A/N: In this chapter, when I mention Dave's grandma, I'd like to admit that I totally borrowed her name (Miriam) from the epic-awesome fanfic, 'Karofsky Takes It Back.'

Part II: Separate

.K U R T.

I nurse my wounds with a cold pack made of some sort of gel in plastic held up to my eye. It stings, but it helps with the swelling. And I know that if I massage the ring around my eyes with enough lotion, the bruise will fade faster. Which helps, because I hate looking so ugly with that damn shiner there.

There are bruises on my stomach where I was punched, and one of my ribs is a little sore. I have bruises on my shins, too, from that tackle. And meanwhile, my stepbrother has a black eye and bloody lip of his own to match Puckerman's similar wounds.

I sigh where I lay on the couch, and Finn steps over and hands me his PSP. I stare at it, and then at him.

"I bought that Birth By Sleep or whatever game that you said was part of that Kingdom Heart series. I thought you could borrow my PSP for a while to play it if, you know, you want to. You won't have much else to do, since the school is giving you all this recovery time."

He looks a little embarrassed, but he's trying to comfort me, and I can't help but smile. The school thought it would be best if I took a break for a while, away from all of the bullies and tension and homophobia. Finn begged them not to call our parents, too; he and I both agreed that we didn't want to ruin their good time. It's too rare to break apart for something like this.

"Wow… thank you, Finn," I say softly, and take the device in my hands. I study it; the controls look almost exactly like my PS2 since they're by the same company, which means it should be easy to play. I grin broader, wincing slightly when my cheek makes my bruise ache, but then I quickly forget it as I turn the PSP on and find the game already in the compartment in back, the screen coming to life with the Square Enix logo. "This is so thoughtful of you!"

"I was just tired of seeing you stare off into space like you didn't know what to do with yourself, you know?" he says meekly, and sits down on the couch beside me. He watches me boot up the game and select a character to play as. I choose Terra, since I've heard through sources on the internet that the recommended order of gameplay for the best storyline is Terra, then Ventus, then Aqua. Terra amuses me most, anyhow; he's a tall, leanly built brunet with starling blue eyes and girlish lashes and a tough, emo voice. I smile as the first few scenes play, including a shirtless Ven; a cute little blond boy voiced by none other than the amazing Jesse McCartney.

Finn rolls his eyes jokingly and laughs at me. "No wonder you like this girly game," he teases, "There's anime-looking guys, lots of senseless killing of weird-looking monsters, and tons of angsty romance. You're pathetic," he says, but he's nudging me playfully and smiling.

I pause the game and laugh. "Yeah, well. It's one of the few video games I find acceptable. Most other things are full of first-person shooting – which is so difficult! You can't see yourself! – and way too much blood. Ew. No thanks, zombies and aliens. I'll take KH over Bioshock and Call of Duty and Halo any day."

He shrugs, still smiling, and leaves me to my new game (of which I am completely absorbed in suddenly; 'addiction' takes on a whole new meaning, now). I'm already to the first outside world as Terra when I yawn, realizing that while I spent half of the time leveling up in the Mirage Arena section of the game, I wasted the hours not even going through the storyline, and now I need to sleep.

I yawn again as I save at the first save-point I come to and set up the PSP to charge. It's late at night, now, and I'm exhausted. Yesterday took too much out of me, and staring at a screen for hours is not much better. So I drag myself to bed and curl up into a warm bundle, wondering vague things as my mind wanders off into Dream Land.

One of those vague thoughts, however, concerns the mysterious person who was there for me before I fainted. Finn and I haven't talked about the fight just yet, and I wonder if he even knows who else was there helping us. I shrug in my semi-sleep, and mutter something incoherently.

Whoever it had been, I would like to thank them. For a moment, I had felt safe again.

xXx

.D A V E.

I wound up running away to my grandmother's house. She found me, shivering in the early evening darkness, bare except for the clothes on my back, and let me in.

Mam-maw Miriam is from the south, born and raised, until she moved to Lima, Ohio when she got married to my grandpa. She's a sweet little woman, and she has the most watery, pale green eyes I have ever seen. And she probably loves me best out of my family. I feel better when I'm with her.

"I'm assuming this isn't a courtesy visit," she murmurs as she pours herself some boiling water for tea, and makes me some instant coffee with the same batch of water. "Something wrong, isn't it, Davey?"

She's the only person who has ever called me that. I sigh and run my hand through my short hair, the thick would-be waves in front momentarily tangling up in my fingers. "Yeah. It's pretty bad, Mam-maw."

"Tell me all about it," she says as her arthritis-ridden hands place a zebra mug in front of me. I take a casual sip of it while she pats my hand with her cool fingers. "Does it involve school?"

I nod, another sip nearly burning my tongue.

"And probably that Hummel boy as well, am I right?"

I nod again. She's been my sole confidant when it comes to all of my stories about Kurt Hummel. She's even tried to smile and convince me that I need to face facts and admit that I like him, but I've always brushed it off. Despite coming from down south, my grandmother is pretty accepting of homosexuality. She grew up quite a bit in the 'free love' '60s and '70s period, back when she was twenty and young and first popping out children. To her, love is love despite gender, and God loves all His children, and makes them gay for a reason. If anyone, she's the only person who I can act like myself around.

"Oh, Davey. Don't tell me you've bullied him again! I keep tellin' you not to. You're behaving like an elementary school boy, picking on the person you have a crush on. It's not nice. It makes them dislike you, not like you!" she scolds lightly around a slurp of her tea. She shakes her head at me. "When will you learn?" she sighs, but there is a smile on her face.

Her smile fades as a tear slips down my cheek. How the fuck did I start crying? I wipe it away hastily and sniff, because I shouldn't be crying. That's weak and stupid. "It's not just that, Mam-maw. I… I'm really confused. I hurt him again, but then thought better of it and saved him, but I got into so much trouble, and my friends hate me for going soft, and now my dad is at home with some social worker from school, probably talking about what to do with me." I sigh. "Can I stay here for a while? I'm afraid to go home."

My grandmother understands immediately. She pounds a bony, winkled, pale fist on the table, startling me. "You're damn right you can stay with me! I'm just sorry you have to go through this, Davey! You don't think they know, do you? Your parents, I mean. About who you like."

"Mam-maw…" I grumble. "Please."

"No. You have to tell them, Davey! I won't sit back and let my grandbaby be pushed into being something he's not. You like boys, and I understand that, and I know your father can be a real pain when it comes to gays, but he needs to know. You're his son, and if he tries to kick you out, I'll knock some sense into him! That, or let you live with me. I'll get everything settled, don't you worry. I can help you, Davey-boy. Let old mam-maw show you how it's done."

I smile despite myself. I admire her strength, especially for someone over the age of sixty-five. "Thanks, Mam-maw. You always know what to say." And I sip my coffee again.

She grins, her dentures flashing a perfect set of pearly whites. "I love you, sweetie, and don't you forget it. And I'm going to set things right, since you've been wronged so many times. I knew it wasn't a good idea for your mother to raise you with that man as her husband! I warned her. I said, 'Baby, you're my daughter and I love you, but I swear to the Lord Jesus that if you raise a child with that man, your poor baby might have anger problems and be shoved into a lifestyle that isn't theirs.'" She stiffens, clicking her tongue. "I hate it when I'm right."

I laugh a little. Old people are kind of cute when they act tough. It contradicts so much with their frail frames. I touch her hand. "It's okay, Mam-maw. I've learned my lesson, I swear. And if you back me up, I think I might be able to fix things, too."

She nods her head around a slurp of tea. I can smell it, now; coconut chai, creamy and spiced. "All right, Davey. Then let's do it. Actions speak louder than words, you know."

That kiss in the locker room flashes in my mind for a moment, and I wince unnoticeably. "Y-yeah," I agree mildly, "They really do."

There is an extended, comfortable silence while the two of us finish up our drinks. Then my grandma stands and as she puts our mugs in the dishwasher, asks if she wants me to go with her to my house for my things to spend the night for the next few nights. I nod my head.

And so she hands me her keys (she's getting worse at driving and she knows it), we pile into her little white Camaro convertible, and drive toward my home. My nerves nibble at my insides the entire ride there.

End Part II: Separate.