Rating: Teen and up
Warnings: Suicide attempt, Abandond fic, incomplete
AN: Set after Furt, Kurt POV, Dave-centric
AN: I wrote this right after Furt. It was written before my first fic I posted (Billy Brown). I never got around to continuing it and I don't think I ever will. There were so many beautiful stories about the possibility of Dave trying to take his own life and his redemption that I let this fall to the side. I also liked Blaine when I wrote this so Klaine exists. I don't want this to only sit on my computer and never be read so here it is. My little abandoned fic.

"You have absolutely no right to ask me anything." The high frustrated pitch of Kurt rang out over his ears as he pulled the phone back.

"I know I don't. Please Hummel." His voice was small, the panic rising in his soft rumble of a voice.

"Fine. What is it you want?" Kurt was ready to be out of this conversation.

"I was stupid and..."

"As if that's new." Kurt's voice quipped acidicly.

"Dammit Hummel!" His voice shook as he roared. He was having a hard enough time keeping the phone to his ear let alone listen to Kurt's insulting him. "I don't need to hear you insulting me as the last voice I fucking hear!"

"What?"

The man laughed bitterly, the white arm of his letterman turning the same red as the body. "I used a razor. Like every other fucking depressed little high school shit. "

"You... you tried to kill yourself!" Kurt's voice raised to hysterical.

"Wow, sounds like you actually care." He chuckled bitterly. "I'm at school. Not your school anymore I guess. I'm by your locker."

"I'm calling 911."

"Cool. I don't want to die as much as I thought I did."

"You're not going to die Karofsky. You don't get to be that lucky!"

He hung up swiftly, his slender fingers shaking as he dialed the emergency services and then ran to his car. It was 10 pm on a Saturday night. He'd just gotten back from a wonderful night with Mercedes and Rachel where they had caught up on gossip and fashion. He'd picked up the phone assuming it was Blaine. They had established a tradition of talking until one of them fell asleep. He's never expected the unlisted number to be his tormentor and big bad beast of his nightmares.

He plugged in his Bluetooth to his ear and ordered the phone to call Blaine. He needed support, stat!

"Hello lovely." Blaine's perfectly dapper voice came over the line, soothing Kurt's nerves.

"Dave Karofsky tried to kill himself or he might be dead. He called me as his last call."

"Wow. Not your usual Saturday night date." Blaine's quick wit calmed Kurt a step more.

"What's happening?"

"I called the ambulance and I'm driving to him now. "

"Which hospital?"

"I'll call when I know. Will you"

"I'll be there as fast as traffic laws will permit."

"Thank you Blaine." The line went dead as he saw the flashing lights.

Kurt jumped from his beautiful truck, running across the frigid parking lot toward the school entrance. The paramedics were just parked. Kurt ran to them.

"He's this way!"

He ran through the hall, the route one he used to take every day. As he turned that last corner a sight greeted him that he never thought he'd see. The hulking bully was on his ass in front of the locker, his legs curled up to his chest. It was a mirror of the way Kurt had crumpled the first attack after the kiss.

Odd what goes through your head seeing someone hurt. First was that his locker had been vandalized since he left. The ugly homophobic words were staining. The second was that there was something jammed in the grill of his locker. The third was that he didn't remember the WMHS Letterman having an extended red stripe on the inner left jacket seam. His stomach turned over when he realized that was blood.

All of the sounds rushed over him and suddenly Karofsky's body was on a stretcher. The paramedic was talking at him. He heard the siren again and he realized he was under the siren. Under? He glanced around to see the image of the woman in her late 20's hooking Karofsky up to IV and staunching the arm that had changed the Letterman fashion design. Finally the words made sense.

"Karofsky." He finally responded. "His name's Dave Karofsky. I don't know if he's allergic to anything. No I don't have his parent's number"

Blaine had the good sense it seemed to contact Finn. He had the boy's number ever since he first came to pick up Kurt for one of there original out-and-proud bonding diners. The taller man had taken his number and given with a suspicious glare that screamed protective older brother. It had been terribly cute at the time. This time when he called Finn the man had been frantic.

He'd set in motion the workings of getting the mentally unstable boy's family to the hospital. Finn had Karofsky's home number from his time as another football jock whose house was put into the rotation of hang-out spots. Kurt was in the room with sleeping Karofsky.

Kurt knew the color of a near death. Karofsky's skin tone was the same pale grey his father's hand been after the heart attack. The same pale grey that his mother had been before she left him. He watched as the nurses had set him up for a transfusion, had been unwilling and unable to move as they set him into a chair. They'd stop asking him questions, he didn't know any of the answers anyway. He only knew three things about Dave Karofsky. His name, that he was a bully and that he was gay. None but the first bit of info did any good.

When Mr. And Mrs. Karofsky arrived Kurt barely looked at them. Paul Karofsky, his hair grayed and his hands balled into fists to control his emotions nodded to Kurt. It struck Kurt how alike that mannerism was. Both of them men who transfer there emotions into the physical. Once gone Kurt sat himself in the waiting room. For a moment he considered leaving. What more was there to do? He'd just saved a life.

Why did that comfort him? He'd just saved a life. He just saved Dave Karofsky. The bully who had run him from his home and school had called him. Where in the world had he ever gotten his number? Kurt wasn't sure if he was angry at Dave for having it or glad he had been able to call. He'd already stolen his first kiss. He'd attacked Blaine when they tried to reach out to him. He's threatened to kill him and had been harassing and bordering heavily on sexual assault. He'd been forced to leave his friends, his home and his individuality behind.

How dare Karofsky ask him to save his life. He had no right.

He didn't know when he got into his car, but he found himself 30 minutes older, standing in front of his locker at William McKinley High School.

The blood stain was still on the floor. The locker that probably still held the picture of Blaine and the words Courage had sticking out of it a paper wrapped around something. Kurt's long fingers reached out. He undid the rubber band keeping it all together and found within a very familiar little sight. It was a cake topper, a miniature bride and groom that had once sat atop his parent's cake before he was born. It was the one Dave had taken from him.

He cradled the object to his chest, ignoring the crumpling of his right jacket lapel. He held it close, one of the few things of his mother he still had. He'd cried and raged for hours after Dave had taken it. Now it was back to him. Another thing that Dave had taken from him beside his pride, his confidence, and his first kiss.

He's assumed it had been trashed by the bully, or flushed down a toilet or given to a dog as a chew toy. Instead it was the same as when it had left his hand. Dave had kept it. Kurt felt the tears then.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but it seemed an eon before he looked at the paper. Slowly it unfolded, the single middle crease. The page was touched with the jagged firm writing of the boy who had never written him anything.

Dear Hummel,

I'm gay. Two words that feel like a death sentence. Your fucking fault though. Prancing around in your weird outfits like it was okay. You even wore a corset and I swear I've seen you in a skirt like some freak. Guess you messed up some part of my brain and made me think it was alright. I don't though. I know I'm gay but I know it's not alright.
I don't want to be like this. I don't want to come out and you with your boyfriend feel happy that you've managed to help me even though I was a bastard to you. Does it feel good? Would it feel good?

It's not like my parents ever told me not to be gay. They never needed to. I still know that they'd hate it. My mom would put on a brave face like when my grades dropped but I heard her crying in the bathroom. It would be so much worse if I came out. My dad would just look disappointed in me. They'd wonder what they did wrong. That's the tragedy of it all. It's not their fault, It's mine... or yours.

I don't want that but I don't want this either. I don't want to be gay but I am. There's only one thing that would make everything better. Everything would end. Sorry you couldn't get all warm inside by helping me to come out. Just don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to lie but I don't want to tell.

Will you tell everyone that I killed myself because I was gay?

Dave.

P.S. I couldn't give back that scarf I stole. I tried to wash it but only fancy would have a dry clean only scarf.

Kurt read it once and the first thing that entered his mind was shock that Dave Karofsky could write so elegantly. The pain, the fear, the struggle that he'd gone through was all there on the page in clear and masculine cursive. He read it again.

He smiled a bit bitterly at the assumptions Dave had about him. He wasn't attempting to make himself feel good the day he and Blaine had come to Dave and offered support. He didn't want anyone to be alone struggling though realizing they were gay. Kurt had all the support in the world from his Dad and friends without even knowing it and it had been terrifying for him. He couldn't imagine what it was like for a jock.

Kurt glanced down again at that piece of paper. He not had a glimpse into the mind of Dave Karofsky and it was a more complex and tormented then he could have imagined. He ran his hand over it, smoothing the creases that being wrapped over the cake topper had caused. He placed both note and the topper into the front pocket of his shoulder bag. For some reason it only seemed proper that they remain together.

He stepped finally away from the scene of the attempted. Suicide. The note pushed that realization abruptly to the front. Suicide. Tonight, for no other reason then being born gay, a boy had nearly died before he ever finished high-school. Finally Kurt leaned over and voided himself. Of all the moments it was that to make him loose his grip on his stomach.

As he straightened and wiped his lips he spoke to no-one. "Homophobes don't need to kill us, they convince us to kill ourselves."

Kurt came back to the hospital. He left the bag in the car. Somehow he felt more comfortable with it there. Some irrational part of him was sure that if he brought the cake-topper in that Karofsky would take it from him again. He had Karofsky's letter, it was proof.. Of something. Kurt wasn't sure of all the thoughts going through his head, but he knew that those things had to stay with him and stay far from Karofsky.

Kurt wondered why he had no tears. He had been sobbing at the school, but now as the protective arms of Blaine came around him he was dry. He could hear Blaine's words of sympathy, the questions over his health, how he as holding up.

"I'm fine. It's over for now." Kurt's voice was calm, regulated. He wondered where the screaming crying kid had gone.

"Good. He hasn't woken up yet. His father is here." Blaine's words held an undertone of pity for the boy who'd been found bleeding. Blaine could remember when he himself had cone considered such drastic measures.

Blaine had his own demons, ones he'd never opened up to anyone who hadn't been there. Kurt was watching him, the perceptive boy looking a little too deeply at him with those aqua-marine eyes. Blaine smiled perfectly, as he always did. "His father wanted to see you. To thank you I think. You should go in there. To prove he's alive."

Kurt startled at that last bit. Karofsky wasn't dead. His bleeding form, that phone call, the letter wasn't the last he'd ever hear from the boy. He nodded walking toward where Blaine pointed him. He very gently rapped on the door, hearing a soft male voice say enter before he complied.

He was pale.. The stark white of the sheets and the beeping of the machines somehow pales the other boy's cheeks. As Kurt took another step in he realized that was how Dave looked after so much blood-loss. He remembered his father, head shaved, tubes in his nose having taken on the same pale coloring. For a moment he wasn't sure if he was going to run or succumb to the strange rolling in his stomach. A soft strong voice halted both.

"You're the boy that saved my son." It wasn't a question, just a statement.

"I called the ambulance." As if that sentence could answer everything. It was the obvious answer, but not the one Mr. Karofsky wanted.

"How did you..." The man with the gentle but firm voice faltered. " How did you know?"

"He called me. Saying he'd done something stupid. That he needed help."

"You're the boy he'd been bullying. Why you? Why this? He's a good kid. Had been a good kid. His mother and I were sure he was going through a faze, maybe fell in with the wrong crowd who encouraged him to act like that but" The man with heavily graying hair looked over to his son, to the arm that was wrapped in white bandaging. "He tried to kill himself."

Kurt shifted. The pain and confusion over the act on the elder man's face was enough to break his heart. It was so obvious how much he cared for his son. This man who looked like he worked too many hours, who looked alot like Kurt's own father. What would he want someone to do for his dad?

He took ahold of Mr. Karofsky's shoulders and pulled him to a hug. "He's alive. He didn't die. It's going to be alright. He's going to be alright."