grin again. "Oh, I get it! You shit your pretty little pants every time you see me cruising down the hall."
More laughter from his loyal followers. The Beach Boy hunched his shoulders down and Puck let his arms go, beginning a conversation with his dick instead. The cripple's face had turned an interesting shade of red and he looked pretty pissed, but he definitely wasn't about to burst into an impromptu song anytime soon.
Dave didn't have much to thank his dad for, but the Smile of Pain was golden.
"They're mmmst toiletsss," Finn mumbled, eyes focused on wiping himself off.
Dave raised an eyebrow, shooting Azimio a disbelieving look. His buddy responded with a shrug of the shoulders, 'what the fuck?' painted on his face.
"They're toilets? Day-am, Hudson. Haven't you been house trained yet?"
Hudson's head jerked up and he glared furiously at Dave. "They're moist towelettes, okay? It's just a moist towelette!"
Dave raised an eyebrow, snorting loudly. "Dude, are you speakin' English?"
Azimio laughed. "Nah, he ain't speakin' no English, Dave. That's Faggot he's talkin' right there. I seen the bow tie fairy wipin' off his lip-uh-stick with those things. I know 'cause I grabbed it and shoved it up his nose." He sneered. "Fucking queer." He reached out, shoving at Hudson. "You better watch out, boy. The last thing we be needing is another faggot at this school."
Dave's pulse quickened and he quickly wrenched the flash of nervousness that came over him into anger. That was right. And it wasn't his problem because he wasn't a damn faggot. It was all that little princess' doing. He took a sharp breath as he clenched and unclenched his fists, a rush of fury pounding through him as that pretty face flashed through his mind.
Damn that prancing, whoring queer, always off flaunting himself, like anybody wanted to see that sick shit. Always fucking with Dave's head. Making him out to be a queer with his fucking kiss. The little slut.
"Yeah," he practically growled. "I think you're right, man. I think going home with homo has turned our boy into a cock sucker. Probably spends his evenings giving Hummel hummers!"
"Shut your worthless mouth, Karofsky!" Hudson snapped, suddenly pushing away from the lockers and slamming hard into him, trying unsuccessfully to shove the bigger boy back. Hudson glared at him, face practically touching his.
Dave's pulse rose, his breath coming hard as he stared at his teammate. Fuck Hudson. Fuck Hummel. Fuck everyone! Everyone who never wanted you, who just fucked you up and then fucked you over. And here was Hudson, ganging up with that pretty bitch, encouraging him to spread his homo-ness all over the place, infecting everything. Like a damn disease. Dave sucked in a furious breath as he remember the feel of his lips, hard against Hummel's. How he'd grabbed at him. And how Hummel had shoved him away, looking at Dave like *he* was the sick one, like *he* was the nasty freak!
God, he wanted to release The Fury in Hudson's smug face right now.
"Aw, come on, Hudson," Azimio spoke up in a taunting voice. "You have to admit something is queer about this—and please do not excuse my pun! You're a cool jock with a hot chick, then you go and join the Happy Club and suddenly we be seeing you in a rubber dress doin' a Beyonce dance? What the fuck, man? Tell me how that's not homo!"
"Yeah," Dave cut in, forcing down the knives of fear as his best buddy spit in Hudson's direction. He had nothing to worry about because he wasn't a queer, wasn't ever a queer, and wasn't ever gonna be a queer. Fucking nasty freaks. "Azimio's right. I think the lady boy's been slipping some rainbows in your juice box, homo!"
Their audience of second string players burst into laughter once more, and even Puckerman gave that one a chuckle.
Without warning Hudson threw his entire body against Dave, actually managing to slam him hard into the wall of lockers behind him, slapping a hand down next to his head as he leaned in with a furious look on his face. "Maybe you should stop ragging on Kurt, Karofsky! It seems like you think about him an *awful* lot. Almost obsessive. A little too interested, maybe? People might start calling you Cleopatra. You know, *the Queen of Denial*?"
Everything froze. His breath caught and suddenly it was like all the air in the room had been sucked away. No. No. NO. Nonononono. He hadn't… No. He couldn't… No. Dave stared into Hudson's angry face, unable to move, to speak, to fucking *breathe.* Oh, God.
Hudson knew. Wait. No, he couldn't know. But he had to know! He had to know! But how did he know? How did he *know*?
It was like Dave had been shoved back in time, like hands were once more wrapped around his neck, choking, choking, so big, so strong, and he was just so small. Couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? Because he knew. How did he know?
There was only one answer. The faggot had told him. The flaunting, whoring faggot had told him! No. NO! He had to do something. He wasn't a queer! He would never be a queer! He never wanted it before and he didn't want it now and he never would want it ever! Fuck Kurt Hummel and his sick, twisted, disgusting, manipulative *faggotness*! He should have tossed the fancy little boy in the Dumpster for *good* the first time he saw that pretty face! The first time he *noticed* that… that… flaunting homo with his prancy walk and his faggy clothes! He should have beat his head in and left him behind the McDonald's. Then this *never* would have happened. No one would ever think he was a queer!
But now… oh God, they'd all know. They'd know and they'd ditch him. Everything he'd worked so hard for, the rep he'd built, the friends he'd made… gone. All because of the queer. They'd all ditch him just like everybody had always ditched him. He'd be alone. The loser. The trash.
God, why couldn't he breathe?
Thrown out like trash again. Sweat poured down his face as the pain pounded through his heart, harder than any fist. He couldn't lose any more. He couldn't. He couldn't take it. He—NO! Fuck the pain! Never give into the pain! Use the pain! Make it something else. Use it to protect. Use it against the ones who hurt you. Let them get what was coming to them.
The air was back in a sudden rush and he could move again, his fists clenching. And Finn Hudson was still there, right there in his face. Hadn't eternity passed? Why the fuck was he still there, staring at him? Threatening everything he had... Staring at him like he was a faggot, a homo, a queer… Pain. No, anger. Fury. Use it. Channel it…
Fuck them all. He wouldn't let this bastard hurt him.
Dave raised his fist. He'd show Hudson and everyone in that room that Dave Karofsky wasn't no faggot. He was a *man.*
Hurt. Face and body. Hurt.
That was his first thought as he awoke, followed quickly by…
Dave shot up, not even wincing as his vision tilted madly and his ribs screamed at him for mercy. Fuck that. Embrace the pain. He had no mercy.
He looked back and forth rapidly, trying to focus, to hone in on where he was, but his head was spinning madly and he could taste the bile rising in the back of his throat from the pain. He swallowed his down, clenching his jaw. Had to focus. There was hurt. There was pain. Where there was pain, there was Danger. What had happened? Where was he? Had to focus, had to find the Danger.
"Dave, please lie back down." The voice was feminine and soft, like a bed with a blanket after sleeping for a week in a parking lot. Gentle. Dave didn't relax. Gentle voices could be Dangerous, sometimes the most Dangerous of all. Danger often spoke pretty words, promised pretty things, and even sometimes wore pretty clothes—but it would betray you in the end.
Wait… his brow furrowed slightly. Wore pretty clothes?
An image flashed through his mind. A boy, so pretty. Feathers on his hat. A locker room. A kiss.
Dave blinked and tried to speak, then stopped, licking his lips as he tasted vomit and blood.
"Here, drink this, Dave," the gentle voice said and Dave forced himself to focus on the figure beside him. She was old, greying hair, and was dressed in colorful scrubs. He knew her. He had seen her, knew her. The nurse. From school. He was in the nurse's office.
Safe. He would be safe there.
His whole body relaxed, all the tension and adrenaline released in a rush.
"Dave, drink the water."
The water. Dave stared down at the cup dully. Shouldn't drink things that people gave you. That was Dangerous. But the nurse… Mrs. Mitchell. She had always been nice to him. She would give him aspirin when he came to school and it hurt too bad to play normal. And she had always accepted it when he told her how clumsy he was. How he ran into a door. How he spilt scalding coffee all over his hands. How he fell into the neighbor's rose bush. She had just shaken her head and squeezed his hand and let him put his letterman jacket back on to cover the bruises. She wasn't Dangerous.
He took the cup from her small hand and sipped the water, rolling the cool liquid around on his tongue. After a few swallows he was able to speak in a hoarse voice.
"Whu… what happened?"
Her brow wrinkled even more than it already was and she looked at him with concern. "You don't remember?"
Dave frowned, licking his lips nervously as he tried to focus. His head was still spinning a little and when he furrowed his brow there was a sharp flash of pain, on top of the continuous throbbing. He carefully raised a hand to inspect the damage, fingertips trailing lightly across swollen skin. Forehead gash. A black eye. A bruised jaw. A split lip. A broken nose? He pressed against it, then winced. Yeah, a broken nose. He rolled his jaw, grimacing. And a loose tooth in the back of his mouth.
Nothing that he hadn't seen before. And for once 'I got in a fight' would be true. Or so he assumed. It was all kind of fuzzy…
"I…" He had been in the locker room, with the football team. Coach Beiste had gone to yell at Coach Sylvester about something… confetti all over the playing field? Yeah… They'd been hanging out, talking about chicks. Dave had been conning the guys into thinking he was a big playboy by using all the knowledge he'd picked up from his 'foster homies,' as he jokingly called the gangbanger type boys he knew from juvie who had been getting blow jobs on the playground at twelve. Hudson had walked in, all hot and bothered from dry humping Barbara Streisand, started to dress for practice, then had heard the words 'that ho sucked it all down' and cum right in his pants. Dave had started making fun of him and then—
Oh, shit. Dave's breath caught and his shoulders tensed, causing Mrs. Mitchell to frown at him worriedly.
Hudson knew. He had to, the way he was talking, and looking at Dave like he was some homo. The faggot had told him. Hudson had gotten up in Dave's face and then…
"I-I don't remember. I was pissed at Hudson, then… I can't remember."
Mrs. Mitchell leaned against the exam table, a sad look on her face. "You attacked him, Dave."
"Okay… Been there, done that. How did I end up looking like I went through a meat processor?"
She smiled sadly and a nervous lump grew in his throat. The way she was looking at him…
"You did more than attack him, Dave. You nearly killed him." She reached out, gently touching his left hand, and Dave jerked, wincing as his wrist caught on metal. Oh, God. How could he not have noticed? He was getting soft. He'd let the pain distract him and he hadn't even noticed… He raised his wrist, slowly this time, following the chain on the handcuff to where it was attached to the metal table. His gorge rose and he swallowed down the sick feeling in his stomach, doing everything he could to fight off the panic.
He was in the nurse's office. He was safe. Mrs. Mitchell wasn't Dangerous. No one was going to hurt him. He took a sharp breath, face twisted into something between a look of fury and terror as he was unable to completely silence the screaming in his head. He hated being tied down. Or being in small spaces. Anything where he couldn't escape.
He forced his face back into an emotionless expression, forcing the fear into submission. If he let it rule then panic would become hysteria and that was just a road to hell. "What did I do?" he asked flatly. It didn't really matter. If it was bad enough that they'd cuffed him in the nurse's office instead of taking him to the hospital, it meant he had started it and he was going to be the one going down. It was back to the slammer for him—and this time it wouldn't be a summer visit. He'd flunk out of high school and become another sob story of the system. A flash of anger made his lip curl. He'd been so damn close. He'd just wanted to get out of that damn school with that stupid diploma in his hand. Get a job working construction or on cars or *something* that would make him more than standing behind a counter at McD's—aw hell, who was he kidding. These days, there weren't even any shit jobs like that. But he'd been so close... So close to getting away from that alcoholic bastard and all the group homes and his self righteous social worker. Now he'd be a drop out with no job and, with his luck, they'd charge him as an adult this time, so he'd have a record, too, if he even made it out of the pen. He'd just be another stupid, worthless, punk. All his hopes were gone and he probably *would* be cleaning Kurt Hummel's fucking septic tank! It was all over and it was all because of that fucking faggot!
A sudden urge to cry came over him and he beat it down brutally, slamming his free fist onto the plushy mat as he bent forward, head bowed, gritting his teeth. Soft fingers brushed his face and he flinched, eyes flickering over to Mrs. Mitchell, who smiled gently at him. She was so nice. She had given him candy bars before. And once she'd bought him some polo shirts when she noticed that he wore the same three t-shirts over and over again. It had been nice that she noticed. No one else did. Well, except Hummel, but he had just called him fashionless or something.
God, he must be having a break down because he couldn't even work up the energy to be pissed about that.
"Dave, you have to stop this," Mrs. Mitchell said, tilting his chin up with her finger. He let her do it. He didn't usually let people touch him, but she was nice. "You have to stop hurting people. You're just hurting yourself."
Dave let out a dull laugh. "What does it matter now? You said I almost killed him." He lifted his left hand, dark amusement crossing his face. "I think I'm under arrest."
"It's… a peculiar situation, actually, Dave. You did hurt Mr. Hudson. You choked him until he passed out. But Mr. Puckerman managed to pull him off of you—then the two of you got into quite a fight. You wrestled your way into the hall and knocked over a trophy case, actually. Mr. Puckerman hit you in the face with a trophy, knocking you unconscious." She reached up, gently brushing his forehead, an annoyed look on her face. "I tried to get them to take you to the hospital, but your social worker had other ideas."
"She's a bitch," he said flatly. "So Puckerman hit me in the face. He break my nose?"
"Actually, Mr. Hummel broke your nose."
Dave's eyebrows shot up, then he winced at the sudden pain. "The queer broke my nose?"
Mrs. Mitchell frowned deeply. "Please refrain from calling him that, David. And yes, he did."
"Wow, I almost have some respect for him now."
The nurse shook her head, looking annoyed. "Stop that."
Dave shrugged. "Sorry. How the hell did Fancy break my nose? Hit me with a platform shoe?"
"From what I understand, Mr. Hummel came running when he heard of the fight, saw Mr. Hudson lying in the locker room and went a little mad. He took a textbook from one of the students watching and, just as you were waking up, hit you in the face with it. Over twenty times."
"Shit," Dave mumbled. "No wonder my face hurts. So explain to me again why I'm sitting in the nurse's office and not down at county?"
Mrs. Mitchell sighed. "Well, the whole incident has been… problematic. Though Mr. Puckerman did the right thing pulling you away from Mr. Hudson, continuing the fight was in violation of his probation. And though Mr. Hummel's attack was certainly provoked when he saw Mr. Hudson's condition, you were unconscious on the floor when he attacked you with the textbook and, therefore, it is considered assault, not self-defense. Right now they are both in the principal's office with their parents and the police officers. I think they are trying to come to some agreement that will not lead to criminal charges. They have been speaking to a Juvenile and Family Court judge, trying to come up with a solution to this."
Dave sat stiffly, his face carefully blank. "Our parents are here? Did… did my, ah, dad come?"
Mrs. Mitchell reached out, rubbing his back in little circles. "No, Dave," she said quietly. "I believe your social worker has come in his place."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, tense shoulders relaxing. Thank God. Hell, he'd rather go to juvie than go home with his dad after having his soap operas interrupted.
Mrs. Mitchell gave him a soft smile. "Do you think that you can walk okay, Dave?"
He let out a little laugh, not really giving a damn if it sounded bitter. He was tired and he hurt. Pompous asshole jock was too much to pull off right now. "I've managed before. You know I'm a clumsy bastard."
The woman shook her head, looking sad. She really was a nice lady. He was an asshole and a bully. Why the hell should she be sad when he got what was coming to him?
"Come on then, Dave. I'll get the officer to un-cuff you and we'll get you to Principal Figgins' office so that you can have a chance to speak in your own defense."
Yeah. Cause he was so good at that. A fist to the face he could handle. Talking pretty? Save that shit for Fancy. The truth? He wasn't extraordinarily ordinary. He was just a freaking loser. He snorted.
"Lockdown, here I come."