AN: And so we conclude "A Night of Neglect." I estimate five, maybe six chapters will cover the rest of the season - seven tops. After that, it'll be random one-shots and other longer ideas I've had until summer. Then, if y'all want it and are lucky, this AU's version of the third season will get underway. I think I have a few killer ideas, but for now, I'm concentrating on this thing. I hope everyone is still liking this; it's really gotten a lot more attention and praise than I could've dreamed. Thanks to everyone for your readership and commentary!

Now, let's get to the chapter, because there's a lot happening...

"If for any reason Miss America is unable to fulfill her duties…" Kurt muttered under his breath.

"What?" Mercedes paused in her recitation of recent events to give her friend a puzzled look. Dave stirred in the seat next to Kurt; he'd heard every word, and he knew exactly what Kurt was thinking (funny how that seemed to happen so often, not that either boy really consciously realized it or thought about it). Although the Lima Bean was buzzing, the conversation still flowed freely and easily, like a mountain river babbling lazily along.

"Nothing. You were saying?"

"I heard that Mr. Schuester got the idea from Ms. Holliday," she continued. "And I get to do Aretha!" Mercedes nearly squealed in excitement (something she would've slapped herself for under normal circumstances). "She's the perfect close to the show, and…"

"You're doing the closing song?" Kurt asked in mild surprise. "I would've thought Rachel would be all over that."

Mercedes shrugged. "Well, she hasn't said anything yet, but…"

"But you know her."

There was a short pause, then a sigh from the other side of the table. "Yeah, I do. Well, she can't get what she wants all the time. It'll be different. I hope." Mercedes patted Kurt's hand. "I really wish you could've come back in time for this."

"I know. But look at it this way: now I can buy a ticket and subsidize my own airfare to Nationals."

"I guess so. You're coming too, aren't you, Dave?" Mercedes' voice was a little anxious here, a little hesitant.

Dave sighed. Many of Kurt's friends had been walking on eggshells recently around him. They didn't know all the details about what went down between him and Kurt; they just knew it was bad, and they were afraid of causing some kind of flare-up by saying the wrong thing - not to mention the fact that they had no real idea to what extent things were patched up between them. Dave appreciated it, in a weird way; they weren't glaring and telling him to fuck off, so they seemed to like him (apart from being just Kurt's friend) to some extent. That buoyed him more than he expected. "Of course."

Kurt had, in fact, asked Dave if he wanted to accompany him to this "Night of Neglect" earlier that week. Dave's first instinct, usually his strongest instinct, screamed at him the moment he was asked: Why? Why would Kurt want you around him? Do you really think he forgives you? No! Why should he ever, ever forgive you? You'll never... Dave would've listened to that voice, not so long ago, embraced it. Instead, and even then only after some difficulty, he imagined himself taking the neck of the figure screeching those words, and punching it in the face. To the outside world, to Kurt, all Dave did was say "Sure. I'd love to." He couldn't help but notice the pleased surprise flash across Kurt's face; now that, he told himself, was progress.

Back in the now, Mercedes visibly relaxed as Kurt's mutterings from earlier turned over in Dave's mind. Finally, after a deep breath, he spoke again. "Hey, I got an idea." Kurt and Mercedes turned towards him, a little startled; it was the most he'd spoken for almost twenty minutes.

Mercedes was a little chagrined to realize that she had been the one talking for 99% of that time. Is Rachel rubbing off on me? she wondered. The very idea was terrifying to contemplate. But Dave mercifully continued talking and she wrenched her attention back to him.

"Every little bit helps. Why don't I ask the other Warblers if they want to go to the concert? That's a bunch more tickets right there. Plus, we'll even get some ideas on how to beat you guys next year," Dave added with a small smirk.

"Really?" gaped Kurt. "You'd do that for us?"

"Hey, you're still officially a Warbler for another week and a half," Dave scolded lightheartedly. "Show some school loyalty here!"

Kurt gave a graceful shrug. "I'm fickle. So sue me." His face turned serious. "But really, Dave, are you sure...?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" Mercedes cut in eagerly, obviously not seeing Kurt's concern; she seemed more worried that Kurt's questions would make Dave change his mind. "Thanks, Dave."

"Hey, it's no big deal."

Kurt thought otherwise, but held his tongue until Mercedes had departed and the two were walking back to Dave's car in the parking lot. "You know," Kurt said quietly, "that if McKinley can't appear at Nationals, that Dalton, as the second place team, would go instead."

Dave looked at Kurt innocently. "Would they? I didn't know."

"Dave..."

"It's all right, Kurt. Do you really think Wes or David or any of the other guys would want to go to Nationals that way? Because of Coach Sylvester hiding your guys' money? Would you?"

Kurt shook his head. "No. No, I wouldn't. I just wanted to make sure that..."

"Hey, winning isn't everything, right?" Dave said with a small smile. "New Directions beat us fair and square. Now you, Kurt Hummel, get to go to the city of your dreams and compete with the best across the country. Think about that, and not about Dalton, okay? We'll be fine."

Kurt smiled back. "Okay."

The two got into Dave's car. It wasn't until both were buckled in, and Dave had backed out of the parking lot, that he spoke again. "Hey, speaking of Nationals, did you get any news about your eligibility?"

"Funny thing, that. I got a letter from the national committee. Somehow, they changed their minds. I'll be allowed to perform with New Directions after all. They said it was because of my 'extraordinary circumstances'..."

"But it was actually because of an extraordinarily scary woman," Dave concluded. "Weird that she'd do that for you, but still try to scuttle your chances of making it there at all."

Kurt shrugged. "Who can fathom the mind of Sue Sylvester? My guess is that she's doing this just in case she does fail to break us."

Dave couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "You are so lucky she likes you. Or at least doesn't hate you."

"Yes, well... It's not always easy being this fabulous. I have to get some breaks occasionally."

Dave chuckled again, this time without the nervousness. "Well, you do make it look easy."

"That's because I have a lot of practice being me." The conversation withered for the moment. Kurt watched the twilight-edged sky glow behind the trees and houses as they flashed by his window. Dave kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel perhaps a little harder than he should have. The road growled underneath the tires. "Dave?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't mind me asking... How are you doing?"

It was such a general question, asked carelessly and perfunctorily every day in a thousand different situations. But this usage was specific, and Dave knew (again) exactly what Kurt was asking. "Doing... okay, I guess. Been talking with Dr. Macey a lot lately."

Kurt nodded. "Making progress is good."

"Yeah. It is."

"Do you have any plans? For...?"

"Yeah. I think I do."

"Want to talk about them?"

Dave sighed. "Not right now. Maybe once they're in motion. I just... I don't want to..."

Disappoint you. Those were words that weren't hard to plug into that silence.

"I understand. Don't worry; I'm patient. I can wait."

Dave dared to take a glance at Kurt. Please wait for me; I'll do whatever it takes, he begged with his eyebrows and his pursed lips and a twitch of his nose instead of words.

I can't wait forever, Kurt replied with his raised chin and his glittering eyes and his hand casually reaching up to brush a stray hair out of his face, but I will as long as I can.

Thanks, Dave replied with a huffed breath and a turn of his face back towards the road.

The rest of the drive passed in silence; this time, it was real.

"...and this is the cafeteria," Kurt said, nodding towards the closed set of doors. "Second only to the science lab in producing noxious gasses and artificial life." He wrinkled his nose at some bad culinary memory. "Now that's one thing I'll definitely miss about Dalton: you guys get food that has not come out of a ten gallon drum."

Dave made a gagging sound, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. "God, thanks for that mental image! Now I'll be thinking of potted meat food product all night!"

"Just file it away for if you ever want to go on a diet."

"Oh, you calling me chubby now?"

"Not at all. I think you're stunningly fit." Kurt had meant to say it in the same joking tone Dave had used, but somehow it didn't come out that way. Both boys suddenly found the hallways endlessly fascinating. "Oh! There's the choir room!" Kurt had also not intended that note of wistful longing to creep in, but it had. What the hell happened to my self control? he fumed in his mind.

"Hey..." Dave's heavy, warm hand fell on his shoulder. "You'll be back in that room in a few days. Don't worry."

Kurt closed his eyes and nodded. "Right. You're right." He continued down the hall, not noticing his pace increasing; Dave had to jog to keep up. "Where are the others, by the way?"

"They should be here soon. It took them a while to gather up everyone."

"I can't believe all the Warblers decided to attend." Kurt's heart swelled, though whether it was pride for his new school's friends or joy for his old, he couldn't tell.

"You kidding? They jumped at the chance." At Kurt's insistence, he hadn't been present when Dave asked the other Warblers to attend the Night of Neglect, both to not pressure anyone and to avoid disappointment if there were a lot of "no"s. The first thing Wes did when Kurt returned after the meeting was over was chastise him for not telling them about this "excellent scouting opportunity" earlier. "Oh, and David bought an extra ticket..."

"For what's-her-name... That girl he never talks about." Kurt suppressed a giggle.

"Yeah, her. Carrie or Candace or whatever."

"Yes, what was her name?" By now both teenagers were laughing, much harder than the inside joke warranted. "M-Maybe we sh-should ask David what he's doing next Saturday!"

"P-Probably nothing! With no one named Callie!"

"C-Callie who?"

Both boys roared. Kurt sank from a standing position to sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, tears streaming down his face, while Dave doubled over on his feet, knees bent and arms clutching his aching stomach. Fortunately for them, no one was around to hear the roars of laughter that echoed through the halls. Eventually, the merriment died down. Kurt wiped his face dry as Dave gasped for breath, finally forcing his lungs to work at a regular rhythm. In. Out. In. Out.

"Whew." Kurt scrambled to his feet, straightening his collar as if nothing had happened.

Dave clapped Kurt on the back warmly. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." They continued down the hall. "What time is it?"

Dave glanced at his watch. "Six forty."

"Then it's almost time. We should..." Kurt cut himself off with a gasp. Dave looked up; Kurt had started to turn a corner, nearly running headlong into Blaine Anderson and Santana Lopez. The other couple was arm in arm, and just as startled to see them. "S-sorry about that."

"No harm done." Blaine coughed nervously as Santana's grip on his arm visibly tightened.

"So..." Kurt rocked backwards on his heels, a nervous act that Dave couldn't remember seeing him do before. "You're here to support your girlfriend?"

"You know it!" Santana beamed. "My Blaine, here to cheer me on... It just makes my night!"

"I'm sure it does," Kurt said politely.

"And what about you?" Santana glared at Dave. "You got a lot of nerve showing up after what you did to Kurt and Blaine."

Kurt groaned inwardly. "Santana, please. I invited him, and I've forgiven him. And I'd appreciate you not piling guilt trips on my friends." He turned towards Dave to apologize, but saw, to his surprise, that Dave didn't seem upset. Sure, he looked at least somewhat contrite and ashamed, but nothing like the wellspring of self-loathing Kurt had been expecting.

"No, Santana's right about one thing: I do owe her an apology. What I did affected her too."

"Well." Santana nodded, looking a little befuddled; Kurt wondered if her expression was somehow echoed on his face.

"And I owe an apology to Blaine too. In fact..." Dave cleared his throat. "I'd like to have a word with him in private about that."

All three of the other teenagers stared at him in surprise. "Uh, how about no?" Santana snapped. "I know you have issues with my man, and if you think I'm gonna leave him alone and helpless with you, you got another thing coming!" She stepped forward, getting into Dave's face. "You think I can't take you? I got razor blades all up in here!" She gestured towards her hair. "You touch one curly hair on his head, and you'll be coughing up your cojones! Don't think I won't..."

"Santana!" Blaine's voice stopped everyone dead. "It's okay. I'll talk to him."

"What? You're not seriously..."

"San!" There was a familiarity to that hiss, one that made Kurt wonder. His wonderment deepened as he saw how much it affected Santana; the tension seemed to flow out of her body like a dam burst. "Really. It's fine."

"Okay," she sniffed, stunning Kurt yet again (as he thanked God that he didn't have a heart problem like his father, or he'd be dead four or five times over by now). "But if you get into any trouble..."

"I can handle myself. You go on ahead with Kurt. I'll catch up later." Blaine watched as Kurt and Santana walked away; the latter glanced reluctantly over her shoulder twice before they vanished around the corner.

Dave waited for a moment after they disappeared to turn to Blaine. "I'm sorry," he said at once. "I abused the trust you put in me."

"You didn't have much reason to trust me," Blaine replied quietly.

"But I betrayed the trust Kurt put in me too. I shouldn't have done either. I should've let him make his own choices." Dave rubbed one of his eyes. "I should've given you a chance."

"Why? Why would you ever do something that dumb?" Blaine asked in a hoarse whisper.

Dave didn't answer. Instead, he took a small piece of notepaper out of his pocket. "Here," he said, placing it gently in Blaine's hands.

"What's this?" Blaine opened the paper; it was a list of two URLs and two phone numbers.

"The first website is a YouTube channel for a series of videos called It Gets Better. It's a bunch of people - gay and straight, celebrities and normal people like us - talking about how life gets better, even if you are gay." Dave's words came in a bit of a rush; he paused, and when he continued, his speech was slower, more normal. "I don't expect you to go all rainbow-crazy, but it'll show you that there is some kind of life outside of the closet.

"The second site's for an organization called The Trevor Project. It's counseling for gay kids. If you ever feel like you... wanna hurt yourself, or like you can't go on, please call 'em. They're at that first phone number."

"And the second?" Blaine couldn't help but notice the 216 area code.

Dave exhaled. "That's... my number. If you ever want to shoot the shit about whatever, or you just need someone to talk to... Call me whenever you want. I'll pick up, promise."

Blaine looked up sharply, his face drawn with shock. "I asked you before... I'm gonna ask you again. Why...?"

Dave hung his head, his hands jammed into his windbreaker's pockets. "I've been thinking... a lot lately. About a lot of things. And I've figured it out... Actually, I've figured quite a few things out. But to answer your question... It's because... I thought you were someone you're not. Someone I used to know a long time ago. I hated you for that..."

"I thought you hated me because I messed with your friend."

"Yeah, that was a big part of it, but... I think if you'd been almost anyone else, I would've tried harder, for you and for Kurt. But I didn't, because of my own issues. And you didn't deserve that, not for that reason. Plus, we're... kind of alike in a lot of ways."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well, we both made dumb mistakes and hurt people because we were scared. I know what that's like. And that's why I want to help you."

"But that's... I don't believe you. After what I did to Kurt..."

"I know what you did to Kurt. And even after all that, his first instinct was to try to help you. But I was too self-absorbed and caught up in the past to even try to seriously support him. That helped drive him from this school, so my piss-poor attitude is ending right the fuck now." Dave looked up at Blaine; his eyes were hard and serious. "You had a lot to do with this too. I still might not even be trying this if it weren't for the Bully Whips thing. Kurt's willing to give you a chance, so... I am too."

"I could still be playing you both," Blaine said evenly. "This could all be some kind of long con."

"I thought of that, yeah. But hell, if I avoided everything that I could get hurt by, I'd never get any living done. That and I'm pretty sure I could take you."

Blaine laughed at Dave's confident smirk. "Yeah, you probably could. And you could tell everyone about me in a flash."

Dave shook his head. "No. I thought I wanted to do that once, but... I can't. Kurt was right about that too. Your closet... It's as closed as long as you want it to be, as far as I'm concerned. But like I said when we first met, you're not alone. You're really not."

"Yeah... I think I'm starting to get that." Blaine blinked back tears, pretending to reread the paper so as not to betray the slightest hint of moisture on his face. Dave let him.

"There is one condition," Dave said suddenly.

"And that is?"

"Don't tell Kurt about any of this yet."

"Why not?"

Dave sighed. "Because I don't want him to think that I'm doing this for him. This is for you, and for me. Plus, if he hears, he's gonna want to get involved too, and... I want to give this time to work. That way, if I screw up or you really are just a scheming bastard, I can cover up my embarrassment."

Blaine considered this for a moment. "So," he said with a widening grin. "The truth comes out. You really are in love with him, and you're hoping helping me leads to his pants."

"Y'know, maybe you wouldn't be in this position to begin with if you weren't such a sarcastic asshole." Dave's words were without a hint of rancor; in fact, he was on the edge of laughing.

Blaine smiled a genuine smile. "Yeah, maybe not."

"Seriously, though, that's what I meant. Once I've been doing this for a while... Then I'll tell him. But for now... I need some time to do this on my own, so he knows that this isn't all just for him."

"Okay, fine. I won't tell him." Blaine's smile grew, crinkling his eyes. "You realize, though, that this'll probably blow up into some kind of sitcom misunderstanding where he thinks we're sleeping together or some shit."

Dave guffawed. "God, I hope not. But even if it does, so what? I'm friend-zoned for the foreseeable future, and you're... well, you got your own problems to work out too. If he thought we were getting it on, he'd probably try to encourage us!"

Blaine's face lit up in mirth. "Oh, shit, don't put that image in my head! Sorry, but you're not my type."

"Oh, yeah? What is your type?"

"I like 'em a lot thinner than you, that's for sure. I like guys with a little more style, y'know? Class. And..." He trailed off, his jaw dropping. He looked up at Dave, who was smiling warmly. "Did I just..."

"Yeah." Dave's voice was encouraging, almost proud.

"Did I just say...?"

"Yeah. You did." He clapped Blaine on the shoulder. "Welcome to the big ol' gay family, Blaine Anderson."

"Wow... God..." Blaine wiped his forehead, looking a little pale; he began to tremble. "I... I think that's the first time... the first time I've ever said..."

"Then I'm glad I was the one who got to hear it. Puts me one up on Kurt in something for once." Dave gently gripped Blaine's other shoulder; the other boy stopped shaking. "Hey, next time it'll be a little easier. And the time after that will be a little easier than that. You're on your way, dude."

"Yeah, well..." Blaine let out a shaky sigh. "I'm still not anywhere near ready to come out."

"Doesn't matter. One step at a time."

"I guess so." He coughed, worming his way out of Dave's grip. "The concert's gonna start soon. We should look for Kurt and Santana."

"Yeah, we should." There was a brief silence.

"So... are we friends now or something?"

"You kidding? Fuck, no." Dave deliberately paused. "At least... not yet."

Blaine nodded. "Good. Because I still think you're a short-tempered throwback with more issues than Time Magazine."

Dave grinned. "Yeah, well, I still think you're a manipulative troll with a Napoleon complex. But... maybe we're both a little more than that."

"Just a little." Blaine offered a fist-bump. Dave stared for a moment with an are-you-kidding look, then slowly, but enthusiastically, bumped. "Come on. They're probably wondering where the fuck we are."

In fact, they were not. Around the corner at the other end of the hall, Kurt had been trying for several minutes to pull Santana away from her eavesdropping position, but once Dave handed Blaine the paper, the efforts stopped. He began listening with wide eyes just as she was.

"Didn't see that coming," Santana muttered. She turned to Kurt. "Oh, come on. Shut that mouth before you start drooling on my shoes."

"But..." Kurt finally stammered. "But I..."

"Seriously? Kurt fucking Hummel at a loss for words? God, I wish I could record this." There was a dull buzz. "Hold on." She plucked up her slim cell phone (out of... where? Kurt was still in too much shock to even notice) and opened it up. She stared at the screen. "Shit. I gotta go." Santana ran off, leaving Kurt staring at the now-empty hall.

"Dave...?" But no one answered.

Santana burst into the backstage area in a fashion Rachel would've envied as the height of drama, had she been paying attention. But she was not; everyone was gathered in the wings, peeking out of the edge of the curtain. "We got a problem!" Santana declared; only about half of those present turned their heads. "Sunshine and her posse isn't coming anymore! She said..."

"That doesn't matter," Mike said firmly.

"What? Are you mental, Chang? Without them, we're..."

"Fine. Just fine. Come on, see for yourself." Mike gestured, and Santana joined the group, looking out at the auditorium. She gasped.

Practically every single seat was filled, with standing room in the back quickly becoming crowded. People were chattering, laughing, rustling their programs as they read. Lauren and Ms. Holliday were doing a brisk business running up and down the aisles selling from trays of saltwater taffy. Santana recognized a group of blue blazers near the middle as the Dalton Academy Warblers, but the rest... Most were fellow McKinley students, but others were random adults and kids she didn't know. She noticed Mr. Ryerson, Becky Jackson, and Azimio Adams near the front (accompanied by an empty seat all the more significant for its being the sole one) and Coach Sylvester standing in the back near the doors, her arms crossed and her face stormy with rage as she regarded the crowd.

"H-how...? Wh-where did all these...?"

"Don't you recognize some of them?" Mike asked quietly.

Santana looked closer at some of the assembled audience. There, in the third row... That looked like that freshman from the AV Club she'd escorted two weeks ago. And that girl standing in the wings looked an awful like the sophomore Puck was bragging about "saving" from a group of Cheerios a few days earlier. There was a robotics nerd over there whose Twitter harassers were sniffed out by Artie in his first major triumph as a cyberbullying investigator. And there... Santana turned to Mike with wide eyes. He merely nodded and smiled.

"Bully Whips clients," he said. "Almost all of them came. They brought their friends and families. Some of them even bought tickets without anyone to give them to." Mike shook his head in wonder. "Mr. Schue was right. They wanted to give back."

The aforementioned teacher hurried towards them, clapping his hands. "Two minutes to curtain, guys! Places!" As the Glee Clubbers scattered, Santana took one last look out at the packed house, her head filled with a dozen conflicting emotions. She almost didn't feel Brittany take hold of her and almost forcibly yank her into position.

The night went off nearly flawlessly. The Heckling Club made a brave attempt to jeer Tina during her number (though down a member; Jacob ben Israel had bolted as soon as he saw the crowd, muttering something about discretion, valor, and wanting to keep his skin intact), but they were quickly and loudly counter-heckled by the rest of the audience. Tina watched in awe, stifling her laughter, as various students gave each of the three hecklers withering reviews of their techniques, reputations, and possible parentages. Sandy Ryerson left in tears, Azimio and Becky in hazes of fury (although when she thought about it later, Becky realized that she had been heckled just as hard as the others - that though her condition was never even alluded to, she was treated absolutely no differently than Mr. Ryerson or Azimio: no kid gloves, no mercy. Becky gained an almost blinding smile lasted for the rest of the month).

The rest of the performance was a blur of cheers and applause. By the time Rachel officially brought the curtain down with her simple declaration that Mercedes had ended the program, the house was on its feet, the entire Glee Club drinking in their curtain call. In the audience, Kurt, his mind giddy and hands sore from clapping, turned to Dave. "This is..."

"A turning point?" Dave asked, his voice nearly drowned out by the tumult around them.

Kurt considered this, considered everything he'd heard this evening. "Yeah. A turning point." He didn't say anything further; at that moment, Dave put his fingers to his lips and let out an approving, ear-piercing whistle that temporarily deafened Kurt in his left ear. "Arrgh! Thanks, Dave!" Of course, Dave didn't hear him.

"... and they... we even got a surplus for next year!" The Night of Neglect was many days over, but Kurt was still babbling. "We get to go to New York, the Brainiacs are on their way to their finals, and we still have money left over!" Kurt slammed shut the box he'd been packing in his excitement (as much as one can "slam" cardboard).

"Yes, Kurt, I know. You came to my room at midnight to get me out of bed and tell me, remember?" With a wry grin, he hefted a bulging suitcase and placed it near the door. "That everything?"

Kurt sighed and looked about the room; it seemed so much barer now, almost cold without all his personal touches. "Should be."

Dave cracked open the door, glancing out. "Your dad waiting?"

"He's not here yet. He will be soon, though, to help bring stuff down."

"I can get whatever he can't. I know you don't want him to overexert himself too much."

"Thanks." The silence that followed was almost physically heavy. "So."

"So." Dave raised an expectant eyebrow.

"I... well, I'm at a bit of a loss for words here."

Dave smiled. "So am I. So I guess I'll just take the advice of a good friend and sing what I feel." He threw open the door. The Warblers stood in formation on the other side as Dave's voice rose in song, their own harmonies joining him.

How do I say goodbye to what we had...

Kurt gasped, his hand flying to his mouth.

The good times that made us laugh...
Outweigh the bad...

This song wasn't quite in Dave's comfortable key, but he was acquitting himself more than adequately. Kurt's eyes glistened as Dave backed out the doorway to join the front line of Warblers, his fists pumping in the air in the "soulful singer" pose Kurt knew he'd mocked many times in Dave's presence. Maybe he'd have to stop; it actually looked good on some people.

I thought we'd get to see forever...
But forever's gone away...

The Warblers' arms all rose at once in a gesture - one that Kurt didn't recognize, but with a feeling he did: gratitude, happiness, and well-wishes, but with tinges of sadness and regret.

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday...

By the time they finished the entire song, with Dave singing the last set of notes pitch-perfect, Kurt was weeping openly. Dave stepped forward and pulled his friend into a tight, warm hug, which Kurt desperately, graspingly returned.

"Y-you know that was a break-up song, don't you?" Kurt finally managed to gasp out, not relaxing his grip in the slightest.

"You are breaking up - with Dalton," Dave muttered into Kurt's shoulder. "It was appropriate enough. But not for me. I'm never saying goodbye to you."

"You'd better not. That's why they invented text messaging." Kurt couldn't see the rest of the Warblers, couldn't (yet) tell them how much they meant to him. But for now, he couldn't bring himself to care. For that moment, the world was just him, just Dave, just that embrace.

The choir room was abuzz. "Where is he?" Rachel demanded.

"Calm down!" Finn sighed. "He said he was coming right here as soon as he and Burt get into Lima."

"You said that twenty minutes ago!"

"I know! Do you want me to call..."

The doors flew open. Everyone looked up at once. Kurt Hummel, divested of the Dalton blazer and now resplendent in a special mix of his own hand-picked clothes, strode in. Mr. Schuester smiled. Finn rose, Mercedes' face lit up with joy, Brittany started applauding. With everyone staring, with tears rising in his eyes again, Kurt could only think of one thing to say.

"Hi. I'm back."

AN: God, I hope I didn't forget any points I wanted to go over. That (and I think you know what part I'm talking about) was, I felt, an important conversation, and I pray I got in everything I intended. Even with my notes, it's hard to tell...