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Sue Sylvester Thinks of the Children

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Chapter One

Sue was preoccupied. Usually when she was feeling uncharacteristic concern like this, she would find the person causing her worry and either yell at them until they stopped irritating her or fix their pathetic life so they would leave her alone, depending on which was easier. Generally, it was the yelling. This, however, was not a situation where that would be effective.
 
“All right, Becky, let me have it.”
 
“He’s gained eight points since the last poll, and this article in the paper is all about him, Coach.” Becky wrinkled her nose in distaste.
 
“And there’s nothing in that article about the rumour that he’s only the father of one of his children?” It wasn’t her strongest work, insofar as spreading lies went, particularly since it was true, but she was running low on ideas.
 
“There’s something about how he misses Kurt’s mom still, but he’s grateful for the love that his new wife and son have added to their lives, does that count Coach?”
 
 “Well, I think I may have just thrown up in my mouth.” Sue paused. “No, I’m sure I did. Voters will eat up that treacly nonsense Becky. Add that to his blue-collar gruffness and I think we may have a Joe the Plumber situation on our hands.”
 
Becky’s brow furrowed in confusion at the reference. Her parents apparently hadn’t watched Fox News during Joe’s heyday. “I don’t know who that is Coach. Is it bad?”
 
“Yes, Becky, it’s very bad. I think I need to some alone time to deal with this. You should go to class or something,” Sue said, waving her hand in dismissal.
 
Becky patted her hand in sympathy and left quickly, leaving the newspaper on Sue’s desk. Sue glared at it for a moment, seething at her most recent failure to destroy Burt Hummel with a family scandal. She’d thought it was a reliable tack, having used it to great effect against Sarah Palin after she’d proven herself unworthy to hold power.
 
She sighed. Maybe her work was just not at its best. She’d carefully mislabelled food as heart-healthy in the supermarket in the hopes that Porcelain would be tricked into purchasing it for his father, who would then redevelop health problems, but that had been a bust. She’d tried calling Child Protective Services and saying that a man with an artificial heart was a major caregiver for two minors and she was concerned that he could no longer give them the love and affection that adolescents so desperately needed, but she’d been hung up on. The last tactic she’d tried before the milkman-fathered-his-child rumours had been prank calls made by her new henchman, Otto, reading off a script she’d written. Unfortunately, Otto was not very good at English, and the line, “Is your fridge running, better go catch it, wait, wouldn’t want you to keel over and die,” had come out an unintelligible mess of European accent.
 
The one good result of the League of Doom had been the proof that she couldn’t trust her menial tasks to the mediocre people of Ohio. She’d imported Otto and his compatriot, Andre, through her ties to the Russian mob. Don Semyon owed her some favours, and she’d had to call in only one to get her two very effective henchmen who obeyed her every word. The language barrier was an issue, but she was almost proud of the way that they were working to improve their English. Almost.
 
Sue needed a new tactic. If she didn’t think of something soon to turn the tides back in her favour, she would have as good a chance at victory as Shannon Beiste would in a don’t-eat-this-entire-chicken contest. She’d been relatively easy on Porcelain Sr. thus far. She’d been unwilling to really go for the jugular, but she had sworn to win the election so she could change the world in her sister’s memory, and that meant she had to step it up. His weak spot was the same as Sue’s had been, and Sue knew that by attacking his family she could probably make him regret ever throwing his hat into the ring, but she needed to be more subtle than usual or public opinion could turn on her.
 
Attacking him by making his kids’ lives hellish could be effective, but she’d already been doing that for two years and they were too used to it. She needed something that they couldn’t ignore and would make the entire family regret venturing into politics but that also couldn’t possibly be traced back to her.
 
She reached into her desk to retrieve her small blender. The comforting whirring as it ground up a protein shake would help her concentrate. As she pulled it out of the drawer, her eye was caught by the empty vial of animal tranquilizers that she had hidden in there months ago and forgotten about. Her neighbour across the street had fallen into the bad habit of leaving his porch light on, and after two nights of poor sleep, Sue had decided to seek revenge for her lost rest by removing his prized English Bulldog from his house, drugging it to prevent it from barking and storing it in her basement. She smiled fondly at the memories of how badly it had affected her neighbour, and how she’d let him stew for a few days before leaving an anonymous note ordering him to leave his damn porch light off and his dog would be returned. The light had not been turned on since, and with an added bonus, her neighbour had taken to staring suspiciously at her if they both happened to be outside at the same time. Sue loved those looks, they gave her a very tangible feeling of achievement.
 
Her smile spread across her entire face as she considered the possibilities. Directly attacking the kids would look bad, but if one of them were to disappear suddenly, with no evidence to connect her to it, it would surely cripple him mentally as badly as Sue had been when Jean passed away.
 
She briefly considered Frankenteen, but dismissed the thought when she realized the difficulty in keeping someone of his size fed and docile. She had, of course, a large supply of muscle relaxants in her possession, as one never knows when they will come in handy, but she’s not made of money and Frankenteen would require a prohibitively large dosage.
 
Porcelain though. He wasn’t exactly tiny, but he was certainly smaller than his brother, and Sue would be much more able to tolerate his presence in her home. She pressed the on button on her blender and leaned back in her chair, smirking. Burt Hummel would not know what hit him, and Sue would be saved the effort of discrediting his bleeding-heart ideals and be able to focus on the more important things. Like special ed classes and removing all trace of the arts from American high schools.
 
Sue picked up her phone and dialed Otto’s number. She would have him do a little surveillance, pick out the best time to grab Kurt and then all she would have left to worry about would be remembering to lock the basement door.


****

 
For a long moment, Kurt stared after Blaine as he stormed off, his eyes blurring with tears. A cold gust of wind reminded him that he was standing outside in November in the parking lot of a dingy gay bar on Drag Queen Wednesday and he stirred himself into action. He closed the back door of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, closing and locking the doors. When he was safe inside, he let out the breath he’d been holding to keep from crying in a single shuddering sob and buried his face in his hands.
 
It hadn’t been the perfect night, but it had been fun enough to not regret it, right up until the blowout of thirty seconds ago. Blaine had been excited to dance with him after he cut in on Sebastian, and an encounter with David that didn’t end with one of them in tears was something that had happened so rarely he could count all the occurrences of it with one hand. He breathed deeply, trying to regain control of himself, and reminded himself that when Blaine was sober he would never try to pressure him into anything and that Blaine would never try to hurt him.
 
He was just about to start the car and go after Blaine, it was way too cold and unsafe in this neighbourhood to not, when something small bounced off the window beside him, which explosively shattered the next instant. Kurt threw himself away from the falling glass instinctually, yelping in surprise. Before he could do anything else to protect himself, the door was open and he was being pulled out of the car by a burly man in a ski mask, who wrapped an arm around him and lifted his feet off the ground.
 
“What are you doing?!” he demanded, his voice shrill with indignation. He kicked at the man’s knees, connecting hard, but getting almost no reaction. Instead the man began to carry him away from Blaine’s station wagon to the nondescript white van he’d barely noted on the way into the bar. Oh god, he was being abducted in the parking lot of a dive gay bar. His dad was never going to let him out of the house again.
 
Kurt screamed, as loud as he possibly could. Even if he didn’t always show it, he could probably rival Rachel in sheer decibels of output at his loudest, and he was willing to scream like a girl if it meant that the bear cub (was that the right term? He was burly and at a gay bar, after all) would stop. He continued to kick at his captor, struggling to make it as hard as possible to move him, but the man didn’t even slow down. The side door of the van slid open, and another man leapt out, grabbing his legs and forcing him to stop kicking. He started thrashing around, instead, and was rewarded by the first man’s grip slipping slightly.
 
“Hey!” someone shouted from the direction of the bar. He could hear people rushing out of the bar. Apparently the combination of shattering glass and his scream had been audible over the dulcet tones of the greatest gay hits of the eighties. Kurt twisted in their grip enough to see. They were too far away to help. The van was right there. He renewed his struggle, desperately squirming.
 
Blaine hit the guy holding his feet hard and unexpectedly, body checking him with enough force to make him stumble, and then aiming an uncoordinated punch at his face. The man dropped Kurt’s feet, but only to grab Blaine by his shoulders and fling him into a nearby car. His head bounced off the car door with a loud bang and then he hit the ground hard and didn’t move.
 
“Blaine!” Kurt screamed in horror. He kicked up hard with his newly freed legs, catching the man who Blaine had attacked in his gut, making him stumble slightly, but the guy who’d pulled him from the car didn’t pause, dragging him the last few feet to the van. There was a third person in the driver’s seat, also wearing a ski mask, turned around in the seat to look at him. The second man grabbed his feet again, and they tossed him in headfirst. The hard impact with the floor of the van knocked his breath away, and he barely registered the men leaping in after him and slamming the door shut.
 
With a sudden jolt and a squeal of tires, the driver peeled away from the bar. Kurt lunged for the door, but midway there an enormous weight slammed on top of him, crushing him facedown to the floor. The heavy man who’d just jumped on him immediately flipped him over and sat on his thighs while his lungs were still spasming from impact, grabbing his hands and pinning them to the floor. Kurt went still at the unexpected position, all of his muscles tensing. He thought he would be ready for sex someday soon. He would never be ready for this.
 
His worst thoughts were confirmed when the second man leaned over him and undid his tie, pulling it off and tossing it to the back of the van compartment. His eyes welled up with tears, and he was begging before he even considered it. “Please, please don’t, I haven’t- please don’t do this to me.” His voice broke on the last syllables, and the tears devolved into full out sobs. He pulled futilely at the grip on his wrists that the man on top of him had only tightened as he continued to struggle. Kurt could feel his bones of his wrists rubbing together at the intense pressure. The other occupants of the van were silent.
 
The man who’d removed his tie pulled at Kurt’s shirt, tearing it open. His wrists were released to get it over his hands, and it was gone in a matter of moments, leaving him in his undershirt. They rolled him onto his side, and the man holding him down spooned up behind him, pinning his lower body down by slinging a leg over his hips and wrapping his arms around his chest and upper arms tightly, crushing Kurt up against him. He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, but they popped back open quickly. He couldn’t stop them, but it would be even worse if anything came as a surprise.
 
Instead of going for Kurt’s pants, like he expected, the other man reached into the passenger seat of the van and came back holding a small box that looked like it had once held a necklace. The man holding him reached Kurt’s body and grabbed the wrist of the arm he wasn’t lying on. He kept a firm grip on Kurt’s body with the arm he had cast over Kurt’s torso, and Kurt’s bare arm was completely immobilized by the bruising grip on either end.
 
Kurt stopped begging. They wouldn’t respond, and his voice was getting raspy from having to shout in the bar all night being quickly followed by an abduction. He couldn’t control his tears, but he was doing a decent job of calming his breathing so he wouldn’t hyperventilate right up until the other man turned around again and revealed what had been in the box. He held a full syringe in his hand and as he leaned in towards him Kurt panicked all over again but had nowhere left to go. The man rubbed at the crook of his elbow, locating a vein and in one smooth motion slipped the needle tip into Kurt’s arm and depressed the plunger.
 
Kurt screamed in frustration as he tried to break the tight grip that he was held in. He kicked his legs ineffectually, aware of his movements slowing as whatever he had just been given took effect. His thoughts clouded and slipped away, and he slowly relaxed in the man’s hold involuntarily. His face felt numb, and his arms and legs were a weird combination of feeling like they were too heavy to move and like they were floating away at the same time. He blinked, and suddenly he was on his back, looking up at the van ceiling. Then his vision was obscured as one of them blindfolded him with a cloth, and it felt like the van was stopping, and a voice in his head whispered that he should be afraid of what would come after the van but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he lost consciousness.


****

 
Sue turned the lights of the van off as she approached her house. The last thing she needed was for the neighbours to notice something, particularly English Bulldog, whose suspicious glares since his dog had “mysteriously” vanished and returned were a good ego boost but not so conducive to covert activities. His front porch light was off, as always, and Sue had long since had most of the streetlamps removed. She required the cover of darkness for many things, not just kidnappings.
 
She stepped out of the driver’s seat, and went around to the side door as Andre eased it quietly open. At least Porcelain had finally stopped his whining, and it was easy to sling him around her shoulders now that he wasn’t resisting. Sue pulled off her ski mask, tossing it into the back of the van. Otto slid around into the driver’s seat, and the two of them left to stash the van back in her storage facility, where she kept all of her evidence, and overflow trophies, since the glee club had continually refused to fail and give her the extra room she deserved for them.
 
Sue walked the thirty feet to her kitchen door casually, Kurt hanging limply over her shoulders, his arms swaying with every step. She had left the lights on and the doors unlocked to give the illusion that she’d been there all night, and she only banged Kurt’s head against the door frame twice as she squeezed inside. She slowly and carefully navigated the stairs to the basement, because while she personally would not be hurt by falling down the stairs thanks to her enormous repertoire of martial arts training and willpower, she was willing to make allowances for Kurt not being resilient enough to survive a fall down the stairs while unconscious intact.
 
Her housekeeper, Imelda, was under strict orders to stay out of the basement, and so the blanket she’d left for the dog was still there. She dropped Kurt onto it, and then removed his ridiculous boots and cuffed his ankle to an exposed stud on the wall, slipping a padlock onto it so he would be unable to remove it. The basement was partially finished, but Sue had gotten bored of blackmailing people into working on it, so everything except the bathroom and a tiny bedroom was cement floors and walls with uncovered studs. The basement was not as impeccable in appearance as the rest of the house, but its dreariness made it very psychologically useful. Many had been the day when she had dreamed of locking Will Schuester down here to teach him a lesson, but she had never gone through with it, always remembering how irritating it would be to have him so close to her. She would have broken out in a rash within days.
 
She had made significant changes to her live storage technique since she’d had Rover or Sport or whatever that dog’s name had been down here. For one thing, humans had opposable thumbs and the power of speech, so she would have to restrain him better than the dog to prevent him from escaping and take steps to hide her identity if she didn’t want him to blab as soon as the election was over and she let him go.
 
She located her ‘special’ trunk underneath some boxes of Jeannie’s things and dragged it out, popping the lid and revealing the assorted bondage clothing and toys. Kurt’s lanky teenage frame was a bit smaller than the men she usually had in her basement, but most of her stash was adjustable and would work very well for her purposes. She pulled out the hood, one of her personal favourites. It had been one of Rod Remington’s personal favourites too, until that cad had cheated on her. She held it up, examining it for wear in the leather before tossing it in Kurt’s general direction.
 
Sue dug through until she found the bar of wax, holding it up in triumph when she did. One of the easiest ways to give her identity away would be her voice. Porcelain knew her too well. It would be a simple matter to plug up his ears and would save her a lot of effort in keeping quiet around him.
 
She went back upstairs and threw a chunk of wax in a saucepan to melt. Out of idle curiosity, she flicked on the radio, just in time to hear “-Seventeen year old male, Caucasian, brown hair, blue eyes, 5’11, 145 lbs. Abductors believed to be three adult males driving a white panel van, no licence plate. Please call 911 if you have any information. This has been an Amber Alert.
 
Sue frowned slightly. That was faster than she’d thought. Otto was fairly practised at avoiding law enforcement from his experience with the Russian mob though, so she wasn’t terribly worried that they would be caught. She poked at the wax with a practised hand, then retrieved a cotton ball and turned off the stove. Kurt hadn’t moved when she returned, and she tore the cotton ball in half, turning his head to the side and stuffing the smaller half into his ear. She then poured the rapidly cooling wax over it, filling his ear and plugging it securely. Turning his head to the other side, she repeated the process. Through it all, he failed to react, his breathing shallow but steady.
 
Sue pulled off the temporary blindfold. Kurt’s half-lidded eyes stared up at her in accusation, glittering with unshed tears in the dim light. Sue jerked away at the unexpected sight, but quickly realized that his eyes were vacant and unseeing; Kurt was very thoroughly unconscious from the carefully measured dose of muscle relaxants.
 
Sue slipped the leather hood over his head. It would double as a blindfold and muzzle, to hide her identity and prevent him from getting too loud. It would also save her from looking at his big sad eyes, all the kids in that damn club seemed to have them and Sue didn’t want to admit it, but they were effective tools of persuasion.
 
She laced the hood up at the back of Kurt’s head, pulling it tight around his eyes, then took the long wrap segment and began looping it around his head, pulling it under his jaw to keep his mouth shut and covering the laces. The very end of it was designed as a flap to cover his mouth, and she considered leaving it unfastened before she remembered that he would probably wake up loud and weepy and wrapped it tightly over his mouth, leaving only his nose and part of his cheeks exposed. The hood was impossible to remove without outside assistance, and Sue felt confident that she had covered all her bases in protecting her identity and preventing any escape attempts.
 
Sue rolled Kurt onto his side to prevent him from choking to death on his own saliva, and then she left the basement to get on with the rest of her night, shutting off the lights and locking the door behind her.

 
Sue enjoyed a leisurely few hours of plotting out various ways to protest her innocence, and then went to bed almost happy, riding on the feelings of accomplishment and self-confidence that she’d been missing since she’d lost Nationals.