Suffice to say, I own neither Glee, nor Kurt, nor Karofsky. Please feed the habit of a review junkie and give my review list some lovin'. Enjoy!

It wasn't his usual thing, to be out here, wandering around nature. It definitely wasn't his thing to be walking through the less well-used parking area that was the back entrance to the wildlife reserve. But, he'd needed to think a few things through, and here, at least, he wasn't likely to run into his old friends from McKinley High, or his new ones from Dalton Academy. He wasn't likely to run into anyone, which was why he'd chosen this spot to come, to think.

Except that there was someone here. Kurt groaned to himself. A pickup was parked right smack across the trailhead. How rude. Doesn't he know other people want to walk here? Maybe I can just sneak around him, the glee-clubber thought. He approached the truck from behind, opting to swing around the passenger side, some vestige of caution touching him. If the driver was there, he didn't want to be seen. He couldn't stop himself from glancing inside, though, and what he saw stunned him.

Karofsky! Kurt flinched automatically, turtling in on himself, sick dread curdling his stomach in anticipation of the other boy's taunts. He'd gotten him expelled, after all. He was the only person in the world who knew his secret. In this lonely place… who would know if Karofsky decided to take some sort of physical retaliation? Followed through on his threat to kill him? It would be days before they'd even find his body. Kurt suddenly wished that he'd let someone know where he was coming – his father, Blaine, Finn, someone.

But there was nothing. Maybe Karofsky hadn't seen him? Kurt could only hope. He scuttled down the trail, wanting to get out of sight as fast as possible. Hopefully, by the time he left, the jock would be gone.

Once past the first bend, his pace slowed. Things had been…different, since he'd started going to Dalton. He had to admit, he loved it. It was wonderful, to walk down a hallway and not be scared out of his wits every time he turned a corner, though he still jumped whenever a locker was slammed close by. There were other gay boys at the school, and they'd welcomed him into their group with open arms. It felt – right, he felt right. Accepted, for the first time, by his peers. Sure, the New Directions kids had been supportive, tolerant – and how he hated that word. You don't 'tolerate' your friends, you accept them. You 'tolerate' a puppy that's just peed on the carpet, because he's young and just doesn't know better. You 'tolerate' the annoying kid, because you just don't want to have to be the bad guy who steps up and tells him to shut up. Kurt hated to be 'tolerated.' He wanted for his differences to not matter. Like at Dalton.

And Blaine. As long as he was counting his blessings, he had to put Blaine at the top of his list. They weren't 'dating,' officially. Kurt wasn't sure exactly where they stood, relationship-wise. He'd never done this before – does a couple of times going to dinner or a play count as being on dates? If they were dates, did that mean they were dating? And if they were dating, did that make Blaine his boyfriend? He wanted so badly to talk to someone about it, but who did he know? Finn? Kurt made a face. His new step-brother would probably go all interestingly pale and back out of the room, mumbling about football practice if Kurt even tried to broach the subject. His father? He ruled that out right away. Boyfriend issues wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Burt. As supportive as his father was, he was still his father. He suddenly got why none of the other teenagers wanted to discuss things as close to the heart as relationships with their parents. It was too awkward. Carol was out for the same reason, though Kurt figured he could keep her name on the reserve list. She was cool. She might have the advice he needed. Maybe Mercedes? But he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to any of the New Directions kids, because of the other thing he'd come out here to think about.

Thanks to Blaine's rousing endorsement, the Warblers were more than happy to accept Kurt into their ranks, especially once he auditioned for them. They were thrilled to get a new tenor, particularly one who could hit the truly high notes. They'd immediately started to teach him their songs and choreography, and Kurt had had his first impromptu show – complete with his own solo – earlier that week. It had gone off resoundingly well, and he was shaping up to be one of the most popular students at the Academy, which was heady stuff for the former loser. To be slapped on the back, congratulated, basking in the adulations of his peers… Kurt had to keep pinching himself to prove it was real.

No, what really bothered him was, again, Blaine. He seemed to think that Kurt's loyalty to his new school and new glee club ought to be total and unquestioning. In short… he'd essentially asked Kurt to rat out the New Directions, to reveal their songs, their moves, the way they thought, their strengths, weaknesses, everything about them. So far, his inquiries had been oblique enough that Kurt had been able to duck them, but Blaine was getting more and more pointed, even going so far as to suggest that since Kurt shared a house with 'the competition,' that Kurt ought to know far more than he was letting on.

It made his heart sink. He loved being popular. He loved his new group. He really, really liked Blaine. But how could he hurt his friends like that? And they were his friends, all of them. Even Sam, and he hadn't even known Kurt for all that long. Even prissy Rachel – despite her self-centered attitude and diva nature, she had been the one to galvanize the guys in their defense of him. He couldn't – he wouldn't – betray them.

But what would Blaine say?

The light was starting to fade as Kurt made his way back the way he had come, mud on his shoes and still just as much confusion in his head. The pickup was still there, still parked in the same place. Kurt glanced at the woods, looked at his clothes, and immediately discarded any notion he might have had about crashing through the trees so as to avoid being seen. Instead, he squared his shoulders. He was Kurt Hummel. He was well-liked, for who he was. He was popular. And Karofsky – Karofsky was just a pathetic little boy hiding in the closet. Heck, he was so far in the closet, he was in the garage. Kurt was stronger than him, braver than him. He'd done something that totally scared the shit out of little Davey. He'd owned up to who he really was.

He kept walking.

But… he passed on the passenger side. Pride was all well and good, but there was no sense in being stupid, after all.

He couldn't stop himself from glancing in at his old enemy, though. Just a peek.

And then a double-take.

"Karofsky!" He dashed around to the other side of the car, hauling open the door. Dave's eyes were shut. His face was pale. Only the slight up-and-down motion of his chest revealed that he was still breathing, still alive.

Blood coated the steering wheel, puddled in his lap, flowed over the cloth seat, dripped off the tip of the knife that Dave still held loosely in one hand. Kurt snatched up his other wrist, the blood that was welling out of the slashes there sliding down his arm to drip wetly off of his elbow, like some obscene parody of tears.

"Shit!" Kurt peeled off his shirt, not caring that it was designer at that moment, only knowing that it was absorbent and that he had to stop the bleeding. Wrapping the makeshift bandage around Karofsky's wrist and squeezing tight, he fished in his pocket for his cell phone, pressing 911 more by instinct than by design. He'd talked to the dispatcher and been assured that an ambulance was on the way before his brain caught up with the rest of him and screamed, 'This guy hates you! What are you doing, trying to save his life?'

Kurt ignored the voice, holding Karofsky's arm up, above his head. It looked like the jock had only bothered to slash the one wrist, which Kurt was grateful for. He didn't want to sacrifice a second article of clothing to the idiot's suicide attempt. Though in all likelihood, his pants would never be the same, smeared as they were by the dripping crimson. Catching sight of the hunting knife, Kurt took it gingerly between his fingertips. Dave's nerveless fingers gave it up easily enough and Kurt tossed it over into the passenger-side wheel well. He didn't think Karofsky was likely to wake up any time soon, but he wasn't taking any chances with a mentally disturbed individual with a grudge and a knife.

Wonder of wonders. No sooner had Kurt chucked the knife than Karofsky stirred, weakly. "…huh? Wha…"

"Easy there, big guy," Kurt said, taking a firmer grip on Dave's arm. "Paramedics are on their way."

This didn't seem to register with the bigger fellow. He mumbled incoherently, trying to pull his hand down, but Kurt was firm. "None of that. Hand up until they get here – it's supposed to stop the bleeding."

"Wan' bleed…" Karofsky muttered. "Wan' die… don' wanna live… too hard…" His eyes focused blearily on Kurt's. "How kin yuh be hap'y, huh? Hate yuh cuz yer 'appy…" Sirens in the distance. Karofsky tried to shove Kurt away, his other hand patting around weakly for his knife, but he'd lost too much blood, and even a kid as skinny as Kurt had no problem holding him still. He passed out again just as the EMT's were arriving.

~~~~glee~~~~

Kurt didn't tell his dad where he was going. He just went.

He had to do some fast talking at the door to the mental ward, to get them to let him in. It wasn't easy, but eventually, he found himself sitting across a table from Karofsky on the locked ward. It wasn't an ideal situation; the nurses could see everything from their station, but since the station itself was closed off from the ward by solid panes of sound-proof plexi-glass, he figured it would do.

His gaze fell on the thick bandages still wrapped around Dave's wrist. The white was a stark contrast to his tanned skin, though his overall color was vastly improved from the last time Kurt had seen him, pale as a ghost in his hospital bed. Dave's father had chased Kurt away that time, accusing him of making his son miserable enough to attempt suicide. Kurt had bitten back his reply and left.

He reached out and touched the bandage. Dave flinched, but then relaxed, allowing the touch. "They tell me you're the one that saved my life," he said. "I don't know whether to thank you or hate you."

Kurt shrugged. "Bit of both?" he suggested. Neither of them knew what to say to that, and silence reigned for a short while.

"Why'd you do it, Karofsky?" Kurt finally asked the question that had been burning in his mind for almost a week.

The jock snorted. "You mean, why'd I slash or why'd I stop?" Kurt just looked at him, and the bravado faded. "You. Me. Kinda hard to explain."

"Try me." Kurt dared him. A part of him that was watching from the outside winced, expecting such an impertinent answer to result in a slug, and Karofsky's hand did twitch a bit.

But it settled, and Dave leaned back, sighing. "How the hell can you be so happy all the time, Kurt?"

"Happy?" Up until a couple of weeks ago, that had been a foreign concept. "You had me so freaking terrified I was a nervous wreck."

Dave snorted again, this time in self-derision. "Why do you think I was beating on you? You were happy, and you were – are – gay."

"And you think that just because you're gay and you aren't happy the rest of us shouldn't be either?" Kurt's voice went shrill; Dave's terrified glance at the nurse's station made him drop his voice again. "Karofsky, that's no excuse!"

The other boy was shaking his head, ignoring him. "I thought, with you miserable, I wouldn't – wouldn't envy you, so much. Wouldn't want to…"

"To what?" Kurt was morbidly curious, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Dave's voice dropped to a whisper, and said the last thing that Kurt ever expected.

"To be you.

"I went to that spot because I knew no one went there. I… I cut my left wrist. I was going to cut again, cut my right, bleed out, get it all over with when… You came by. I saw you walk past. I tried – I wanted to cut myself again, but I couldn't. I just… I sat there. Let it bleed. Thought… it fit. Circle of my life, and all of that. Only it wasn't the end. And you're back here again. I thought… when I was expelled, I wouldn't have to see you. My life was saved. Then I got sent back, and I wanted to see you again. Only you weren't there. And you were so freaking happy. Still. And… and you kept my secret. Why? You could have outed me, to everyone. To my father. But you didn't. Why didn't you?" He swallowed, seemed to realize for the first time that he was holding Kurt's hands in a death grip, and released them like they were hot irons. His eyes were haunted. "Sorry," he muttered, turning his eyes to the tabletop. "It's the drugs they're giving me. Make me go all loopy and emotional and stupid."

Kurt cleared his throat. "Yeah. I… I can understand that."

Dave's eyes rose, though he kept his hands firmly in his lap. "So?"

"So…what?"

"Why didn't you? That's the part that bugged me the worst – you had my life, my reputation in your hands, and you didn't. Didn't destroy me. I would have. Every other kid in the school would have. It was the perfect revenge. So why not?"

Kurt just shrugged. "I could say it was because I was afraid of you. That's certainly true enough. But I guess… It wasn't my secret to give away. Isn't. I'm not going to pressure you, Karofsky. It's your secret to keep or tell. I won't be the one to force your hand."

The other boy cleared his throat. "Dave."

"What?"

"Call me Dave. Guy saves my life, it's the least he can do, call me by my first name."

Kurt's mouth twitched. "Dave. Alright." He was about to say more when a nurse appeared by his elbow. "It's time for your therapy session, Dave," she said, nodding over to the other end of the room where the other patients – Kurt tried not to think of them as 'inmates' – were gathering.

The big jock shared a look with his smaller visitor. "Really? And here I thought I was just having one. See you later, Kurt," he said, surprising the other boy by flinging an arm around him in a hug. "Thanks," he muttered, a word meant for Kurt's ears alone. Then he was gone, and Kurt was being buzzed through two sets of locked doors and back into the sunlight.

~~~~~glee~~~~~

"So, Kurt, what've you heard from Finn about the New Directions?" Blaine asked before the next Warblers practice.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Blaine?"

"Yeah?" The lead singer's eyes focused on him, giving him his full attention. Kurt steeled himself for what he was about to say.

"I'm not going to rat them out. So you can stop asking."

Blaine looked taken aback. "What brought this on?" he demanded.

I am who I am. "I won't betray a friend's trust," he said, simply. On any level.