AN: Okay, this is rather insane. A while back, I was looking over some Tumblr posts written by fans of Dave Karofsky, complaining about the, uh, statement by Brad Falchuk, and about how the character had been forgotten by both writers and characters in general. Somehow, even after all the other times I've read posts like that since late season 2, that brought up this idea out of thin air.

I have no idea when I'm going to continue this; I have two other WIPs on my plate right now (apologies to the readers of those; I am making progress). Thus, updates to this may be... slow, at best, for the foreseeable future. However, I figured out the source of the story's crisis, and I'm kinda pleased at what I came up with. So I think I'll probably finish this. Eventually. It just might be pretty slow. You have been warned. Either way, I felt like I needed to at least get started to "force" me to see it through sometime.

Oh, and you are also warned: while I will do my best to not draw any heavy-handed parallels between these fictional and certain RL events mentioned above, I can't guarantee that none will slip by. :)

Blaine knew it was shaping up to be a bad day when he was actually relieved to wake up with the dull, throbbing ache in his skull. At least it wasn't the full-blown close-to-tears agony he'd experienced the day previous. He still had no idea where the migraine had come from - dehydration? Stress over his junior year at a new school? The emotional roller coaster he'd been sharing with Kurt over his efforts to get into NYADA? Whatever it was, it had apparently subsided into something at least tolerable. He counted himself lucky he'd even been able to get to sleep the night before.

By the time he was washed and dressed and breakfasted, he was feeling a hundred times better. The contrast between yesterday and today alone was enough to make him feel like a million dollars. He strode into McKinley with confidence and a wide smile. Kurt was standing near his locker, retrieving his books for his first class (French, followed by World History, then by Chemistry... he, of course, had it all memorized). There were still wisps of tension in his face, which was understandable, given everything he'd gone through already for NYADA. And it still wasn't over - the toughest part was yet to come. Though Kurt tried to hide it, Blaine could tell the stress was taking its toll.

Well, anything he could to do take Kurt's mind off the suspense, if even for a little while, he'd do. That's what boyfriends - what friends - were for.

Indeed, as he approached, the way Kurt's face lit up when their eyes met sent warmth through his chest. They shared a gentle kiss.

"Good morning," Kurt purred. "How's your head?"

"Much better, thanks." He rubbed Kurt's arm. "What about you? How're you doing?"

"Holding up. Classes are keeping me busy. I have to study for exams, and then there's still..." He shook his head, sighing.

"I know, I know... C'mon, Kurt, think positive. They'd be fools not to accept you."

His boyfriend smiled wanly. "Thanks. But you have to admit you're biased. All that matters is what they think." He sighed again. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm good enough..."

Blaine shook his head with a smile. "You underestimate how talented you are, Kurt. And not only are you a great performer, you're a great person, too. You're smart, funny, brave..."

"Stop that!" Kurt said with a laugh. "You're making me blush!"

"And you're the most compassionate person I know. What you've done for Karofsky is far beyond anything I would've ever done..."

"Who?"

Blaine looked up with a smile, about to say something like "yeah, there are times when I'd rather forget about him too," but stopped cold. The look on Kurt's face... it was genuine puzzlement. He honestly didn't seem to recognize the name. Had he pronounced it wrong? That was impossible; he'd certainly said it, and heard it from Kurt, enough times over the past year.

"Karofsky," he said carefully, just in case. "Dave Karofsky."

"I... still don't know who that is."

"Come on, Kurt, quit joking around," he said with a laugh that struck even his ears as a little too nervous, a little too high pitched. His heart was beginning to pound.

"I'm not, Blaine. Was he a Warbler? Because I don't recall the..."

"David Karofsky, Kurt! The boy who drove you out of McKinley!"

"That was Azimio Adams. Are you sure you're okay, Blaine? Maybe your headache..."

"No!" Blaine cried. Kurt flinched, but he didn't even notice. His head was starting to ache again, only with a very different feeling. This was more like pressure, as though the air had become unbearably heavy, and was starting to press - to crush - his skull flat. "David Karofsky! He tried to kill himself last month..."

"That's terrible! If he's a friend of yours, we should visit..."

"He was prom king last year!"

"Finn was prom king, Blaine. Are you sure..."

"Yes!" His scream drew a few curious glances from passing students. "He...!" His voice dropped to a hiss. "He kissed you, Kurt! Your first kiss with a boy! How could you possibly forget that?"

"Blaine..." Kurt's brow was furrowed in worry. He gently touched Blaine's cheek. "You were my first kiss. I've told you that over and over. Look, maybe you should lie down... Why don't I take you to the nurse, and..."

"Hey, guys, what's going on?"

"Finn!" Blaine cried, his hand darting out and latching onto Finn's arm with a speed that startled both the other boys. "Thank God! Finn, you remember David Karofsky, right?"

"Who?"

The pressure felt like it was bulging the eyes out of Blaine's head. "He was on the football team with you!"

"Dude, I don't remember anyone with that name on the team..."

"What about all the times he harassed Kurt..."

"What?!" Finn whirled around to his stepbrother. "I thought you said you'd tell us if you had trouble with anyone else!"

"I know! And I meant it! I have no idea who Blaine is talking about!"

Blaine felt himself choking on nothing; it was as though his throat was closing on its own. He looked to Kurt - his concern, with a tinge of fear - to Finn - his utter confusion - and the conclusion was inescapable. "You really don't have any idea... do you?"

"Blaine..." Kurt's voice was gentle, coaxing. "You had a rough day yesterday. Why don't you take it easy? I can drive you home and..."

"No!" Kurt recoiled at the force of the word; Blaine almost did so himself. But he knew - he knew, down to his very bones - that the last thing he wanted to do was take it easy. In the next instant, he found himself barreling down the hallway, shoving people out of his way by his stride alone.

"Blaine!" He heard Kurt, he really did - but it was from a distance, as though he were shouting from across a vast field. Easy to ignore.

Blaine did the only thing he could do - the only thing his mind would allow him to do.

He ran.

Once seated at the Lima Bean (he had no idea how he managed to give his order to the barista in the state his mind was in - it must've been automatic somehow), Blaine began to calm down, and started to think rationally again. Or at least as rationally as he could in this insane situation.

Could Kurt and Finn have been lying? Could he be the butt of some kind of massive practical joke? No - they had no reason to do something so cruel to him. Besides, what would be the point of using Karofsky as the center of the gag? Furthermore, he went to his phone (the same phone Kurt had called and texted at least five times since he left school; Blaine couldn't bear to read, let alone answer) and looked online for any sign of Dave Karofsky, knowing there were mentions of him out there - as a member of the championship McKinley Titan football team, as the victim of harassment that drove him to attempt suicide, on Facebook, for God's sake; how could anyone escape the tentacles of Facebook?

He found nothing.

Could it be him? Could he, Blaine Anderson, be the crazy one here? Had he somehow dreamed or made up this guy in the haze of his migraine? No - that would be even more insane than the apparent situation. He knew Dave Karofsky existed. The confrontation at McKinley, the threats that drove Kurt to Dalton, the prom, the suicide attempt - he remembered. It was almost startling, realizing the impact the guy had had on his life, even indirectly.

And... that was it. The two most rational explanations he could think of, and he'd firmly dismissed them both.

He had to figure this out. He had to know. Karofsky still wasn't his favorite person, but this wasn't about just him... This was about Blaine Anderson too, if only for the memories he still held, as clear as an IMAX film in his head.

He went back to his phone, and reduced his Google search to the terms "Karofsky Lima Ohio." Several results for a Paul Karofsky popped up, usually in the context of law. Paul... He was pretty sure Kurt had mentioned that as Dave's father's name once... He thought. He hoped. It was about the only lead he had. He looked over the entries more closely. One - thank God for online carelessness - was a directory listing showing his address.

Blaine was halfway expecting the house to be empty and abandoned - or worse, a vacant lot - by the time he arrived. But no, it was a perfectly normal looking multistory suburban house. Taking a deep breath, Blaine walked up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Nothing. He pushed again and waited. Still nothing.

He frowned. Mr. Karofsky would obviously be at work, but he'd heard David was being homeschooled or something of that sort. If he weren't there...

God, what if...?

"Hi, can I help...?" Blaine whirled. A beefy teenager was jogging up the walk, dressed in a McKinley football t-shirt and shorts, his face streaked with dried sweat. "Anderson?"

"Karofsky!" He leaped forward, ready to hug the guy, despite their history and his sweaty state. Only Dave's panicked look and jump back stopped him. "Thank God! You're actually here! I mean... you exist! You..."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down! What the fuck is the matter? You look like you just went ten rounds with Beiste."

"It's..." Blaine ran his fingers through his hair. "It's crazy... I don't know what's going on..."

"Hey." Blaine looked up. To his surprise, Karofsky actually looked concerned. He wondered if he was acting that irrationally. Even if so, it was certainly more than Blaine had expected from him, for a multitude of reasons. He would've pondered the meaning of that more if he hadn't been in such a state. "You okay?"

"I..." Blaine let out a breath. "No. I... am definitely not okay."

"Why don't you come on in?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I should do that."

The two entered the house. Dave beckoned Blaine up the stairs. At the end of the hall was a second short flight; Dave jogged up them and opened the door at the top of that. Even from his angle, Blaine could see the blue wallpaper, the desk, a sliver of a bed... Dave's room. Is that where he...? Again, Blaine had to actively shake the thought out of his head.

"I'm just gonna change clothes. Be out in a sec."

As the door shut behind him, Blaine slumped against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor. Exhaustion flooded through his bones, and some semblance of rationality was starting to return. What could he possibly tell Karofsky now? He'd sound just as insane to Karofsky as he must have to Kurt and Finn - perhaps even more so, since it was clear to them both that Karofsky was there and existed.

Maybe if he brought Karofsky down to McKinley, showed him to Kurt and Finn... But no. Blaine had a cold suspicion of how they'd react. He could almost hear Kurt's voice say, "I'm sorry, Blaine, I've never seen this person before in my life."

Blaine nearly literally jumped when the door flew open again. Karofsky emerged dressed in normal street clothes, wiping his face off with a towel. He tossed the towel over his shoulder into his room (Blaine couldn't help but frown at that a little) and shut the door. "Okay, mind telling me what this is all about?"

Blaine took a deep breath; he still hadn't decided how to say... whatever the hell it was that he was going to say. "This is going to sound crazy..."

"Dude, no offense, but I don't think anything you can say will sound as crazy as the way you're acting right now. I mean, the fact that you're even talking to me..."

He had a point. Maybe if he just said it, before he lost his nerve, it would at least be out there, and he could deal with Karofsky's reaction as it came. "All right... It's like this... Y-you..."

That, of course, was the moment they heard the front door creak open downstairs. A set of heavy footsteps clopped into the house. Dave turned, his attention now totally off Blaine, whose mouth was still hanging open, still ready to say the words, "don't seem to exist."

"Huh, that must be Dad. He's home early. Up here, Dad!" He raised his voice to a bellow for the last sentence, in a roar that nearly knocked Blaine backwards.

"Jack? That you?" The footsteps and new voice were getting closer; they were coming up the stairs. "What are you doing home?"

"No, Dad, it's Dave. I just got in from my jog, and..."

It was only then that Blaine's mind snapped out of his stupor, and the fear crept back in again. Oh, God... What if...?

A man came into view, tall and burly, with a beard and mustache shot through with white. He wore business attire and a curious look on his face. "Dave...?" He stopped dead still at the sight of the two. Blaine's stomach did flip-flops as the curious look turned swiftly into one of anger. "Who the hell are you two? What are you doing in my house?"

"Dad...?" The look on Karofsky's face was still neutral, despite the puzzled tone in his voice; it was as though his mind hadn't yet fully processed the words just spoken to him. Blaine couldn't blame him for that either.

"Why are you calling me that? You're not my son!" The anger was now melting away, being replaced by something even more awful: fear. Blaine tried to look at it from Paul Karofsky's new point of view: two young men, one just as large as he, broke into his house, with him all alone and apparently (thankfully) unarmed... Terrible crimes have started with much less. "Look... I don't want any trouble. Just... just take whatever you want and go."

"Dad, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I have money." Paul Karofsky took his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it at Blaine's feet. "We have some silver downstairs. There doesn't have to be any trouble."

"Dad, stop kidding around. It's me. David."

"I... I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Paul said gently. It was getting clear to Blaine that he thought that they were high on some kind of drugs and probably unstable, breaking into his home for money for another fix. "I'm not your father, young man. I only have one son, and he's away at college in California."

"Th-this is nuts!" Karofsky burst out, a sentiment that Blaine completely agreed with. "I'm your son! Dave! I live here!" He grabbed the knob to the door behind him. "This is my bedroom!" He shoved the door open with much more force than was necessary. "Look, I-!" Then he turned, and all the color drained from his face. From the way Blaine's knees felt, his must have done the same.

The room - the same room that Blaine himself had seen painted and furnished just minutes before - was now... just an attic. Bare walls, sheet-covered boxes. Dusty. Cobwebbed. Unlived in.

"What the hell...?" Karofsky's voice was low, whispered, hoarse.

"I won't call the police," Paul continued. "Just... just think about this. Don't do anything you'll regret. Look." He began to back away, into the open door of a bathroom. "I won't get in your way."

"Dad...?" The same hoarse voice.

"We should go," Blaine said, his shaking hand grabbing Karofsky's arm.

He shook the grip off. "Fuck that! This is my house!" He turned to his father pleadingly. "Dad...!"

"We need to go," Blaine repeated.

"Listen to your friend," Paul said in a voice that sounded much like the one Blaine would use in confronting a strange, snarling stray dog on the street. "Take my wallet. There's fifty dollars in there, and..."

"Dad!" The word was a shriek, and Blaine was almost startled to see Karofsky's eyes starting to water. "Dad, please...!"

Blaine knew an opportunity when he saw one. He grabbed Karofsky's arm again and propelled him towards the stairs. The larger teen could easily have resisted (Blaine still sometimes wondered what would've happened had he and Karofsky come to blows either on that McKinley staircase or in the halls before the Night of Neglect - sure, he boxed, but the size and strength difference was not insignificant), but rarity of rarities, there was no strength in Dave Karofsky at the moment. It was as though he'd shrunk two sizes just in the past minute. As Blaine forcefully guided Karofsky towards the front door, he vaguely heard the muffled voice of Paul Karofsky above them, saying something along the lines of "report a break-in."

Then they were out in the sunshine. Then they were in Blaine's car, somehow; Blaine couldn't remember getting in - hell, he wasn't even sure if he had the mental dexterity to use keys. Then they were driving. Somewhere. Blaine didn't know where. Just... away. Away from that house. Away from the disappearing room and the lack of recognition.

When Blaine came back to himself, he found himself in the parking lot of a small park where he and Kurt sometimes met up for walks. He killed the engine and turned towards the passenger seat. Karofsky was sitting there (unbuckled, the back of his mind noted - the rest of his mind ignored this), staring out the windshield, his eyes glassy. Blaine had to squint, and listen hard, to tell that the other teen was even breathing.

For a long minute, Karofsky stared - at what? Nothing, probably. Blaine watched. Then, out of nowhere, a loud sob wrenched out of Karofsky's chest. Blaine had no doubt it wasn't born of any particular thought or emotion: just the overwhelming rush of confusion and terror that had to be expressed somehow, lest it explode (Blaine had more experience with that kind of thing than he cared to admit, even to himself).

Karofsky buried his face in his hands, his weeping low and muffled. Blaine reached out; his hand trembled, then pulled back a little. Finally, it fell upon Karofsky's shoulder, tightening into a firm grip. Karofsky didn't seem to feel it, but then, he didn't have to. It was as much for Blaine as it was for him.

After all, it reminded them both that Dave Karofsky was actually real.

Worth continuing? As I said, I like the origin I came up with, but there's lots to do between there and here!

PS: Brad Falchuk apparently assumes that fanon makes satisfactory endings. He needs to be corrected.