AN: I've been waiting for this chapter for quite a while (then again, they all have a certain charm to them for me, considering my eagerness to get to certain events). Yes, it's "Original Song," and as I said, it'll be a major event for our protagonists, just as in canon.

Over 80 reviews and alerts apiece, and 33 favorites so far. Probably relatively modest for this site, but it's certainly a lot more than I ever would've dared imagine when I started this. Thank you all. Please continue to take the time to drop me a line if you're enjoying this (or if you have a suggestion for improvement); don't take my lack of review replies as disinterest on my part. I just wasn't sure what the etiquette was, being a n00b and all. I love hearing from y'all!

PS: Is it just me, or is season 3, given both aired episodes and spoilers, absolutely ripe with potential for a continuation of this AU? So much drama that actually surprisingly could fit with Dave's character with some natural tweaks, even replacing Blaine…

PPS: I think it's lame how much the page break symbols add to the word count...

"This is serious business," Wes Montgomery declared. Normally, his listener would've rolled his eyes at that; to Wes, practically everything was "serious business." But this time, David Thompson actually agreed.

"I know. Being with Callie these past few weeks… Dave deserves happiness like I've had."

Wes, for his part, didn't even remark on, or even seem to mind, the dragging-in of Callie's name for the umpteenth time. He'd long ago concluded that David didn't even realize he was doing it anyway. "One thing I've learned about Dave lately: he's a master at issue-dodging."

"God, tell me about it. I don't know how he does it. I'm usually halfway to my room before I remember that he avoided all my hints and questions about Kurt."

A shadow of doubt came over Wes's face. "You don't think we're… wrong about him and Kurt, do you?"

David snorted. "Seriously?"

A moment passed. Both began to laugh. "Okay, okay, stupid question," Wes finally managed to gasp out. "Anyway, I think I've come up with an idea."

The doubt came over David's face this time. "Maybe we shouldn't be meddling like this. I mean, if someone tried to steer Callie and me together before we were ready…"

"You said it yourself: he deserves to be happy. Besides, we're both his council leaders and his friends, so it's practically our God-given right to meddle in his life."

"You've convinced me. So what's your idea?"

Wes's lips spread in a scheming grin. "It's perfect, and it's so simple. We'll not only help out Dave and Kurt, we'll also get a killer number for Regionals in the bargain. All we have to do is…"

As David listened, he had to resist the urge to break out in a full-fledged evil laugh.

We come from the mountain…
Livin' on the mountain…
Go back to the mountain…
Turn the world around…

Kurt leaned back in his seat, letting Dave's voice wash over him with a smile. With Regionals quickly coming up, the hard decisions about song selection had to be made. When Dave made his suggestion, almost no one knew it, or even heard of it (not even Kurt), so he began singing it for the group, his body twisting and turning as he sank deeper and deeper into the music.

Water make the river…
River wash the mountain…
Fire make the sunlight…
Turn the world around…

Every day that passed was another day closer to Regionals, increasing Kurt's tension. The idea of another tie was ludicrous; this was the step at which someone would have to lose out. Was he selfish to hope it wasn't him, to wish the agony of defeat instead on all his friends?

Oh, oh… so is life…
A ba tee wah ha… so is life…

It could be his imagination (and oh, how he hoped it was), but his father seemed more peaked lately, more drawn. He never talked about money matters in front of Kurt, of course, but he couldn't help catching snatches of conversation between him and Carole, words like "debt" and "loans" and "second mortgage." He didn't know it was about him, of course, but at the same time, did he have any doubt…?

He was snapped out of his thoughts by applause; Dave had finished the song. Kurt joined in on the accolades.

"Good job, Junior Warbler Karofsky," Wes said.

"Even if I should be offended at a white guy doing Belafonte," David added with a grin.

"That may be a consideration, so I'm afraid that if we do perform that song, it'll be our closing." Wes straightened in his chair; Kurt was a little confused to see him fighting a smile. "We've already decided our opening number. And it's another that Junior Warbler Karofsky has suggested."

"Which…?" Dave's frown melted. "You mean…?"

"That's correct. We've been swayed by your passionate arguments, and have decided that you're right. We want to make a statement, and that song will do it."

The other Warblers began murmuring amongst themselves; Kurt remained befuddled for a moment before remembering the song Dave had spent the past week championing at council meetings. "So you're really okay with what's basically a romantic duet between two male singers at Regionals?" Dave pressed.

"If we weren't, we wouldn't have made this decision. Are you questioning our judgment?"

Dave held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm just glad you changed your mind."

"Not only that, we've determined the two singers who will perform this number." Wes finally failed to contain his grin. "The council declares that the opening song at Regionals will be performed by Junior Warblers Karofsky and Hummel!" He slammed his gavel, a sound that seemed to Kurt's ears like a thunderbolt.

"What…?" Dave gasped.

"Us…?" Kurt was on his feet; the three council leaders were smiling like the proverbial cats after the canary feast. The others were too busy staring at either him or Dave. He most pointedly did not see Wes give David a low-five under the table.

"Yes, you. We expect rehearsals to begin… immediately. Do Dalton Academy proud!"

Kurt's heart sank as he looked about the room; many of his fellow Warblers were now in the midst of some rather disturbing actions: grinning like Wes and David, elbowing each other in the side, giving him and Dave thumbs-ups. One glance at Dave told him that he was seeing the same thing with the same sinking feeling. Well, you wanted to have a lead role at a competition, Hummel. Careful what you wish for…

"Life is a joke, isn't it?" Kurt remarked. "Even when you get what you want…" He heaved a sigh as he turned towards his listener. "But you understand, don't you? Your life isn't exactly perfect either. You're just as trapped as I am. And I can see it's really bothering you too. I wish I could help…"

Pavarotti trilled.

"Fine, I guess I could do that, but then I'd be in real trouble." Kurt frowned in thought for a moment. "On the other hand, they just gave me a lead at Regionals. What are they going to do to me?"

"Chirp?"

"Besides that." He leaned forward, closely watching the canary hop from the floor of the cage to the perch. "You're a little better… but you're still lethargic." He chuckled. "And I'm going insane. Talking to a bird…"

Pavarotti let out two high-pitched tweets.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! I'll give you the respect you deserve from now on." Kurt smirked. He watched as the bird flapped his wings madly, soaring into the inches-high stratosphere before settling back onto the perch. "You know what? I'm not going to wait until you die from ennui. I may not be able to be free, but you can be." With a grim look of determination on his face, he snatched up Pavarotti's cage, sending the bird into panicked flutters about the cage. He almost literally marched outside, into the quad.

He took in a deep breath, exulting in the cool air filling his lungs. He raised the cage in his right hand, towards the sun, like a fabulously dressed Lady Liberty. "Fly, Pavarotti. Be free." Then he opened the cage door. Almost immediately, the canary bolted out in a mad frenzy of feather-flying flapping. "Godspeed," Kurt whispered as Pavarotti vanished into a copse of trees.

There was a mild cough behind him. Kurt spun around to see Trent with his hands in his pockets. "Uh, did you just…?"

No sense denying it… Kurt raised his nose defiantly. "Yes. I did."

"Um… why?"

"He was dying, trapped in that cage. He needed to be free." His tone was casual, yet with an edge of seriousness.

"Uh-huh. You do realize that Pavarotti is a domesticated bird with no survival instincts, right? That he probably won't last the night in the wild before he's eaten by an owl or something? And that even if he survives by some miracle, he won't know what to eat, and he'll starve to death?"

Kurt froze. "I… ah…" God, I hope that metaphor doesn't go too far… His shoulders sagged. "I'd… appreciate it if you didn't tell the council…" If only so I don't have to face their mockery…

Trent smirked a little. "Ah, don't worry about it. We'll just tell Wes and David he died. It's halfway to the truth anyway. We can dig a little grave and everything."

"Oooh, and I can sing something in tribute!" Kurt immediately brightened, Pavarotti and guilt temporarily forgotten. "Something tragic and poignant!" The smile slowly slid off his face. "Or would that be morbid, considering I'm the one who caused it…?"

Trent shrugged. "Up to you, man." To Kurt's infinite relief, he walked away; now he could feel like a complete idiot in private.

Dave groaned, rubbing his face. "What the hell, man."

"What, you don't want me to be your duet partner?"

"No! It's not that… It's just… it's pretty obvious what they're trying to do. It's like they're not even bothering to be subtle. It's pretty insulting, isn't it? Trying to get us together just because we're both gay?"

Kurt's mind thought of a million ways to answer. But all he could actually pass through his lips was "I'm sure they mean well."

"Yeah, well, road to hell and all that. I wonder if they even realize how much they're putting you down?"

"How are they doing that?"

Dave opened his mouth, then stopped. When he finally spoke, he was drumming his fingers on his leg in a rapid Morse code of tapping. "Well, uh… For one thing, they don't know that you're taken…"

"What, Gavroche? He's a nice enough guy, Dave, but I'm not sure there's exactly a spark there." Kurt saw Dave's mouth open once more, so hurried on to his next words. "I know, I know, we have so much in common. But it takes more than that, you know? I mean, it's a great foundation, but it's not enough to just be a mirror image."

"Point taken." Dave sighed. "I was just hoping… you know… that it'd work out. That you'd have a boyfriend you could depend on."

He looked so crushed that Kurt couldn't help but scramble to make him feel better. "Who knows; that could still happen," he said carefully. "Give it time. Maybe… maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm misinterpreting what I'm seeing, or something will develop that isn't there now. Maybe then… love will bloom."

Dave smiled gently. "Yeah… I hope you're right." A silence stretched between them, their eyes locked. Finally, Dave coughed. "Um… Want to rehearse? Even if they did put us together for stupid reasons, we're stuck with it, so we might as well be the ones to win Regionals, right?"

"Of course. If only so we can rub it in their faces after."

"Hah! You're right; that's even better reason!" Dave turned to grab his sheet music and cue up the audio clip on his computer. It was, as Kurt would later realize, a moment, one of those times when fate seemed to branch out into a forest's worth of branches, when great men ascend and nations fall, on the back of a single second, a single decision. As Kurt waited in silence as Dave started their rehearsal, he wondered if he made the right choice…

As the final notes of "Blackbird" faded from the room, Kurt heard a sniffle coming from some corner. The Warblers slowly rose and began filing out of the room. To his relief, everyone had bought the stroke story (could birds even have strokes?) thanks to Trent. He was lucky that no one was morbid enough to want an open-casket ceremony or something of that sort. Thus, the empty glittery coffin was now safely buried away from prying eyes, along with the truth, a truth he hadn't even told Dave.

Speaking of whom… where was he? Kurt had realized that he wasn't present at the meeting about halfway through his song. As if on cue, Dave himself appeared, jogging up the hall towards Kurt.

"Hey. How was the, uh, wake?"

Kurt shrugged. "It went fine. Pavarotti missed you, though."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Had a dental appointment. I hated missing your song, but I'm sure it went great."

"I think so. It was fitting. Don't worry about it; you missing one of my songs isn't a big deal. You'll hear enough out of me in rehearsals soon enough."

"Yeah, you're probably right. C'mon, let's get started."

Now, Kurt was an atheist, and nothing in his life so far had made him question this position. But Kurt followed Dave to their rehearsal room, he couldn't shake the odd feeling that something out there was chuckling for some unfathomable reason…

Santana was in a rotten mood. This, of course, was not unusual. Not even seeing other students scurry away at a mere glance of her face was enough to brighten her mood. It was lucky that this was not one of her Bully Whips duty days, or she might have been tempted to say "fuck it" and start in on the bullying herself.

"'Not enough of an epic feel,' my ass," she growled under her breath. What the fuck did Will "Wonder Bread" Schuester know about epic music? Now their big Regionals song would probably be something cheesy and lame written by Rachel Berry, the original cheesy and lame. Just thinking about Berry's words coming out of her mouth made her nauseous.

As if that weren't enough, she already had her hands full with planning her prom queen campaign. Blaine, of course, was completely useless, forcing Santana to drag that bit of dead weight around with her while laying out her strategies to outmaneuver Quinn and the others. Even though she'd told Blaine that their position as the founders of the Bully Whips would give them an advantage, she knew that she couldn't leave anything to chance.

To top it all off, there was the little matter of Kurt, the ultimate symbol of triumph for the Bully Whips. But that problem, at least, was something she could do something about immediately. She whipped out her cell phone and scrolled to the Favorite Number listing marked "Shemale." She pressed the call button and listened to the rapid chimes of the ten phone tones. She tapped her foot impatiently as she counted the rings on the other end (not knowing that at that moment, Kurt's phone was showing the caller as "666," although she would've been far from offended had she known). After six rings, the connection was made. "Santana?"

"No, Selena risen from the grave to offer you a duet in her next album."

"Nice to hear from you, too," Kurt replied drolly. "What do you want? I have a rehearsal to go to."

"What do I want? I want to know what the hell you're doing. Blaine has been going apeshit waiting for you…"

"Waiting for me to do what?" The genuinely puzzled note in Kurt's voice sparked possibilities in her head, but what else could she do but continue?

"Reply to his letter, dumbass. At least acknowledge it, even if you do toss it back in his face. I mean, I didn't think you'd ever give up an opportunity to lay into someone…"

"Letter?"

Aha… The entire situation exploded full-bore into her mind. In a sense, it was so tiresomely predicable; she'd thought of it as a possible scenario the minute she suggested this whole course of action. At least it had the advantage of probably driving Kurt back here a whole lot sooner by cutting off all that tiresome agonizing. After all, what the fuck did she care about Karofsky? "The letter Blaine gave your gal pal Dave. You know, the one that begs you to come back to McKinley? And gives you the means to do it? It's pretty rude to keep us… him waiting, you know. It makes it sound like, you know, you're just ignoring the letter. Or you never got it because some overdeveloped modern day caveman kept it from you…" She paused. "Kurt, are you listening?"

"I'm still here," a tight, strangled voice said. "Actually, I need to go speak to someone." He hung up without another word.

Santana stared at her phone for a moment, then snapped it shut. A smile spread over her face as she strode down the hall in an almost Brittany-like skip, feeling better than she had all day. Maybe she'd release "Trouty Mouth" as a single on YouTube. It could go viral, like Rebecca Black or that Hummel-like kid talking about Britney Spears. Yeah. That would be excellent…

Dave hummed to himself as he entered the empty lounge. Rehearsals for the other chosen Regionals songs were going smoothly; it was only that opener that still clouded his mind. He'd tried to get other Warblers to sit in on their rehearsals, just to "give opinions," but every one had suspiciously declined. Not that it should matter. Kurt and I are professionals here. And friends. We can deal with this. And why not? It's not like we have anything to deal with…

The sound of the doors opening, then closing again, caught Dave's attention. He looked up and smiled. "Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you…" Dave trailed off at the sight of Kurt's rage-reddened face. "Uh, you okay…?"

"How dare you!" Kurt rasped.

"How dare I…?"

"Where is it? Give it to me right now!"

Dave's heart plummeted to his liver. "Calm down. I don't understand what…"

"I know about the letter from Anderson, David!"

Dave paled. "Kurt, I can explain…"

"Oh, please do! I'd love to hear this explanation of why you decided to play God with my life again! Let me guess: 'I was just helping you, Kurt!' Oh! Or maybe that old classic: 'it was for your own good, Kurt'!"

"I…"

"You knew how badly I wanted to go back to McKinley! You knew! I know you don't trust Blaine, but you went too far…"

Something hot and dangerous flared up in Dave's chest. "Oh, so he's 'Blaine' now, huh?"

"I'll call him whatever I want! It's none of your business!"

"You made it my business, remember? You're the one who asked me for help!"

"I wanted you to help me, not control me!" Kurt snapped.

"What, it's controlling you now to not scare the shit out of you by letting you know that your bully… no, wait, your stalker was here? Twenty feet away from your fucking door?"

"Yes!" Kurt cried. "And stop calling him that! He hasn't done anything to me in months! Mercedes even said…"

"Oh, God, you are so fucking naïve!"

There was a deadly moment of silence. "Naïve, eh?" Kurt said coldly.

"I call it as I see it! You're too fucking trusting to see that he's a bully and a fraud and he'll never change!"

"And you didn't think I could make that decision for myself? Oh, poor helpless Kurt, who needs a big man to guide him through life so he doesn't get his precious fragile self hurt…"

"Don't put fucking words in my mouth!" Dave shouted.

"Then don't say what you don't mean!"

"I've done everything for you!"

"That's right: everything! Including manipulating me and lying to me!"

"That's not what I was fucking doing!" Dave was practically screaming now, his eyes bright like the noonday sun.

"You think your good intentions makes it all better? Well, it doesn't! Hell, it makes it worse!"

Dave's fingers tore at his hair. "Why the fuck do you have to be like this? You just can't admit you're wrong!"

"Oh, really? Well, why don't I start now: I was wrong to trust you. I was wrong to listen to you." Kurt's eyes narrowed. "'Stand strong', huh? If I hadn't, maybe I wouldn't have followed Blaine into that locker room. Maybe he wouldn't have…"

Dave stared with an unfathomable look. "You're saying it's my fault?" he asked hoarsely.

"I call it as I see it," Kurt parroted with a very Anderson-like smirk.

Dave's face hardened into something furious and deadly. "You know what? Fuck this! And fuck you! Go ahead! Run back into the arms of that psycho! See if I care! When you get hurt, don't come crying to me!"

"Fine!" Kurt shrieked. "It's not like I have any reason to stay here anymore!"

"Fine!" Dave tore open the door and stormed out. He didn't even register the small group of Warblers, including Wes and David, standing in the hallway, listening to the easily audible "discussion" with stunned faces. Dave quickly disappeared up the stairs. Kurt watched him go with a livid glare, then slammed the door shut with surprising, wall-shaking strength. This was echoed by the sound and vibration of another door upstairs slamming equally hard.

Silence reigned. A grandfather clock ticked away the seconds, the minutes. Wes and David slowly turned to each other.

"This isn't good," Wes finally said. David could only nod in agreement.

AN: I've known about this particular rug-pull since almost the beginning. I am so, so sorry.

Wait, no, I'm not. Looking back on it now, the last event of the previous chapter was a dead giveaway. What part of alternate universe did y'all not understand? :)