Dave texted Azimio to meet him in the parking lot the next morning. When his friend strode up, Dave couldn't believe how relieved he felt. Azimio punched his shoulder as if nothing was any different. "So what's happening now?"

"I think I'm the only suspect they've got." He briefly outlined the reasons. "We have to find who else would have done it," he concluded. "I don't think they're looking very hard."

"You don't need to tell a brother about being the automatic suspect." Azimio paused. "So where do we start?"

Dave shrugged. The heaviness that had lifted for a moment fell right on top of him again. "I don't know."

"You mean I've got to do the thinking, too?" Azimio was trying to laugh. "Well, this morning, we can ask around, see how knows somebody who knows something."

"Yeah, sure."

"Dude, you know this is serious, right? You've got to come up with some of that fighting spirit."

"Yeah. I just...I just wish this hadn't ever started."

"Me too, man. But it's what we've got, so let's deal."

Azimio dapped his fist and Dave followed him into the school.

He was used to people getting out of his way in the halls, but this was different. They were keeping away like he was contaminated. Conversations stopped when he walked by and then buzzed right up again the moment he was past them. He didn't see any of the Glee kids until third period, when Santana came right up to him. "I am going to make sure that you pay for this."

He didn't even have the energy to shove her away. "Fuck off, I didn't."

"Riiiight." She suddenly crooked her first and ring fingers and pushed straight for his eyes. He flinched automatically and saw that the other students were standing around in perfect silence. No urging them on, nothing like that. She kicked for his groin and he heard a voice shouting, "Stop that, Santana!" It was Mr. Schuester, the Glee director, who pulled her away.

Her frozen anger broke as suddenly as she had attacked him. She struggled to get out of Mr. Schuester's hold, screaming and sobbing. "He's done something to Kurt, maybe he killed him, and you're all just standing there!"

Mr. Schuester met Dave's eyes. "Go to Mr. Figgins' office. It's best that you go home."

Azimio heard about the fight by the middle of fourth period. At first he didn't believe that Karofsky had simply stood there and not done anything, but then he remembered just how slow and stunned Dave had seemed earlier. He texted Dave "U ok?"

"I'm home."

"You find anything?"

"No."

Azimio skipped Geometry to go out and try to think. He was acing Geometry—it was the only subject he loved—so it didn't matter. Not that he'd have cared about his grades when his friend was in trouble.

What if Hummel himself had staged this? Why would the opposing team pick that play? Maybe because he wanted to punish Dave? Maybe he didn't like that new prep boy school and wanted to get rid of Dave to come back to McKinley? Dave considered it, and then rejected the idea. He couldn't see Hummel doing that to his friends. He could tell when there was a real bond and when it was just people who hung out together or were on the same team, and those were real bonds.

He had no idea what they'd do even if they figured out who else would have a reason to take out Hummel. The rest of the Glee club freaks were the only ones who spent any time with him and it's not like anybody was fighting with him over a girl. Sure, people picked on him, but that's just what he was asking for by not hiding what a freak he was, with his little girl voice and girl clothes. Maybe it was just somebody walking by who felt like clobbering a freak.

Or what if it was somebody who wanted a freak? If Hummel were a pretty girl, they'd be looking at that angle. Were there any fag rapists hanging around? Or people who bought gays like they bought girls? If it was robbery, whoever had taken him would have taken that car, too, because those were some sweet wheels, but if it was some kind of gay-napping, they wouldn't want the car.

Or what if it wasn't even about Hummel being all gay? Just because he kept running around like he was yelling at everybody "I'm gay! I'm gay!" it didn't mean that there couldn't be anything else. What if it was somebody trying to mess with Karofsky? He'd seen enough movies and tv shows where somebody set up another person for a murder rap. But who hated Karofsky enough for that? Sure, his man Karofsky could make enemies, but disappearing or killing another person just to set him up was cold.

Or was just a regular kidnapping? But then either Mr. Hummel wouldn't have called the cops, or the cops would be looking for a real kidnapper. He'd seen Mr. Hummel all over Kurt after that one game and Karofsky had told him all about that time Mr. Hummel had tried to strangle him, just for making a bit of fun of Kurt. He'd pay anything it would take to get his son back, that much was clear.

Or what if it was all about Mr. Hummel and not really about Kurt Hummel at all? He knew that if anybody wanted to hurt his own mama, really hurt so that nothing would ever be good again, they'd hurt one of her kids. Maybe it was something like that.

Okay, maybe it was money kidnapping or about Mr. Hummel. He called Dave and got the response, "Maybe. I can't think of anything else."

"I got a cousin who works at the bar near his shop. Let's go ask him if he knows anything. Maybe Mr. Hummel said something or somebody else, or he's seen somebody hanging around."

"Yeah. Meet you there."

Azimio smiled as he put the phone back in his pocket. Even if he was wrong, he'd gotten his friend sounding more like himself again.

He got there before Dave and found Chuck starting to prep for the lunch crowd. "What are you doing here, kid? You should be back in school and you know it."

"It's my friend who's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble? I don't have any extra cash until payday."

"It's not like that. You know Burt Hummel, right?"

"Yeah. He and his guys come in for a beer after work, sometimes. I'm just getting off my shift when that happens, though."

"This is going to sound weird, but do you know if he or that faggot kid of his have anybody who'd want to hurt them?"

"I don't like you using that word." Chuck straightened up and looked down at him from his full 6 foot 8. "If God decided to make him that way, then you're disrespecting what God made. You hear me? Do you hear me?"

"Sorry," Azimio muttered, and then, when Chuck was still looking pissed off, added another, louder. "Sorry. Anyway, do you know if anybody wanted to hurt them?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Azimio saw Dave walk in and waved him over. "Chuck, this is my friend Dave Karofsky. Dave, this is Chuck."

"Good to meet you." Dave looked so subdued that Azimio was even more worried.

"So the problem is that Kurt Hummel disappeared and the cops think my man Dave had something to do with it." Chuck narrowed his eyes and Azimio added, "I know Dave and if he'd had anything to do with it, he'd have said. He'd never lie to me."

Dave winced like that hurt, but Azimio went on. "So if there's anybody else who might want to hurt Mr. Hummel or his son-" Azimio looked right at Chuck to make sure that he noticed the change in words, "We need to know."

"Planning on playing detective? That was cute when you were still eating paste, but now, let the cops do their thing."

"The cops think they know already." Dave muttered.

Chuck drew a deep breath, then let it out in a loud sigh. "Okay, I hear you, but I don't know of anything. Mike's on that shift, though. Come back around six."

Dave and Azimio were back at the bar by five. Without any better idea of what to do in the meantime, they had gone through every abandoned building they could find. Most of them were already broken into, so it was just a matter of searching from top to bottom.

Any time he found somebody huddled under a blanket or with their face otherwise hidden, Dave had to keep from pounding them into the ground when he yanked away the blanket or turned them around and they weren't Kurt. This time, though, the fear he saw in their eyes and posture when they saw him and Azimio didn't bring a rush of pride. He was too scared to feel anything but increasingly sick with terror.

At the bar, Chuck came over to their table. "Nothing new?" Dave shook his head. If he said anything, he knew he'd lose it. It felt like his thoughts were all surrounding him and pushing him amongst themselves, like the football players did when they surrounded a vulnerable freshman. "They'll love you in jail, gay boy." Shove. The image of snow partially melted with the heat of blood, stained every shade of red. Shove. The look of mistrust in his father's eyes. Shove. Every slight figure that wasn't Hummel. Shove. The silently reached verdict he saw in the eyes at school. Shove.

"Mike's not here yet, but sometimes he's early. I'll bring him right over when he comes." Chuck paused, then added, "Dinner's on me tonight."

Dave tried to distract himself with the game on the television and Azimio did the same. Dave couldn't believe just how grateful he was for Azimio understanding enough to keep his mouth shut. He kept checking his watch and finally Chuck brought over a short, middle-aged man with wiry, thinning grey hair that stuck out every which way. "Guys, this is Mike. I told him the basics."

"Chuck said you're in some serious tsuris, big troubles." His accent was pure New York. "What do you need to know?"

Dave found his voice. "They think I did something to Kurt Hummel. The cops don't care about finding anybody but me."

"So the cops think you did it? And why's that?"

"I kind of picked on him, and it went...pretty far, I guess. But I didn't...do this."

"Nu, if that doesn't teach you the lesson, nothing will. Now the guys from the garage come in, some of them, shmooze about their day, but nobody says anything about the kid. Sure, they joke, say he's a little bird, but nobody leaned over and said they want to dig him a shallow grave somewhere."

Dave shivered at the expression. It was like he was seeing every word digging a grave for him. "What about his dad, would anybody want to hurt his dad?"

"There you're using your head." Mike tilted his head back and thought. "Now, two months ago, maybe more, maybe less, there was a screwup he'd fired that day. I can't remember much of him, but he was sitting over there, drinking and muttering like a farbissener, somebody poisoned with bitterness."

"Do you remember his name, anything more?" Azimio was sitting straight up again.

"No, sorry, a blank. Tall, short, don't remember anything. But the garage will have all the papers, everything has to have papers."

Dave stood up. "Thanks, thanks a lot." He was halfway to the door when Azimio stopped him.

"So how do we get the records? Do you think Hummel's old man would let us anywhere near?"

Dave knew the answer to that question. "We've got to find somebody to help."

AN: Well, it's not going exactly as I'd planned. Reviews are much appreciated!