Just FYI on my WIPs: I hate reading WIPs because I always feel I can't trust the author to write more, LOL. Therefore I make myself update my WIPs at least once a week, sometimes more often. So if I haven't updated in a timely manner, please feel free to bug my lazy ass. I've been way distracted playing Puck on a Facebook RP, hehe.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongeth to the creators of Glee and such. Ryan Murphy, don't bother to sue me, I ain't got nothin' to take! (And I don't wanna go to jail, either!)
NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING: In this story there will be mentions of physical and sexual abuse, attempted non-con in the future, language, boy/boy sex in the future. This version will be edited down to an R rating to fit the R/M guidelines of . I will make a note on any edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the unedited version that includes the smut, you can find this version at:
Author's Note: Sorry for the long break-I have been crazy busy between Pokemon cons, Lady GaGa concerts, work, illness, and other insanity! :) This chapter got sliced into two pieces once more and Dave's POV is going to be the next chapter. Hopefully that will come quickly since I have most of it written!
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Chapter 11: Legally Batty
There was a loud clang against the bars of their cell and Dave sat up abruptly, glaring at the guard waving his stick in their direction with one hand, a smirk on his face as he fumbled with the keys with the other.
Wow, Dave was jumpy. Seriously, he was strung tight. Tighter than he was at school, where he had a fuse shorter than Hugh Hefner's shriveled penis.
"Hello, boys. Lockdown is over early for you two. You have a visitor."
Dave scowled, glancing over at Kurt. "For fuck's sake, how many friends have you got, homo?"
Kurt stuck his nose in the air, pointedly ignoring the homophobic label that Dave probably considered a pet name. "I am quite popular with a certain crowd, even if the vast majority of McKinley was out to stain my every outfit with Red Number Two food coloring."
"I liked the purple ones," Dave replied almost thoughtfully.
"You'd like them less if it was in your eyes. And isn't purple the *gay* color, Dave?"
The other boy blinked. "Wha? Uh-uh. I mean… No! Shit…"
Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "Joking, Dave. Just joking."
"Oh. Right."
The guard made an annoyed sound, running a hand through his thinning blonde hair. "Stand up, you two. Sorry, but this isn't the Homecoming Queen and your Auntie Mildred here to see you. It ain't that kind of visitor."
Dave scowled, looking suspicious. "What the fuck does that mean?"
The guard smirked again, eyes dropping slightly as Dave stood and moved toward the door—was he checking Dave out? Kurt scowled deeply. This place was so, *so* fucked up. Kurt stood up, shoving his feet into the shoes he'd abandoned next to the bed and pushing his way in front of Dave, pointedly breaking the guard's line of sight with Dave's… lower parts.
The guard raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing look in his eyes and Kurt glared back at him. Sick bastard.
"Dude, Fancy, what's your problem?" Dave said as Kurt elbowed him a little in his attempts to use his rather small body to block Dave's rather *large* body. It was not the best equation, but it was better than some creep looking at *his* Dave. Kurt blinked. His Dave? His Dave who was his *friend*, obviously. Friends didn't let middle aged sickos check friends out. Or drive drunk. But that wasn't really the immediate problem.
"Sorry," Kurt replied, not taking his eyes off of Sleezy Nimrod over there. "So if it's not Quinn Fabray and the Auntie Mildred I don't have, then just who *is* here to see us?"
The guard's lip turned up a little. "Dr. Mind Fuck wants to talk to you, faggot. Something about deciding if you're too Charles Manson to be released or if you're angelic enough to be let out on a hefty bail." He nodded toward them. "And then he wants to talk to you, too, macho man. Guess you guys are gonna have some nice bonding time on the confessional couch. 'Forgive me, doc, for I have sinned but I'm still pleading "not guilty"' and all that shit. Now move it, Faggot and Fatty—shit that sounds like a fucking cartoon. Adult Swim version of Calvin and Hobbes. Let's go."
Kurt didn't move. He was still stuck on the 'Dr. Mind Fuck' bit, which he was pretty sure translated to 'psychologist' in Redneck-ese. How could he have let that slip his mind? Even in all this madness, you'd have thought he'd remember that he would be meeting with the person who was to decide if he could stay or he could go. And God, he did *not* want to stay in this place.
But what sane person would let him leave? Dave looked like he'd been hit with a battering ram! And how was it at all normal for him to hit him again and again and again and again, the blood pouring down his face… had there really been that much blood? There couldn't have been that much blood because the pool gathering around Imaginary Dave was large enough to flood the hallway and if there had really been that much blood then Real Dave wouldn't be breathing. Unless he was a zombie… Kurt cut off his frantic thoughts abruptly. Zombies? Oh God, he was officially going crazy.
Kurt's face must have expressed his feelings because a big hand came down on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. Kurt blinked, waking out of the little haze of insanity he'd fallen into and looked up into that big, bruised face. Dave's lips were turned up in a hesitant little smile, though it looked awkward due to the rather impressive cut on his mouth. Had that been from his father or had Kurt been the one to give him that?
Kurt winced. The fact that *anything* paired him with Dave's father made him a little sick to his stomach.
"Relax, princess. They aren't gonna send a doll like you off to the nutso ward. You're a little angel compared to the fuck ups they're used to seeing. They let me go free, didn't they?." He chuckled a little-because of *course* a joke must be hilarious if Dave made *himself* the butt of it-and then leaned in, raising his hand and running a finger gently across the little twist of hair that Kurt smoothed down when he was nervous. Had Dave noticed the habit or had he just decided to touch his hair?
The guard gave a derisive snort and waved his hand. "Hurry up, homos. It's the doctor's orders. Need to go take your medicine. Maybe you'll get an enema or something. That should make you queers happy."
Dave's face turned a rather frightening shade of red, his already mangled features twisting into something furious. Not good. Kurt reached out without thinking, grabbing Dave's arm and the boy flinched, other arm raising slightly, and for a moment Kurt thought he was going to get a punch to the face. The Fury was heading for him for sure.
Oh God. Hopefully Dave would miss his nose.
Dave stared at him, features frozen for an instant, then relaxed under Kurt's touch, lowering the other arm.
Was it wrong to thank a God you didn't believe in?
"Please don't touch me suddenly like that," Dave said out of the side of his mouth, dropping his eyes. "I don't wanna hurt you on accident."
Kurt let out the breath he'd been holding. Well, at least Dave didn't look like he was going to hit the *guard* anymore, as sleezy a creeper bastard as he *obviously* was. It was kind of sad, that being touched made Dave turn into a killer. What would it be like to go through life never being touched? But that wasn't really Dave's problem, was it? What would it be like to go through life thinking every touch was a threat?
People needed touch. It was a scientific fact. And it really kind of made Kurt wanna hug him. But he didn't want to get his jaw broken, so maybe not without asking first.
Dave reached out and squeezed his shoulder again. "Seriously, princess. Move. It'll be alright. What's the worst that could happen? Spend the rest of your life in a straight jacket? You could spend your days trying to touch your tongue to your nose!"
Wow, way to revive the terror there, Dave. What was the worst that could happen? Gee, hm, well, they *could* lock him away forever in a world of orange jumpsuits where moisturizing products were taboo and even scrawny pretty boys wanted to pimp him out for candy bars.
Kurt's gut twisted. Dave didn't understand. He didn't get what Kurt was going to have to explain. Dave had seen too much bad stuff over the years. He didn't understand how absolutely *insane* it was to slam a book into someone's face over and over and over and over and over and over—oh God, the 'overs' just kept coming. Way, way too many overs for a sane person.
The guard had set a pretty brisk pace and Kurt stumbled a little as he followed blindly, thoughts swimming through his head. Maybe he *was* crazy. What other excuse did he have for what he did? How could you rationalize slamming a book into Dave's handsome face, making blood run down those cutely chubby cheeks…
And yeah, okay, Dave was violent as hell. But it wasn't the *same* for Dave. There was obviously *reasoning* behind the stuff he did, and a shrink would understand that. The boy had spent his whole life being tormented, abused, and abandoned by the people who were supposed to love and care for him. Kurt had spent his life being cherished, adored, and protected. Yeah, he'd had his share of sad times and tough struggles, but, ultimately, he'd had a father who loved him more than anything in the world. And he'd definitely never been locked in a closet or sold for booze.
But he'd still beat Dave senseless, and all he could see was his own fury.
Fury. That's what Dave called his fist… Maybe that's what Kurt should name his textbooks. The thought made him giggle, and it must have come out a little maniacal because Dave and the guard both gave him a look like Mickey Mouse had just popped out of his ass and started singing.
No, he wasn't crazy *at all.*
"Okay," the guard said as they came to a stop before a door next to the conference room where Kurt had met with his dad. "Karofsky, you'll be waiting in the conference room for your turn—Hummel's up to bat first." He opened the door and unceremoniously shoved Kurt toward it, sending him tumbling into the room.
Kurt thought he heard Dave say that it would be okay, but he might have imagined it because the door slammed hard in his face the moment he turned around.
"Hello, Mr. Hummel!" Kurt jumped about a foot in the air, stumbling a little as he whirled around. God, he was coming off as real graceful today.
Were crazy people graceful?
Kurt's eyes found the desk set up at the far end of the room and he choked a little. Dear Lord, was someone *punking* him? The man was *tiny,* this had to be a joke-
Oh, that was politically correct. There was no reason that very-short-but-not-quite-a-Little-Person size people couldn't be doctors. Besides, he was pretty sure that the State didn't punk people.
But, seriously, the tiny man looked almost like a child, his shoulders only a few inches above the edge of the desk—or he would have looked like a child if children had scruff on their chins and receding hair lines.
Kurt locked eyes with him almost by accident, shifting nervously from foot to foot as the little man stared him down. Oh God, this was not good. The look on that man's face was just frightening—
The man burst into a wide grin, clapping his hands together almost elatedly and gesturing for Kurt to come and sit across from him.
"Welcome, welcome! So you are Mr. Kurt Hummel! May I call you Kurt? Thank you, Kurt! I am the renowned and esteemed—mostly by myself—Dr. Batterhorn, but you may call me Dr. Batty. Most people do. A fabulous nickname, I say, though it did have a rather maudlin birth. An attempt to demean my rather unusual methods of psychology. However, I have always taken pride in being utterly truthful—and the truth is, I am batty indeed! And so the name stuck. But the knife meant for my metaphorical ribs did not fare so well! For I am more than content to be called Dr. Batty. Turnabout is fair play, they say—at least to those who do not hold themselves to a particularly high standard of morality, anyway." He shifted the heavily framed glasses perched on his nose. "Ah, morality. The blessing and bane of mankind itself! Now, come, Mr. Kurt Hummel, and take a seat so that I may analyze you in a very doctoral manner. If we hurry we may even make it out of this wretched room in time for a nice lunch! Or at least afternoon tea. I could use a scone or two."
Kurt blinked, mouth hanging open, as the rush of words finally same to a halt, doing his best to translate the fountain of madness that had just spewed out of the doctor's mouth.
"Oh, forgive me, dear boy. Have I overwhelmed you? I am quite whelming and often bring it to the point of over. Don't look so worried, lad!" He reached out, lifting himself out of his chair a little to pat the far side of the desk. "Just take a seat so that you and I may chat, doctor to prisoner, father to son, man to man, the batty to the possibly sane—whichever you prefer."
Okay, well, he definitely couldn't stand there forever with his mouth hanging open... but, really, when had he fallen down the rabbit hole? He was at the Mad Hatter's tea party and he was the only guest. How terrifying.
Kurt steeled himself, rolling his shoulders and trying to look as dignified as one could when clothed in traffic cone orange. "Um, thank you Dr., uh, Batty." He moved toward the desk, carefully settling himself in the metal folding chair set up across from the little man.
He certainly was a sight, this doctor turned Mad Hatter-minus-the-hat, his dark brown hair a crown around a very white balding spot in the middle, a few srands sticking up on one side as if he'd climbed out of bed and not bothered to comb it. His shirt was a dark green color with a couple of neon colored pens stuck in the pocket and it was paired, strangely enough, with a haphazardly knotted tie sporting Piglet pinning a tail on Eeyore while Winnie the Pooh sat in a tree above them, covered in honey. Not the most fashionable of outfits but somehow it worked for this strange man.
He couldn't have been more than four and a half feet or so, but his shoulders were slim and proportionate, so he didn't have the look of most Little People. But he was still so very small behind that desk. It should have been comforting, Kurt guessed, but it really just made him want to sink down in his own seat.
Kurt shifted uneasily in his chair, scooting it in a little, as the doctor opened a file, flipping through it without paying it any attention, his eyes focused on Kurt.
"So, Kurt, from what I have read in your file, you are quite the antonym of 'troublemaker.' Perhaps even the antonym of the boy noted as your victim, Mr., ah…" the doctor glanced down at the papers spread before him but, considering that the paper he had it open to was a piece of turquoise paper with the words 'GROCERY LIST' written at the top, Kurt had a sneaking suspicion that this odd doctor was putting on a show and that very few details slipped the mind of this little man. A performer recognizes its own kind, after all. "Oh, here it is, right under cauliflower and above Fruit Loops… Mr. David Karofsky. Yes, from what I can tell of the stick figure I drew next to his name while talking to the officers, you are *quite* the antonym of Mr. Karofsky. May I call him David? Thank you."
"He prefers Dave," Kurt said suddenly, then frowned a little, surprised by his own comment. He hadn't meant to say anything... Really, this man was just disconcerting.
"Oh, really? Dave, is it? I take it that you know Dave, then, if you know his preferences in way of nicknames. You must have some acquaintance beyond the casual look or book to the face in the hallway-whichever suits one's temper."
Kurt shifted uncomfortably. Very uncomfortably. Seriously, this guy was like a frightening circus act. "Um, well, we're not exactly BFFs or anything…"
"Ah. So you are simply at the 'name preference level' of acquaintance but not yet to the 'ice cream flavor preference level' when it comes to knowledge of Mr. Karofsky?" He raised an eyebrow, voice growing more serious. "Or is this, perhaps, a case of knowing one's enemy?"
Kurt started slightly at that, suddenly annoyed for no real reason. "Dave's not my enemy."
"Hm. Yet it seems that you…" Dr. Batty once more made a show of consulting his file, turning the page to reveal a sheet of stickers in the shape of farm animals. "Hit him over twenty times in the face with a hardback book. This was a friendly attack?" Amusement sparkled in the man's eyes and Kurt had to grit his teeth to keep himself from informing Dr. Batty just what he thought of his decidedly batty methods.
"Look, we weren't exactly friends then, okay? He bullied me constantly. He'd shove me into lockers and call me names and threaten me…" Kurt's chest tightened a little as the ghost of all those cruel words swept through him. "And then he attacked someone very close to me. And I just went sort of crazy, okay? I know that it wasn't normal, I know that it wasn't right, but I really didn't mean to!" He leaned forward, setting his elbows on the desk as he appealed to the man. "And if I had known him *then* like I do now…"
Dr. Batty shifted his glasses, looking interested. "So I take it that you have become compatriots in your short career as Dave's cell mate? Even more than friends, perhaps." He cocked his head to the side, causing some of his untidy hair to fall over his bald spot. "One of the guards noted that 'Big D,' as he referred to him, has taken a more… personal interest in you."
Kurt scowled. Fabulous. As if being gossiped about by the other boys wasn't bad enough, now the guards were talking about them, too?
"Look, Dave is just trying to protect me."
"By raping you?"
Kurt's eyes flashed with anger, a sudden rush of adrenaline racing through him. Who the hell did this man think he was? He didn't know anything about them. He needed to pack up his stupid file of construction paper and stickers and leave them alone!
"He didn't rape me! I mean… he…" Kurt choked slightly, his mouth suddenly dry as the memory of Dave's hardness against him, of semen trickling down his thigh, of the humiliation and the terror passed over him. "He… he was just trying to protect me. He could have killed me, or really raped me, and I don't think anyone would have cared. Or he could have just left me alone and it would have been worse than being dead, I think. But he didn't. He risked a lot to help me…" Kurt trailed off, staring blankly down at the desk.
Dave *had* risked a lot for him, more than Kurt *wanted* to recognize. It was easier to pretend that he could walk around this place being the proud diva and dealing with the bullies himself just like he had at McKinley. But truth was, this was a whole new world—and not in a Aladdin and Princess Jasmine sort of way. This was *not* a world he wanted to stay in, but there was no flying carpet to escape on.
"I don't want to stay here… I don't want *us* to have to stay here…" Kurt's voice was low and shaky. It was terrifying, having your whole life, your rights as a human being, depend entirely on another person's decisions. Was this like an ultra-light version of what Dave had felt his entire life? "Please, we know what we did was wrong. Don't make us stay here."
"And by 'us' you mean you and Dave Karofsky."
Kurt nodded numbly, staring pleadingly at the doctor.
"And your other friend, too."
Kurt blinked. His other—? Oh, right, Puck. What the hell had he been thinking? How could he have forgotten about Puck? Dave may have been there for him these last few days, but Puck was the one who had pulled Dave off of Finn in that locker room!
"Of course! Puck, too."
Dr. Batty studied him seriously, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Mr. Hummel, is Mr. Karofsky your lover?"
Kurt started. "What? No, of course not!" He shook his head a little madly. "No, we're not… God. I've never even had sex!"
The doctor leaned back a little in his chair. "Do you want to be his lover?"
"God, no, of course not!" Kurt said, stumbling over the words. "I mean, I care about him a lot and I want to help him 'cause he's really been through so much. But lovers? No! I mean, maybe we've kissed but that doesn't mean so much. He's a Neanderthal for goodness sakes. Well, a very attractive Neanderthal once you get him out of those off brand polo shirts."
"So you wouldn't be interested in having a… sexual relationship with Dave?"
Kurt bit his lip, chewing it nervously. "No. No! I care about him, but… No… Besides, I don't know that Dave will ever be ready to have a lover. He's pretty messed up when it comes to sex. I think maybe he's starting to accept that he's gay. But I don't know if he'll ever be able to be with a man like that and enjoy it…" Kurt trailed off. Why was there a lump growing in his throat?
Dr. Batty raised an eyebrow. "So you think his past has ruined him?"
Another surge of annoyance shot through Kurt. "Ruined? Fabulous word choice there, doctor. Very sensitive. Of course he's not ruined! I just think that it might always be a duty for him, because of his past. Like, maybe, something he would do so a person would love him—if he ever believes a person could love him. Not that I would ever want to have actual sex with him or anything like *that*. But just in general. Like, in the future."
"It seems you've thought quite a lot about this boy, Kurt," Dr. Batty said idly. "These are quite some theories you've created about Dave's past. How long have you had this fascination with him?"
Kurt's mouth dropped open. "Fascination? I don't have a fascination! We've just spent a lot of time together lately and I've heard some things about his past and it's made me think."
"In the two days that you have been in detention together."
Kurt furrowed his brow. Two days? Was that really all it had been? It seemed like so much longer. But it *had* just been two days, hadn't it? Dave's face was nowhere near healed, still sporting ugly purple bruises, and the hair growing back on Kurt's legs was just stubble. But somehow it seemed like he'd known Dave for a really long time. Or maybe all the things he knew about Dave had just started to make sense.
"Hey, homo."
.
.
Kurt winced as Karofsky's hulking form appeared from Neverland or wherever else he hid. Really, where did he *come* from? Did he hide in a locker, ear pressed to the vent just waiting to hear Kurt's voice and spring? No, there was no way in hell that fat ass could fit in a locker. Had he planted some sort of surveillance equipment around the school just so he could appear without fail right where Kurt was walking, at least once a day?
"Get lost," Kurt mumbled, trying his best to resist the urge to just turn tail and run as fast as he could in the other direction. He could take the long way to the choir room, around the outside of the entire school.
"You look gay." Karofsky's voice was cutting and Kurt glared.
"Yes, well, I suppose that works out considering that I *am* gay. Now, if you will excuse me…" Kurt attempted to push around the bigger boy. He was only a few precious feet from the choir room… if he could *just make it through the door…
An enormous hand engulfed Kurt's wrist painfully, yanking him back, and Kurt let out a cry.
"Who do you think you are to come to school looking like that? It hurts my eyes, queer."
Kurt opened his mouth to reply that if Kurt hurt his eyes, looking in the mirror would probably blind him but was saved from what probably would have resulted in several bruises as Puck walked up to them, a scowl on his face.
"Yo, Karofsky! What the hell is your problem, asshole?" Puck shoved the boy and Karofsky released Kurt's aching wrist, returning the other football player's shove.
"My problem is how many homos we have walking our halls these days. You play for the other team now, Puckerman? This your booooyfriend?"
Puck's eyes flashed and he shoved Karofsky again. Oh, these jocks and their shoving.
"Go to hell, Karofsky. You smell like garbage. You been sleeping in the dump again or is it just your natural scent, Dave Copperfield."
"Screw you, Puckerman!" Kurt scrambled back as the big boy shoved Puck hard against the lockers, planting a beefy arm on either side of his head. "Suck my dick."
"Sorry, Karofsky. Not my thing. Ask your mama. I bet she'd be *glad* to do it. Might even want to have your baby, you inbred bastard. She can suck your dick, you can suck your dad's, and you can all have a dicksucking good time, cocksucker."
Kurt cried out, hiding behind his own hands as Karofsky's fist slammed hard into Puck's gut and the boy collapsed to the ground, grunting as Karofsky's worn out sneaker found its way to his ribs. He drew back to kick again and Kurt started forward without thinking, grabbing Karofsky's arm.
"Stop it, dammit!"
The big boy practically roared and yanked it away, stumbling back with wide eyes, his teeth bared.
"Don't touch me, homo! I don't want your kind touching me!"
"Oh for God's sake! It's not contagious, you ignoramus!"
Kurt winced as Dave was suddenly in his face. Why, why, why couldn't he ever keep his mouth shut?
Karofsky's voice was barely a whisper. "I said, don't touch me. If you ever touch me again, I will make you very, very sorry. Got it?" With those words he gave Kurt another shove then turned on his heel and stalked off in the other direction.
Kurt stared after him, breathing heavily. There was something *seriously* wrong with that boy.
.
.
"Look, Dr. Batty," Kurt said, feeling a sudden urge to direct the conversation down just about any other path than the History of Kurt and Dave. "You said you wanted to make it out of here in time for tea, so maybe we should get down to it." He leaned forward in the chair, placing his palms flat on the desk, voice very serious. "I know what I did was wrong. And maybe even a little… insane. I mean, to hurt someone like that, over and over, just because I was mad… Violence is never the answer and I really don't know what happened." Great, he'd just called himself insane. Good job, Kurt. Why didn't he just buy himself a one way ticket to the land of the padded rooms? "I am so, *so* sorry that I did it. I wish that I could go back in time and take it back—"
"You wish you could go back in time and take it back," Dr. Batty cut in, looking intrigued for God knew what reason. "But would you, Mr. Hummel? If you were to go back in time and be that exact person at that exact moment with the same feelings and knowledge and ideas—would you do things differently? An honest answer, Kurt."
Kurt frowned as the words swam in his head. An honest answer… if he went back in time and nothing had changed would he do it again? Of course not! Except, he would, wouldn't he? Because if nothing had changed and he was just that person in that place again, why would his response change? "I… I don't… I mean, I wish *now* that I hadn't done it, and if I could go back knowing what I know now—"
"But you can't." Dr. Batty's voice was brisk. "So answer me. If you were that person once more, what would you do?"
Kurt took a deep breath and nervously ran a fingers across his bangs, smiling briefly as he remembered Dave's finger across them. "Well… if nothing had changed… then I guess the same thing would happen." He winced as the words came out of his mouth. Fabulous. Did straight jackets came in pink tartan? Because he was going to be in one soon. Talk about crazy.
But maybe this Dr. Batty man was crazy, too, because a smile was spreading across his face. "Indeed. Because you know what, Mr. Hummel? We cannot change the past. If we *did* go back it would just be the same story playing over and over again, because we would once more be the us of then and all the things we learned in the future would be lost."
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I dunno, it worked pretty well in Harry Potter."
Dr. Batty chuckled. "Yes, well, unfortunately for us, Time Turners are the things of story books and flying telephone booths are no more real. There is no point in worrying over the past, Kurt, because we cannot change it. I can tell you have a kind heart, and I see real pain in your eyes when you speak of terrible events of the past—your past, Mr. Karofsky's past-likely a boy like you would feel something for *anyone* with a sad past. But in my professional opinion as a child psychologist—the best thing to do now, Kurt, is move on."
He reached out and squeezed one of Kurt's hands gently, a sympathetic look on his face.
"And most of all, don't give up. The past colors our lives, but it does not dictate how the brush of the future will move across the canvas. Human beings are amazing and, like artists, they have a way of taking old spills and splatters and making something beautiful and new. People can heal, even from the most traumatic events. So don't give up on your own art… and don't underestimate the talent of people you care about—sometimes the most stained of canvases can produce the most beautiful paintings."
He leaned back, suddenly all grins once more. "So! Let's bring in Mr. Karofsky and get this party started!"