AN: And I actually return to this, because I recently posted this to Tumblr, and I thought it was appropriate for this collection. (Still, I've seen those who'd prefer individual postings over collections like this. Still not sure what to do there. Thoughts?)

Anyway, this is another way "On My Way" could've gone, featuring an OC from some of my previous stories of Dave's family.

"Hello?"

"Jack! Have you heard from David?"

"Uh, hey, Dad… No, I haven't. Why? What's the matter?"

"He's gone!"

Jack Karofsky readjusted the phone under his ear. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean what I said!" Paul Karofsky snapped; Jack marveled at the frustration and anger he heard. He could count on one hand the number of times his dad had raised his voice growing up — most of the time for something really bad. This… this was unusual. "He's run away from home!"

"What? When?"

"Sometime last night or this morning! He left us this note and most of his clothes are gone. Your mother's been using her contacts to check plane and bus reservations and the credit card we gave him, but nothing yet…"

"Why would he run away?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Dad?"

"Did you know… Did you know David is… is…"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Is what, Dad?"

"Um… gay?"

"Gay?"

"Yes… gay. Look, your mother and I got this call from his school, and when we found the note, we looked at his Facebook and…"

"Oh, then I have no idea why Dave would want to run away from home." There was much more acidity in Jack's voice than he'd intended, but fuck it. This situation, his parents, deserved every bit of it they could get.

"What are you talking about?"

"Mom wants to 'fix' him, doesn't she?" Jack spat. "She wants to send him to Father Mitchell's straight camp so he can stop being a fag, right?"

"Don't you use that tone with me—"

"We both know that's what she'll want to do, Dad! She'll do it, because you'll let her!"

There was a deadly silence on the other end for a moment. "Are you saying David ran away—"

"Because of you two?" Jack finished flatly. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

The silence stretched on. No, not silence — Jack could hear his father's sharp exhales on the other end of the line. Finally, his dad sighed; it was weary. "Look, son," he began in that oh-so-patient-and-concilatory tone that sometimes just raised Jack's hackles, "I know you and your mother haven't gotten along for a long time…"

"Oh my God, Dad…"

"… And I know that's really why you decided to go to school in California…"

"Dad, stop trying to make this about somebody else for once in your life! This is about Mom, and you!"

"She loves you both—"

"And that just excuses everything to you, doesn't it? She wants what she thinks is best for us, and that's all that matters? What happened to what Dave wants? Do you think he wants to be prayed over and told he's some kind of pervert?"

"What would you know about what Dave wants?" The words were bitter and sarcastic; Jack was actually thrown for a moment. Thrown… and a little impressed. "You haven't talked to him in over a year."

"Well, I know he ran away from home, because you just told me. What do you think that says about what he wants?"

That silence again. When Paul Karofsky finally responded, his voice was back to its normal mashed potato tone, though with a palpable tremor. "David is a minor," he said, "and if something happens to him…"

"Maybe better to risk that than go through what he knows he'll go through by staying home," Jack said.

"Look… Jack… We really are worried, both of us. If you hear from him… please…"

His father's voice cracked in the middle of that last word. Jack sighed. "Okay."

"Thank you. If he does call you, tell him…" There was a pause. "Tell him…"

"I won't lie to him," Jack said evenly. "But I will tell him that you two are worried about him."

Another silence. "Yes, that's… that's probably fine." His father hung up without another word.

Jack tapped the phone off and turned towards the passenger seat. "Mom and Dad are worried about you," he said. Dave didn't respond; he just continued to watch the Midwest scenery go by, as he had throughout the entire phone call. "I'm getting hungry. You?" Still nothing. "If you don't say anything, I'm gonna stop at the next Arby's…"

That did it; funny how the most mundane, normal stimuli were sometimes the ones that really got to you. "You still eat at that place? Their sandwiches are fucking disgusting!" Dave's eyes widened, as if startled that he'd actually taken the bait. They became downcast, and drifted towards the window again — but not all the way. That was an encouraging sign… wasn't it?

Jack sighed. "Look, Dave… I'm glad you called me…"

"If there'd been anybody else I could've talked to, I wouldn't have," Dave grumbled. "But what I didn't do is ask you to come all the way to Lima without telling Mom and Dad and renting a car so you could drive me to fucking California…"

"Because I knew Mom would look at plane and bus tickets," Jack said, signaling a lane change to pass a semi.

"Yeah, but why? Aren't you really close to missing a huge exam?"

Finally, a question with a simple answer. "Because you're my brother."

There was that silence again — this time, though, it was here, rather than there.

"Jack…"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'I'm sorry,' I'm dumping you by the side of the freeway and making you hitchhike."

"But—"

"For fuck's sake, I know what it was like for you…"

"What, you trying to tell me something?" There wasn't much levity in Dave's voice — hardly any at all — but still a hundred times more than Jack expected there to be. That somehow buoyed him.

"I meant secondhand, you dipshit! Besides, I grew up in that house, same as you!" He could feel the atmosphere become heavier at the reminder; Jack gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, mentally berating himself. "I wanted to," he finally said. "I wanted to help. You had to get out."

"Yeah," Dave said with a crack in his voice. "Yeah, I did."

Jack couldn't push back the memory in time: of his brother calling, of I can't take this anymore, Jack, I was really really close to doing something really stupid… That, of course, triggered all the other memories, all wrapped up in blind panic: not letting Dave get off the phone until he was sick of giving reassurances. Getting online with the intent of spending all the money he had if it would get him to Ohio before morning. Not sleeping on the plane and actually buying inflight WiFi, glued to his text messaging. Not feeling his heart rate go down until he actually personally saw his brother emerge from their childhood home, duffel bag in hand.

"You fucked up at McKinley," Jack managed to say, "I get that. But you weren't being punished for that. You were being punished for being gay, and that's even more fucked up. I wasn't gonna let that happen."

"Even though—"

"Yeah, even though," Jack interrupted. The road ahead was clear, so he dared to turn and look his brother straight in the eye. "I never hated you, Dave. Never." He had to turn back to the road before he could see any reaction, so he went on. "I've read and heard the stories out there, from the gays who had even worse home lives than we did. I know what it can do to a person. And like I said…" He swallowed. "You're my brother."

Dave didn't say anything, so Jack followed suit. He merely checked the cruise control and watched the road ahead. It took less time than he'd expected for Dave to say something. "Man…" A crack in his voice, much like the one in their dad's. "I always knew you were a softhearted hippie, but I didn't know you were this soft."

Jack laughed — a laugh of relief? Release? Who knew? He sure didn't. "I hope you don't think this means I still can't kick your ass, because if you do, you're even more delusional than I thought."

"You wish! While I've been playing hockey and football, what have you been doing? Walking around in circles with a sign? Sit-ins? Screaming while the cops pepper spray your face? Like I said, you're soft, dude! Take a look at your belly!"

Jack actually looked down at himself for an instant. "What the fuck is wrong with my fucking belly? I go to the gym every other day! I am a sleek, toned motherfucker!"

"One out of three ain't bad!" Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw the smile slip from Dave's face. He wished it could've stayed a little longer. "So…" he began, "what happens now?"

"Well, if you don't want to go to Arby's, I can wait 'til we see a McDonalds…"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, asshole. I meant, what happens when we get to California."

Jack tried to shrug casually. "You're living with me, of course. What, you think I'm gonna drive you all the way to LA and make you sleep on the beach?"

"I'm being serious, Jack!" Dave snapped. "You know Mom and Dad are gonna find out sooner or later. What do we do then? And how am I supposed to go to college now? You think they're just gonna hand over my college fund? And that's assuming I can even finish high school…"

"That's later," Jack said with a calm he was surprised to hear in his own voice. "Right now, all that matters is, you're safe." Without taking his eyes off the road, he clapped a hand onto his brother's shoulder and squeezed. "We can figure the rest out. I know we can. You're safe. That's all I care about."

"Okay," Dave said in a soft voice, his eyes joining his brother's on the road. "Okay."

"Welcome to Nebraska," the sign said as it flashed by. The rental car streaked down the freeway, towards a future that was uncertain, but somehow still full of more hope than Jack Karofsky could've ever imagined.