A semi-related question before we start: I was thinking of having the very lovely artist Lauren (you might've seen her art illustrating various Dave-type 'fics and scenes in the past) illustrate something from one of my 'fics as a commission. Trouble is, I have NO idea what to ask her to do or where to start trying to figure out what I want her to do. Any ideas?

He didn't say that. He couldn't have said that.

That brain freeze, that wonderful, evolutionarily useful brain freeze — the same one that turned deer into hood ornaments every day — rooted Blaine in place. Even as his eyes registered Puck slouching towards him, baseball bat at the ready, cocky smirk on his face, his mind disbelieved it. Because obviously, his glee club comrade couldn't be intending to kill him.

Right?

Someone's hands roughly grabbed at his shoulders and shoved him away from Puck. Karofsky. The action, the motion, snapped him out of his paralysis; he ran — no, more like stumbled. He felt his back slamming against the lockers on the other side of the room, the pain and the cold of the metal shooting through his nerves. On the other side of the room, Dave had his own back up against the wall. Puck took wild glances at them both, as if in indecision. As long as they were separated like this, Puck couldn't attack either of them without opening himself up to an assault from the other.

It was almost like Karofsky did that on purpose.

"What the hell's going on, Puck?" Dave asked in a low voice.

"I told you I don't know!" Puck snapped in an irritation that seemed almost comical considering what he was trying to do. "I just know that I gotta kill you both!"

"Come on, Puck..." Blaine's voice sounded foreign to his own ears — strangled, weak, nothing at all like the confident Warbler strutting on stage. "You're not a bad guy. You're not a killer."

"I have to kill you!" Blaine could see Puck's knuckles whiten as they gripped the bat. "Fuck! Don't make this any harder than it has to be!" He lunged at Dave, as if out of frustration. Dave quickly sidestepped; he reached out as if to grab at Puck, but a couple of wild, blind swings of the baseball bat made him jerk back. Blaine knew he should have tried to make a move, but as much as his mind was screaming at him, his leg muscles just couldn't seem to follow. All he did was circle, so that he and Dave were directly across from each other once more, with Puck in the middle. Now Dave was up against the door — the rather solidly locked door — as their mohawked attacker whirled back and forth between them.

Roaring in incoherent frustration, he swung the bat around wildly. Blaine's fear deepened; this was nothing like the easygoing, charming Noah Puckerman he knew. Sure, he'd heard from Kurt all about his bullying days, but even he never said that the former delinquent could be like... this. It wasn't natural.

But it could be... supernatural?

Blaine's hand flew up to the charm around his neck. Tina had said it would protect them from the magician. Was this what she had in mind?

"Hey." Both Puck's and Blaine's eyes snapped up at the sound. Dave looked grim, but not in a way Dave had ever seen before. There was a determination set into his features; Blaine imagined that this must've been the Dave Karofsky opposing football players saw on the gridiron just before the snap. Hell, he had to admit it was pretty damn intimidating, pretty damn intense. "You ready?"

"Huh?" Puck asked. But Blaine knew he was speaking to him. He opened his mouth to question, but then he saw Dave's hand inch upwards, towards...

Oh.

It was a little crazy, but there was nothing about this entire day that wasn't. And it looked like their best chance to break the stalemate... their best chance to survive.

So Blaine merely nodded.

And before Puck could move, or even question again, Dave's hand flew up to the light switch on the wall next to the door.

The entire locker room was plunged into blackness. "Fuck!" Puck snarled. "No fair! Where the fuck are you...?" Blaine fell to his knees and crawled, hearing the "whoosh" of broken air as Puck swung the baseball bat blindly. Well, they were all blind, but hopefully Dave was okay.

Hopefully Dave was okay? Talk about strange bedfellows.

Blaine's fingers found cold tile. Okay, now he had some idea of where he was, and where he could maybe hide. He dared to lift himself up into a crouch, shuffling along the floor, his arms waving out in front of him, trying to find landmarks by touch even as he heard Puck swearing in the darkness behind him.

"Gonna fucking turn you both into pulp! Once I get the lights, you two are so fucking dead...!"

Where the hell was Dave? Of course, he couldn't call out, not without giving away his own position, but since this was his idea in the first place, surely he got somewhere safe? Or else he was hiding... Perhaps even escaped without him?

That would figure.

Blaine sniffed the air, felt something vaguely familiar under his wandering hands... Okay, here was someplace he could make a stand... or at least hide.

Then the lights came on, dazzling his dilated pupils. Choking down the cry that threatened to rip from his throat, he staggered once, then lurched forward, as blind as he was in the dark.

"Shit!" Apparently, he wasn't the only one. "Fucking hell! You two are so gonna pay for this!" Puck screeched. There was a long minute of silence; Blaine used the time to clear out his eyesight and hide.

Then the footsteps started.

"Y'know, I'm getting tired of this shit." Puck's voice echoed tinnily across the connected rooms. "You just couldn't lay down and die, could you? That would've made it easier on all of us. Now I gotta work to bash your fucking skulls into pieces. Really fucking irritating, you know?"

It sounded like Puck, both in voice and syntax. But the words themselves... And his eyes — oh, God, his eyes, staring at him with the kind of pure murderous intent towards Blaine that was impossible to mistake or deny... It was so out of Blaine's experience with the guy that it had to be the magician. Like Dave's room, there was simply no other explanation.

"Yoo hoo! Blaine! Other dude! Come on out! I got a little present for ya!" Another whoosh. "This is kinda fun, though. Hide and seek was always one of my favorites." Blaine grimaced at the almost childlike glee. "Lessee... Maybe in the shower room?" Puck's voice echoed even more strongly against the tile and high ceiling. "In the showers...? Nope! Oooh, bathroom stalls. That's a good place. Don't see any feet, though, but even I know about the old 'stand on the toilet' trick. Maybe I'll find someone... here?" Blaine heard Puck yank open one of the stall doors. "Nope again. Man, the old Puckster's batting 0 so far. Let's try door number two!" Blaine's heart was now beating directly in his ears. He shifted his weight. If he was going to live, he'd have to do this just right...

"Nothing again," Puck continued merrily. "This is fun, ain't it, boys and girls? One more door!" Blaine saw the shadows, and braced himself. "How about door numb—" At that instant, Blaine's foot shot out, kicking the stall door as hard as he could. There was a sickening crack as the metal door slammed against Puck's face. The mohawked teenager's head snapped back, blood gushing from his nose.

"Fuck! Fucking son of a—" The bat clattered to the floor as Puck's hands scrabbled at his face, trying to staunch the blood and relieve the pain. Blaine hopped down from the toilet seat and kicked the bat away, sending it rolling into the showers. "I'll kill you!" Puck screamed, blood red and sticky between his fingers. "I'll fucking kill—"

Dave seemed to come out of nowhere, bursting out from the equipment room like a vengeful spirit. One moment, Puck was lurching towards the terrified Blaine. The next, Dave was there, clinging onto Puck's back, his arms locked around the other boy's neck. Puck was strong, but Dave was heavy; the two crashed to the floor. Blaine watched with wide eyes as the two wrestled; between the agony of Puck's nose, Dave's weight, and the surprise, it wasn't long before Dave was sitting atop the back of the prone Noah Puckerman, holding down his arms bent behind his back. "Get a rope!" Dave screamed.

"Wh—"

"A rope! Get a fucking rope!" Puck struggled, but Dave was holding on... for now.

Snapped out of his shock, Blaine sprinted into the equipment room. Thankfully, the boxes and lockers were open; Blaine grabbed a pair of jump ropes and hurried back into the shower room. As Dave held Puck's wrists together, Blaine bound them, tying the knots tight enough for Puck to roar with pain (thank God for that brief stint in the Scouts). More knots followed, binding Puck's ankles. Finally, Dave dragged Puck's writhing form to one of the bathroom stalls; Blaine tied Puck's bonds to the barrier frame bolted to the floor.

The grim task finished, Blaine and Dave stepped back. Puck had ceased his struggles, fully feeling the helplessness of his state. He looked up at them, his face streaked with blood. "Why?" Blaine knew the question referred as much to himself as it did to them.

"Sorry," Blaine whispered.

"Come on," Dave murmured. "We gotta get out of here." He snatched the key ring out of Puck's pocket. Puck sniffed loudly through a twisted, clogged nose as rheumy eyes watched Dave and Blaine stride out of the shower room.

Dave was unlocking the door when Blaine remembered. "Wait!" It took a moment, but he found that glint again — the one he saw the second before Puck showed up. He bent down and looked under the locker; it was a piece of laminated plastic. Blaine snatched it up; it was Dave's driver's license. His photo had a rather intense stare (because obviously, a rough and tumble, heterosexual athlete wouldn't smile for the camera, would he?); Blaine found his eyes flickering towards the statistical information. He had to actively resist the urge. Not only was now not the time to satisfy this kind of morbid curiosity, but frankly, would there ever be a good time? Probably not.

"The hell?" Blaine jumped, his nerves jangling; Dave had appeared over his shoulder, staring at the license. How the hell does someone that big move that fast? And that quietly? But then, Kurt had said that he was a right guard and a hockey player; plenty of need for speed and agility there. Dave patted his pockets. "Shit, my wallet is gone. I hadn't even realized that until now."

"Whoever this guy is, you think he's gonna make it that easy for you?" Blaine asked wryly. He began to slip the license into his own pocket, but paused. Silently, he instead held it out to Dave. Dave stared at it for a moment, then slowly took it.

"Thanks."

"Hey, it's yours."

"What th—?" The voice from the next room was woozy, confused. "Ow! What...? Where the fuck am I...? How... How the hell did I... Hey, is there someone there? Hey! Help! Some sick fucker broke my nose and tied me up!"

Blaine and Dave glanced at each other. "Looks like Puck's back to normal," the former said quietly.

"You wanna take the risk and untie him?"

Blaine shook his head emphatically. "No. Janitor will find him in the morning. Let's just get out of here and find the next token before someone else finds us."

"Couldn't agree more."

Blaine's grip on the steering wheel was almost strangulation-tight as they drove. He wasn't sure where he was going; he'd only been to Karofsky's house that once, after all, and he didn't have a GPS unit, so Dave quietly gave directions every so often. It wasn't long after they left McKinley that Dave finally sighed. "Okay, since we're obviously trying to avoid this as long as possible, one of us has to get it over with sooner or later. Might as well be me." He sucked in a deep breath. "We coulda died back there."

Blaine shuddered. "You don't have to tell me that."

"This is serious shit." Dave's voice was also starting to shudder; Blaine wanted to turn, but not only did he have to keep his eyes on the road, he was afraid of the fear he'd probably see there. To see Karofsky, one of his personal bogeymen, afraid... Blaine wasn't sure he wouldn't fall apart himself right then and there. "I mean, I guess I had to know it already; someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make the magic and stuff. But... Someone sent Puck to kill us."

"I know." God, his throat was dry; maybe they could stop for something to drink? No, time was too precious.

"Does someone really hate me this much?" The words were hoarse whispers.

Blaine shook his head. "I... don't know."

They drove in silence for another moment, Blaine watching as cars passed them by or turned into side streets. He wondered what they were doing, what they were thinking, what they were worried about. Certainly not what he and Dave were worried about. "I bet I'm still your prime suspect, aren't I?" The silence that followed was more than tinged with embarrassment. "I understand why, but would it really kill you to trust me? Just a little? If we don't trust each other, neither of us is going to make it through this."

"I could say the same thing, y'know."

"You don't make it very easy."

"I know that," Dave said without rancor. "Maybe..." He stopped short.

"Maybe what?" Blaine was surprised at his own encouraging tone.

"Lemme try something." Dave took a breath, and spoke again. "My name's Dave Karofsky. I'm eighteen, and I was born and raised in this godforsaken town."

Blaine's mouth quirked. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm gay." Blaine nearly swerved off the road at those two simple words. He glanced over at Dave, who seemed stricken himself. He knew that it couldn't have been easy for Dave to say; hell, he himself had taken years in the comfort of Dalton before he could really, truly, consider himself completely out. For someone like Dave, for someone who faced what he had to, did what he did... Blaine frankly couldn't imagine. "And I tore my family apart."

"What?" Blaine had a vague memory of Kurt talking about Dave's family, but he couldn't quite remember what he'd heard; he recalled being preoccupied with Regionals or a glee club assignment.

"My mom... She's a hardcore Christian. After I... I tried to kill myself, she... she tried to get me signed up for a straight camp run by my pastor." Blaine's blood froze. He tried to imagine his parents trying to convert him after his own incident. If they'd tried... he could imagine himself breaking entirely. "My dad... he stuck up for me. He actually went to court to keep Mom from doing it. 'Course, once you take your wife to court, your marriage is pretty much over. She's gone... and even though she still wants to 'fix' me... She's still my mom, y'know? And she and my dad were married since they were in college, and I was the one who broke them up..."

His eyes on the road, Blaine didn't have to look at Dave to see his tears; the lug was probably turned away anyway, trying to hide. He was good at that.

But still...

"My..." Blaine paused. God, was he really about to talk about that? With Dave Karofsky, for God's sake? He hadn't even talked about that with Kurt!

Then again, them not being anything to each other was exactly where the temptation had come from. After all, what could he possibly say that would make Dave think less of him? Why would Blaine care either way? And what was the worst Dave could do? Judge him a little more than he already undoubtedly was? Besides, considering what Dave just told him, maybe he'd understand...

So it was that Blaine continued. "My mom's gone too," he said quietly. "She walked out on us when I was six. Sent my dad the divorce papers and that was it." His hands tightened on the wheel. "I only realized when I was older that the fact that the divorce went that smoothly meant that he was expecting it — wanting it — himself. My brother and I still see her during holidays and stuff, but it's with her husband, and that just adds to the awkwardness. And my dad... It's not that he's evil or abusive or cold or anything, it's just that he's always had these... expectations of his kids. That they'd be the most popular students in high school, then go to an Ivy League college, become a professional like him, marry the right people and have lots of grandkids.

"Instead, he got me and my brother. We're each, like, only half of what he wanted. Cooper was the popular jock in high school, but then he had to go and follow his dreams, become a D-list actor. I think I could get into an Ivy if I wanted, but I don't think I'm going to have the kind of career he'd like, never mind have the grandkids he wants, unless I adopt or something. He's never wanted to... 'fix' me like your mom does, but every day, in tiny little ways, his disappointment always comes through." Blaine sighed. "I guess that's the thing: the disappointment. I know that we don't exist to be exactly what our parents want us to be, but..."

"Yeah." The word was so quiet that Blaine almost missed it over the air conditioning and traffic noises outside the car. "Kind of sounds like Mom. My brother's a hippie liberal, so she gave up on him pretty early. I mean, she says she loves me, and I'm sure she does, except..."

"Except that every time she looks at you, you know that if she could, she'd take some power tools and tinker with your brain to make you the heterosexual son she wants, instead of loving you for who you already are."

Dave didn't answer aloud, but Blaine felt positive that if he'd been looking, he would've seen Dave nod. "She wants me to go to heaven."

"He wants me to be happy."

"But despite what Father Mitchell says, I don't think God will send me to hell just for being gay."

"But he seems to think that the only way I'll be happy is his way."

"Maybe that's why for a long time I felt like I couldn't be gay."

"Maybe that's why I've stopped trying to talk to him." There was a red light; Blaine gently braked to a stop. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, a nervous habit, as he waited. He wondered if there was anything else he could add. Something nudged at the back of his mind, but he suppressed it, though he couldn't tell you why if you'd asked. "Huh."

"What?"

"I didn't expect to have anything in common with you, much less this."

He heard Dave snort. "I'm pretty shocked myself." The light was still red; this was one of those intersections that Lima residents cursed under their breath. Blaine looked over at the passenger seat; Dave was regarding him thoughtfully, a regard that made him more than a little nervous.

"None of that absolves you of anything you've done, Dave." He had no idea why he said it — to get that look off of Dave? Probably; he would've rather had a repeat of that encounter before the Night of Neglect concert than have to bear that probing stare a moment more.

"I know," came the remarkably calm reply.

"But I — and a lot of other people — at least understand you a little better now. I understand that you felt like you needed to craft an image to please your mom, to hide the parts of you that she taught you to hate." That thoughtful, probing look came back to Dave's face; fortunately, the light also turned green, so Blaine's attention returned to the road. "But I hope you realize by now that if she has a problem with your sexuality, it's her problem, not yours. Don't spit on the sacrifice your dad made for you by blaming yourself for her leaving."

Dave is silent for a long moment. Then: "I hate to say this, but... you kinda have a point."

Blaine laughed. "I know I do."

"So where the fuck was this Blaine last year?"

"I don't know what you mean. I'm me, and that's it."

"Uh huh. But I agree that it's kind of weird that we even have this much in common. How the fuck do you deal with it?"

"Honestly? By throwing myself into extracurriculars, so I don't spend as much time at home. I didn't become the lead of the Warblers just because of my voice."

Dave barked a laugh. "Good thinking. Bet Kurt appreciates that..."

He trailed off, and the temperature in the car seemed to plunge. There it was, their other major commonality — one that Blaine had hoped wouldn't come up. But then, they were on the honesty kick, so...

"I meant what I said before, Karofsky," he said.

"And I told you, you don't need to worry. Besides, he'll be off in New York at that fancy performing school of his next year, far far away from me."

"And me."

"But he at least loves you, so that won't be a problem." Blaine only barely noticed the tinge of bitterness in the words.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Blaine's breath caught in his throat. Had he really said that? Out loud? To Karofsky? He hadn't meant to — God knew he didn't mean to. Maybe Karofsky didn't hear...

"What?" he asked in an almost comically bewildered tone.

"Nothing."

"You really think he doesn't love you? Or that him going off to New York is gonna make him stop?"

"I didn't say that."

"You did. Look, I may not be Kurt's best friend, but I think I know him a little by now, and... Fuck, Blaine, if that's how you really feel you need to talk to him so—"

"I do not 'have' to do anything, thank you," Blaine said coldly. "Least of all take relationship advice from a stalker."

He'd hoped that Dave would become angry, defensive — but once again (and not for the last time), he was surprised and disappointed. Apparently Karofsky's confusion filtered out Blaine's intent. "But why? Why the hell are you acting like Kurt's going to—"

"We're here." He sounded painfully eager as Dave's house came into view, but it was also true that they had bigger, more immediate things to worry about at the moment. Indeed, just being back at his home made Dave stiffen with nerves. He parked in the shadow of a large tree two houses down, just in case. Blaine exhaled and turned to Dave. "How do you want to handle this?"

"I guess we should start in my room... or what used to be my room." It was easy to tell that he was thinking about what had happened that afternoon; Blaine was thinking about the same thing. "There's a tree in back that's easy to climb. There's a good strong branch that just about touches the roof outside my bedroom window. Az used to do it all the time, and he's not exactly Princess Graceful. Usually, my window's unlocked, but after our, uh, visit, Dad probably locked it. Shouldn't be a problem breaking it, though; you can hardly hear what's going on up there from the rest of the house. That's why I took it in the first place."

Though his dad heard him try to hang himself... Blaine shook his head. "So do you want to do it, or should I?"

Dave paused, considering. "You, probably. You're lighter. With my fat ass, I'd probably break every branch on the way down."

Kurt had complained quite a bit about Dave's self-esteem lately, which used to strike Blaine as funny; Dave and guys like him thought they were the cock of the walk, right? But hearing that now... It wasn't just a fish for a compliment (after all, what use would Dave have for Blaine's compliments?) — there was a quiet, resigned sincerity that couldn't be hidden by a jocular candy coating. It was weird, shocking, oddly heartbreaking... If the day hadn't already been so full of cognitive dissonance, Blaine might've been tempted to probe further. But at the moment, all he could say was, "I haven't climbed a tree in years."

"Like I said, this one'll be easy. Don't worry, if you fall, I'll catch ya."

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

"Yep. You're on your own, dude." Dave grinned wickedly, and Blaine couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, fine. Let's get this done before I change my mind."

As it turned out, it wasn't nearly as bad as Blaine had feared. He only needed the slightest boost from Dave to get onto the first branch (and even then, he almost overshot the mark — the kid was strong, he'd give him that), and from there, it was almost like climbing a ladder. It was as though the tree had burst forth from the ground for the sole purpose of offering a direct route to the eave above. Soon Blaine was creeping carefully along the eave, afraid that footsteps would be heard by the people inside (he could barely hear a TV, and some low chatter; whether from the viewers or the set itself, he couldn't be certain).

Blaine tried the window; to his surprise, it was unlocked. Perhaps their appearance had rattled Paul Karofsky more than they'd thought. But convenient for him.

Once inside, he switched on his flashlight. Yes, the attic room was still full of dusty boxes, suitcases, and knickknacks, without a trace of the bedroom he'd personally seen. He carefully inched his way between the piles and stacks, lest even the slightest wrong movement knock something over and alert what were probably paranoid, and maybe even armed, homeowners. He had no idea what he was even looking for, let alone where it could be; if he had to search through boxes, he could be there all night, making himself and Dave sitting ducks for whatever sadistic bastard is behind all of this...

Finally, his light caught it, sitting atop one of the boxes, anomalously modern and clean amongst the old and long untouched items. Blaine picked it up; it was an iPhone, just sitting there as if waiting for its owner to return. Nodding to himself, he slipped it into his pocket, and was back out in the cool night air within moments.

Dave was there as he jumped down from the lowest branch, having waited pressed up against the tree to avoid being seen. "Did you find anything?" he asked anxiously.

"I think so." He handed over the phone.

Dave swiped his finger across the screen; colored light played on his face as it burst to life. Another few moments, and he nodded. "Yeah, this is mine." He paused. "And it still works. How the fuck is that possible?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's magic."

"Yeah, but even magic has to make fucking sense, doesn't it?"

"Probably does, somehow. Hell if I know how. Maybe Tina could tell us." The memory came back to him. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Almost ten."

"We've got to meet her back at her house, remember? Here, as long as you have your phone back..." He snatched it from Dave's grasp and quickly programmed in a number. "Here's mine. Give me and Tina yours when we meet with her."

Dave took back his phone with a wry grin. "Never thought I'd see the day where I'd have your number in my phone."

"Yeah, well, today's just been full of surprises, hasn't it? Just don't read too much into it, okay?"

"Don't have to worry about that."

Somewhere, someone brooded.

"Hmph. I should've known Puck would be useless."

"Damn Tina. If it weren't for her and her charms, I'd know exactly where those two are all the time."

"But those three idiots — heh — have to make a mistake sooner or later."

"I still hold all the cards."

"Look at me, talking to myself... But when this much is at stake, who wouldn't go a little crazy...?"

"All I have to do is be patient."

"I can fix this."

"I can get everything back."

"No, I can get more... Be better than before..."

"And all it'll cost is just a couple of lives..."

"A couple of useless, worthless lives..."

"Then I'll have a good strong foundation..."

"For my future..."