A/N: We're gonna be taking a trip into Dave's mind a bit in this one. Some flashbacks and sad thoughts and general angsty-ness. Stay with me guys. The reviews have been awesome and again, keep me writing even when I'm tired or feeling wiped out. Knowing that someone's willing to take the time to read and give thoughts really pushes me to continue. Thanks again.
Warnings: Mention of a minor character death.
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..."
...
"Thankfully the cut isn't that deep; looks pretty clean too, so we can use an adhesive to pull it together..."
...
"Six more hours Mr. Karofsky, then you'll be able to sleep it off in a holding cell for a while..."
...
"One of the last ones from the Oxford brawl. He was just cleared by the Doc so he's good to go. Book him and let him have his phone call..."
...
Snippets... Moments... Just flashes of conversation had about him, around him... He had honestly zoned out through most of it though, only recalling vague fragments of the commentary.
He briefly recalls being placed under arrest, the back of the squad car smelling like warm leather tainted by too many hours of sunlight, the feel of the metal handcuffs tight, pinching his skin...
The hospital. He pictured the waiting room, an area seeking to emulate an inviting space but only achieving a contrived affect full of anxiety and looming helplessness. People coughing, some with bloodied bandages on random portions of their bodies, others in wheelchairs looking as if they were going to keel over and die right there...
His doctor - he can't remember his face or his name for that matter - just that his voice was deep, and snippish; he was straight to the point with his words as well as with gluing shut the gash opened up by the beer bottle...
Then he was waiting. Those fucking cuffs connecting his wrist to the bed post where he was to remain under observation so as to avoid slipping into a concussed coma.
There, time seemed to weave patterns, rebuilding solely for his review of the last few hours of his life. And when that was successfully reconstructed and evaluated, then he'd go back further, thinking of the last month, then the last year, then further and further until he remembered why he'd hated hospitals so much.
He flashes back, his heart aching at the impending memory...
"We're sorry Mr. Karofsky, but your wife - she - um - she didn't make it. The impact caused her brain to severely hemorrhage. We did what we could, but the damage was just too severe. I'm sorry - but there was nothing more we could do."
Dave sat there, the magazine he'd been flipping through just to glimpse the cool football guys on the cover fell loosely from his grip, his ten year old eyes transfixed on his father's rigid frame as the man dressed in a funny blue uniform patted his Dad's broad shoulder.
Dave was tired. It was past his bedtime he knew, and his Mom was supposed to have been home a long time ago to cook dinner - his favorite too: spaghetti and meatballs.
Paul Karofsky had his large hands balled into fists, his face blank as he approached his son and sat down on the seat next to him. Dave had never seen his Dad look so weird before...
"Davey - I - er - I have to tell you something, son."
"Is Mom coming yet? I'm tired."
Paul shook his head, his eyes overlybright. "No, son. She - um - won't be coming."
Dave didn't understand. She said she was going to make his favorite - he'd been thinking about it all day during lunch time - planning to pretend that his meatballs were mini planets so he could swallow them up and practice his evil villain laugh.
"Is she coming later?"
Paul's lip was trembling, his eyes slowly leaking translucent trails. Dave felt his face get hot and his mouth become dry. He'd never seen his Dad do that before. Not even when he'd hit his thumb with a hammer by accident trying to hang up that one family picture when they'd gone to the beach - Dave was little then, like six or something, but he still remembers how fun that day was. Paul clears his throat and continues.
"No Davey. She's not. Mom's not - she's not here anymore."
"B-But, I want to see her. Where is she?"
"She's gone sweetheart. We can't see Mommy anymore."
Dave didn't like this. This was a mean joke his Dad was playing. He felt his heart begin to race, his eyes brimming with panicked tears.
"No! I want Mom! I want to go home - "
"Davey. Please, son - "
"No! She's not gone. She's just - she's just had to go and get something from the store - she's gonna come home- "
"I'm so sorry Davey - I'm so sorry my boy," and Paul Karofsky dissolves into tears, his face buried in his hands as he slumps forward.
Dave is terrified and he hates his Dad for telling him that his Mom isn't coming back. She was always there. When he needed the crusts cut off his sandwhiches, or when he needed an opinion on the newest picture of a galactic space battle that he'd drawn... or to cuddle him when he was sad after the kids at school called him names again...
His Mom loved him. She would never leave him...
The thought's are still lingering. He's already been sitting here in the holding cell for some hours.
A car wreck - a stupid fucking rain soaked highway and an easily destructable, factory made hunk of metal and plastic bull shit had effectively taken away his world.
Damn... He hadn't thought about his Mom in what felt like years. At least not how she'd... His mind shifts again, automatically steering away from the thoughts of his Mother.
Instead he thinks of blue eyes filled with fear and hurt, pleading with him - the teenaged version of himself... Now those same blue eyes filling with concern and what looked to be actual care for him, the adult Dave, as the man hesitated to gather his step brother and retreat, Dave's fingers laced in his own hair in an attempt to staunch the trickling blood as he watched him eventually leave...
In many ways, his life had changed forever when he'd lost his Mom. In other ways, it had changed forever when he'd glimpsed that boy with those damn blue eyes sauntering down the halls with his chin held high and an almost defiant switch in his hips.
Why can't he turn his fucking mind off already?
He refused to make his phone call upon entry into the police station. Didn't see the point. His Dad would probably have a heart attack at the news of where he was. He thought of calling Lisa, just for a moment, but then he knew he would never hear the end of it.
He mostly wanted to call Kurt. But he honestly didn't think he could stand the thought of him not answering, or worse yet - the disappointment of him outright refusing to come.
Some time later, his name is called.
"Karofsky. David. You made bail."
Dave slowly stood up, stretching a bit before asking, "Who?"
"Ain't got all day, man. Let's go, and you'll find out. Unless you wanna stay in there."
Dave just shot the guard a hopefully menacing, but surely exhausted glare, and followed him out of the cell.
Fuck.
Paul Karofsky. Death glare, and crossed arms both present and accounted for as he stood eyeing his son. Dave felt himself shrink into the same confused ten year old boy from the past just that quickly.
The car ride home was suffocating. Neither man said a word the entire way. Dave was sure it was coming though: the inevitable schpiel about Dave needing to pack his shit and get out as soon as they made it back.
When they pulled up into the drive way, Paul turned off the engine, and simply sat there. Dave was just too fatigued and weary to elicit a response, or make a plea, even to try to apologize... He just sat and waited as well, wondering what motels were close enough so he wouldn't have to drive too far.
"Let's get this straight."
Huh. Interesting choice of words, Dave thinks.
"You're going to start working toward finding a job or some sort of means of an income."
For the first time since sitting down in the car, Dave manages to spare his Father a contemplative look.
"I know about your job situation, David. I've known for a while now."
Dave must look slightly shocked, because Paul easily hastens on, an air of blatant avoidance about the sudden discourse.
"Also you're going to start going to meetings. And I don't care to hear any crap about you not needing it. You will go if you want to remain under this roof. More importantly, you will do so if you want to remain a part of your sister's life. End of story."
He could feel his heart contract at those words.
"Danny - "
"Doesn't know about this. And I'd rather keep it that way. Wouldn't you?"
Dave opened his mouth to counter but found that the words escaped him; that they would likely fall flat and probably mirror too closely to an excuse anyway.
"Now get out of my car. I need time to think."
Dave doesn't hesitate as he groggily pulls himself up and exits.
"And David?"
He halts, holding the door ajar.
"You owe me five hundred bucks."
Dave huffs as he closes the door behind him. The defeat and tiredness wrapping him up like a makeshift Christmas gift as he silently treks toward the house.