AN: Thanks to the alerts and reviews so far. Keep 'em coming.

I read recently that some author (George R.R. Martin?) thinks that fanfiction is not a good way for an aspiring writer to practice, comparing it to paint by numbers. Perhaps that's true, especially with a 'fic like this that hews so close to canon events. However, I do know that this is the most I've stuck to a personal writing project in ages, so maybe this can still be a spark for something good (and even more original!).

With all that said, the confrontation (and a bit more)...

You lost it. You lost it. You lost it... That's what Blaine Anderson was thinking.

"Can you pass the gravy, please, Mom?" That's what he said.

"Certainly, sweetie." Elaine Anderson passed on the gravy boat with a graceful gesture. "So how was school?"

I lost it. I lost control. It's all slipping away. It's... "Fine." Until Hummel tells everyone what you did. Then you'll lose everything. Your friends. Your rep. Every bit of control you have. Then you'll have nothing.

"Grades keeping up?" Roger Anderson asked. It was an off-handed question, as if he already knew the answer.

"Same as usual, sir."

Blaine's father smiled. "Marvelous. I think you already guaranteed your spot at Yale last year, but at this rate..." He shook his head, his smile growing wider. "I have to admit, you were right, son."

Blaine straightened; he struggled to think of the last time he'd heard anything close to those words from his dad. He couldn't. "About...?"

"About attending public school. I was skeptical, but so far, your judgment is proving completely correct. You're flourishing, Blaine. You're accomplishing everything I'd ever hoped from you, and more. I'm proud of you."

"Both of us are," his mother cut in.

"I…" Blaine struggled to keep his composure, the tears out of his eyes. "I… Thanks, Dad… Mom. That means a lot to me." Everything. It means everything.

But the metaphorical (though it didn't feel metaphorical) cold water splashed in his face as it also reminded him of just how much he had to lose. And it was all Hummel's fault.

Hummel...

Later that evening, he tried to do homework, but half his time was being spent refreshing Kurt Hummel's Facebook page. Its status and wall hadn't changed since the previous night, but Blaine was just waiting for those new words to appear. First, that idiotic Glee Club would see it, naturally. And it'd spread quickly from there; Rachel Berry was nothing if not talkative. Of course, there'd be plenty of people who wouldn't believe it, at least not at first. But once the seed was planted, it would be hard, if not impossible, to uproot. And if his exes decided to compare notes...

Blaine slammed his history textbook shut and buried his face in his hands. Do not cry. Do NOT cry. It's not going to help anything, and you're not a fucking kid anymore. He turned and glanced wearily at his bedside clock; almost 11 pm. He had no idea when Hummel went to bed (and really, why should he care?), but no update so far was probably good news. Maybe he was too scared to say anything, afraid of the consequences if he did blab. Blaine's mouth drew tight. He should be.

The next morning, he stepped into McKinley High with his stomach rebelling against his oatmeal and toast. First stop was his locker. Azimio Adams and Chris were talking and laughing. Both greeted him with their usual grins and high fives. So far, so good. A group of Cheerios passed by, two of his exes among them. They all gave him little waves and shy smiles. Homeroom, then his first few classes, came and went without a single word, or even a passing, doubtful glance.

By lunch, Blaine was significantly relaxed; he started his climb up a set of stairs with an almost cheerful kick. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Hummel all day. Obviously the fairy was a lot smarter than he'd thought. Maybe he needed just a small reminder later of what Blaine was capable of, but otherwise it seemed that...

"I'm so glad you're here." Blaine stopped. That was Hummel's voice; there was no mistaking the pitch, the almost velvet smoothness. "I'm sorry to have called you down here like this, but I didn't know where else to turn."

"I told you, it's okay," a deeper, rumbling voice responded. That one was new; Blaine was at least acquainted with practically every student at McKinley, but this voice he couldn't place. "I just didn't have time to change. It's a little weird being stared at this much."

It was at that moment Hummel came into view, descending the same stairs Blaine was on. He was being followed by a hulking teenager in a blue blazer with red piping - a definite stranger to McKinley. "Don't worry, they won't bite immed..." Hummel turned, and stopped dead. The boy behind him also stopped, puzzled. Kurt and Blaine stared at each other for a long moment.

"That him?" the blazer wearing stranger asked quietly.

Hummel swallowed. "Anderson."

"Hummel." The tension in Blaine's stomach squeezed at him. "Maybe you could get out of the way. Those of us with a future have classes to get to."

"We need to talk," Hummel burst out, sounding awfully rehearsed, yet still not quite ready for his lines. "In private."

Blaine forced a derisive laugh. "What would we have to talk about? And I'd have to ask you to put on a chastity belt before I'd go anywhere alone with you."

"You should listen to him," the stranger said mildly. "Or else we can just talk about it right here, right now. In front of everybody."

Blaine stiffened, looking about wildly. So far, a few passing students stared at the beefy stranger, but none seemed to be taking an interest in the conversation. Yet. He nodded, trying to keep the bile out of his throat. "Fine. We'll talk. Lead on, MacDuff."

Hummel descended the stairs, shifting his body as far into the banister as he could as he passed by Blaine, the stranger following; the latter gave Blaine an appraising look which didn't seem especially friendly. Blaine straightened the collar of his letterman jacket as he joined the two on a short walk to a nearby empty classroom.

As soon as the door swung shut, he leaned against it casually, coincidentally covering the window with his body. "So you wanted to talk? Talk."

Hummel sucked in a breath. "We need to discuss what happened yesterday."

"Yesterday? I don't really know what you're talking about. Unless it's about that date I made with Jolene Harris, but I don't think you're interested in..."

"You kissed me," Hummel said bluntly.

Blaine's mouth twitched. "You sure you didn't dream it, Hummel? Because it's creepy enough being in the same room as you and your boy toy without a whip and a chair; I didn't need to know I'm in your wet dreams too."

Here the stranger stepped in. "Look, I know this is scary shit. But you gotta know that you're not alone."

"Not alone," Blaine repeated coldly. "Really. And what would you know about my life, private school boy? You know, I recognize that monkey suit of yours. I almost went to Dalton. But then I figured I'd do better dealing with real people, instead of a bunch of Stepford guys. And no girls? I've always wondered about..."

"Please, Anderson, listen to him!" A startling note of almost-begging was creeping into Hummel's tone. "He… we know what you're going through."

Blaine laughed; he wanted to laugh until he cried. "You… You actually think that, don't you? Shit, you're more deluded than I thought."

"I'm gay," the stranger said flatly. It was so matter-of-fact that Blaine gaped in astonishment. "I guess I should say, I'm gay… too. So I'm guessing we know a little more about you than you think. Kurt wants to help you. And I'm willing to pitch in. It's okay to be scared; so was I. So was Kurt…"

Blaine faked a loud yawn. "Thanks for the bedtime story… Or should I say, fairy tale? But you two are boring the fuck out of me."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Kurt said insistently. "You shouldn't be beating yourself up or hiding who you are…"

"Because you're just the shining example of the greatest life, huh?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, will you shut up and listen to him?" the stranger burst out, his face reddening. "He's trying to fucking help you!"

"No. No!" Blaine leaped forward, getting into the stranger's face. He looked ready to shove him, but the size difference got through even Blaine's rage-addled mind. "I'm tired of listening to you. I don't need your help. I don't want your help. My life is going according to plan." With that apparent non sequitur, he turned towards Kurt, who stiffened at once under the gaze. The stranger visibly tensed, but Blaine was too far gone to care. "And you! You better not go around telling lies about me, or you'll pay. You hear me? You'll fucking pay!"

Blaine stormed out of the room, an old mantra still running through his mind as he charged mindlessly through the halls: do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry…

"He's not coming out anytime soon," Dave snorted.

Kurt rubbed his forehead. "I don't think your outburst near the end helped much."

Dave's shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I know I blew it. I've just never done this kind of thing before. And the guy is such a douche. I've met way too many of his kind in my life. And after what he's done to you... I'm surprised you still want to help him."

"Well, helping him will help me too." Kurt sighed. "And... I kind of get where he's coming from."

"You never bullied anyone just because you were scared." A small smile slipped onto Dave's face. "Unless there's a dark side of you I don't know about."

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, a dark side that secretly loves beer and monster trucks. Seriously, though, even I haven't been out my entire life. There was a time when just the idea scared me more than anything else. I can't force him to face that."

"Well, maybe you should!" Kurt spun towards Dave, jaw dropped; the Warbler was red-faced again, his fists clenched, with a dangerously raging gleam in his eyes. "I mean, his kind just has to be the top fucking dog. If you knocked him off his pedestal, the rest of his so-called friends would probably be too busy with him to bother you…"

Kurt gasped in anger. "David Karofsky! I can't believe you're actually saying this! I thought you of all people would…!"

Something about Kurt's words, or his face, or his anger, must have gotten through, as Dave's entire body immediately relaxed, his face twisting into an expression of self-flagellating regret. "I'm… God, you're right, you're right… I'm sorry..." He rubbed at his face with both hands. "I just… It made me so fucking mad seeing him talk to you like that when you're just trying to help him, a guy who's been bullying you…" Dave sighed. "You're a way better man than I am, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt gently touched Dave's arm. "No better than a man who drove two hours to help someone he met just a few days ago."

Dave laughed, despite himself. "I hope you're not expecting me to be your big gay mentor, Kurt. As you've probably figured out by now, I kind of suck at it."

"Maybe we can learn from each other, then. I for one hate relationships that are all give and no take."

Dave grinned. "Sounds good to me." He watched as Kurt's gaze flickered back to the door of the classroom. "You're still worried about that guy, aren't you?"

"A little. And…" His face fell visibly.

"And?"

"And I just realized… He was my first kiss. The first one that counted…"

"Jesus…" Dave reached out, but his arm quickly dropped back to his side. "Hey, want to grab some lunch? There was this place I passed by on the way here I was kind of curious about…"

To Dave's infinite relief, a smile came back to Kurt's face. "I would love to."

That evening, Burt Hummel happened to glance out the window of his home. There was no particular reason, but it was a nice night; with no clouds in the sky, the moon cast everything in a bright glow. A car was driving by; of course, as a mechanic, Burt's mind automatically categorized and filed: 2010 Acura ZDX, silver. After a casual, appraising glance, his attention turned back to the couch and the TV program that awaited him.

So there was no way he could've seen the Acura return for another pass in front of the house. And once more, before it vanished into the dark. Until the next night. And the next…