AN: Ah, finally. Hope everyone had a good New Year.

This was one of the tougher chapters to plan out. This and "Sexy" were a little sticky, plot-wise (and now, two other episodes have taken their place in that, uh, sticky spot – dirty joke intended). Fortunately, I think I've got a plan of sorts. Still, I recently had to resolve a plot question for myself that came down to timing it in the best dramatic spot versus the spot that's more consistent with character and events (in favor of the latter, which is a slight shame, but oh well).

Enough of my whining. Let's get to the booze!

The words "unsupervised," "teenage," and "party" are so innocuous when apart that it's almost hard to fathom how terrifying they become when put together. "Well…" Kurt started, "it's Rachel. Maybe that will keep things under control, even with Puck there."

Finn stared at Kurt through the Skype window. Kurt stared back. Then they both started to laugh uproariously. "Seriously, though, dude…" Finn began as he wiped the tears of mirth from his face. "It probably will be pretty lame. But I'm going to be designated driver just in case."

Kurt nodded. "That's good of you, Finn." He turned at a knock on his room door. "Come in!"

A living wall dressed in a Dalton uniform entered. "Hey, Kurt, I… Oh, sorry. Didn't know you were busy."

"No, no, come on in."

"Hey, Dave!" Finn waved from the computer screen. "How's it going?"

"Ehh, not bad. Sorry I haven't been on Live lately; I'm being slammed with school work."

"No prob. I was just telling Kurt about this party Rachel's throwing."

Dave's eyebrow crooked in amusement. "Sounds exciting."

Kurt chuckled. "Yes, that's the first word that comes to mind in regards to Rachel Berry. 'Exciting'…" His voice faded.

"What're you thinking about, Kurt?" Finn asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. It's just… Do you think anyone would mind if I attended?"

"Mind? Of course not! I think the only reason Rachel didn't invite you is…"

Kurt nodded. "Yes, last year, I know…" His mind briefly flickered to vague memories of vomit and babbling about Bambi's mom, memories he quickly suppressed with a shudder. "I'm glad you think so, though; I was afraid I was going to have to blackmail you."

"Ooh, blackmail?" Dave piped up with a grin. "With what?"

"Nothing!" Finn burst out with a blush. His face quickly shifted into a frown. "But wait… Santana's probably gonna drag her, uh, boyfriend with her…"

Dave coughed. "Uh, why do you want to go to this thing, Kurt?"

"Why not? Everyone from the Glee Club's going to be together during a weekend; that's pretty rare. I've missed them."

"But like Finn said… Anderson's probably going to be there, and…"

Kurt sighed. "I can't let him rule every part of my life, or he wins. Besides, he'll be alone there, surrounded by my friends. Trust me, every single one of them is going to be keeping an eye on him, no matter how drunk they get."

Finn nodded. "That's true. Besides, ever since the Bully Whips started… I dunno, he seems different. He actually seems to be taking it seriously. If I didn't see it myself, I don't think I would've believed it."

"How's that going?" Kurt asked eagerly before Dave could interrupt.

"I'll tell you about it at the party."

"Sounds good!"

Dave cleared his throat. "Uh… I kinda hate asking this, but… Do you mind if I tag along with Kurt?" Both Hudmel brothers turned towards him. "I mean, friends of Kurt's are friends of mine, and… I really haven't been able to get to know the Glee Club all that well… besides Finn, I mean. I'd… like the chance."

Finn beamed. "Hey, why not? We'd love to have you!"

"Like he said…" Kurt said in an odd, slightly tight voice that neither of the listeners noticed. "Why not?"

"Cool," Dave said with a relieved smile. "It'll be fun."

"Yeah…" Kurt said skeptically. "Fun."

There was an air of foreboding surrounding Finn, Kurt, and Dave when they arrived at the Berry residence. It wasn't anything with an obvious source, but they all felt it, though none dared to say so out loud. The three were the last to arrive; there were loud greetings and cheerful waves when they entered, with Mercedes and Tina coming up to give Kurt tight hugs. Dave's eyes darted about the room, searching; he found what he was looking for on a living room couch. Blaine Anderson leaned against one of the arms while Santana lounged against him, her head on his shoulder and her left hand playing with his hair. The two exchanged a glance, but little else, which was fortunate; if Anderson had so much as opened his mouth, Dave wasn't sure he could've resisted the urge to punch it.

Dave grabbed himself a wine cooler and began mingling. He made somewhat-larger-than-small talk with Mike Chang, discussed The Last Airbender with Sam Evans (as much as he could, with what little he could understand of Sam's strangled rage-twisted epithets against M. Night Sham-whatever and his curses against all his spawn unto the hundredth generation), listened absently to Brittany Pierce talking about… something to do with her cat and the stone heads on Easter Island, and had an interesting chat with Artie Abrams about the finer points of Mac OSX, with Abrams preaching with the enthusiasm of the newly converted. "And it's UNIX based!" he'd enthused. "Can you believe it? I can't believe I never gave it a chance before; my Dell's in a landfill somewhere right now, I can tell you…"

Eventually, Dave found himself on a sofa, playing with his empty bottle. He was pretty good at holding his liquor; it would take a lot of wine coolers to get him even more than slightly buzzed, so just one certainly wasn't going to do much. His eye fell on Anderson on the other couch. True to Finn's word, he'd seen the others watching Anderson themselves, though neither he nor Santana seemed to notice, or perhaps care. They giggled, held hands, whispered, all the things one would expect a straight guy and his girlfriend to do. Only the very perfection of it would've been suspicious, and even then only if you already knew, like Dave did. I wonder what it's like to be able to pretend like that, he thought. To have everyone think… assume… that you're straight, make it easy for you to hide… The very idea was so seductive in its own way that Dave felt himself getting sucked in. It was only the thought of Grandpa Murray's scowl that brought him back to reality. Shit, stop that right now. I'm a lot happier being out. Anderson would be too… Maybe Kurt's right. Maybe Anderson's hurting himself just by his hiding. It sure can't be easy… Wait… was that actual pity coming over him? For Blaine Anderson? Just the feeling felt like a betrayal; Dave pushed it out of his mind with a scowl, returning his attention to the party.

Looking back on it later, it was fascinating; he could actually see the party degenerating. At first, the rooms were filled with bored teenagers sipping wine coolers and glancing at the door occasionally. Then the beer and other harder drinks began appearing in hands seemingly out of nowhere, and the conversations became louder and more lively. There had been multiple toasts to those "baddest of badasses, the Bully Whips." Soon the air was filled with hoarse, hysterical laughter, tangled rubbery bodies, and the smell of alcohol breath. It was like that sequential picture of fish crawling out of the water, developing into mammals, then walking upright, then becoming cavemen, then becoming human… only in reverse.

Mercedes Jones staggered over, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "I love you," she muttered into his shirt. "You're such a good friend to Kurt."

"Uh… Thanks? I… love you too?" He gently extricated himself from her grip; she happily toddled off to express her joy to someone else. Dave scanned the room; Santana was sitting on the floor, weeping and ranting to Quinn Fabray, who was half-listening with glassy eyes. Blaine Anderson was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kurt.

Panic seized him. He charged through the house, peeking into room after room. The third or fourth door he threw open appeared to be some kind of study. Puck (his actual name escaped Dave's memory at the moment) was sitting behind the desk, which was scattered with open bottles of Crown Royal, Grey Goose, and some other unrecognizable brands. His feet were propped up as he tossed back his head and drank from a short glass. The mohawked teenager's eyebrows rose as Dave appeared. "Hey. C'mon in. Have a drink." His voice was strong and steady, even as his eyes betrayed his inebriated state.

"Can't. Have you seen Kurt?"

"Pssh. Relax. Even if we all get too plastered to pay attention to Anderson, which we won't, Finn still has his back." Puck gestured loosely with his free hand. "Come on. Siddown with me." Seeing the other boy's point, Dave reluctantly entered, shutting the door behind him. He was pretty sure why he did so: his throat was burning, begging for something cool to wash it down. He grabbed the Crown Royal bottle, poured himself a glass, and threw himself into a leather recliner, tossing back the booze with a single gulp. Puck watched all this with an edge of amusement. "Not in the party mood, huh?"

Dave shrugged. "It's okay."

"So you saw the Bully Whips thing, right? We're completely badass, am I right?"

"Yeah, definitely," Dave nodded absently. He got up and poured himself another drink.

"It's hella cool, lemme tell you. We get to walk around in suits and…" Puck trailed off as he watched Dave take another swig of alcohol; he slid his feet to the floor. He leaned forward, both his elbows on the desk, both his hands cradling his glass. A serious look came over him; with the desk and the surroundings, he resembled a school administrator about to get to the bottom of troubling misbehavior. "So what's the deal with you and Kurt?"

Dave's head snapped up. "We don't have a 'deal.'"

"Uh huh. Right. Look, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, I know that. I'm also getting as drunk as fuck. But me and Kurt are friends. And I keep good track of my friends. There's something going on. I don't know what, but it's something."

"It's nothing. Really." Dave refilled his glass once more; Puck just watched in anticipatory silence. "Hell, it's not even him that's the problem." He sat back in the recliner, staring into his amber-colored glass. "It's me," Dave said quietly. "It's all me."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Why are you interested? You hardly know me."

Puck looked offended. "But like I said, I know Kurt. And I know you two are tight. So if you're unhappy, he's gonna be unhappy. And if he's unhappy, I'll be unhappy, if you get my meaning." He shrugged. "Besides, it's a party. What's the good of being drunk if you can't talk about a bunch of shit you'd never talk about sober?"

Dave had to admit that the words had a lot of logic to them. Or maybe the booze was finally getting to him. Either way, it was a chance to put a tap on the pressure that was steadily building inside him. This is crazy! You're thinking of telling him shit you haven't even told Wes and David! But maybe that was the point; there was a distance here, created by drunkenness and "friend of a friend," that somehow made it more comfortable. And if even a little of what he'd heard about Puck from Kurt and Finn was true, then he certainly wasn't in any moral position to judge anything Dave told him, and they both knew it. "Okay. But you can't tell anyone about anything I'm gonna tell you. Especially not Kurt."

"Sure." Puck looked even more serious now, as if he could sense the importance of what he was about to hear. "I promise."

Dave took a long drink. "Okay. It's like this…"

"Hey, Mister Bully Whips founder!" Quinn's voice rang through the halls. "C'mon, we're gonna play Spin the Bottle!"

Kurt stiffened. He'd lost track of both Dave and Finn at some point, and now he was trapped. Well, not exactly trapped; the comfy corner chair he was sitting in was only being hemmed in by bodies. But considering one of them was an inebriated Lauren Zizes, and that she had a look on her face that told Kurt that she would either beat him to a pulp or vomit all over him if disturbed, he considered it as solid a barrier as barbed wire or the Great Wall of China.

"Cooooooomiiiiing!" Anderson stumbled into the room, his shirt buttoned unevenly, accompanied by a clingy Santana. The way the others greeted him as he almost literally fell into the circle, one would never have known that he was the Glee Club's mortal enemy just months ago. Kurt tried not to feel any bitterness at this; he knew it was just the alcohol talking.

"Kurt! KurtKurtKurtKurt!" Rachel sang. "Come! Join the game!"

Kurt took one look at the sloppily smiling Anderson (who didn't even seem aware of Kurt's presence, never mind coherent) and gulped. "Oh, no no… I'm much too comfortable here. You guys enjoy."

To his relief, Rachel merely shrugged. "Suit yourself." She tossed an empty bottle into the middle of the group; it landed on the floor with an audible "thunk." "Who's first?" she asked eagerly.

Kurt sighed and sipped at his Diet Coke (tinged not at all with the rum that Puck tried to push at one point). He'd told Finn that he wasn't drinking as a back-up just in case more than one driver was needed, but that wasn't really true. Just the thought of becoming drunk, and probably ending up clinging to Dave sobbing about Mufasa and wildebeests, sent cold chills through him. Of course, now that Dave had as much as told him where he stood, that shouldn't have been such a pressing need. But Kurt supposed that old habits were hard to break. Besides, didn't he deserve one friend who wasn't swept up in the insanity that was his life?

The overhead lights glinting off the spinning glass was almost hypnotic, and before Kurt knew it, the bottle game had completed a full revolution of the circle and then some. Thus far, Lady Luck had been kind to the assembled drunkards; the only same-sex landing had been Lauren for Quinn. Fortunately for the health of those involved, even if anyone had a smart remark to make at that point, they were wise enough not to make it, even with their inebriation. Quinn was game, and Lauren approached the challenge the way she approached every challenge: with aggression and vigor (not to mention a preemptive middle finger to stave off sneers that never came). Their kiss was firm but tame, finished with a round of applause and a wolf-whistle from Anderson. Neither girl seemed particularly turned on or disgusted (though Kurt heard Lauren grumble about finding her oddly absent boyfriend and doing painful, unspeakable things with his nether regions).

Rachel was next; the bottle wobbled like, well, a drunk teenager as it spun. It slowed quickly, its neck coming to a halt pointing directly at Blaine Anderson. His eyes widened as the others catcalled and hollered. "Better watch out, Santana!" Quinn snickered.

"Noooooo," Santana whined, clinging to Blaine's arm. "You're my boyfriend. You can't infect his lips, Rachel Berry! You can't!"

"Now, now, dear," Anderson slurred, patting her arm. "It's just a game. A real real fun game. Just one kiss. Juuuuuust one." Crawling on his hands and knees (Probably the only way he can move right now, Kurt thought), he made his way across the circle to Rachel. She closed her eyes before they kissed. The sound of their lips and tongues moving was loud and wet; Kurt's stomach churned. The kiss went on… and on… and on, their mouths working at each other like octopus suckers. The others were starting to stare.

"Heeeeyyyyy!" Santana screeched, leaping forward and yanking Anderson away. "Get your own boyfriend, you whore! Keep your nasty man-lips away from my baby!"

"San-Santana, c'mon…" Anderson nearly tipped backwards from the force of Santana's pull.

"Spoilsport," Rachel pouted as she licked her lips.

Kurt gulped down the rest of his Diet Coke, wishing for the first time that evening that it actually was alcohol – anything to wash that mental image out of his brain. He wasn't exactly sure which of the three involved he pitied more. As Lauren leaned forward to take her spin, he took the opportunity to slip out of his chair and out of the room. Finn might have fun watching drunken antics, but for Kurt, it was just uncomfortable, almost like watching people he cared about slowly go insane (though now that he thought of it, that's almost exactly what was happening). I have to find Dave…

The thought brought him up short. His first impulses always seemed to revolve around Dave somehow. I think I'm starting to understand why 'Cedes was so upset before… But that was fine, right? They were friends, no matter what disagreements and… disappointments might arise between them. Besides, he wondered what Dave would think of his stolid teetotaler-ism in the midst of so much revelry…

"Kuuuuuurt!" The sing-songy voice was chillingly familiar. He turned in disbelief to see a grinning Dave Karofsky, waving at him with the hand that wasn't currently holding a three-quarters empty bottle of whiskey. "Your friends… Your friends are so awesome."

"I know, right?" Kurt spun around to see Blaine and Santana entering the room behind him. "This is the best party ever!"

"And you know what, Kurt?" Dave whispered in his ear, his breath hot and smelly. "You know what, you know what, you know what?"

Kurt sighed. "What?"

"You're…"

"Missing out on all the fun!" Puck cried loudly, grabbing Dave's shoulder and swinging him into a sofa. The Warbler reacted with a loud, raucous laugh. "He's gotta at least join us for karaoke!"

Kurt groaned. As Rachel and Blaine started a maudlin duet of "All By Myself" (wait, how did that song even make sense as a duet?), he began weighing the advantages of self-immolation as a method of escape.

It was quite fortunate that Finn was one of the sober ones, or Kurt couldn't imagine how he would've gotten Dave out of the house and into the car. As it was, it took both of them (mostly Finn) almost five minutes to steer the stumbling Daltonite out of the house and into the waiting vehicle.

Kurt, perhaps foolishly, sat in the back seat with Dave, just to make sure that his friend didn't choke on his own vomit (though the very idea of someone as big as Dave vomiting anywhere in his time zone almost made him lose his own dinner). His friend was half-asleep, his head lolling even as his eyes blinked blearily in the passing streetlights. "Where we going?" he slurred.

"Home," Kurt replied. "You're going to get some sleep and hope your hangover doesn't kill you."

Dave gave a lopsided grin. "Yer such a good friend, Kurt."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know."

There was one advantage to Dave's drunkenness: he seemed to have forgotten all about Blaine Anderson's existence. Even when the two were in the same room together, even when Anderson was hogging the spotlight (i.e. the karaoke machine) with Rachel, Dave didn't seem to even acknowledge the other's presence. He seemed content to splay across the sofa, his huge arms encircling Tina or Mike or whoever decided to sit next to him, blissfully taking in the music and offering solid applause no matter who the singer or how good the performance. It was not the certain bloodbath that Kurt was expecting, and for that he was grateful.

One odd thing, though: Puck was a constant presence by Dave's side the entire evening. Several times Dave had turned to Kurt and started to say something; each time Puck interrupted with a new drink or an attention-getting song request for the current karaoke team. Kurt could tell that Puck thought he was being subtle, which was amusing enough in of itself. Still, what was he doing? What was he thinking?

"Mmmmm…" Dave's head lolled to the side, first rapping lightly against the car window, then sinking rapidly in the other direction. Dave's head landed against Kurt's shoulder before he could even move, the presence warm and heavy even beyond the physical. With a satisfied purr, Dave wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist. The smaller boy froze. "Warm…"

"You okay back there?" Finn asked.

"Ah… I… suppose?" Kurt squeaked.

"Teddy… bear… Please don't move…" Dave muttered, his embrace tightening. For lack of anything better to do, Kurt gently patted Dave on the head. The drive home never felt so long.