AN: I've been considering tweaking the summary to maybe attract more eyeballs and not be so "cute/coy." Not sure what to change it to, tho'. Maybe just be more direct about what it's all about? That might help.

Also finished the outline for how the rest of the "season" is going to go. It's an odd dilemma; I'm telling a story here, but one that's been partially "predetermined." Hope I'm not boring anyone; if I am, suggestions are, of course, greatly appreciated! (Funnily enough, if I end up continuing this AU for season 3 - and let me know if you want me to, though I'll ask/muse again when this is done - I think it might be easier, because I have a few ideas...)

Once at the Hummel-Hudson home, the trip upstairs was less effort than Kurt was expecting; Finn, of course, supported most of Dave's weight, while Kurt helped them navigate the two around various deadly obstacles such as end tables and ottomans. The house was dark, his parents asleep, thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster, so they soon dropped the three-quarters asleep Dave into Kurt's bed.

"Mind if I crash on your floor tonight?" Kurt whispered, grabbing a blanket and a pillow.

"Nah, no problem. I'll see you later."

Finn left, leaving the two Dalton students alone in the room. Sighing, Kurt fluffed up a second pillow and lifted Dave's head, sliding it underneath. The act seemed to rouse him a little. "'Nother… whiskey…?"

"I think that's quite enough for tonight." He sighed. "I had no idea you were the type to get so drunk anyway."

"M'not," came the muttered reply. "Just wanted to…" He trailed off.

"To?" Kurt prompted.

"Forget…" The voice was soft, sad.

Kurt shuddered, though he wasn't quite sure why. "Forget what?"

"Dunno," came the almost petulant reply. "M'self? Forget everything going around in my head?"

"Like what?" Kurt asked quietly.

A long, pregnant pause ensued, so long that Kurt thought Dave had fallen asleep. Then, just as Kurt was about to leave: "Like what a fat, angry, stupid fake I am?"

Kurt's heart sank into his stomach. He'd always known there were thoughts like that lurking somewhere in Dave's head, but to hear it so nakedly like that… "What if I told you that none of that's true, and that the only reason you might be stupid is for thinking it is?"

"Then… I'd have something to say 'bout you, I guess…"

"And that is…?" Another pregnant pause. This time, Dave's reply was a low, throaty snore. Kurt shook his head and sighed. Leaning closer, he could see that Dave's mouth was hanging open, and a rather disgusting line of drool ran down his chin. The snore increased in pitch; Kurt was suddenly extremely glad he'd decided to sleep in Finn's room. He sighed again.

Kurt watched and listened for another few seconds more; Dave was definitely asleep. Trying to keep his heart from pounding, he leaned over and kissed Dave on the forehead. "Good night." He tiptoed out of the room (although he had a feeling he could've left stomping in clogs while playing the trombone and it wouldn't have mattered in the slightest) and gently shut the door.

On the bed, Dave's mouth twitched into an unconscious smile before letting out another massive snort.

"Dude, you sure that's enough padding?" Finn asked as he climbed into bed.

"I don't know, but it's all I could scare up." Kurt arranged the bedclothes on the floor as neatly as he could.

"You sure you don't want to take the bed? I could always..."

"I told you, it's fine. It's your room."

"Yeah, exactly. And you don't have to let Dave drive you out of yours..."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Right, that's exactly what we need: for Dad to catch Dave sleeping within two feet of me. Not that he should be reacting badly, but I have to deal with the reality..."

"At least Dave's not super aggressive when he's drunk," Finn remarked. "So you don't have to worry about him trying to molest you or something just 'cause he's plastered..." He trailed off. "Uh, Kurt? What's the matter?"

"Matter?" came in the innocent reply. "Whatever made you think something was the matter?"

"Because you went all white as soon as I said something about Dave being plastered." He glared. "Did he...?"

"No! Nonono!" He practically began waving his hands in denial. "It's just..." Kurt sighed. "I guess you'll hear about this sooner or later. There was a game of Spin the Bottle, and... Rachel and Anderson kissed."

Finn's eye twitched slightly. "Yeah, well... Good for him. Rachel and I aren't together anymore so... I don't care." His voice was mildly hoarse and strangled.

"Of course. Fine. I believe you." Kurt smiled a small, ironic smile as he lay down on his makeshift sleeping space. The memory of Rachel and Anderson locking lips, which he'd so carefully tried to purge from his mental hard drive, came back with full force. No. Later. It's been too long a day to spend the entire night mentally retching. He forced his eyes to close and let exhaustion chase the kiss from his mind.

Burt Hummel had been dreaming that Paul Bunyan was cutting down the Chrysler Building with a weed whacker when his eyes flickered open that Sunday morning. Shaking his head at the strangeness of the still-lingering mental images, he rubbed his eyes and started his morning routine.

The oddity only hit him as he was rinsing his mouth after brushing his teeth. The sound of that weed whacker was still in his ears, even though he'd been awake for several minutes. He thought at first that someone was doing yard work, but the noise was way too loud and sharp, almost as if it were coming from inside the house…

Frowning, he drifted down the hall, listening at each door. Finn's room… nothing. Bathroom… Nothing. Kurt's room…

There. It sounded like someone was gargling a jackhammer, definitely not a noise that would ever issue from Kurt. Burt gently opened the door. Splayed across Kurt's bed, fully clothed, was Dave Karofsky, letting out a snore that resembled the sound a herd of warthogs would make if each member were being individually strangled. Kurt himself was nowhere to be seen. Burt's frown deepened as he shut the door.

He went into the kitchen, where he found his son preparing a tray containing scrambled eggs, toast, and a banana. Kurt was pouring a glass of Gatorade when he saw Burt. "Oh, uh… Good morning, Dad."

"'Morning." He poured himself a cup of coffee, letting Kurt's expectant silence lengthen, and taking a slight perverse pleasure in it. "When'd you and Finn get in last night?"

Kurt casually put the bottle of Gatorade back into the refrigerator for Finn's later use. "Late."

"Mm-hmm." Burt sipped at his cup, his eyes steady and staring. Kurt coughed as he returned to his tray. "So, who's that for?"

"Um…"

"Just a wild guess, here, but could it be for Dave? Who's currently snoring loud enough to wake the dead in your bed?"

Kurt rubbed his forehead, sighing. "Dad…"

"And that breakfast of yours… I was a teenager once, you know. Eggs with Gatorade? I remember all the hangover remedies." Burt shook his head. "I thought you said this was going to be a clean party."

"Okay, fine, it got a little… out of hand. But I didn't expect it, and neither Finn nor I drank a drop. We made sure everyone got home safe, especially Dave."

"Looks like I'll have to have a talk with the Berrys. You first." Burt tossed back the last of his coffee, then motioned for Kurt to have a seat at the small kitchen table. The younger man sat, with Burt following. " Kurt, I know that you meant well. But having another boy in your bedroom, behind my back, is just inappropriate…"

"For your information," Kurt interrupted in a snooty tone he didn't intend to take, one he usually only used on athletic Neanderthals, "I slept on the floor in Finn's room, a decision my back is still paying for. "

"That's fine, but that doesn't change the fact that right now, he's in your bed, and…"

"If either of us were straight, you wouldn't be so concerned."

Burt pinched the bridge of his nose. "If this were Finn, and I found Rachel under the same circumstances, I'd be saying the same thing to him. Just promise me that you won't be having any more guys on sleepovers, at the very least without my knowledge and approval."

"I can't believe you'd think that I'd do that with…"

"It's not a matter of sex, Kurt. It's a matter of appropriateness and boundaries…"

"How would you know?" Kurt snapped in a sudden, irresistible surge of bitterness. "What do you know about homosexuals and sex?"

Burt sucked in a breath. "I may not know… mechanics, but I know teenagers; like I said, I was one once. Gay, straight, I don't think the problems and issues with sex are any different, do you?" There was no answer. "If it's about the… mechanics, I can educate myself if you want. But…"

"Oh Goooodddd…" A baritone groan came ringing from elsewhere in the house. "Someone kill me now… Please…"

"Uh oh." Kurt leaped to his feet, grabbing the tray. "Can we talk later, Dad, before poor Dave cuts off his own head to make the pain stop?"

"We will definitely continue this later." The stern, parental tone never failed to send a shiver through Kurt's spine. He nodded and left the kitchen, distracting himself from thoughts of the conversation he'd just left by wondering if he should wear some kind of protective poncho for what he was about to do…

Fortunately, by the time the afternoon rolled around, Kurt remained dry and vomit-free. He'd played mother hen while Dave groaned and dry-heaved and cursed the heavens and Jack Daniels with even more colorful swear words than the Warbler usually used. Kurt was resting on the living room couch when Dave staggered in, rumpled and red-eyed, a little pale but otherwise much stronger-looking than he'd appeared just hours earlier. It spoke of a kind of resilience that Kurt admired.

"Hey," Dave rasped through a bone-dry throat.

"Hey." The entire couch seemed to ripple as Dave threw himself onto it, on the opposite end of Kurt's seat. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you. Still a little off, though."

"Well, we don't have to start back until late, if you want. I can drive, and you can get some rest."

"Maybe. Just let me… sit here for a bit." There was a silence; Dave closed his eyes, though his heavy breathing spoke of a wakeful brain. "So, uh…" he began through still-closed eyes, "I hope I wasn't too much of a… hassle."

"Nothing Finn and I couldn't handle. I was a little surprised, though. You didn't strike me as the drinking type."

"Yeah, well… I guess I did get a little carried away. I usually don't get the chance to drink that much." Kurt noted that not a single word about forgetting came in the reply this time. "This is part of the reason why. My head…"

"Need some aspirin?"

"Nah. Just need to rest." He didn't speak again for a long time, and Kurt thought he'd actually fallen asleep this time. At least, until: "Kurt…?"

"Yes, Dave?"

"What did I, uh, say last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"Well, bits and pieces, but not a lot. And a lot of it is kind of going away thanks to the throbbing."

"What do you remember?"

That, Dave decided, was a good question. What he did remember, with disturbing crystal clarity, was the tail end of his conversation with Puck in the Berrys' study, even though by then he was definitely nine or ten sheets to the wind.

Puck shook his head. "Man…"

Dave nodded. "Yeah."

"That's all kinds of fucked up right there."

"Yeah." He wasn't sure how Puck meant the statement; there were so many ways that Dave and his life were fucked up that it could've been any one of them. Or all of them. "Remember, not one fucking word to anyone, especially not Kurt."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. Puckermans keep their word, so don't go losing your shit." He took a small sip from his glass, probably the least amount of alcohol he'd consumed all night. "Still, do you want my advice?"

"Not particularly."

Puck snorted. "Okay, fine, suit yourself. You'll be begging for it soon, I bet."

"Don't think so. I'm not one of your MILFs." Dave's mouth quirked in a wry grin.

Puck laughed. "What, my rep's gone all the way to Westerville? Shit, man, I knew I was good, but I didn't think I was that good!"

"Nah, it's Kurt. He's told me all kinds of things about you." Dave was only half-conscious of the heaviness, the constant heaviness that seemed to weigh on his lungs and his stomach, lightening every time he drained his glass. "I gotta tell you, you people are kind of…"

"Batshit crazy? Yeah. But that's why we're so charming." Puck flashed a suave smile that nevertheless made Dave laugh. "Seriously, though, you really gotta tell…"

"I," Dave interrupted coldly, "do not need to tell anyone. And if you even hint…" His free hand unconsciously curled into a fist.

Puck, to the other's surprise, didn't react with anger or offense; he merely shook his head sadly. "Okay, if that's what you want."

"It is."

"Whatever you say." And that, to Dave's further surprise, was the end of it...

He had vague memories of Puck shadowing him later, interrupting him whenever he was about to say something... about what? That Dave couldn't recall. Neither could he fathom why. Nothing in their conversation could've possibly engendered that much sympathy. He considered asking Puck directly, but there was that voice in his head, the one that kept saying "why the fuck are you even considering doing something that stupid?" - his practical side. Nah. Better to let it lie. Couldn't have been important anyway.

"Something about… karaoke?" Dave finally answered Kurt, his forehead wrinkled as if in thought. "I think you sang…?"

"Me? Oh, God, no. Actually, Anderson hogged one of the mikes for most of the evening…"

Dave straightened, his eyes flying open. "Anderson! Did he…?"

"Actually, he didn't say a word to me the entire night. It was kind of odd. I guess in all the, uh, excitement, I didn't even think of approaching him."

"And you shouldn't have. Geez, Kurt, I'm sorry for not being there for you…"

"It's all right, Dave. Finn was there, and as he said, everyone was looking out for me. It's fine. You're fine."

Dave slouched again, his eyes half-closing once more. "Okay… okay." He swallowed. "So, um, you never told me what I said and did last night…"

Some decisions are easy. For Kurt, the choice between "humiliate one of your best friends" or… not was one such decision. "Er, nothing much. I mean, for a drunk, you're pretty quiet."

"O-okay." Dave exhaled a sharp sigh of relief. "Y'know, maybe you should've asked Gav to the party instead…"

"Dave…" Kurt started sharply.

"I'm not pushing! It's just that he definitely wouldn't have made such a big fool of himself last night and embarrassed you in front of all of your friends."

Kurt smiled tightly. "Oh, I don't think you need to worry about what the Glee Club thinks of you. I'd be surprised if they can remember half of what they saw and did at that party. I'm just sorry I won't be around on Monday. It'll be… interesting."

Dave chuckled. "Yeah, I see your point. But thanks to you, I think I'll be able to get through my classes tomorrow without embarrassing myself." He sighed, his smile growing a little wider. "Really, Kurt, thanks. For everything."

Kurt returned the smile, but it felt heavy and unreal on his face. "Hey, what are friends for?"

"Has Berry stopped harassing you yet?" Santana asked casually as she filed her nails. She lay on her stomach across Blaine's bed as her boyfriend paced the room, their headaches and hangovers thankfully behind them for the time being. "Shame that the drinking didn't erase her memories of your singing. Wonder what Kurt would think if she knew that she wants you in the Glee Club?" She looked up and frowned. "Hey!" Blaine stopped. "Will you calm down already? You're making me fucking dizzy."

"She asked me out," he said quietly.

Santana slammed the file down onto the bed. "She what?"

Blaine gulped. "Asked me out," he repeated, his voice softer.

"She does know you're dating me, right?"

"Well, she said that it wasn't actually a 'date.' She wanted to 'nurture my obvious talent' and 'assess our compatibility as duet partners.' But you know Berry…"

"Unfortunately." Santana snorted in disgust. "And you were thinking of saying 'yes.'"

"No! Why would I do that? She's arrogant, annoying, pretentious…"

"And a girl. That you kissed. For a long fucking time. Hell, you nearly sucked her face off."

"What, jealous, Santana?" Blaine sneered.

Santana laughed. "Yeah, right. The only time I will be jealous of Rachel Berry is when… Well, I could make up some hilarious scenario right now that insults her, but I really don't feel like bothering. She's not worth the time." She took up her nail file again. "But you're still thinking of saying 'yes,'" Santana said. It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact.

Blaine stared for a long moment. Then he sunk into his desk chair and sighed. "I don't know how the fuck you do it."

"Okay, one, you're my boyfriend. Two, we've been all intimate in mind and soul, if not body, for months. Three, I'm a fellow closeted gay. So I know how your mind works by now. You felt something when you kissed Berry – besides nausea, I mean. So you want to date her in this desperate hope that you're actually straight, or at least bi, so you can pretend you're straight." Santana shifted position, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. "What I don't get is why you're agonizing over meeting with Miss Lollipop Guild 2010 when you could've just asked me instead."

"You? But you're…"

"Still your girlfriend, even if the relationship is faker than April Rhodes' boobs. Besides, I'm way hotter than Rachel, and have extensive experience with guys, so if you don't feel anything after making out with me, you'll know you're gay."

Blaine puffed out a breath. "I don't know… It was a silly thought to begin with. I don't know if…"

"If you really want to do anything that would confirm your rainbow gayness?"

"God, you really are some kind of witch, aren't you?"

"So do you want to do it or not?" There was no answer. Santana shrugged and returned to her nails. I give him… hmm… five minutes, she thought. Three and a half passed before Blaine spoke again.

"Let's do it."

Santana smiled, patting the bed next to her. "Then c'mere, you." Blaine slowly and reluctantly sat. "Just relax. It's pretty obvious I wear the pants in this relationship, so you just let me steer." She cupped her hands around Blaine's chin; she could feel the heat in his skin, her fingers brushing against the rapidly beating pulse in his neck. She leaned forward, barely brushing her lips against his. "Feeling good? Or just impatient?" Blaine didn't answer. Taking his silence as continued assent, she held his hands in hers as she consumed his lips in a deep kiss. Her tongue snaked into his mouth as Santana poured in as much passion and intensity as she could fake. I'd like to see Rachel beat this on her best day, she thought triumphantly. After a long minute, the two separated. She looked into Blaine's blank, slack-jawed face. "Well?"

Blaine paled, a desperately anguished look twisting his handsome features. "Oh, God…"

Santana merely nodded firmly. "That's what I thought. Now can we get back to our plans already?"

"Maybe… maybe it's just her. Rachel," Blaine continued in a babble. "Maybe I just need to find her and…"

"Ugh. Come on, Blaine. You are a hypocrite, an asshole, and a complete closet case, but you are not stupid. Stop wasting your time when you know perfectly well what's going to happen. Now come on; let's finish up those Bully Whips schedules before it gets too late."

Blaine answered with a blink. "Is that the first time you've called me by my first name in private?"

Santana shrugged. "Who the fuck knows or cares? Get to work."

"Yes, ma'am." Despite himself, he smiled a little as he returned to his laptop.

"Holy shit…" Dave was pale as he watched the blue-grey gloop spray all over Rachel Berry's face. "That is disgusting."

Kurt nodded. "Remember when I said that I regretted not being around on Monday? That is why."

Dave leaned closer to the laptop screen as the horror played out via YouTube. "I don't want to watch it again... but I feel kind of like I have to..."

"You can't look away, can you?"

"No… I can't believe your friends posted this. Won't it hurt the Bully Whips' reputation?"

"I doubt it. From what they've been telling me, they've actually built up quite a bit of goodwill. And they didn't. Post the video, I mean. This channel belongs to someone else at McKinley. I don't know who it is, but they post all of New Directions' performances. Apparently it's kind of popular." Kurt inclined his head towards the screen. "Mostly for videos like that."

"All of them, huh?" With a wicked grin, Dave began scrolling through the channel's listing.

"What are you looking for?" Kurt asked with a frown.

"That Lady Gaga thing you were dumb enough to mention to me. I just have to see you in that outfit…"

Kurt smirked. "Go ahead. If you're expecting me to be embarrassed, you don't know me as well as I thought."

"Nah. Just curious. Besides, nothing can beat your friends' performance. I think it got fifty extra views just in the past few minutes."

"They're crazy, yes. That's why I love them so."

Dave's mouth set grimly at the wistfulness in Kurt's tone. But why? He had a right to miss his old school, his friends. So why does it bother me? It shouldn't. It doesn't. I want what will make Kurt happy. That's fucking it. He forced a smile back to his face. "'They're' crazy, Mr. 'Single Ladies' kicker?"

Kurt laughed, slapping Dave upside the head. "Shut up, you." And for a moment, for Dave, their friendship almost felt… normal.