(Author's note: This is the scene I've been waiting to write for years. It was one of the first scenes that occurred to me as we were crafting the Donutverse Blaine, because his character changed so radically from this, his first episode, to who he was in later seasons. Knitty and I had to come up with an explanation for this change.

Quoting continues from 2x06 Never Been Kissed throughout, but much of it is tweaked — except for Kurt's scene at Dalton, which is almost entirely as written in the script; no copyright infringement is intended. -amy)

For Kurt, the hardest part of watching Puck return to McKinley was seeing him descend into the carefully crafted fiction of badassness. No one else in Glee knew what had really happened, so Kurt had to smile blithely through Tina's cheerful chatter about this season's sweater trends. He did catch the pained expression on Dave's face as he slammed Kurt into a bank of lockers. After their morning text conversation, there had been no time today to connect, and all Kurt could do now was to walk away from him.

Puck had been in rare form all day, threatening kids in the hall and telling whoever would listen about what a joke juvie had been. Jordan even asked Kurt if he was planning on breaking up with Puck.

"Why, did you want to ask him out?" Kurt asked her. She shrugged, watching Puck lean on the water fountain and soak some poor freshman's pants.

"He's kind of cool," she admitted.

Kurt was absolutely not willing to listen to any of the Cheerios supporting Puck's bratty behavior, but knowing that this was manufactured bratty behavior made it impossible for him to react. All he could do was grit his teeth, ignore it, and follow Tina into the choir room for Glee.

"All right, guys," said Mr. Schue in a desperately positive voice, "let's get down to business. First, let's welcome back Noah Puckerman." He eyed Puck, slouched in the front row. "Puck, I hope your time in juvie has taught you a lesson or two about right and wrong?"

"Are you kidding me?" Puck flexed one arm. "I ruled that place. All I did was crack skulls and lift weights all day."

Mr. Schue cleared his throat, holding up an unfolded piece of paper. "You might want to listen up, because I just read about our competition for sectionals next month."

Rachel reached out and took Finn's hand in anticipation. "Okay."

"First…" Mr. Schue gave Kurt an unreadable look. "The a cappella group from the all-boys private school in Westerville: the Dalton Academy Warblers."

Kurt choked back a gasp, and watched Finn blanch almost white. Puck didn't appear to respond. Santana, however, turned around to face Kurt with the strangest smile on her face.

"Okay, hold up," she said, "like, a million awesome gay jokes just popped into my head."

He wasn't sure what to make of that, but it didn't matter. As Mr. Schue split them up into boys-against-girls teams for their next assignment, all he could think about was: how are we supposed to compete against Blaine?

While everyone else buzzed around them, talking, Kurt wandered aimlessly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

"Kurt." Mr. Schue's voice was kind, but he gestured toward Puck. "Boys' team."

Kurt rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to leave Puck to fend for himself, and what was Finn if not in charge of the situation? He sat down behind Puck on the risers, watching him make Artie anxious. The easy smile Puck gave Brittany made Kurt feel as if his heart was being squeezed. He knew why Puck wasn't looking at him like that anymore, but that didn't make it easier to take.

By the end of rehearsal, between sitting with Finn and Puck and trying to be accommodating about their ideas for the mashup, Kurt was about at the end of his patience. He managed to escape from the choir room, typing out a hurried text to Finn saying keep an eye on him at football practice, I'll see you after, and got up the stairs to the attic without being seen.

His text to Dave was somewhat halfhearted. Sixth hour was Dave's independent study, but Dave seldom checked his phone during the day. I don't know if I can cope with one more piece of bad news, Kurt told him. Then he shook out his mother's quilt and wrapped himself up in it, choosing the warmer corner on the discarded mattress over the satisfying view by the window.

But Dave's response came almost immediately. Meet upstairs?

Already there, said Kurt. Just seeing the words from Dave made him feel better. He got up and waited by the door, and when the quiet knock came, he opened it, letting him inside. Dave was watching his face anxiously.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "You in the junior hallway, against the lockers. I didn't mean to push so hard."

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "Seriously, you are not going to hurt me. I'm pretty tough; I can take it."

"I know," Dave said softly. "That doesn't mean you should have to." He bit his lip, walking toward the window. Kurt could see in this small space the amount of strain his body was under to keep everything under control. "So, what's the bad news?"

"Oh… well. Mr. Schuester received a letter naming the choirs we'll be competing against at sectionals in December. One of them is Blaine's group, the Warblers. I suppose if you're not a performer, it won't sound like as big a deal, but—"

"—it would be like playing him in football," said Dave. He looked dismayed. "Jeez, Kurt. That sucks."

"Yeah. Not the least of which is, I hear they're good."

"Of course they are, if Blaine's singing with them." Dave shook his head. "I remember one time, in eighth grade, Blaine sang this duet with Santana? It was, like, really fucking high—"

"Lloyd Webber's 'Pie Jesu,'" said Kurt, his mouth hanging open. "You were there too?"

"Only for a few minutes. I brought him a bouquet of stupid fucking flowers, but I chickened out and dumped them in the trash can outside before taking off." He flexed his enormous hands and rested them on the peeling paint of the windowsill. "I still hate myself for doing that."

"You were scared."

"Yeah, but that shouldn't have stopped me, because I knew Blaine was more scared, and I should have been there for him. No matter what he thought about me, and no matter what other people thought. I was so sure everybody was going to see me there and know exactly what I was thinking about him." Kurt could see Dave getting more and more wound up as his voice rose. "That was more important to me than our friendship."

Kurt approached him carefully. He didn't really think Dave would hit him in anger, but it was possible he might accidentally run into him without realizing it. "You're not that person anymore, Dave."

Dave let out a short, mirthless laugh. "No? Tell me that when I head home after football practice, instead of driving to Dalton."

"You're going to see him?" Kurt said eagerly. Dave shrugged and stared at the floor.

"In theory. I think… I have to see for myself what Santana was talking about."

"Do you want to watch the video I took this weekend of him singing at the Lima Bean?"

Dave looked conflicted, but he nodded, letting Kurt get close enough to hold up his phone and press play. Kurt handed it to him and Dave watched the screen closely, his eyes flicking across Blaine's clothes, his hair, the way he spoke to the audience. When he played the first opening notes on the piano, Dave sank into the chair by the window.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "Kurt… he looks—"

"Yeah. I know."

Kurt closed his eyes and listened with his arms wrapped around himself. By now he knew all the lyrics and nuances of the performance by heart. Listening to Blaine sing 'Teenage Dream' was easier to take than this, in some ways. "Teenage Dream" was Blaine as he had been. "Sanctuary" was almost like witnessing Blaine punishing himself.

There's no one else around to do it for him, he thought, although that wasn't quite right either. Blaine didn't need a punishment. As far as Kurt could tell, he needed to be reminded of who he was.

Dave handed the phone back to Kurt with a trembling hand. "Thanks."

"I'm not sure you should be thanking me," said Kurt, but Dave shook his head.

"No, I think… that made it obvious what I need to do. I think, now… I can do it." He sighed and slipped his hands, now relaxed, into his pockets. "Sorry for getting so upset. You don't deserve that."

"No, Dave, it's okay. I want to help." Kurt rested a hand on his shoulder. "Just seeing you makes me feel better. And talking about it with somebody who understands." He leaned his forehead onto his own hand. "Pretending all day, it's exhausting. I know you get that."

"I really do." He eyed Kurt. "Speaking of… Puck was a total asshole today. Was that real or pretending?"

"Pretending, mostly. I don't think any of it felt good to him, but I don't think much feels good right now. All he wants to do is play music and wash dishes."

Dave made a face. "Wash dishes?"

"It's what calms him down. Everybody has their thing."

"Okay, sure." He hesitated a moment, then asked, "What's your thing?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

Kurt laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Singing along to any Broadway musical. At least I have that covered, with us doing South Pacific. And taking care of Noah, but I haven't been able to do that for weeks, not for weeks even before he left. And, um." He raised both eyebrows, watching Dave's face. "Being tied up and blindfolded."

"Oh." Dave looked entirely mystified, but he nodded. "Okay. Is, uh, is that Blaine's thing too?"

"It's one of them. He always appreciated anything we did to him. He was so grateful for all of it." Kurt fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "For me, it's more like a way to get me out of my head, to help me stop thinking. Like a slap across the face, or a hard kiss, when somebody's freaking out."

"Yeah, I suppose that would work." Dave's voice sounded a little faint. Then he looked carefully at Kurt. "I guess that's not what Puck needs, though."

"No. He—can't right now."

Dave nodded again. "Do you think he always wanted that, or did he just want it because you did?"

"Who, Blaine, or—?" He was having a hard time dealing with the ideas with Dave's eyes on him, but Dave looked determined to get through the questions. "I don't know about Blaine, but Noah told me he's been dreaming about it for years. It's linked in his mind to sex, so there's no way we can… he can't take that from us right now."

"No, I get it. It sounds like they're both pretty lost."

Lost. Kurt wanted to give up and cry right there, but he knew how upset that had made Dave when he'd done it in front of him at his house. He just nodded.

"Santana and I have an idea," Dave said.

The words sounded so incongruous, Kurt just stared at him. Dave cleared his throat and went on.

"We think it would be good if you could go to Dalton."

Kurt sighed. "I know, I want to, I just don't think I can get away after school right now. Sarah and Noah, they need somebody there, and Lauren has a cold and—"

"I mean," Dave broke in, "like, all the time. Transfer there. So you can, you know. Take care of him."

Kurt's first reaction was not you're insane. It might have been his second reaction, but his first was immediate, leaping hope.

"How do you even think I could afford that?" he demanded. "My father—"

"Your father wants you to be safe. He would do anything for you if he thought you were being threatened."

Dave's tone was so reasonable, so ordinary, it took Kurt a moment to realize what he meant. His eyes widened. "You can't—Dave, you would get in trouble."

"This matters more," Dave said. He was completely calm now. "I can take the heat. You've seen him, Kurt. I mean, looking at this… I can tell how much he's hurting. I don't think I even need to go to Dalton today."

"You should, though. I would go with you if I could." Kurt put his hand out, and without hesitation, Dave took it. They gazed at one another, until Kurt pulled him into a hug.

"I don't know if I can let you go through with this," Kurt whispered, "but thank you for even considering it. It means so much to me."

Dave was stiff through the whole hug, but he didn't pull away, and Kurt thought that, under the circumstances, that might be as good as it was going to get.

After football practice, while Puck was in the shower, Artie approached Finn.

"Did you know Puck asked me to tutor him in math?" he said in a low voice.

"No, but he could kind of use that. Heck, I could kind of use that." Finn tried a smile, but Artie was clearly too distracted to respond to a joke.

"I'm just wondering, why would he ask me? It's not like we've ever been friends. He was saying rude, offensive things the whole time. It didn't seem to be like him — or at least not like the way he was before he went to juvie."

Artie searched his face, looking for answers, and Finn did his best to maintain a concerned, blank expression.

"Well, I wasn't there," said Finn slowly, "but I'm guessing he's having trouble with some of the rules in his world right now. I think you have to assume Puck is looking for some direction, after facing… challenges. You're an upright, moral guy. Maybe he needs that in his life right now."

Artie's brow wrinkled. "Moral? You mean, like, Christian? Isn't Puck Jewish?"

"Well, yeah, but we're not religious, and Kurt's family isn't either." Finn shrugged, trying to look noncommittal. "I don't know, maybe he just needs somebody to talk to. You're safe. And he already knows he can trust you. Puck doesn't do that easily."

"Well, I'm not sure if using me to get out of doing community service is all that moral a choice," said Artie, grinning, "but I can definitely be his friend. If he really wants that. Consider that he stuck me in the port-a-potty sophomore year."

"Yeah, but he also threw Kurt into the dumpster, and look what happened to them," said Finn.

"I'll concede that." Artie cocked his head as he turned in his chair. "Are they even dating anymore? Kurt's, like, completely ignoring him."

He focused on zipping up his duffel bag, not looking at Artie. "Yeah, it's on hold right now. Kurt needs—a break. To focus on other things."

Artie seemed to buy this explanation, which was a relief. If nothing else, maybe Artie could provide Puck with somebody to talk to.

As soon as he left Mr. Schue's office, Kurt hid in the boys' bathroom and took his phone out of his messenger bag.

Mr. Schue noticed you threatening me with "the Fury," he texted Dave.

Yeah, I was hoping that was obvious enough, Dave replied. Was he upset?

Actually yes. I think he came up with an angle for me to justify not being happy at school. I don't know if it's sufficient to warrant not being here, but it's something.

He doesn't know about where Puck was, does he?

He knows something because of Ms. Pillsbury. I don't know how much, exactly. We haven't been talking much since he and Toby broke up again. He was more worried about us singing against Blaine at sectionals.

Okay, well. I'm glad it helped.

Honestly, I wasn't sure anybody would buy it. I mean. "The Fury?" Really?

Hey, come on, haven't you seen that Brian DePalma flick? It's a classic horror movie.

I might be willing to suffer through it if you watched Sunset Boulevard with me.

I don't know what that is, but I guess it can't be any worse than Rocky Horror. Seriously that play had a major lack of plot.

Kurt leaned against the door of the bathroom stall, listening to the water running in the sink. So much for being your friend at school. Now we have to pretend worse than before.

We'll just have to get creative. Think of it as an opportunity to brush up on your acting. And I'll let you know if I get detention for threatening you. Otherwise we're going to have to ramp it up.

Boy, you're really getting into this, Kurt typed. Don't tell me you're enjoying it.

There was a long pause before Dave's reply appeared. No. I'm really not, Kurt.

I know. I'm sorry, that was a crappy joke. I swear, nothing's normal in my life right now.

Is anything ever normal in your life? That was a joke, kind of.

Despite himself, Kurt chuckled and shook his head. If Dave Karofsky was the most predictable thing in his life at the moment, things were definitely getting weird.

Puck had to wonder if what he was feeling now was what it felt like to be an addict in the midst of a high. Putting on the role of the asshole of McKinley again was like settling a worn, perfectly fitted baseball cap on top of his head. Every time he rounded a corner and stared down another terrified freshman, he felt another rush of satisfaction.

He also had to wonder if this was how fake it had always been. Had there really been a time when he hadn't recognized this role as a creation? Maybe he really hadn't seen himself clearly. In any case, it was a lot easier to let being the badass distract him from his persistent headache and sour stomach.

Mr. Schue announced that their current mashup would consist of boys singing girl songs and girls singing boy songs. When Puck got up to follow the rest of the guys down the hall into Mr. Schue's social studies room to discuss ideas, Mr. Schue casually said, "Hey, Puck, I had a question for you."

"Sure thing, Mr. S." He paused by the piano. Mr. Schuester looked him up and down.

"It's good to have you back," he said. "I'm guessing Kurt and Finn told you about South Pacific."

He shrugged. "I heard them singing when I got home."

"We won't be casting until after sectionals, but I was wondering if you might want to participate. We could really use your voice, and your energy."

"Sure, whatever." It might have been appropriate for him to complain about how stupid musical theater was, but Puck didn't want to risk Mr. Schue actually listening to him. What he really wanted to say was yes, god, please, thank you. He tried to let a little of that show in his eyes.

"Great. There are plenty of featured male parts to go around."

"Puck, will you play guitar for us if we do Bon Jovi again for our mashup?" called Quinn from across the room, where the girls were conferring.

"Sure, babe," he called back, without thinking. Her eyes flashed at him, but she didn't say anything else.

As he watched Blaine singing "Sanctuary" for the eleventh time on his phone as he made his way down the empty hallway, he wondered what it would be like to do a musical with Kurt and Finn. They would be playing opposite girls, of course, but Kurt would be dancing, and Finn would probably look fucking amazing in whatever he wore. Puck tasted the tang of adrenaline in the back of his mouth. Maybe it would be better if he didn't do that after all.

He should stick with singing with his dad, and not even attempt to sing with Kurt or Finn anymore. But then how was he going to deal with sectionals? He'd never heard Blaine sing with the Warblers before, but he'd heard them on the phone once, before he'd even known who Blaine was. And—his heart thudded dully—how was Blaine going to handle seeing them? Was he even going to be able to focus enough to do his job? The more he thought about it, the worse it felt. This was going to be impossible.

While Puck took a seat on the table in the corner. Kurt stood in front of the class, guiding the discussion of their mashup with efficient control. Finn watched silently from the back. He shifted uneasily, trying not to watch either of them too closely.

"… now, obviously for this medley to work, I'm gonna have to sing lead," said Kurt. "And, of course, when you're singing Diana Ross, Bob Mackie-esque maribou feather boas are a must…"

Puck stared at the ceiling as Artie baited Kurt, swinging his legs restlessly, and considered bailing on the conversation entirely.

"Dude," Puck broke in at last, his voice coming out a little too loud. Startled, Kurt turned to look at him. "Why don't you make yourself useful and go put some rat poison in them old folks' Jell-O? Or visit the Garglers?"

Kurt's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "The Warblers?"

"Whatever. See what they're up to. And you can wear all the feathers you want. You'll blend right in."

I can't go, Puck begged with his eyes. But you can. Why the fuck aren't you there already?

Kurt nodded, as if to himself. "Fine," he said tightly, and took the board down from the easel. Without another word, he walked out the door.

Finn stood up, looking uneasily between him and Artie. "You think he's really going to go?"

"Who cares," Puck drawled. He cracked his back. "Come on, can't we sing something worthwhile? We've got fucking Artie. We don't have to sing Diana Ross to go all girlie."

"Maybe next time, you'll give your woman a little respect," Artie sang. Puck smiled what felt like the first real smile he'd had in days.

"Now that's what I'm talking about." He nodded at Mike, who was smiling too. "Who is that? Le Mod, or some other chick band? From the 90s?"

"En Vogue," said Artie. He looked at Finn. "We could make that work."

"Hey, whatever you want," said Finn. His focus was entirely on the door through which Kurt had just exited. "I'm just gonna—let me check on something."

Focusing on the music and choreography was a relief, especially with Finn and Kurt out of the room, but the thing that really made his shoulders drop and his stomach settle was knowing that Kurt was in action. Puck didn't bother to respond to Finn's text, which said Kurt's on his way to Dalton. He'd done all he could. Now it was up to Kurt.

It was a little surprising to realize how much En Vogue he knew. Artie ran through several different choices while Puck strummed along on his guitar, and they agreed to consider their options and reconvene the next day to choose a Diana Ross song to combine with it.

"After all," Mike pointed out, "Kurt really knows his stuff. Just because it's predictably girly doesn't mean it's not worth doing."

It gave Puck a warm feeling inside to hear Mike standing up for Kurt like that. Even if Puck couldn't be his champion, the rest of Glee wasn't going to let him down.

"C'mon," he said to Artie, when they'd run out of ideas. "I'm not ready to stop singing. Come out to the courtyard with me."

It was unseasonably warm outside for November, but Artie looked at him dubiously. "In the middle of class?"

"They're doing study hall. We'll have a built-in audience."

He followed, somewhat unwillingly. "Shouldn't we be, like, studying? You said something about failing geometry."

"This is more important," Puck insisted. He could feel the way the music was sustaining him, even in the midst of crisis.

"Well, okay." Artie paused beside him, surveying the busy courtyard. "What do you want to sing?"

"We did a lot of Bob Marley while I was — on the inside." He set his guitar case on the ground and threw a couple dollars inside. Artie stared at the case.

"I don't think busking is allowed in school," he said.

"Watch and learn, young Jedi in a wheelchair. My dad says the money's just an excuse for people to get close enough to hear. Then you can really get them."

"Talent plus fear?" Artie said. Puck laughed.

"Maybe. I don't think that's what he meant, though. More like getting them here." He touched his heart, and Artie shook his head.

"Not what I expected from what I know about your dad."

"Hey, just because he's an asshole doesn't mean he doesn't have any feelings."

Artie listened a little more closely as Puck began, nodding appreciation, and came in on the harmony part, making it sound like they'd practiced it for weeks. It made Puck wonder how Hunter was doing back in Colorado Springs. Maybe he'd gone home and managed to convince his rich dad he really wasn't gay after all.

One love, one heart
Let's get together and feel all right
Hear the children crying, hear the children crying
Saying give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right

Let them all pass all their dirty remarks
There is one question I'd really love to ask
Is there a place for the hopeless sinner
Who has hurt all mankind just to save his own beliefs?

The audience listened as reluctantly as Artie at first, and Puck guessed there was indeed a fair amount of fear embedded in the admiration of their talent. He saw Lauren glaring at him as she hustled Ben Israel and the rest of the AV club over to toss a couple bucks into the case, but by the end, they were singing along too.

Artie peered inside the case in amazement. "Holy crap, there's like three hundred bucks in here. What are we gonna do with it?"

"Buy a buttload of clove cigarettes? I don't know." He watched Artie gazing with wistful resignation across the courtyard at Brittany. "What, you want her? You don't need any cash for that. How about you and I take Santana and Brittany to the 'Stix?"

Artie looked delighted. "Yeah?" Then his smile faltered. "What about Kurt?"

"Kurt wouldn't mind," he said, and this was entirely true, even if Artie didn't know why. "C'mon, we're just warming this crowd up."

"More Bob Marley?" Artie suggested.

This was something Puck could do. The rest of McKinley didn't seem to know the lyrics, but they stood around them listening, seemingly happy to enjoy the break from studying. He barely felt the ache of the lyrics as the music buoyed his spirits.

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds
Have no fear for atomic energy
'Cause none of them can stop the time

Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom
'Cause all I ever had redemption songs, redemption songs…

"Free your mind, and the rest will follow." Artie smiled up at him. "Hey, that'd be a good En Vogue song."

"Why not?" said Puck. "I could use a little redemption."

After Artie went home, Puck called Santana.

"Can you be part of a little scheme?" he asked. "On Artie's behalf, not mine. We want to take you and Britt out on a double date to Breadstix."

"What the hell's going on with you?" Santana demanded. "You get out of juvie and you suddenly decide you like girls again?"

"I never stopped liking them. I just—this is for him. He's a good guy, and he could use a little confidence boost. So would you just say yes?"

"Do you even know what's going on with Blaine?"

"I know. I've been trying to call him, but my number's blocked." He wasn't going to let himself get caught in that spiral of despair, not in a moment when he was feeling so good. "Please say yes. Free dinner, and don't worry about what it means."

"What does it mean?" She sounded less angry and more confused. He rubbed his forehead.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm still trying to figure that out. That, and a lot of things."

"Okay. Yes." Now she was completely calm. "It was really lame around here without you, Puck."

"It's gonna continue to be lame around here with me," he said. Then he hung up.

Will looked up from pouring himself a cup of coffee to see Shannon in the doorway to the teachers' lounge. He almost made an excuse and walked away, but she was hard to ignore, even subdued as she was at the moment.

"Hey, Will," she said. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He sighed and set his coffee down. "Yeah."

Her brow was knitted with confusion. "What's going on with your glee club kids? They've been mouthing off to me. I don't get it."

"I—I don't know what to tell you…"

She shook her head with a faint smile. "Will, please. You're gonna have to be straight with me. I can spot a lie a mile away, and I'm not sure how to take it from you, the only adult in this school I trust."

She waited with an eyebrow raised until he nodded reluctantly.

"Why don't you have a seat," he said. "This is really awful, and I don't want you to take it personally."

"Just tell me," she said quietly. She sat down across from him, still waiting.

"It's about Sam. I think it's because you came here from Dublin with him, but there are… rumors, about you and him. Some of the football players were talking about how he speaks up for you. And then Quinn, you know they're dating, she heard him say your name when they were, um, being intimate." He winced at the intensity of her gaze. "They, uh… they're saying you're having a… an inappropriate relationship with him."

"Like what kind of relationship."

He swallowed. "A — a sexual one."

"With Evans." Her voice was tight. Will nodded, looking at the table.

"Don't take it personally. I mean, they're just kids, you know how they can be…"

"He's a kid. He's my student." She rose to her feet, her fists clenched. "No. I do take it personally, Will. I take it very, very personally."

"Shannon," he said, but she'd already stormed off. He sighed, watching her go, and wished he'd made it more clear that he didn't believe a word of it.

Kurt climbed down slowly from the driver's seat of the Navigator, and gazed around the tidy, well-kept grounds of Dalton. Parking out front of Blaine's dormitory felt surreal. Puck and Finn had both described it for him, and although he'd never been there before today, it appeared to be exactly as they'd said. Life seemed to be going on at Dalton as usual. Based on what Jeff had told them, it was doubtful that anyone else even knew Blaine was under any kind of stress. Kurt felt his stomach tighten as he climbed the steps to Blaine's dorm.

"May I help you?" asked the boy at the desk.

"I, um…" He let out a little laugh. "I'm not even sure what to say. I'm looking for Blaine Anderson?"

The boy picked up the phone, putting it to his ear. "Does he know you're here?"

"No." Kurt watched him anxiously. "I'm… visiting Dalton."

"Oh, thinking about coming to school here?" The boy smiled.

"Maybe," he allowed. "I mean, I'm not really. But… you like it here?"

"Sure? It's just school. But it's a straight route to the Ivy Leagues. That's what my dad says, anyway." The boy shook his head, listening on the receiver. "Sorry, he's not answering the phone. Do you want me to leave him a message? I think he's in Buerck Hall right now, actually, if you want to walk over and look for him there."

"Oh, I don't know." Kurt hesitated, following the boy's finger pointing across the manicured lawn.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you about Dalton."

That's not what I want to talk to him about. "Thanks," he said anyway. "Can you tell me where to go?"

He put on his sunglasses, because even if no one was going to know who he was, he felt a little like an invader at this peaceful, strange school, where all the boys were dressed in jackets and ties and there were no women or girls to be seen. He avoided meeting the gaze of anyone as he made his way across the courtyard.

The front room of Buerck Hall opened out into an arched dome, with gorgeous glasswork, stone and wrought iron accents. He followed a large group of boys heading down the circular staircase, wondering exactly where he was supposed to be looking for Blaine — until, with a shock, he realized Blaine was right in front of him.

He stumbled on the steps, bumping into the boy in front of him.

"Excuse me," Kurt said, breathlessly, and Blaine turned around.

Between the tightly controlled hair and the equally controlled expression, Kurt barely recognized him. He didn't even move like Blaine. The comfortable awkwardness had been replaced by a strange, regal poise. Blaine gave Kurt a curious, blank look.

"Um, hi," said Kurt, tucking his sunglasses away. He was waiting for Blaine to laugh, to say, oh my god, Kurt, it's so good to see you, but there was nothing other than a slight irritation at being stopped in the midst of the flow of students. "Can I… ask you a question? I'm, uh… new here…"

"My name's Blaine," he said, holding out his hand.

Kurt gaped at him for a terrible second, then gulped back his terror and gave the hand a quick, firm shake. "Kurt." He fumbled for something to say. "So, uh… what exactly is going on?"

"The Warblers," Blaine said. "Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. Tends to shut the school down for a while."

Kurt watched Blaine speak with horrified fascination. His heartbreakingly familiar face was moving in completely unfamiliar patterns. The effect was more than a little disconcerting. He tried to follow the content of what Blaine was saying.

"So, like, the glee club here is kind of cool?"

"The Warblers are, like, rock stars," Blaine said, as if it was obvious. When Kurt just stood there, he reached out and grabbed his hand. "Come on. I know a shortcut."

Kurt almost fell as Blaine pulled him down the stairs and around the corner into a silent, empty hallway. They hurried together, Blaine's hand warm within his, with no discernible destination in sight. Kurt couldn't manage to utter one word. His mind was racing with what to tell Dave. He wondered if Blaine's composure would have lasted if Puck had been there, or Finn.

"This way," Blaine said, tugging him around another corner and through a set of double doors where several dozen boys had assembled. They were clearing the floor to make a space in the center, and Kurt suddenly felt all eyes on them.

"I stick out like a sore thumb," he said.

"Well, next time, don't forget your jacket, new kid." He straightened Kurt's lapel, then gave him an encouraging pat and a cheeky grin. "You'll fit right in. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Before Blaine even backed away, several of the other boys began to sing a familiar rhythmic accompaniment. Kurt felt himself freeze, standing in the middle of the doorway, as other boys gathered around him. In perfect synchronicity, Blaine and the Warblers launched into their a cappella version of "Teenage Dream."

Before you met me, I was all right
But things were kind of heavy, you brought me to life
Now every February, you'll be my Valentine

Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love
We can dance until we die
You and I, we'll be young forever…

It was almost worse than watching Blaine be someone else, because now he was performing in a different way—and it was obvious the goal of his performance was to make every boy in that room, gay or straight, lose their shit. Kurt suspected it was a hundred times more effective on someone like him, someone who was already helplessly in love with Blaine, but he also suspected the rest of the room couldn't help falling a little bit in love with him as they listened, too.

Somehow, at the same time, part of Kurt's brain was able to notice the classic choreography, their crisp diction, the flawless dynamics, and to think in a detached sort of way, Wow, we are really fucked. The Warblers were a hundred times better than McKinley's glee club was.

He wished he could make his hands move, because he would have loved to have captured this rehearsal-performance for Finn and Dave and Puck to marvel at and despair over. Because, whoever that was leading the Warblers, he was incredibly handsome and charismatic, with a wonderful voice—and he wasn't Blaine.

Even so, when not-Blaine smiled at him, Kurt smiled back, his breath stolen from him with effortless ease. Somewhere inside there, Blaine loved him. He was calling out from inside his cage of perfection. In that moment, Kurt felt himself make a resolution to dig him out, no matter what the cost.

You make me feel like I'm living a Teenage Dream
The way you turn me on
I can't sleep, let's run away and don't ever look back…

Kurt clapped louder than any of the others when the song concluded, and Blaine's eyes were on him, watching him with obvious amusement and desire. It made him dizzy.

A familiar boy with wispy blonde bangs stepped forward from the assembled Warblers, interrupting his gaze, and held out his hand.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Jeff. I think you're Kurt, right?"

"Oh—" He shook Jeff's hand, then grasped it in both of his, feeling a flood of appreciation that wasn't at all appropriate for a supposed first time meeting. "Yes. I am. I'm—that was very good. You sounded amazing."

"Thanks." Jeff's pale cheeks were flushed with their efforts, but he wasn't smiling. "I'm thinking we should talk. Do you have a minute?"

"Yes, that's why I'm here. I was hoping…" His voice trailed off as he watched not-Blaine speaking easily with the rest of his glee club. "Well, I guess I don't know what I was hoping."

"Yeah." Jeff sighed. "Whatever it was, I don't think you're going to get it. Come on."

He looked behind him as Jeff led him away and saw Blaine watching them with curiosity. They went down the same corridor Blaine had led them through a few minutes ago, and stepped into an empty room set with desks and chairs, perfect for studying.

"That," Kurt said immediately, pointing back down the hall at the performance space, "was not the Blaine I know. It wasn't even Patrick, whom I saw at Irene's coffeehouse. I don't know who that was."

"I call him Blaine Warbler," said Jeff, closing the door behind them. "He's been working all of us very hard on that choreography. I think you need to know, this was a particularly good day for him. Some days, he can barely get out of bed." He gave Kurt a half-smile. "I'm glad you were able to see us perform that."

"It appears that we're going to see you do it again," said Kurt. "We're your competition at sectionals."

Jeff looked startled. "How do you know?"

"Our choir director read us the letter. We're also competing against the Warren Township Hipsters, a group of senior citizens getting their GEDs." He watched Jeff take that in. "Jeff, I'm really here for Blaine, but I just want to make sure I thank you. You've really gone above and beyond taking care of Blaine through all of this. Finn told me how you handled him when he needed it."

"Yeah, well, he won't let me do that anymore." Jeff grimaced. "His father's making him see a psychiatrist who isn't listening to him, but put him on medication, and he hates the way it makes him feel. Most days it's anybody's guess how he's going to wake up. He doesn't have any tools to help him at all anymore. If I'm being honest, Kurt, I don't know if he's going to make it through this year without having a complete breakdown."

Kurt took all this in without much surprise, but it was disappointing to hear things were this bad. "When he recognized me at Irene's, I thought there was a chance…" He paused, biting his lip. Jeff just shrugged.

"I'm not a doctor or a counselor. But he won't be himself for anybody anymore, not even me. I'm not sure if he remembers how to do it. Sometimes it slips out when he's really upset, and it's not nice, but at least it's real."

"And you can tell when it's him?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah," said Jeff. "I can definitely tell."

"Is there anybody else who knows what's going on with him?"

Jeff shook his head. "Wes and David kind of know — they're on the Warblers council — because they've seen him on good and bad days, but I don't think they really understand. Blaine doesn't share his flaws with many people."

It was hard for Kurt not to immediately leap to his defense and say they're not flaws, they're just part of who he is. Jeff knew Blaine as well as anybody, and he was the one who'd spent the most time with him over the past two years. "Do you think I could talk with them?"

"Let me see if they're still here." He bent over his phone while Kurt stood up, slowly pacing the small room and running his hand over the smooth, well-polished wood. It was more beautiful than most rooms he had seen, even in the fanciest hotels he'd stayed at, and this was a high school. Kurt couldn't imagine what it might be like to be here all the time.

"Okay." Kurt looked up from his phone as Jeff nodded. "David and Wes will meet us upstairs in the café."

Kurt walked beside Jeff back down the hallway, up the winding stair to the main floor, and across the courtyard to the quietest, most sophisticated coffee shop he'd ever seen. But when they found a seat at a table in the back, Kurt looked up to greet the two boys approaching, and discovered there were three. Blaine was with them.

"I hope you don't mind, I asked to come along when I heard you'd asked to talk to David and Wes," said Blaine.

Jeff gave Kurt an apologetic look over Blaine's shoulder, mouthing the word sorry. Kurt just smiled and nodded, not sure what else he could do at this point, and politely waved Jeff away. They all sat around the table, the three Warblers facing him.

"Latte?" Blaine said, passing him a paper cup.

You've known my real coffee order for months, he thought, but he swallowed the hurt as he nodded and took the cup. "Thank you."

Blaine indicated the two boys on either side of him. "This is Wes, and David."

Kurt gave them both a wan smile. "It's very civilized for you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying."

"We are not going to beat you up," David said. He looked serious, but Wes cracked an easy grin.

"You were such a terrible spy, we thought it was sort of endearing."

"Which made me think that spying on us wasn't really the reason you came," Blaine concluded. He waited expectantly while Kurt considered his response.

Well, the last time we saw one another, you were naked in my bed, he wanted to say, and you were wearing Noah's collar, but now Noah won't even look me in the eye and I make him want to throw up, and you've forgotten my fucking coffee order. How was he going to make Wes and David understand without making a scene in front of not-Blaine? What if Blaine had forgotten even that part of himself?

"Can I ask you guys a question?" he ventured. "Are… you guys all gay?"

They all laughed. "Uh, uh, no," said Blaine, with an adorable blush. "I mean, I am, but no, these two have girlfriends."

Kurt tried to mask his sigh of relief. His performance and the amount of flirting he'd been doing with Kurt had indicated that was true, but he could have just been a very good actor. Maybe he still was. There was no way to really know how much Blaine thought was real.

"This is not a gay school," said Wes. "We just have a zero tolerance harassment policy."

A zero tolerance harassment policy. Kurt took a hitching breath. He could suddenly see the way into Dalton. It was just as Dave had described. It would certainly be expensive, but maybe his father would be willing to let him go for a semester if he thought there was no other way to keep Kurt safe.

"Would you guys excuse us?" said Blaine gently. He was watching Kurt with a knowing expression.

"Take it easy, Kurt," said David, as they both rose from the table. He wasn't sure how to stop them without causing a scene that would be hard to explain, so he just nodded as they departed. He could talk with them later.

Not-Blaine gazed at him across the table, calm and implacable and completely unlike the boy Kurt had come to know so well.

"I take it you're having trouble at school?"

Kurt thought quickly, describing the situation as his father would see it from the outside. It didn't take much to blink back some tears. "I'm the only person out of the closet at my school. And I try to stay strong about it, but there's this Neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell, and nobody seems to notice."

He listened as Blaine sympathized, telling him things Kurt already knew about his own history being bullied for being gay, but Kurt was mostly watching the emotions playing across Blaine's face: anger, annoyance, resignation. In many ways, it was a relief to see he still had all those feelings, even if the memories driving them were muddled in his head.

"So you have two options," Blaine concluded. "I mean, I'd love to tell you to just come enroll here, but tuition at Dalton's sort of steep, and I know that's not an option for everybody? Or… you can refuse to be the victim. Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt. And you have a chance right now to teach him."

"How?" he asked.

"Confront him," Blaine said, with clear conviction. "Call him out."

He wondered how he was going to convince Blaine this wasn't a reasonable option, but before he could, Blaine leaned in closer, and Kurt was caught by his intense expression.

"I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away. And it is something that I really, really regret."

Kurt wished, with all his might, that he could peer inside Blaine and find out what was motivating him. Are you talking about the boys at Catholic who beat you up at Sadie Hawkins? Or are you talking about your father? How much can I change this history in your head?

"I wish that wasn't happening to you," he said. "I wish I could help."

Blaine blinked. For a moment, Kurt thought he saw somebody else looking through those eyes. Then he sat back, laughing to himself, all confidence and poise again. "Well, it was a long time ago. I'm a really different person now."

Kurt gave him a weak smile. You're telling me.

They parted with an exchange of phone numbers. Kurt watched with anxiety as Blaine attempted to put Kurt's into his phone — and frowned when he was able to do it without any trouble.

"I'll text you mine," he said. When Blaine's test message came through, he wasn't sure what to say. I thought it would be blocked? No, obviously that was ridiculous because his father hadn't even known about Kurt. He wouldn't have blocked his phone because he hadn't had it. Why hadn't they realized that right away? Kurt could have been in touch with Blaine all along. But—no, Jeff would have told him not to, anyway, because Blaine wouldn't have known him.

"Now we can be in touch," Blaine said gently, touching his arm. Kurt looked at it, then up at Blaine's confident face. He wanted to throw his arms around him and kiss him, but that obviously wasn't the appropriate thing to do.

"Thank you," Kurt said. "For everything. This has been… enlightening."

"Please, don't hesitate to call, okay? Where do you live, anyway?"

"Lima," said Kurt without thinking. Blaine's smile immediately dropped away, and Kurt added hastily, "Down the road, anyway, southeast of town, on—"

"Bellefontaine," murmured Blaine.

"Yes," Kurt whispered back. He watched Blaine in shock. Blaine's smile was gone. Now he wore an expression of wary confusion.

"I think… maybe I've been on that road."

Kurt swallowed. "Well, it's—it's on the way to so many places."

It was a ridiculous response, but it seemed to be enough to help Blaine recover somewhat. Blaine nodded again, looking at the table, and within seconds, the mask had returned. Kurt felt his heart pounding so hard, he thought he might be able to look down and see his chest actually moving.

"I'll look forward to hearing from you, Kurt." He held out a hand, and Kurt shook it before heading toward the door.

He kept his phone in his hand, trying to keep it steady as he typed a group text to Finn, Puck and Dave as he walked.

I saw Blaine sing at Dalton, and talked to him. It's not him. He thinks Dave is out to get me. I talked to Jeff, who knows what's up, and Wes and David, who don't. He paused on the curb to wipe his eyes. I think Dave's plan might be the way to go.

Finn responded first. I'm sorry, baby. I'll be here when you get home to give you whatever you need.

Kurt wondered if Finn realized Dave would see that response, but then he thought Finn probably didn't care. He'd said things like that in front of Dave before, in person. Hearing Finn call him baby wasn't likely to chase Dave away now.

Puck didn't respond, but about halfway back to Lima, Kurt received Dave's reply: I will be the bad guy. Does he know who I am?

Kurt couldn't respond on the highway, but he thought about it the rest of the way home. How would Blaine respond? Would he recognize Dave? Would it make a difference to Blaine if he did? Not so long ago, Dave had been the bad guy in reality — but then, so had Puck and Finn. They didn't have daemons on the outside of their bodies, as the bears had had in the His Mortal Instruments series. Who defined what redeemed a bad guy and made him into a good guy?

I don't know if he does or not, Kurt told Dave after he'd parked the Navigator. But I know who you are. That's all that matters to me.

"So there I am at juvie at breakfast," said Puck, leaning across the table toward Artie, like he knew he was telling the best story ever, "when I notice me and the guy next to me going for the same waffle. This guy's 6'11, 300 easy. He's got his teeth filed into canines, tats everywhere—no, it gets better. So I flex my left pec, and I flex my right pec, and I say to the guy: leggo my eggo."

"You should be our nation's president," Santana said. Her bored tone wasn't a whole lot different from all the rest of her tones, but Artie thought she might be admiring Puck a little bit. Artie wasn't sure how he felt about him, but if the stories he was telling about juvie were even halfway true, Puck definitely was a badass.

"So did you really steal an ATM?" asked Artie.

Puck waggled his eyebrows as he bit down on another breadstick. "What do you think?"

"I think it's kind of an awkward way to make cash," he admitted. "How did you think you were going to break into it?"

"You're assuming that was my goal."

Britt looked completely enthralled, but then she always did, so Artie didn't take it too personally. "So what was your goal?"

"Let's just say I was fucking sick of dragging this ball and chain around. It was really getting me down." He rolled his eyes. "I was, like, fuck this shit. I'm taking control."

Artie still didn't quite get how he'd get the results he wanted by stealing an ATM, but he didn't want to push him for details, considering the ones he'd heard so far had been just this side of terrifying.

"I can take that when you're ready," said their waitress.

Artie smiled up at her. "Thank you." He wheeled out from behind the table. "Pardon me, ladies, but I'll be right back."

The bathroom at Breadstix was only sort-of accessible, but he managed to get around the door frame and close the door without getting bashed in the face. When he returned to the table, however, Artie could hear Santana arguing with Puck in semi-hushed voices. He paused behind the potted plant to listen.

"You know what, Puckerman?" she was saying. "I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but there is no way in hell I'm having sex with you again, foursome or no foursome."

Puck said something too quiet for him to hear, to which Santana replied, "Because you've got something most of us would kill for. Go home to them. Make up with them, let them beat your ass, whatever the three of you do."

The three of who? Artie thought, mystified. Puck was talking quietly again, but this time Artie could hear him saying, "You don't understand. It's not that easy anymore."

"That's the worst copout I've ever heard," she said in disgust.

Puck sighed, his voice muffled again. "… inside my head," he said. "I can't even say I didn't ask for it, but now it doesn't fucking matter, does it? I don't want any of them anymore. Only chicks."

"They could all have gender reassignment surgery," suggested Brittany.

"Puck, since when have you ever listened when anybody told you what to do?" Santana said.

"Since a year ago, when my fucking life changed."

Artie remembered Puck speaking in that tone of voice, last year after his mom died. He still wasn't sure what had caused it, but it sounded awful—and this time, it sounded like he'd done it to himself.

"Look, I'm sorry, I can't do this—"

He watched Puck stand up and rush toward the exit. After a long, awkward moment, Artie wheeled around the plant and pulled up to the table.

"Did he leave without paying?" he asked.

"It's kind of his thing," said Santana, sighing. "Dine and dash."

"But he didn't mean it this time," said Britt. Santana kicked her under the table.

"It's okay," Artie told Santana, "I heard you talking about what's going on with him and Kurt and—the third person."

"He doesn't like boys anymore," said Britt, in obvious confusion.

Artie looked first at her, then at Santana, who was scowling at the bill.

"I don't think that's something you can change?" he said.

"Yeah, no, it's not. But you can seriously fuck with somebody's head in the process of trying. So whatever he used to like, now it's all obscured by a big pile of dog shit."

"Wow," said Artie, wrinkling his nose. "That really sucks. It sucks a lot worse than him stiffing us with the bill. Here, give me that." He took out his wallet and carefully chose the right amount of money to pay for all of them, plus a healthy tip for the waitress. When he saw them staring at him, he huffed. "What? She gave us free refills, and I figure she's got kids. I'm not gonna do that to her."

"That's really sweet," said Brittany, smiling at him. She nudged him with her shoulder, and he felt himself blush.

"I guess we're on our own. I could call my dad to pick us up?"

"No, no, I think we've got this covered." Santana nodded decisively. "You're coming home with us."

"I — uh." Artie shrank back in his seat for a moment. Then Brittany's hand, which had been on his thigh all this time, moved someplace else, and he got the confirmation that coming home with us meant what he thought it meant. His blush deepened. "Are you sure?"

"It's Britt's call, and she already said she wanted you back." Santana crossed her arms and gave Artie a pointed look. "But don't you even think about kissing and telling. This isn't about bragging rights, and the last thing we need is somebody giving away our trade secrets. Is it a deal?"

He gulped. "D-do I have the right of refusal if I decide I can't go through with it?"

"You wouldn't be the first." She shrugged, regarding her nails. "It'd be your loss."

"I'm not refusing," he hastened to say. Brittany's hand moved into more interesting territory. "I'm—ohh. I'm just thinking, sometimes pressure to perform is the last thing a guy needs? But maybe that's assuming I'm at all essential in the equation, which… I'm guessing I'm not."

"Can you push a meatball across a table with your nose?" Britt asked.

"Uh… is that a euphemism for something I should know, or…?"

"It's Mercedes' favorite Disney movie. You know, Lady and the Tramp?" She smiled at his mystified expression. "You've never seen it? I have the DVD at my house."

"Come on, short stuff," Santana said. She was already standing beside the table, her car key dangling from her finger. "My trunk is huge. Based on several things we've done inside it, I'm pretty sure I can fit your wheelchair in there."

"Just to be clear, you're inviting me to your house to… watch a Disney movie?"

"And have sex," Britt said. She grasped the handles of his chair. "Or you can just watch, if you want."

"Best date night ever," he whispered to himself as they moved toward the exit.

Finn got the text from Santana saying Puck ditched us at Breadstix just a few minutes before he got one from Artie asking, Is Puck okay? He swore and abandoned his homework to go looking for him.

He didn't have to look far. Puck was in the driveway, lying in the bed of his truck, staring at the overcast sky.

"You can see different stars in Oregon," he said. "The mountains, something, I don't know. It's clearer up there."

Finn climbed in beside him, being careful not to get too close. He sat scrunched into as small a space as he could manage, which wasn't all that small, but at least they weren't touching.

"Do you miss the stars?" Finn asked.

"Not the stars. The sky. It was closer."

Finn doubted that, but since he hadn't been to Oregon, he wasn't about to argue with him. Then Puck took a deep breath that wound up being a sob. Finn bit his lip and held himself more still, listening to Puck cry.

"You'd think the worst part would be how he made me hate wanting you," Puck said, his voice coming out blurry. "But it wasn't. The worst part was knowing tomorrow he'd ask me more questions, and I would remember more stuff about my dad. And now I can't forget it anymore, because—"

"Puck," whispered Puck.

"Because all the stuff that makes me forget is off limits. Except maybe drinking. Which I'm not gonna do, because I am not putting my own kid through that. I promise, okay?"

Finn wasn't going to mention how Puck had promised a lot of things he'd never followed through on. He just nodded.

Puck wasn't bothering to try to obscure his tears from Finn. He just went ahead and cried them, and Finn sat there and watched him do it. Finn cried a little, too, but he tried not to let Puck see it, because he didn't want Puck to think he thought his own pain was anywhere near as bad as Puck's.

"And I had a good day," he said. His voice cracked on the word good. "Me and Artie, we sang in the courtyard together after Glee. And, okay, Kurt sent this sucky text about Blaine, but I already knew that was bad, so maybe I could handle it. And then the four of us went out to Breadstix and—then I had to come home."

"Why'd you have to come home?"

"Because my fucking brain started coming out my fucking ears, and I thought I was going to puke my guts out right there in the restaurant. Do you know why? No? Well, that makes two of us." He picked up his head and hit the back of it against the floor of the truck, making a ringing thunk.

"Please don't do that," Finn whispered.

"Leave it to my stupid brain not even to be able to be rewired right. I wanted to convince it I don't like one guy, but I ended up convincing it I don't like any guys, and I guess I can live with that. But what if what I got turns out to be random headaches and feeling sick all the time? Who knows, maybe I'm fucking pregnant."

Finn hid his face in his hands and cried a little more. He hoped Puck was too caught up in his own stuff to notice, but when he looked again, Puck was watching him.

"Why are you even here?" Puck said.

"Because," said Finn, sniffing and wiping his face on his sleeve, "I fucking love you."

"Oh. Yeah." Puck sounded annoyed by this, but after another few moments of silence, he added, more soberly, "I love you too."

"Yeah? You can still say that?"

"Yeah, it's not just about sex, I guess. Or it wasn't, for so long, so maybe I can remember how to be like that. It's harder with Kurt, because we were always that way."

"You said." The wind was picking up now, and Finn shivered. He wished he could put his hands on Puck to check his temperature and his vitals, the way Carl had taught him to do. It was remarkable how useless he felt without the ability to touch him. "Okay if we go inside now?"

Puck sat himself up and wiped off his face. He looked awful, but he nodded. "Can I take a shower?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea."

Finn stood outside the bathroom, listening to Puck shower. He heard him crying through some of it, and he was pretty sure he also heard him puke once, but the shower did end, and Puck did eventually come out of the bathroom, clean and dry and wearing his sweats. His eyes were red and swollen.

"I told the girls I would play guitar for them on their mashup," he said, "but I don't think I'm going to be up for it."

"That's okay. I can call Rachel and let her know. She can get Michael Stewart from jazz band to do it."

Finn stood far enough away to make sure he wasn't going to accidentally knock into Puck as he exited the bathroom, but Puck sighed loudly.

"For fuck's sake, Finn, I'm not going to explode if you hip-check me."

"I'm just trying not to make it worse for you," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Puck let out a strangled groan. "I hate you being so careful around me! You don't want to say the wrong thing; you don't want me to get hurt. Well, guess what, I'm already feeling as bad as I can. I'm already sick and in pain. The only way it could get worse is if you weren't here anymore."

"Okay," said Finn, approaching him slowly, with his hands outstretched, "okay, I hear you, I'm just going to—here, let me—"

Puck struggled a little as Finn put first one hand on him, and then another, holding him firmly, until he had him contained in both arms. He heard Puck moan at one point, and he swallowed convulsively several times, but mostly he was still.

"Doing okay?" Finn murmured. "You want me to let go?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Another minute."

The hug wasn't exactly pleasant for him, either, but he smiled at Puck when the time was up.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm not sure why you let me do that, but it made me feel a little better."

Puck turned his head away. "Well, that's why I let you, then. Okay if I go to bed?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

He watched Puck head down the hallway, then heard him pause at Kurt's door to knock. From his own room, he heard the door open, heard Kurt crying, and Puck's low responses. He heard Puck rush into the bathroom, followed by retching sounds, then speak sharply to Kurt in response to his anxious, concerned query.

Finn sighed and came around to Kurt's outside door, entering without knocking.

"Leave him alone, baby," he said. Kurt was almost in tears, he was so distraught, but he shut the bathroom door and moved into Finn's arms, shaking.

"He pushed himself," Kurt said. "He didn't have to do that. I didn't need a bedtime hug."

"No, but I think he needed to give you one. Even if it made him sick, that doesn't mean he failed."

Kurt stayed in his arms long past the time he had calmed down, resting his head on Finn's chest. "I was really hoping I might get a text from Blaine tonight."

"I know. I was hoping you would, too."

Puck appeared at the doorway to the bathroom, his lips pale. He gave Kurt a little smile.

"I think I'm gonna need toothbrushes in every bathroom."

"I'll go get yours," said Kurt, but Puck held up a hand, moving toward the door.

"I'd better just call it a night. I, uh." He sighed. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," said Kurt softly.

Kurt held his breath until Puck was out the door. He looked up at Finn. The tears in his eyes were back, but Finn knew they were for a different reason now.

"He's fighting," said Kurt. "I have to say, even if it obviously sucks, what he's doing is so much better than what Blaine is doing. Blane is stuck being somebody he's not and he can't do anything about it."

"Not yet," said Finn. "But maybe he can, someday. Maybe you can help him, if you can get to Dalton. I didn't think that was possible, but you seem to think, maybe, it is?"

"Dave thinks it is." Kurt sounded almost angry about this. Finn decided not to comment.

"Would you come sleep with me tonight?" He added, when Kurt hesitated, "Even if you'd rather have anybody other than me, I know I can help."

Kurt shook his head. "It's not because I don't want you. I'm just exhausted, and I know if I'm in your bed, we're going to have sex instead of sleeping."

Finn tried to laugh. "I guess that's the mark of a mature relationship, when sleep is more important than sex?"

Kurt didn't laugh, although he did kiss Finn good night. It was just an ordinary kiss, but it gave Finn enough of a charge that he had to go into the bathroom and take out plug number 28 before heading to bed to jerk off. He started with thoughts about Kurt, which were the safest ones, but then moved to memories of Puck on his knees, then Blaine in front of Carl's couch, and finally to the five of them in bed together at Tessera during Valentine's Day, him and Carl and Kurt and Puck and Adam. He cried through most of it, but as he'd been reminded several times that night, just because it sucked didn't mean it wasn't worth it.

"It's going to be worth it," he promised himself, before falling asleep in his lonely bed.