A/N: Ooooh boy. So, this is neither my fandom, nor my ship. I loved Glee up until Season 4, when I could no longer ignore the numerous frustrating things, and even when I was 100% on board, I preferred to read about Kurt. Sure, I watched the rest of the series and there were a few things that I still genuinely liked, but for the most part I figured I was done with Glee. And then this idea popped into my head and refused to leave. I've always felt that Karofsky's story line was terribly fumbled, especially given he just disappears after On My Way and returns fully out and confident in season 6, and I've always wanted to see more of his story, so I've spent the past few months writing 36,000+ words of this. It's the longest thing I've ever written.

This story starts immediately after On My Way, and can be considered to be mostly canon compliant, with one minor oops that I had to leave in the story and will point out when we get to it. It is fully completed, but I'm posting each chapter after I've edited it first, so there may be a few days between each update. This story contains content that may be triggering for some readers, including but not limited to repeated slightly graphic references to suicide attempts, panic/anxiety attacks, and frequent self-deprecating thoughts. Speaking of which, this fic is written in third person from Dave's perspective, and his thoughts and opinions on characters and events do not reflect my own.

Sebastian looked infinitely out of place in the doorway of his hospital room. Dave shifted, self-conscious. There was a ribbon of bruises around his throat, and the hospital gown was… not flattering on his hefty shape. Immediately after that thought crossed his mind, he felt stupid for thinking it. Vanity was hardly an issue right now.

"What are you doing here?" His throat ached already, sore from the damage and from the conversation with Kurt not an hour before. His voice creaked out of him like a broken staircase. Broken boy. Kurt could give all the pep talks he wanted, Dave was still so ashamed.

Sebastian's face screwed up, wrinkling around his eyes, like he'd smelled something rancid. "Flowers." He said vaguely, waving the crumpled bouquet in his hands.

"Flowers." Dave repeated, confused.

"It's traditional, isn't it?" Sebastian crossed the room, thrusting the flowers into his lap. "Don't get too excited." He said sharply. "I didn't go hunting down the perfect color or some bullshit. I actually mugged a little old lady for them on the way in here."

Well, they smelled good, anyway. All blues and purples, and if Dave had been just a tiny bit more gay he might have brought them all the way up to his face to take in more of the sweet scent. "Well. Thank you for my illegal flowers. Why are you here?"

Sebastian grabbed a chair and dragged it over, straddling it backwards. Because of course he did, Sebastian couldn't do a damn thing without making it look perfectly indifferent and irreverent, and he still wasn't explaining his presence, just resting his head on his arms and staring. Dave felt like some sort of awful museum exhibit.

"I guess I'm apologizing, or something." Sebastian finally said, once he'd gotten his fill of gawking at Dave's bruises. "Since I guess I put you here."

"I put me here." Dave said, and his voice still shook when he said it, because he had, hadn't he? He'd tried to kill himself, not that he could even do that right, and he was lucky he still had a voice to say it with. "I could dish it out, but I couldn't take it."

Sebastian squirmed a bit in his seat. "Yeah, well I apparently am a little too eager to dish it out myself." He groaned, dropping his head. "Look, I've been told I'm kind of a bitch, and I own that. I've cultivated it. I make insulting people an art form, and I don't really wanna change. But I know… I fucked up with you, okay? And I'm only gonna say this once so listen close. I'm sorry that you got on the wrong side of my complete lack of a filter, and I'm sorry I told you to stay in the closet, and I am sorry that I said you couldn't get a guy. You're a total bear, some people are into that sort of thing."

Dave stared at him for a long moment. "I… Thank you?" He finally rasped out. Sebastian eyed him up, and then nodded.

"Right, ok, that's over with." He stood up, shoving the chair back into the corner. "We collected money in your name, by the way. At our performance. Kurt thought you'd want to know."

And then he left, as out of place as a whirlwind, leaving Dave feeling like he'd missed something.

Dave didn't hear from him again for nearly two months.
_

"Maggie- Maggie will you please just stop and listen- I am not letting you enroll my son in one of those fucked up camps- Then act like his mother!"

Dave closed his door, drowning out the sound of his father's phone call. Oh how he longed for the days of having a lock, but his father had switched the doorknob out while Dave was in the hospital.

He couldn't stand to hear them arguing. His dad had been behind him, much to his shock. It had been his mother, his sweet, soft, wonderful mother, who thought he was sick. She was gone before he came home from the hospital, thrown out by his father. They were filing for divorce. Fighting over him and what 'treatment' he should get. He was 18, old enough to legally make his own decisions, but apparently his mother wanted power of attorney, given his mental state.

It had been almost two months, and his dad still checked on him when he slept. He was being home schooled, working through the last of his senior year with his father and a rotating cast of college-aged tutors. There was only a little over a month left before he had the option of walking across the stage with his former classmates, or just receiving his diploma in the mail. Dave already knew what he was going to pick. His therapist thought it would be good for him to go back to school, but his therapist was a chick, and from his admittedly limited experience, chicks just didn't get it. Most guys in Lima thought Santana and Brittany were the sexiest people around. It was okay for girls, especially hot ones. Not so much for chubby football players with thinning hair and clumsy bodies.

It had been so long, and everyone said Dave was getting better, and maybe it was true. He wasn't afraid to go into his closet anymore. His new Facebook page had about four people on it, one of which was his dad. His throat no longer ached when he spoke, and the raspy quality had fully dropped off after the first week or so.

And yet, he didn't feel any better. He felt kind of like a rock, actually, lifeless and dull. He never left his house anymore, unless he was going to therapy or to the grocery store with his dad. He just sat around, listening to music and staring at the walls, and responding to the occassional joint-email from Hummel and his boyfriend. The more he spoke to them, the more he realized they didn't really have anything in common, and it was probably good that Kurt hadn't taken him up on his offer to date, but Kurt and Blaine both seemed to think it was their duty to make sure he wasn't the sole gay person in his own life. Or sole person, period, as the case may be. Whatever. It was something to do, and someone to talk to, even if it was just vague emails with obscure pop culture references he usually had to Google.

And then something happened. On a Friday night, in the infinite loneliness, in between breaking another model plane he'd been trying to build and counting the cracks in the ceiling for the sixty-seventh time, his phone buzzed with a new text message from an unknown number.

u r missing the hotttest nite out.

Dave stared at it for a second before texting back.

Who is this?

Seb Was the immediate response, followed by Shit, wrong number. Sorry bear cub.

That thought ticked in his mind for a full minute, because Sebastian Smythe could not possibly be texting him.

Are you drunk? Not that Dave should have been surprised. Every gay man in the state knew about Sebastian's Scandals habit.

Fuck yeah its friday why arent U

Because I'm not allowed to leave the house without a chaperone. Dave thought. Instead of admitting to that, he responded Because I'm not 21 and don't have anyone to drink with.

Laaaaammmeeee. Dave didn't dignify that with a response. There were more pressing questions.

How did you get my number?

gayface. blanderson's frigid boytoy.

And then, a few seconds later,

apparently i 'lack a stable inffluence in my life' and he thot we could be frends.

I didn't know you talked to Kurt.

Not if i can help it. but fuck it i dont no anyone else tolerable for longer than a quickie. blanderson and gayface it is

What a wonderful way to talk about your friends.

dont have or need friends, just ppl i can mock and extort coffee from

Dave rolled his eyes.

Goodnight, Sebastian.
_

Dave saved the number, just in case, but he figured that would be the end of it. And it was, for another two weeks. He didn't really have time to think about it, between sorting through college mail and getting a few last minute applications in, for places with late deadlines. He was midway through an essay when his phone buzzed across the desk.

"Hello?"

"Are you being boring again?" Somehow, via some strange magic, Sebastian sounded even more pompous when you couldn't see him smirking. Dave gave his essay a hopeless look; he'd already lost his train of thought.

"Apparently." He said, closing his laptop. "Are you drinking again?"

"Would that surprise you? It's the weekend. I like to have a little fun. You used to have fun."

No, I used to nurse the same beer all night and watch you have fun. "Yeah, well, times changed."

There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of Scandals frankly awful music choices. "I apologized." Sebastian finally said, in that quiet voice drunk people usually got right before they started crying or vomiting.

"You did." Dave said carefully, unsure of how to proceed. "I just… don't get out much anymore. It's not you."

"You should go out with me." Dave's heart skipped because this was Sebastian, and he knows he's not really anybody's type, especially Sebastian's, but it echoed in his head, burrowed into the back of his mind and lived there. He knew better, though, wasn't surprised when Sebastian corrected himself. "Not like a date, j-just out. Come out. Drink. Dance. Let loose a little.

"You're very drunk."

"You're very huge." Sebastian cursed then, a slew of words Dave would never have thought to string together. "Not like fat, like big. I mean like tall. Broad shoulders. Football type, you know the kind. Damn it just say you'll come out with me. Next time. Next Friday."

"You don't have to do that."

Sebastian groaned, loud enough to drown out all the background noise. "As gayface so helpfully pointed out, I kinda do. It'll be fun. First round's on me."

"Fine." Dave surprised himself. He hadn't had any desire to go back to Scandal's and be unwanted, but Sebastian sounded so sincere, and he hadn't actually thought that was physically possible for him. Just once wouldn't kill him.

Dave flinched. Bad train of thought.

"Great! You won't regret it, Killer. See you next week." Sebastian was apparently not one for goodbyes; there was a click, and then silence.

Dave wondered, for a minute, if every encounter with Sebastian was going to leave him feeling like a tornado had just blown through. Then he returned to his essay.
_

"Dad."

Paul Karofsky looked tired. He always looked tired lately. He looked up at Dave, standing with his coat and shoes on, keys in his hands, and stared.

"I'm… I'm going out. I'm meeting with a friend." Paul's face twisted up. Before February, Dave had never seen him lose his composure the way he did all the time now.

"Dave, you haven't left the house-" Been out of my sight. Dave's mind helpfully substituted, "-In weeks."

"Exactly." He fidgeted with his keys, staring at the door. He wished he could just bolt for it. "Don't you think it's time I got out?"

"David it's..." His dad checked his watch, "Eight PM."

"Yeah, but Dad, it's Friday. You used to let me out a lot later than this."

Paul just looked at him. Dave could see the wheels turning, could see him resisting the urge to say 'that was before.' They were supposed to be moving forward instead of dwelling, working towards Dave having a normal, healthy life again.

"Dad…" David Karofsky did not beg. He didn't plead. He hadn't whined since he was nine. But his voice pitched up against his will. He couldn't cancel, not now, not when he was so close to stepping outside of the box he'd trapped himself in.

"You'll call me. Every hour. Or I'll call the cops."

Dave was nodding before he'd even finished. It had to be hard, he figured. It had been hard on him, too, but at least he'd known what was happening, in his head and in his body. His dad didn't have a clue, he had to live with the not knowing, and Dave didn't envy him that. "I promise. I've gotta go, though, I'm gonna be late."

There were eyes on his back as he went through the door. There were always eyes on him, lately. He could feel them, even alone in his car. The eyes came in the form of his phone, which he knew would ring before the hour was even up. They lived over his shoulder, waiting for him to snap the thin line of his life again. And when he got to Scandals, the eyes multiplied, scattered across the bar. Dave tucked himself into a corner booth, nursing his single, solitary beer. He didn't ever want to imagine his Dad's face if, on the first night he left his house, he ended up dead on the side of the road from drunk driving.

"Hey, Killer." Sebastian slid into the seat across from him, all lean limbs and predatory smile. It faltered a bit at the sight of the beer. "Really? Beer? Try some Tequila. Live a little, why don't you?"

"That is in fact, my exact plan for the rest of the night." He gave Sebastian a slightly sour look, cringing a bit in the back of his mind, in the part that still felt leather around his neck.

"I am so not good at this, ladyboy is gonna kill me." Well, at least Sebastian seemed to realize he'd stepped in it. Dave rolled his eyes.

"A word of advice? Reminding me repeatedly of the fact that Hummel put you up to this? Really not helping my night."

"Noted." Sebastian flashed him a smile, not quite as seductive as he was sure to be using on strangers four shots from now, but still predatory. Still a danger that lingered in the pit of Dave's stomach. "So, Killer, you're at least gonna dance, right?"

"Not my name." Dave took a swig of his beer, letting the cold chill douse its way down his throat. Sebastian always made him uncomfortable, the way he moved, the way he spoke. He got to people. He got under their skin. It was something he was proud of. "And I don't dance."

"Then how do you expect to have any fun?" Sebastian leaned across the table, grin quirking up just a bit more at the corners. The truth was that Dave didn't expect that at all. He was there because Sebastian had asked him, because Kurt had thought it was a good idea, because he was bored, because his therapist thought he was lonely. He was there out of obligation. He was there to pretend things were normal.

Sebastian apparently grew tired of waiting for an answer, standing and tugging at Dave's wrists. "Come on. I'm devoting my entire evening to you, don't make it a waste of my time."

"Have you seen me?" Dave blurted out as he was dragged to his feet. "I'm not the dancing type. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Well, then it's a good thing you have me, isn't it?"

"Sebastian I am not dancing."

"You are definitely dancing."

It took ten minutes of wheedling and arguing, but somehow, Dave found himself dead center in the middle of the dance floor (because of course, Sebastian couldn't resist the temptation to have everyone's eyes on him), awkwardly swaying while Sebastian moved. He was slim where Dave… wasn't. Flexible in ways that had never occurred to Dave. He rocked and moved and twisted until all the eyes that followed Dave had turned to him instead. And he didn't settle for that.

"Come on, Davey-boy, you have to move. This is why you should drink more." Easy for Sebastian to say, when he always had a designated driver just a phone call away.

"Not all of us have big brother to come dig us out of messes." Sebastian rolled his eyes, and then suddenly he was right there, in Dave's space, chest to chest, and his hands were pressed against Dave's hips, and everything had gotten very narrow and small. The last time he'd been this close to a guy… Well, his therapist had helpfully informed him that the next time he kissed someone, he should make sure they actually wanted him to. And that was it, the only time. It didn't do wonders for his self esteem.

"Don't talk about my brother when we're dancing. Kills the mood." Sebastian twisted a bit, tilted Dave's hips in his grasp. Dave wasn't nearly as graceful. He felt clumsy and large as Sebastian guided him through steps that didn't fit his form. "There, now you've got it."

He didn't, he really didn't, but Sebastian flagged down the bartender and swallowed down a shot of something that made his face screw up and squirm, and smiled a little looser, a little calmer. Dave thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad, to just stand next to him, and relax.

Drunk Sebastian was all words, babble babble babble until Dave thought his throat had to be sore. He talked about anything he could think of, the bar, the music, the men. He talked a lot about the men, and it might have made Dave uncomfortable, except he never made a single move towards any of them. He took his Dave-sitting duties seriously, it seemed. He tried to get Dave in on it, with lewd comments about this man's ass and that one's mouth, but that was always where everyone lost Dave.

When he'd kissed Kurt, it had been out of desperation. He was so achingly lonely, and everything about Kurt reminded him of the secret thumping in the back of his mind, screaming to be let out. And it had been stupid, but for a moment he'd thought, maybe, if Kurt knew, he could understand. Somehow, Kurt was okay with his life, and maybe he could fix Dave's as well. That, of course, had gone over like a lead balloon.

When he'd tried again, he'd gone for a more romantic approach. And even then, his thoughts of Kurt… They'd been vague, fuzzy and rose-tinted around the edges. Dave had seen porn, late at night while the shame crowded his stomach. He had a basic idea of what it was Sebastian got up to in the bathrooms and the backseats of cars. But the idea of himself doing these things… He still hit that wall, the one that screamed in his mother's voice, all about what the fuck was wrong with him. His therapist was working with him on his coming out. It wasn't going so well.

The point being, most of what Sebastian said went right through him, nestling back into his mental closet, to be ignored until it became too much again. He just let Sebastian talk, until his words slurred more and more and he looked less like he was dancing and more like he was falling.

"Okay, then." Dave guided Sebastian to a seat, helping him find his balance. "I think it's time to call that brother of yours and head home."

"The night is young, Killer!" Sebastian said, but his eyes were closed and he was starting to tilt to the side in the booth.

"Well, I've been here for four hours. I'm going home, and then you won't have anyone to dance with."

"Like hell. I could get anyone in this joint." Still, he was already fishing through his pocket, digging for his phone. Dave, practicing skills he'd learned with Azimio (No don't think about that that still hurts it's still so sharp it aches) played the part of the good friend, letting Sebastian bitch at him until his brother showed up, and then dragging him bodily out to the car when he got distracted and giggly.

The next week, Sebastian called again. And that was how David Karofsky made his first real friend.

A/N: Fun fact: The working title for this fic was 'How Karofsky Got His Groove Back.'