AN: And now, the conclusion of prom night (that I meant to post yesterday afternoon, but y'know). We're entering the home stretch, that's for sure; the rest of the "season" is denouement, really (but hopefully no less interesting for it, especially as possible setup for "Season 3").

I could still use some opinions on the "post to completed story for sequel alert" issue. And someone who knows both Rachel and NYC well for a one-shot idea I have.

Wise men say... only fools rush in...
But I can't help falling in love with you...

Couples began to gather for the slow dance, but Kurt barely noticed; his breath hitched in his throat. He'd heard Dave sing before, of course, both formally and in casual settings. But this time... there was something different about it. There was some other force, some other emotion, fairly emanating from his pores. Was everyone else in the room blind? Could they not see it?

Like a river flows... Surely into the sea...

Dave was practically making love to the microphone stand, in classic crooner tradition. That Kurt would've expected no matter what. But the way his eyes glowed as he scanned the audience, the way his body slowly dipped and rolled... Was he actually looking in Kurt's direction?

Take my hand...
Take my whole life too...

Kurt's emotional maelstrom was interrupted by a sudden sense of wrongness. It wasn't with Dave, it was with... Yes, Finn. He was still "aaah"-ing in the background, but his face was clouded with anger. Kurt's eyes scanned the crowed in the general direction Finn was looking... Yes, there was Rachel and Jesse, swaying gently in each other's arms. Rachel was smiling up at him, Jesse laughing. Kurt could almost see his stepbrother's face growing darker and darker.

For I can't help falling in love with you...

Kurt's heart pounded. God, Dave, please, move just a little bit to the right... Block his view... Unfortunately, the relationship between the two had not yet developed telepathy. So when Jesse's face started to slowly descend towards Rachel's lips, Finn exploded.

"Leave her alone!" he fairly screamed, pushing past Dave and nearly diving into the dancers. Kurt knew just enough about football to know that quarterbacks like Finn rarely, if ever, tackled other players; they were there to be tackled (which caused no small amount of anxiety for him and Carole). But you wouldn't have known that from the Sportscenter-perfect tackle Finn performed; it tore Jesse out of Rachel's arms without so much as mussing her hair. They disappeared from Kurt's sight; the only indication of what was going on was the sudden gulf opening amongst the gathered prom-goers, the shrieks of a couple of the girls (including the horrified screeches of Rachel Berry), and the loud, obscenity-filled shouts between the two combatants. Finally, they reappeared, back on their feet, their collars clutched tightly in the hands of Sue Sylvester. She as good as carried them out of the gym as easily as if both of the heavier guys were freshman Cheerios. The excitement over, the dancers dispersed, muttering amongst themselves.

"Shit." Kurt nearly jumped; Dave seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. "You told me about it, but I didn't believe it."

"I'm sorry that overgrown child ruined your song, Dave."

"Ah, don't worry about it. It was almost over, anyway." A look of mild anxiety crossed his face. "Hope you liked what you heard."

Kurt smiled. "I always do."

Dave puffed out a breath. "Thanks." He shook his head. "I wonder what that'll do for his chances at prom king?"

Kurt shrugged. "Who knows? I feel sorry for Quinn. Now she has no date because her 'boyfriend' just tried to beat up the guy dating his ex."

"Shit, I know they're your friends, but..."

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Dave: their lives are somewhat Port Charles-ish, aren't they?"

"Even yours?" Dave asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Kurt laid an elegant hand upon his breast. "But of course. The talented diva, driven from those he loves by cruelty, only to triumphantly return. It's classic."

Dave laughed, the hearty sound dying in his throat as he saw Blaine Anderson nearby, looking at them with an odd expression on his face. The look, which was a messy mix of sadness, jealousy, and want, disappeared as soon as Santana tugged his arm. The schooled neutrality returned, with Blaine himself vanishing into the crowd with his date. Something at the sight tugged at Dave, sending an ache into his belly. But then Kurt laughed at something Dave didn't hear, and suddenly, that ache simply... disappeared.

The night progressed with relative peace after the Finn/Jesse imbroglio was cleared up. A couple more songs (with New Directions scrambling, and succeeding admirably, in filling the gap left behind by Finn), a couple more dances (neither of which Kurt and Dave participated in, choosing to instead chat with the other members of New Directions and offer vocal back-ups), and before anyone knew it, Principal Figgins jumped onto the stage.

"It is my pleasure to announce the McKinley High School Junior Prom King and Queen!" The candidates, with one notable exception, all appeared on stage in two gender-segregated lines. They were a mix of types and colors, some of whom Kurt barely knew. "First, our king!" Figgins held up an envelope, pausing for maximum drama. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he ripped it open. If there was any doubt about the outcome in Kurt's mind, it vanished with the expression of sheer delight that appeared on Figgins' face. "Our junior prom king is Blaine Anderson!"

A cheer went up from the crowd as Blaine stepped forward and accepted his crown and scepter from Figgins, who presented them as if he were giving away the Congressional Medal of Honor. Blaine then turned to the assemblage and took a deep bow. Kurt and Dave clapped politely. As the former looked over the crowd, he noticed a knot of football players standing near stage right, on the opposite end of the room. Oddly enough, they were not clapping; all of them, especially Strando, had these strange looks of shock. Kurt frowned, but quickly dismissed his speculations with a shake of the head.

"It's a little sad," Kurt muttered to Dave as Blaine took his seat on his throne. "He's made so many great strides, but he's still wearing a mask... maybe the most important one to remove."

"It's because it's that important that he still has it," Dave replied. "But he's that much closer to taking it off, thanks to you and the others."

God, is this the same guy who wanted to out Blaine the first time they met? Looking at him now, at his eyes and smile and relaxed shoulders, it hardly seemed possible. As Figgins waved the envelope for prom queen about, Kurt saw Santana's radiant, confident smile as she leaned over and whispered something likely devastating to Quinn. She seemed to think she had this one in the bag, and Kurt couldn't find any reason to disagree.

"This is so exciting!" Figgins exulted as he ripped open the envelope. "Your 2011 junior prom queen is..."

When it was all over, many would wonder just how it happened. Kurt, at least, found out, thanks in major part to a week long reign of terror that descended over McKinley immediately following the prom, an event its instigator called a "Sue-quisition." As it turned out, while Santana did a good job of siphoning votes from her fellow female Bully Whips, it wasn't good enough. She still managed to split those votes, leaving a smaller but more unified bloc intact to make their own write in vote. The counts were still close, very close, but it was enough.

As for Figgins, most agreed that he was so excited and eager to announce his pet student's booty call that he merely read out the name in the envelope without his brain really registering what it said... at least until it was too late.

"Kurt Hummel!"

A gasp ripped out of many parts of the audience. Kurt's knees turned into mush. Blaine went chalk white. Figgins did such a huge gaping double take at the card that Kurt almost found it funny, even under the circumstances. Many students turned towards Kurt with a significant glare. In the shadows cast by the harsh stage lighting, he couldn't see Dave's face, but his clenched, white-knuckled fists bespoke of an urge to punch practically everyone in the room.

The eyes... all the eyes... all on Kurt. The contempt, the triumph, the pity, the horror, and perhaps most awful of all, the neutrality - the ones looking at him as if he were just some interesting museum exhibit, on display for their amusement. Something in him snapped. He turned around and bolted out of the gym.

Striding into the brightly lit halls, near tears, one of the first things he saw was one of Finn and Quinn's campaign posters, hanging bright and in full-color on the wall opposite. Way to fucking go, universe. Thank you so much for reminding me what a freak I am. It was a dark thought, of a kind he hadn't had for many many months, but it was back like an old friend. He leaned against a wall, the cold stone caressing his cheek as the tears finally came.

"Kurt!" He heard the doors burst open behind him, and the voice he knew he'd be hearing. He couldn't turn to face Dave; he literally couldn't physically turn his head. "Kurt..." He said nothing more; Kurt wasn't sure if it was because he was waiting for him to say something, or if Dave himself wasn't sure what to say.

When Kurt finally broke the silence, it was with a hoarse whisper, barely audible. "I actually... I actually told Blaine that maybe the school was learning. Maybe they were at least becoming indifferent, if not enlightened. God, what must he be thinking now? His closet must have even more deadbolts on it than ever. Because of me." He laughed, a wet, choked sound. "What an idiot I was. All the Bully Whips did was push it underground, until they got together and found a method that the Bully Whips couldn't punish." He sniffled, still not daring to look Dave in the eyes. He had no idea why he was this upset; hadn't he faced worse and beaten it with a smile? Maybe it was the sheer, disturbing teamwork displayed. Maybe it was the hope, cruelly smashed. Maybe it was the heights his heart had reached earlier that evening, making the fall all the more painful. Maybe it was all of that at once, and more. "And they found the perfect way, too. It has everything: anonymity, plausible deniability, lack of solid paper trail, the force of numbers... I'd almost admire it if it weren't directed at me." Another sob wrenched from his chest. "Nothing changed. Nothing matters. They still... I'm still... What a great big fucking joke."

"This is no joke, Kurt," Dave said grimly. "It's cruel, it's vicious, it's rotten... But one thing it's not is a fucking joke. Jokes are funny. This... this is something else completely."

Kurt vaguely wondered why no one else had come out to see how he was doing by now. Surely someone would have. But the answer came in the form of a mental image, as clear as day: someone (here his mind came up with Finn first, despite his absence) trying to follow Kurt, only to be stopped by Dave, saying "Let me talk to him first." It felt so right that it had to be it. Then the question became why Dave did that, but the answer to that was clear as well. Kurt tried to imagine what it would be like to have Brittany or Artie or Mercedes trying to comfort him at the moment (not that they wouldn't sincerely try, but Kurt knew they would feel awkward, and thus the whole thing would be awkward)... or worse, the whole Glee Club. Sometimes too many cooks did spoil the broth, and if just one person had to be here... he was really glad it was Dave.

And that, he realized, spoke volumes. Sure, Dave was also gay, and had also been through a traumatic experience (compared to which this one was peanuts, honestly), but still... It was a lot more than that. That was undeniable. The very fact alone that Dave knew him well enough to have taken the actions he did in the first place...

"This has nothing to do with you," Dave continued, "and everything to do with them. They're the petty ones who can't be bothered to tolerate someone different than them. They made the choice to be assholes; you didn't make any choice to earn their bullshit. This whole thing proves that there's something wrong with them, not you. The best thing someone can be is themselves, without masks or regrets. And you know the smart, funny, talented, crazy, sexy guy I learned that from?"

Kurt couldn't help but laugh now; he was finally able to turn and face Dave, who was standing much closer than he'd expected... not that it was a bad thing. "No, but he sounds dreamy."

"God, Kurt, the whole pack of them has to be blind or stupid not to see what an incredible person you are. I hate to bring up the whole 'they hate you because they're jealous' cliche, but..."

Kurt laughed again, this time even louder and more genuine. "Yes, please don't. It'll make you sound like my middle school guidance counselor, and I really don't think I could take the mental dissonance that would cause."

Dave stuck his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. "I just realized... we've sort of come full circle. We started out because of problems you were having here, then I had my issues that you helped me with, and now we're back to McKinley."

"Yeah." Kurt chewed his lip. "But one thing's remained constant: your friendship. It's really meant a lot to me."

"Same here. Having someone like you as a friend... I can't imagine what my life would be like without you in it."

"Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Mr. Karofsky?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted me to be honest and open. I'm just telling it like it is." Dave heaved a sigh. "So..."

"Yeah. What do I do now?"

"That's up to you. If you want to go home, we'll leave right now. Maybe hit a supermarket on the way back, pick up a few gallons of ice cream."

Kurt chuckled. "Sound tempting. But what do you think?"

"Uh... Well, I don't want to tell you what to do..."

"And you're not. I'm consulting you. Asking for your opinion. As a friend."

Dave nodded. "Okay, then, my opinion: there's a lot of people in there who think they've just scored a huge win over you and the Bully Whips. If I were you - and I'm not - I'd want to march right back in there and wipe the smirks off their faces. Show them who's the head bitch in charge, kind of." Dave clapped a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Seriously, though, I think Anderson and Santana should see there's someone who's brave enough to stand by them too when the chips are down. And you know what Grandpa Murray always says..."

"Stand strong," Kurt finished. He blew a long breath out of his pursed mouth. The decision seemed surprisingly easy to make; without another word, Kurt straightened his lapels and marched right past a grinning Dave and back through the gym doors.

The scene didn't seem to have changed much in the minutes since he left. Coach Sylvester was running about the periphery, snarling and barking at students as she passed. Principal Figgins was still on stage, stammering something about finding vote totals to crown the second place finisher. The other candidates for prom queen had left the stage, leaving a still shell-shocked Blaine slumped on his throne.

At his entrance, the whole room seemed to turn. His enemies looked mildly surprised, his friends stunned but pleased. He strode confidently past them to the stage, the hot glare of spotlights on him as he stood next to Principal Figgins. Kurt snatched the crown from the administrator's loose, sweaty grip and plopped the cheap plastic abomination onto his own head. He then turned to the mike, giving him the perfect angle to see Dave reenter the dance in the back. That single glimpse gave him the renewed confidence to open his mouth and say:

"Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton."

The entire room erupted in clapping and cheers, even the same people who'd voted for him in this little "joke." Kurt aped Blaine's low bow.

"Um..." Principal Figgins began, retaking the microphone, "it is... usually tradition for the king and queen to have their dance, but..."

The band, apparently thinking it was their cue, started up their coronation song. Afterward, Blaine would swear he had no memory of getting up from his throne and walking to Kurt's side - that as far as he knew, one second he was sitting safely, and the next he was just... there. Neither boy could see their audience, with the lights in their faces, but what Blaine was imagining was probably worse than anything reality could create.

As the crowd parted, and the two stiffly descended the steps onto the dance floor, Kurt was seized with a wild impulse. Perhaps it was from shock at what had happened - what was still happening. Perhaps it was from some darker thoughts about his (former) tormentor that had lain fallow until that moment. Or perhaps his good intentions merely got mixed up in his mind and somehow made it to his mouth without time to process. Whatever the reason, Kurt would find himself regretting his next words, spoken low to Blaine as they approached the center of the dance floor. "This is your chance," he muttered.

"What?"

"You don't have to be afraid. You're too popular. And the Glee Club would have your back, you know. Even Dave. We'd all support you, no matter what." By now, the two had taken up their positions in the middle of the crowd. Queen turned to king with a sincere look of almost-pleading in his eyes. "Come out. Make a difference."

Blaine stared, his mouth working as if chewing a huge wad of gum. His eyes were wide and sparkling in the dim light. The weight of stares and anticipation seemed to be physical burdens on them both. A look of such pure anguish crossed Blaine's face that Kurt began to regret his words almost immediately. "I..." The wide receiver's voice was low and raspy, much as Kurt's had been in the hall just minutes before. "I can't..."

With that, he turned, pushed through the gathered onlookers, and bolted from the gym. Three pairs of eyes followed him, all in varying degrees of worry, all with the same initial impulse: I should go after him... Then they saw Chris Strando separate from his friends and follow, and all three relaxed. They all had their excuses for staying put:

If I followed him now, I'd be as good as outing him...

If I followed him now, I'd be as good as outing myself right now; then I'd be no good to him...

If I followed him now, I'd be leaving Kurt all alone out there...

All three thought, Strando is his friend. He's better suited to helping him right now.

All three recognized on some level that these were excuses - maybe good excuses, but nothing more.

There was a moment of suspension in time, when nothing moved, nothing was thought, and nothing was said. Finally, the crowd parted once more, and Dave entered the floor. Once more, he offered his hand. Once more, Kurt took it with gratitude.

"Thanks..." he whispered.

"What, you thought I was going to leave you out here alone? Besides, I've always wanted to dance with royalty." Dave chuckled.

Kurt smiled gratefully. Then the thought struck him: he'd been tapped to sing the prom king and queen's first song with Mercedes - that made sense, since neither of them was on the ballot. So what now? Probably Santana would replace him; she had been "understudying" the song. Though who knew what she...

Kurt gasped. "Oh, no..."

"What?"

"I just remembered what song we were supposed to do for this dance."

"Uh... what song is that?" The familiar, upbeat disco began playing over the speakers. Dave's face immediately snapped to in recognition and not a little horror. "You have got to be shitting me."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Kurt grimaced. A stricken, anxious look came over him. "Do you still want to...?"

"What kinda question is that? To quote one of your movies..." Kurt's eyebrow cocked in curiosity. "'Maybe there won't be marriage...'" Dave's smile grew as he put his arm around Kurt's waist. His voice lowered in a rumbling growl. "'Maybe there won't be sex...'"

Kurt's face lit in recognition. The two recited the rest of the line together:

"'But by God, there will be dancing!'"

Oh yeah... you can dance...

Around them, the gathered teenagers started to get into the groovy tune themselves. Dave spun Kurt outward until the two were joined by a single hand at arms' length; he pulled on his partner's hand to spin him back into his arms.

You can jive...

With Kurt gathered in his embrace once more, Dave dipped him low, very low, until his head was almost touching the ground. Kurt squealed, holding his crown to his head.

Having the time of your life...

As Dave righted him again, Kurt laughingly slapped his tiara onto Dave's head. For just a second, just a moment, they truly felt like royalty.

See that girl...
Watch that scene...
Diggin' the dancing queen...

Blaine stomped out into the parking lot, angrily throwing his crown into the bushes. Fucking Hummel and his fucking sanctimonious bullshit. Come out and make a fucking difference, my ass. What the fuck right does he have, after what just happened to him...?

But it wasn't just Kurt Hummel that it had happened to, and that was the part that churned Blaine's stomach most of all. He had been chosen to be Hummel's king. Was it just a coincidence, a voting twist of fate? Possibly. Was it a message, an act of revenge against the fairy's protector and founder of the anti-bullying squad? Possibly.

Did they know somehow?

The very thought turned his gut into ice. All he knew is that he had to get out of there, go somewhere and curl up and...

"Blaine! Hey, Blaine, wait!"

His car in sight, Blaine didn't even turn around. "Go back to Allison, Chris."

"Blaine! We gotta talk!"

"No, we don't, Strando."

"Just wait, okay?" At that plea, Blaine turned on his heel, gravel crackling under his shoes. Chris was rapidly approaching, his coat fluttering in the evening breeze. "I swear, man, we had no idea... We all voted for Hudson; you gotta believe me. We didn't want you to..."

"Who was it?" he barked. Strando stopped cold in his tracks a few feet away from his best friend. "Whose fucking idea was this?"

"I don't know that either! It was like a viral thing; it was passed on through texts and Facebook. I have no idea who started it!"

Blaine roared in frustration, fingers tearing at the curls on his head. "Just... just leave me alone!"

"No." Blaine's head shot up in surprise at Chris and his determined voice. That glare of obstinacy... He usually only saw it right before football games. "No, man. Something's wrong, and we're gonna hash it out. Right now."

"No!" Blaine almost screamed, emotions roiling in him once again. "I told you, leave me alone! Go away, you stupid fat ugly fuck!" The words were high pitched screeches out of his throat. Panting, he looked back into the eyes of his oldest friend, and was almost physically shaken by what he saw there.

There was no anger in Chris's face, no hurt... There was only despair and worry and... something else. That other emotion had no romance to it, no lust; he knew Chris was straight. But that emotion was one he knew very well, thanks to Santana. In fact, it was the exact same fucking thing he felt for her.

If that wasn't love in Chris Strando's eyes, then the word had no meaning.

"Dude..." Chris whispered. "Please..."

"C-Chris... I..." He was close then. He was so close. "I... I'm..." But as he said to Kurt out on the dance floor, he couldn't. He just couldn't.

As Blaine's voice faded, Chris's grew stronger. "If you don't talk to me, just... just talk to someone, please. I don't know what's wrong, but you gotta let someone help you fix it."

"I don't know if anyone can fix me," Blaine replied in a tiny voice.

"Don't say that!" Chris burst out in what was now genuine anger. "Has your dad been filling your head with shit again?"

Blaine's head snapped up. "Shut up."

"I keep telling you, I see how he treats you. Like you're just a Mini-Him! You don't have to do what he wants, Blaine! He doesn't have to..."

"I said, shut up!" Blaine screamed. "If I don't... If I can't... Then all of this...! Everything I've done...!" Everything I've done would've had no point. He was a razor's edge from saying that out loud. But he stopped at the last moment. I never did have a lot of follow-through, he thought bitterly. Did Dad use to say that to me too...? Taking his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked his car, shivering.

"Blaine, I..."

"Take Santana home, okay?" he replied without even turning around. "I'll call you tomorrow." Before Chris could even open his mouth again, Blaine was in the car, slamming the door shut. Chris stepped back as the Acura hurtled out of its space, then sped off in a haze of burning rubber.

Blaine watched in the rearview mirror as Chris's form, his worried face, got smaller and smaller, until it vanished into the night. He choked back a sob. Blaine's trembling fingers went to his pocket and drew out his cell phone. He scrolled through a listing until he hit a particular entry; he hit the dial button. It only rang twice before he heard:

Hey, this is Dave. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.

Of course, Blaine thought. Of course he'd turn off his phone while he was... The mental image of Kurt dancing with a guy, brave and proud in front of everyone, stabbed him in the heart with an icicle. He ignored this as he waited for the voice mail tone.

"H-hey," he said into the phone, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his voice. "I... uh... I know you're still at the prom, and I know this isn't exactly the best time to call, but..." He just had to say it. Just had to form the words on his lips and push the air past his vocal chords. Why was it so hard? "Can we talk? I just... I need someone to talk to, and I don't know if Santana... Just... Just call me back, okay?" He thumbed the End Call button and threw his phone into the back seat, sniffling and wiping the moisture from his eyes.

The Acura roared alone down the darkened streets.

Of course, Kurt and Dave posed for a prom photo just like every other couple. The photographer had shown a hint of hesitancy at first, but one glare from Dave seemed to eliminate that.

Kurt stood tall and proud, and Dave was next to him, arms wrapped around his companion's waist; both were looking at the camera with wide, warm smiles. Kurt ordered extra copies, keeping one wallet-size print with him, prominently displayed in the little windowed pocket where his driver's license was supposed to go.

Despite the events of the night, the humiliation and heartbreak, Kurt knew that no matter what happened between him and Dave in the future, he could always look at this photograph, and he would remember not the pain and the despair, but dancing and laughter and feeling Dave's body so close to his. And he would smile.

As it turned out, he was completely right.