AN: Wow, it's almost over... I almost can't believe it. But I'll have plenty to say in the final author's notes at the end of the next/last chapter. Sorry this took so long, but considering the last couple of episodes, I decided not to post to let all the gushing feelings subside a bit so folks would actually read this. :)

Like I said, this is sort of the denouement; it's all about follow-up, of a kind that really didn't happen in canon. I think it's needed, whether it's Blaine in the bully role or Dave.

PS: I think the past couple of episodes may have increased my chances of doing season 3. :)

It was the story of Kurt's life, really: when he feared and hated (maybe?) Blaine Anderson, the jock was everywhere. But now that he actually wanted to talk to the guy, he was nowhere to be found. Kurt certainly couldn't approach Blaine's friends, or ask around for his number (not even Dave, who still didn't know that Kurt knew), without looking mighty odd and suspicious. Internet searches failed to turn up anything besides Blaine's Facebook page, which was closed off for non-friends. As for waiting outside his classes, well, Kurt liked to think that he hadn't quite gotten to that level of stalker-hood yet.

The solution came to him one afternoon, slapping him in the face like a wet trout. It was so beautifully simple that he was awed.

First, he needed to get onto Finn's computer. It was password-protected, but since Kurt knew who his stepbrother was dating this week, that was no problem. There (studiously avoiding the folders with the rather suspicious sounding names; not only would it be even more an invasion of privacy than he was already committing, but seriously, ick) he found what he was looking for: a spreadsheet listing all Bully Whips schedules for the next month, meticulously put together by Artie, including designated stand-bys.

Then it was merely an issue of making sure that Finn was... unavailable for his shift on one particular Thursday. Kurt felt a little bad about this, but Finn was, after all, living in the same house, and so was more readily accessible than anyone else. Besides, all Kurt had to do was remember what happened just before prom, and all his reluctance just... melted away.

So it was that Finn charged into the kitchen one Thursday morning in a tizzy. "Mom! Have you seen my Bully Whips suit?"

"No, I don't think so... Did you check the laundry room?"

"It's dry clean only, Carole," Kurt remarked, calmly sipping his juice as he finished the last of his waffle.

Finn groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "I could've sworn it was hanging on my closet door. Shit!" He jumped as Carole whirled around on him. "Sorry! It's just that... it's an expensive suit, and I don't want to ask Anderson for another..."

"I'm sure it'll turn up," Carole said soothingly. "Things you lose always do, especially in that sty you call a room. Now hurry up, you'll be late for school."

"But without the suit, I can't go on Bully Whips duty! Santana keeps saying we have an image to maintain, and that the suits set us apart for kids who're looking for help..."

"You have back-ups, don't you? They'll just have to step in for today. Better get going."

Finn sighed dramatically and whipped out his cell phone to call in his inability to do his shift. Kurt hid a smirk behind his napkin; the scheme had worked perfectly. He'd simply return Finn's suit that evening (probably slip it behind the laundry basket) and no one would suspect a thing. Now all he had to do was wait.

And he didn't have to wait long; Blaine Anderson was waiting for him outside his homeroom. His eyes were, of course, hidden by his sunglasses, but his pursed lips and descending eyebrows spoke of great discomfort. If there'd been any doubt in Kurt's mind before that Blaine had been deliberately avoiding any contact with him, it was gone now. "Let's go," he said in a short, snippy tone, practically running off before Kurt had a chance to follow. As it was he had to increase his pace to keep up with Blaine's long strides.

Finally, Kurt got to ask the question he needed to ask. "Are you all right?"

"What do you care?" Blaine snapped.

"Do you think I enjoy watching people suffer?"

"People who stalked you and threatened you and made you change schools to escape them? Hell, yes. I would."

"I hate to disappoint you, but you're wrong. It's not in my nature." Kurt hadn't intended for his voice to take such a lofty tone, but it did. He consciously dialed it back as he continued. "This may be hard for you to believe, but I meant what I said before. You don't have to continue to beat yourself up for anything you did to me. You've demonstrated sincerity, and I've moved past it."

"Really. Without any consequences?"

Kurt frowned, puzzled. "Consequences?"

"Yeah, for me. For anything I did for you. Even if Figgins wanted to suspend me or something now, you know what my dad would do. I... I'm gonna get away with it, Kurt. Maybe my rep around here took a hit..." He shuddered, remembering the prom. "But that's it. I'm not going to be punished."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Well, what do you want me to do? Send you into the Pit of Despair? Demand you self-flagellate yourself with a branch or something?"

Blaine reached under his sunglasses to rub his eyes. "No, but...! How can you stand it? How can you stand... me...? With everything I've done, I shouldn't be getting away with it."

"I don't think it's an absolute requirement for you to be punished to make up for what you did. If you feel a need to balance the scales, continue with the Bully Whips and help me with the GSA. That way enough good comes out of all the darkness to override it. Though personally, I find the concept of karma just as ridiculous and terrifying as God. Imagine deserving every bad thing that happens to you because of something you did, especially in a past life." Kurt sped up and stepped in front of Blaine, halting the other boy in his tracks. Around them, students flocked to their classes, but for all Kurt and Blaine knew, they could've been all alone in their little bubble, the only two people on Earth. "If you don't believe that I can actually have concern for your well-being, that's fine. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for pressuring you to, well, you know..."

"Oh, God, you too?" Blaine laughed, a sharp, bitter, slightly hysterical sound. "You're saying sorry to me?"

"I am. And I'm also sorry that I didn't do anything to try to help you at the prom. I'm glad Strando was there, but I should've at least tried to..."

"Goddammit, Hummel, can you stop being so fucking noble for two minutes? I refuse to accept any apologies from you. I'd be the hugest hypocrite in the world..."

Kurt laughed. "Me? Noble? I thought you knew how big a bitch I am. Believe me, I am no angel." His face softened. "Seriously, though, you really needed someone after what happened. I'm sorry it wasn't me, and I hope you had someone."

Blaine nodded slowly. "Yeah. I did..."

The Sunday after the prom...

Blaine stirred, blinking the sleep and sun back from his eyes. Groggily, he turned towards his bedside alarm clock. It was almost eleven o'clock, and he still didn't feel like getting up.

He was splayed across his bed, still dressed in his prom suit, with only his tie loosened around his neck. He took this in with only a slight raise of the head, which quickly settled back onto the bed. It seemed that his parents were abiding by his request for a little post-prom alone time; that at least was a good sign, though he'd never expected the reason he would be so grateful.

Blaine rubbed his eyes as they drifted shut once more. Maybe he'd just stay in bed until dinnertime. Or school on Monday. Or next year...

Naturally, that was the exact moment the door flew open and Santana breezed in. Sometimes Blaine could swear she had some kind of demonic radar that told her just when people were at their fucking lowest. "God, you're still in bed? I didn't think you'd gotten any of that spiked punch." She sat heavily down next to him, sending the bed rippling under his back.

"Okay, that does it. I have to ask: how the fuck do you get into this house without me knowing?"

Santana shrugged. "Marisol lets me in. I think she likes that a fellow Latina has the boss's son by the balls." Her eyes shifted up and down his still form. "You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks, Ms. Prom Queen. Oh, wait! You didn't win, did you?"

To Blaine's mild surprise, Santana's face didn't so much as twitch; she almost seemed to have been expecting the jab. "No, I didn't. But at least the actual Queen got her dance... Oh, wait!" Blaine could feel his face fall; this time, Santana's mouth did twitch - just a tiny tremor, but to Blaine, it was as obvious as if she'd burst out into tears. She patted his hair condescendingly. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little gay head off. Kurt is naive and stupidly forgiving; I'm sure he doesn't hold it against you. Especially since his boyfriend stepped in." Blaine moaned at this, turning over and burying his face in his pillow. He heard Santana sigh. "Besides, you weren't the only coward in that room." There was a brief silence. "I should've made sure you were okay. But I was too scared..."

"I know." His voice was almost comically muffled. "It's all right. I'm fine."

"Bullshit. You are not. That's why I'm here. You're going to get dressed, and we're going out."

"And do what?"

"I don't know. Whatever we drive by. Miniature golf. Who the fuck knows. We'll eat at that diner on 2nd. I'll even let you share my chocolate milkshake."

Blaine lifted his face from the pillow and turned onto his side, facing Santana. "Wow, how generous. You sure you don't have a fever, San?"

"No. But what I do have is gas. That shit-tastic buffet last night is still going through me. I'm gonna use your bathroom. You get dressed." She rose and headed towards the connected bathroom. "And you'd better be fully clothed when I get out, or I'll start throwing up, and give your maids all that extra work."

Blaine groaned. "Just go, before your farts kill me." The bathroom door slammed. He rubbed his forehead and finally rose into a sitting position, a little dizzy at the rush of blood. He smacked his dry mouth and began loosening his collar when his cell phone burst out into "Loser," his standard ringtone for anyone not on his friendly contact list. He picked it up, and only barely registered the number before he flipped it open. "Hello?" he burst out, wincing an instant later at his pathetic eagerness.

"Hey." Dave Karofsky's voice rumbled on the other end. "Sorry I didn't call before; I'm still at... Uh..."

"Kurt's place?" Blaine finished dryly.

"Uh... Yeah." The voice turned deep in embarrassment. "We're getting ready for brunch. Ku- um, he's still figuring out what to wear, and Finn's still half asleep, so I thought I'd return your call." The silence on both ends of the line seemed to braid together, weaving into some glorious, ironic pattern. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't..."

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Blaine couldn't keep the snarl out of his voice; he could almost feel old patterns starting to fall into place. He took a moment, eyes closed, to gather himself before he continued. "I mean, don't apologize. You had more important things to worry about."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say you're not as important as others."

"You don't owe me a thing. No one does."

"That doesn't matter. Look, we shouldn't be picking and choosing who deserves to be protected from bullying and harassment any more than we should be choosing who gets to have civil rights. It's all or nothing."

Blaine grimaced. "I suppose you got that from one of those gay pamphlets like Ms. Pillsbury gives out?"

"GSA," Dave replied. "Anyway, I think you were bullied at the prom, just as much as Kurt was. You deserved to have someone stick up for you."

"I did. My friend Chris..."

"He had nothing to do with it?"

"No. And I believe him." Blaine took a glance at the bathroom door; what the fuck was taking Santana so long? "Just... don't start apologizing to me, okay, Karofsky?"

"Why not, when it needs to be done? It has nothing to do with deserving. Apologizing for things you've done wrong should be all or nothing too." Dave chuckled. "If it makes you feel better, you can think of it as me proving who the better man is."

Blaine laughed, a genuine belly laugh. "Good idea."

"So... are you okay?"

"Honestly? No. But... Santana came over so, at least I'll be distracted. Maybe later I'll be more okay. I... I just don't know..."

"Oh. Do you need to go?"

"Not yet. But soon." Blaine shook his head; he couldn't believe the next few words were actually about to leave his mouth. "I'm really glad you called."

"No problem. Just don't expect me to ask you out for a pity date or anything."

"You'll never have to worry about me wanting that, you overgrown gorilla."

"Like you could do any better, you smarmy weasel."

This time, it was their laughter that blended together. "Just so you know," Blaine said when their mirth had died down, "this is not some kind of weird form of sexual tension. At least not on my end. I'd understand if it was on yours, because I'm that hot, but..."

Dave's voice lost the laughter, becoming oddly gentle. "Hey, I get it. It's a relief, isn't it? To be able to talk to someone who knows? And not have to hide?"

"Yeah," Blaine whispered. "It really fucking is."

"Well, as you come out, you'll find more and more of those people. The GSA will really help you too."

Thinking about the GSA, thinking about who he'd have to work with to make that happen... Blaine felt his face flush; he rubbed the back of his neck. "I really should get going. Gotta get dressed before Santana gets out of the bathroom..."

"Oh, sure. We're almost ready for brunch on this end anyway." There was a brief silence; Blaine could hear someone's - probably Mr. Hummel's - heavy footsteps in the background. "Call back any time you feel like it, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll think about it."

"Talk to you later."

"Yeah." The line went dead. Blaine snapped his phone shut, staring at it for a moment. Then he shook his head again and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. Minutes later, he'd barely gotten the last of his more casual outfit on when Santana finally emerged from the bathroom. "Shit, I thought you'd died in there."

"So sue me, your bathroom's fucking sweet. It's like Willy Wonka's factory. I could live in it, I swear." She looked him over. "You're decent. Good. Let's go; I'm starving now."

"San?" The one little word stopped her dead. She immediately turned back to Blaine, who was just standing there, a blank look on his face. "Thanks for coming over. I... I know you had better things to do than worry about a shithead like me, and I'm sorry I made you worry, and..."

Santana barked a loud, sharp laugh. "Oh, isn't that cute; you actually think you can make me do something I don't want to do." Before Blaine could fully process that statement, she was patting him on the cheek. "Don't worry, short, pale, and handsome. I'm stuck with you. You're like smoking or scratching my ass in public - a bad habit I can't seem to fucking break."

"Yeah? What about for Brittany?"

A shadow passed over her face. "That's... not happening. Not yet. But when it does... Who says I can't have you too? Hell, maybe she or I can get a strap-on and we can get some kind of threesome shit going."

That did it. Blaine fell face-forward back onto his bed, shaking with hysterical laughter. To Santana's credit, she didn't do or say a thing; she just watched until finally, after what felt like many long minutes, the laughter died down. His sides aching, his lungs dying for breath, Blaine staggered unsteadily to his feet. "Oh... Oh, God, don't even say... Oh, God..."

"Are you done, Anderson?"

Blaine cleared his throat, finally managing to get himself upright. He wiped the tears from his eyes. "Y-yeah, I am."

"Good. Maybe at the diner, we can start planning our tragic, public break-up. We'll need it eventually." Pursing her lips in thought, she started towards the door. "What do you think: you cheating on me? Me cheating on you? Both of us cheating on each other? Or maybe we can just do it through Facebook or something. Hmm. We'll have to consult Brittany on this." She paused and turned back towards him. "Well? Are you coming, or are you just gonna stand there staring like Finn at a 4th grade math quiz?"

"You're beautiful, you know that?" His voice was low, not quite awed, but just shades away.

"Tell me something I don't know." Santana snorted. "Shit, you really must be feeling low if you're gushing like that. Come on, we need to get you back to your usual arrogant asshole self before you start making me nauseous."

Blaine dutifully followed his girlfriend out of the room. He felt a lot of things: nervousness, sadness, not a little worthlessness. But one thing he did not feel was alone. And damn if that didn't make all the difference.

Kurt nodded. "Good. I'm glad." He turned and continued down the hall towards his class, Blaine keeping pace at his side. "So I hear Santana's going to continue with the Bully Whips, even with her little scheme failing."

"Actually, yeah. I'm as surprised as you probably are, but she really seems to be committed to it now. Of course, she says it's because she wants to stay close to me and my credit card, but I think she loves being something more to others than just a bitch who sleeps around." Blaine's voice turned low and conspiratorial. "Don't tell her I said she actually wanted to help people, though. I like my balls attached to my body."

Kurt smirked. "Your secret's safe with me." Finally, they arrived at the Biology lab. "Well, there are other things we need to discuss, but we can do that later. We have the summer to start putting together the GSA, and... What's the matter?" Blaine's face had suddenly turned away, and he was rubbing the back of his head nervously.

"I... I'm not sure how much I'm going to be around during the summer. My brother..."

"You have a brother?"

Blaine frowned; had he really not mentioned or thought of Cooper in that long a time? "Yeah. He's way older than me, though. Anyway, he found me a summer study program abroad, and... I think I want to take it. I feel like I need to get out of Lima. See something outside McKinley. Think things through."

"That actually sounds like a wonderful idea. Where would you be going?"

"Paris."

"Ah, France! J'approuve." Kurt cocked his head slightly. "We can catch up when you return. You take all the time you need."

Blaine sniffed; Kurt had the feeling that his sunglasses were currently hiding more than his eyes. "Thanks... Thank you so much, Kurt..."

Kurt patted Blaine's forearm. "Think nothing of it." The hallway bell trilled out a warning; both boys sent annoyed looks in its direction. "I have to go."

"Yeah. I'll see you after class for History." Kurt nodded; Blaine watched as he vanished into the classroom. For a long moment, Blaine stood there, staring. His lips moved silently, forming words that he wouldn't have dared even think just a few months ago, let alone speak, expressing feelings that... He shook his head violently. "Shit." He stalked away, his footsteps beating a staccato echo across the linoleum floors.

"New York. Man." Dave grinned as he carefully placed Kurt's coffee in front of him and sat down. "I wish I could be there with you guys; it's going to be a blast."

"I know, me too." Kurt sipped at his drink delicately. "It's just hard to think of right now, with Coach Sylvester's sister's funeral..."

Dave's face turned pensive at the reminder. "Yeah... It's really nice of you guys to be doing this for her." He paused. "Are you sure she didn't threaten you or anything...?"

"I keep telling you, we volunteered of our own free will! Honestly, Dave, she's an actual human being, not Satan incarnate!"

Dave held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I believe you. But you can't blame me; I mean, I'd have thought you guys would be rehearsing 24/7 with Nationals next week..." He trailed off, examining Kurt's expression with a squint.

Kurt shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

"I know that look..."

Kurt tried to erase "that look," whatever it was, underneath a blanket of neutrality, but it just caused Dave's expression to deepen. "I don't have a look."

Dave's eyes widened. "Holy shit. You guys don't even have a set list yet, do you?"

How does he do that? Kurt boggled. "Umm... No?"

"Holy hell, Kurt! When you said you guys flew by the seat of your pants, I didn't think you'd be cutting it this close!" Dave was starting to get agitated; it was as though he'd forgotten he wasn't actually a member of New Directions and wasn't actually going to Nationals. He got his breathing under control with obvious effort. "Okay, okay... No need to panic..."

"Indeed," Kurt said, unable to keep a little dryness out of his voice.

"It's still possible to have something before you guys get there... If you want me to help, I can be your sounding board for your ideas..."

Kurt breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God, I thought you'd never ask." He gripped Dave's hands in sheer gratitude; such were their emotions, and their relationship at that point, that neither boy thought about the gesture for even a second. "I would really, really appreciate your help, David. Jesse St. James is completely useless, and Mr. Schue seems distracted, and..."

"It'll be fine, Kurt," Dave interrupted in his most soothing tone. "Why don't you tell me what you guys have and I'll give my opinion from there?"

For the next hour and a half, talk about lyrics, judge expectations, dance moves, and prep-cramming breezed over the table. Every minute that passed made Kurt feel better, about Nationals and... a lot of other things. They parted with their usual warm hug, but... was it just his imagination, or did they both seem to linger in it a little longer each time?

Kurt pushed the thoughts from his mind. There would be plenty of time for that later. What mattered was Nationals. It was time to put on the game face, kick ass, and take names. For McKinley. For his friends. For himself. For Dave.

Funny, he thought, how well all those elements seem to go together in my mind.

Then: Okay, focus. Nationals. We can do this. We can win this.

But even on the plane to JFK-LaGuardia (not knowing how lucky he was not to be headed for Tripoli International), his mind couldn't help but linger on the things that somehow, sometimes seemed even more important than Nationals.

AN: My fucking God, ending this chapter was a stone cold bitch. Next up is the epilogue to this whole crazy thing.