When Kurt Hummel left McKinley, David Karofsky assumed his life would go back to normal. Call him naïve, but when the wet dream in a waist coat flounced away to the Dalton's School of Fairies and Faggotry, he expected the need to vomit rainbows to go with him, leaving him to lead a totally heterosexual life.

If he had to pinpoint the time and place he realised that dream would never happen, it would have to be about three months ago, when he woke up behind the school's kitchen, the side of his head pouring crimson on to his letterman. The same letterman he had to give back that afternoon. He couldn't even go home to wash it, because… well, he didn't have a home at this point.

You see, when Kurt Hummel left McKinley a month prior to this personal epiphany, the sparkle left too. The laughter left, the smiles left… and only David noticed it. Everyone was like everyone else, and no one was like Kurt, no matter how hard he looked.

So, he started more fights with random kids in the corridor. He looked for reasons to give these victims bloodied noses and blackened eyes, but could never bring himself to hurt them.

When meaningless violence failed, he became more promiscuous. He fucked whoever was willing, and soon even that failed to sate him. He couldn't control his urges towards guys anymore.

Before he knew it, he had cornered another unsuspecting guy in the locker room; one who fought back and left him alone and confused. David had been sure that…

What did it matter? He was wrong.

The next day, everyone knew about what had happened. He got the homophobic retorts and the mocking from every passer-by, and yet he couldn't bring himself to deny it. He tried a few times, but he felt sick every time he tried t prove he was straight.

Something about the honesty and clarity of his situation made him docile. He was free; he didn't have to whore himself out to cougars, he didn't have to beat the shit out of the weaker kids… freedom had come in the form of a busted lip and bruised cheek.

His parents didn't see it that way. Their son, their only child, was an abomination and an embarrassment. Their stupid son, who couldn't write his own name right without absolute focus, couldn't even give them a grandchild to thrust their hopes on.

His mother had screamed and cried. His father had screamed and punched. And Dave was the bloody mess on the floor, watching his parent's walk away from their only child; watched them turn their backs on their biggest mistake.

During the next few weeks, his grades plummeted, meaning he wasn't allowed on the team. Coach Bieste was a sensitive woman deep down, and the team knew it. She might have been more lenient if he explained that studying was difficult wen the words on the page were jibberish. She might even have taken pity if he told her of the difficulties of studying in your room when your bed was a park bench.

Instead, he kept silent, and agreed to hand in his letterman next day. He didn't deserve charity.

So picking himself off the floor, he went to hand in his letterman, apologising for the state of the jacket and himself; he had fallen again.

He had assumed his day could get no worse, until Miss Imrye, the English teacher, asked to see him after school. He considered just ditching, and chilling out at the mall or something, but in the end he had nothing to do.

Miss Imrye was a small woman, slight in frame, with big chocolate eyes. She was the subject of many of Dave's fr—ex-friend's fantasies. She sat at her desk reading over papers. Dave hesitantly knocked on her door and came in. "You wanted to see me?"

"David, come in." She looks up at him as he approaches the desk. "I've been worried about you for some time. You're a bright kid. You show a clear understanding of what we talk about in lessons, and you have the potential to really make something of yourself, Literature wise."

"Then what's your problem?"

Miss Imrye raised her eyebrow and removed her glasses. "I think you know, David. How long have you had problems reading and writing?"

"I'm a bit stupid. Not my fault, is it?"

"No, it's not. David, I want to test you for Dyslexia."

"You… what?"

"It's a condition that affects your reading and writing. It doesn't mean you're stupid. It would explain some of your problems with spelling and whatnot. Of course, I can't just send you on your way to a test centre, so I called your parents."

David's heart seemed to stop and somehow beat louder. Everything felt entirely too warm, and something primal and guttural was shrieking in his ear. She knew.

"Imagine my surprise, David, when I was told by your… father that he had no son. What happened, David?"

"Nothing. The old man will be fooling around—"

"Your grandfather is outside, Dave. Go with him."

Matthew Karofsky was an impressive man of grand stature. Age had not withered him; it had reinvigorated him. He had the same bright green eyes Dave had, the same curled hair… only whiter and shorter. There was no exchange of words, only a brief nod between grandfather and grandson.

The car ride was silent. Dave didn't know what to say, or even where they were going. Maybe gramps was going to lay in to him too… He was as strong as he looked, and not nearly as brittle as his seventy-six years dictated.

"David, you should have called me when your folks kicked you out."

"Do you know why they did?"

"Yes, and I am ashamed." David made a small strangled noise and turned his gaze out the window. "Not of you, son. Of your father; we raised him better than that."

They drove a bit further along on the road. It was then that Dave realised where they were. "We're going back there? W-what? But, Gramps, why are we—?"

"I'm going to talk to your dad. See if we can sort this ugly business out."

Dave sat in the car for an hour; then two; then three. Dave didn't know what to do with himself. He had reorganised the CDs, he had cleaned the windows… he had even began ripping up old scraps of paper he had found in the glove compartment. It wasn't until he had made a paper tundra on his lap that his grandpa finally emerged, carrying a small bag. He climbed in the car and handed Dave the bag.

"I'm sorry, son. This is all they had left. These are the only things they didn't… They burned your things."

David punched the dashboard, putting another dint in the glove compartment. The rage he felt soon did battle with his depression. The feeling danced around each other, swirling, waltzing, until finally tears rolled down his face. Violent shakes erupted and he couldn't stop them. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

Matthew Karofsky held his grandson until the shaking stopped. "Come now, son," he said, his voice cracking. "You're coming home with me. I'm going to help you through this, alright? We'll prove him wrong."

Matthew lived on the other side of town, further to the school than Dave's old home. The drive was brief, but agonising. Neither man knew quite what to say. When he pulled up the driveway, Gramps turned to Dave.

"Go in, take a shower. I'll make some dinner… and then we need to talk."

In the bathroom, David peeled off his grey t-shirt and faded jeans, the clothes he had been wearing for a week, and stepped in to the running water. It was hot. Scalding, even, but blissful. More than he deserved.

He dried himself, put his clothes back on, and joined his grandpa in the kitchen.

"You're gay."

"… I-I… Yeah. Yeah. I'm so sorry. I just, I tried. I tried to not be, but—"

"Sit down, Davey."

Davis sat down at the dining table and looked around. Everything about the kitchen resonated with memories of Granny Louise. Granny Louise had died last year, and the home she shared with Gramps seemed trapped in the days before she passed away; the loyal home, waiting for a mistress who would never return. The floral print wedding china in the cabinet was still undisturbed. The flowers in the vase by the window were still fresh. Even now, Granny Louise's chair was never touched.

Matthew took his seat beside David, and turned to face him. "Start at the beginning. When did you realise?"

"I… I don't know. I've never really… got girls. Girls are just so confusing, and everything was always a secret with them. Guys aren't, you know? But I didn't know properly until… well, there was this boy. From my high school, I mean. His name is Kurt, and he's gay."

"Were you attracted to him?"

Tears sprang to his eyes again. No one had asked him that before. Not about anyone. And his answer could have him turfed out on the street again. "Yes. Yes, I was. Am. It's complicated."

"How?"

David explained everything. The bullying, the kiss, the threat, the transfer… everything he had tried to forget about came tumbling from his mouth; a stream of confessions that condemned him. Finally, Matthew put a hand on Dave's shoulder. "You were tough on the boy. You need to apologise."

"He won't talk to me."

"If you live under my roof, you'll do what I tell you, boy."

"What?"

Matthew wagged a finger at him. "Pardon."

"You want me to live here? Even though I'm… like that?"

Matthew stood up and went to the oven. He pulled on a frilly oven mitt and took out a lasagne. "Mrs. Griffin made me this, bless her soul." He set it on the table and started to serve it out on the plates he had set up. "Eat up. Lord knows when you last had a proper meal."

"Gramps, do you mean it?"

"Davey, if your Granny were here, she'd be heartbroken. We raised your father better than that." He sat down again. "I don't believe that you have a choice in who you're attracted to. I don't understand myself… but I will support you through what you choose to do. To turn your back on your own son—we didn't raise him that way."

"Gramps, I can't—"

"You're my grandson. Now, eat up."

The next morning, Dave awoke with the vaguest sense of optimism. He wasn't entirely sure what had caused it; it could be the fact he had woken up in a bed for the first time in a week, or it could be because he had finally found some acceptance. Either way, he awoke with a smile.

He put those same clothes on and went down the stairs. He paused on one of the middle steps and stared at the slightly sun-damaged picture that was hung there; Gramps, Granny Louise, his mom, his dad… and a baby bundle. A faded memory of when his parents had been proud. Suddenly, the optimism drained from him. He continued his journey to the kitchen, his shoulders slumped and his head hung.

"Ah, good; you're up. I was just about to call on you. Coffee?"

He shook his head and sat at the table. "No."

"Have some toast then, you'll need your strength. We've got a lot of work to do today."

"Doing?"

Matthew handed him the plate of toast. "I'm taking you to get a Dyslexia test done. Then we need to buy you some new clothes, since that's all you have… then you're coming to the community centre."

"Why?" Dave asked his mouth full of toast.

"Not with your mouth full, David. Here, I wrote this up for you last night. They're just a few rules."

David glanced at the paper before him. The demands weren't unreasonable, but some seemed damn near impossible.

In this house, it was healthy eating as a general rule. No junk food, at least in excess.

By the end of the academic year, Dave had to be getting Bs at least in all his lessons. That meant at least an hour studying a night.

His curfew was 10.30, and lights out was at 11, at least on week days.

His Saturday mornings now belonged to 'Little Paws'. 'Little Paws' was a community run safe haven for children with no where else to go. It was run mainly to aid the orphanage from the next town over, but children of all types came. Some days, there were no fewer than 55 children running around, and Matthew Karofsky was the founder, chairman, and Chief Bear.

"I'm not too great with kids, Gramps."

Matthew put his mug down. "You need to change. Your life is toxic. This could be good for you; a new start."

Matthew had left Dave the car to do his own shopping, leaving him money for whatever he wanted, and giving instruction for him to come and pick him up from room 184 at the community centre when he was done.

It was one o'clock by the time he was done with all the shopping and he now stood before the room. It was a hell of a lot smaller than he imagined, but he reasoned that… well, kids are pretty small. He knocked and entered.

He wasn't greeted by the chorus of screams and giggles he had prepared for. Instead, he found a solitary young man, probably of Dave's age, reading an old-looking book.

The boy had sandy-blonde hair, which was longer than most people from this area of Lima. He was wearing a plum turtleneck sweater, and black jeans. He looked up and smiled.

"I'm sorry, are you new?" His voice was high with a charming British accent.

"No, I think I'm lost. This isn't room 184, is it?"

The boy peered at him curiously, and flounced over to him, grinning. He peered his head around the corner and said, "Nope. Definitely 431." He looked at him and beamed wider. "My name is Tristan."

"Uh, Dave. How do I get to the room I need?"

"Do you like Shakespeare?"

"What?"

Tristan rolled his eyes dramatically, and carefully enunciated his words. "Do you like Shakespeare?"

"He's okay. What about the room?"

"What's your favourite play?"

Now the boy—Tristan—was just being rude. "I guess 'Much Ado About Nothing'. Really, I need to—"

"We study that here."

"Will you just tell me how to get to the room?" he yelled.

This seemed to affect Tristan, but in a way contrary to intent. He smiled and he pulled Dave in the room. "Ooh. Dramatic; I love it. This is where the Sonnets meet up. If you like that play, you should come here. We're reading it next week."

"I don't read good."

"You don't speak well either, but you still talk." Tristan went in to the black bag that was hanging up and pulled out a purple iPod. He handed it to Dave. "Even if you don't like to read, you can listen. All his plays and sonnets are there."

"You're just giving me this? Why?"

"We meet every Saturday at 1pm, and Wednesday and Friday and 6. Come and check us out, yeah?"

"Uh… yeah. Sure?"

"Great! Now, go down three flights of stairs, turn left, then right, then take two more lefts."

Dave's head was spinning. "For what?"

"To get to 'Little paws', silly! That's where you're going!" He ushered Dave out the room and smiled. "It was nice meeting you Dave. Come back soon, alright?"

Alright, this is my first Kurtofsky fanfic. It's off to a slow, kind of depressing start... but never mind. Tristan may annoy some of you... but I like him.

In my mind this takes part before A Very Glee Christmas. So, a lot of things haven't happened and a lot won't. Reviews would be nice.