Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," Dave muttered to himself.

His words were lost in the pulsing bass of the techno playing over the speakers. He hulked in his corner booth, squinting at the crowds dancing in the dark. Idly he swirled his rum and coke around in his glass, ice cubes clinking against the sides.

He made the trek to the Corner every other month or so. Every time he went, he'd swear to himself that it was the last time, it was too risky, and it wasn't that exciting anyway. But eventually he found himself wanting it again, to have that taste of what he usually hid away, and he'd make the hour and a half drive yet again.

A gay bar, he thought, taking a sip of his drink. God, my mom would flip if she knew I was here.

His parents hadn't figured it out, as far as he knew. His dad was always out of town for work, and when his mom worked the late shift he knew he could send his younger siblings off to stay with friends and say he was staying at Azimio's.

He told Azimio he was sleeping at his girlfriend's house. Ha.

Sometimes he felt about what he was doing to Zooey. She was a sweet girl, all dewy-eyed innocence in her private-Baptist-high-school bubble. She'd probably be adorably horrified if she ever shared an elevator with a gay person, much less that she'd chastely accepted kisses on the cheek from one.

Poor thing. She was a beard and didn't even know what it meant.

"Hey, there, sailor. Need another drink?"

He glanced up. Stephanie rested her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. "No, I think I'm good," he said.

"You sure you don't want anything more exciting?" she said. "I make a mean sour appletini."

"No, thanks," he said gruffly.

Stephanie shook her head. "I don't understand you, David," she said. "You come all the way out here and you don't talk to anyone, you don't dance. You just sit there, nurse a rum and coke for three hours, and leave at last call. What's the point of going to a gay bar if you don't meet any guys?"

He flinched. She laughed, not unkindly. "Honey, you're gay. Get used to it," she said. She patted his cheek affectionately. "And remember, I won't tell your parents you're gay and sneaking into clubs if you don't tell my parents that bartending here is paying for art school."

"I can't believe they bought the story that you're a nanny," he said. "I mean, when you were still living next door when I was a kid, you were a good babysitter, but you're not good enough to make bartending money."

Stephanie rolled her eyes and started to retort, but she froze. "Oh, god," she said. "Oh, god. Shit, shit, shit."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I think that guy put something in another guy's drink," she said. "Shit. He looks young, too. Oh, shit." She glanced around. "Rilous usually handles this kind of thing. Shit. I don't see him." She latched onto Dave's arm and tugged him out of the booth. "Shit. Okay, come on. You're going to be my muscle."

"I'm going to be your what?" he protested.

"This might get ugly," she said.

The crowds surged around them as Stephanie pressed through, dragging Dave behind her. It was impossible to move through the sea of people, all of them unaware of what was going on behind them. He tripped over his own shoes and caught himself on the back of a chair.

It felt like an hour before they finally reached the back table. One young guy in a half-buttoned shirt sat by himself, a nearly empty glass in front of him. "Shit, the other man must've seen us. He's gone," Stephanie said. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir? Hey, I just wanted to tell you that-"

He looked up, almost lazily, and Dave nearly vomited. Even with the dim lights and the heavy eyeliner, he knew Kurt Hummel when he saw him.

"Oh, shit, you're just a baby," Stephanie breathed. "How the hell did you get in here, kid?"

Kurt blinked, his eyes heavily lidded. "I had…fake ID…" he said.

"Yeah, no, seriously, how'd you bribe your way in here?" Stephanie asked. Without waiting for a response she tilted Kurt's chin up. "All right. How much have you had to drink?"

Kurt frowned and raised a shaking hand. "I had…two, an'…an' then…one..."

"All right, so clearly too much to drink," Stephanie said. "Honey, were you here on a date? Did you know the guy you were dancing with?"

Kurt screwed up his face and shook his head. "Tol' me I was gorgeous," he said proudly.

"Fuck," Stephanie said. Kurt reached for his drink and she yanked it away. "No! No, don't touch that. Honey, he spiked your drink."

Kurt's jaw dropped. "I…he what?" he said. His chin trembled. "What?"

Stephanie sighed. "Fucking hell. I can't call the police to try to trace the guy, this kid'll get arrested and we could get prosecuted for letting somebody underage in here," she said. "Honey, how'd you get here? Did you drive? Did someone give you a ride?" Kurt looked down at his knees, his chin still wobbling. "No, no, no, look at me, hon, look at me. How did you get here?"

"Bus," he said in a tiny voice. "Amma'n trouble?"

"You're in trouble, all right," Stephanie said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "We need to get you home. What's your name, sweetheart?"

Kurt fumbled in his back pocket. "Eli…Melrose," he mumbled, dropping his clearly fake ID on the table. "I'm…twenty-one…"

"Yeah, if you're twenty-one, then I'm forty-seven," Stephanie snorted. "Come on, kid, what's your real name?"

Dave finally found his voice. "Kurt," he said. "His name's Kurt Hummel."

Stephanie glanced back. "You know him?" she said, surprised.

"He goes to my school," Dave said, his voice sounding far away in his own ears.

"Fabulous," Stephanie said, relieved. "Okay, you take him to the back and call somebody to pick him up. And then you can order whatever you want. Your tab is on me tonight." She patted his shoulder. "Thanks, bud."

"No, Stephanie, wait-" he started to argue, but she had already disappeared into the crowd.

Kurt stared down at the table. "I'm gonna throw up," he mumbled.

Dave glanced around. "C'mon, Hummel," he said. He draped one of Kurt's arms around his shoulders and dragged him out of the booth.

"No, I don' wanna move," Kurt whined, his head lolling to the side. He slumped against Dave's side, soft and pliable.

Dave gritted his teeth, cursing whatever karma had brought this upon him, and slid an arm under Kurt's knees. He hoisted the younger boy easily, cradling him against his chest.

This is unfair, he thought. So fucking unfair.

He carried Kurt towards the back storage room; Stephanie usually brought him through there to avoid the bouncer checking ID at the front. Carefully he lugged Kurt inside and kicked the door shut with his heel, then placed the younger boy down on a pile of folded velvet curtains. Kurt nestled into them, rubbing his cheek against the scratchy, dusty fabric.

Dave sat down across from him on an empty vodka crate and cleared his throat. "You got your phone with you, Hummel?" he asked.

Kurt groaned and rolled onto his stomach. The top of his iPhone stuck out of his back pocket, and he fumbled around awkwardly before sliding the phone out and dropping it on the floor. Dave rolled his eyes and picked it up.

The screensaver was a photograph of Kurt in his private school uniform, smiling widely with his arm around the shoulders of a handsome dark-haired boy in the same outfit. It stung a little to see Kurt smile in the picture, his eyes squinched up and a dimple showing in his cheek. He didn't even know Kurt had a dimple.

He unlocked the screen and tapped around until he pulled up Kurt's contacts. The obvious choice was the one labeled "home," but he paused. The first time he met Kurt's father it ended with an elbow in his throat. For an old guy Mr. Hummel sure was a fighter. It probably wouldn't be the smartest idea to call Kurt's house, wake his dad up in the middle of the night, and tell him that his kid was drugged up at a gay bar an hour and a half from home.

Maybe he could call Kurt's stepbrother. Finn was a good guy, he'd probably drive out there and take him home without getting Kurt in trouble. But no, Finn hadn't really been speaking to him since the big football game, when he'd refused to apologize to Kurt. And Finn would probably freak out and jump to conclusions. Big scary Karofsky and sweet roofie'd Kurt, what's that going to look like?

He scrolled up and down, searching for someone, anyone, who could come get this kid and take him home.

Kurt shifted on the pile of velvet curtains and whimpered a little. He curled up tightly, arms around his stomach. Dave ran his hand through his short hair, trying desperately to keep himself from playing through all the heroic scenarios running through his head.

He could take Kurt back to his house. No one was home, he could sneak him in no problem. He could sleep in his younger brother's room. And in the morning, he'd get him something to eat and something for his hangover and let him stay until he wanted to head home. And maybe they could even talk or something.

Kurt curled into a tighter ball, his shirt slipping a little over his shoulder. He was so pale it was a little scary, and he let out a soft, faint little moan.

Dave turned back to the phone and scrolled through it. And then his finger landed on a name.

Blaine Anderson.

The photo showed the same dark-haired boy from the phone wallpaper, his curls styled neatly and his smile warm and friendly. It made Dave's stomach twist a little.

I have to do this, don't I?

He opened a new text window and clumsily tapped out a message.

Hey can u come get me?

There. Short and sweet.

He set the phone aside. Maybe the private school kid was asleep or something and wouldn't get the message. Maybe he'd have to take Kurt home after all.

The phone rang.

You…make…me feel like I'm livin' a teen…age…dream…

"Shit," Dave said aloud.

The phone rang, but there was no way in hell he could answer it. He waited for it to switch to voicemail, then typed out another text.

sry too loud in here 2 tlk. I need a ride.

The phone chimed with a reply.

Are you all right? Where are you?

The Corner in Columbus. Long stry. Go 2 the back ask 4 Stephanie. Im sick.

I'm on my way. But we have to talk about this, okay?

Dave sighed heavily and tossed the phone down beside Kurt in disgust. Of course the prep school boy was on his way. Of course the prep school boy would be concerned. Of course.

Kurt rolled onto his back. His pants looked way too tight to be comfortable, and his shirt drooped over his slender chest. Eyeliner smeared in raccoon-like circles around his eyes. "I wanna go home," he slurred.

"Yeah, I know," Dave said grumpily. "That prep school kid is coming to get you."

Kurt struggled into a half-sitting position, resting heavily on his elbows. "Blaine?" he said hopefully. "Blaine's coming?"

"Yeah, Hummel, Blaine's coming," Dave said.

Suddenly the happy light faded from Kurt's blue eyes and he flopped backwards. "I don' wanna see him," he said, flinging an arm over his face.

Dave frowned. "Yeah?" he said. "Why not?"

Kurt pressed his lips tightly. "Blaine kissed Rachel," he said in a small voice. "Blaine sang to Jeremiah. Blaine doesn't love me."

Dave stared down at his shoes. There were so many feelings suddenly dropping through his head that he had no idea what to think. "Don't worry about it," he mumbled.

"I wanted to make him jealous," Kurt slurred. "I got dressed up, an' I came out here, an'…he won't even care."

"But he's coming for you," Dave said quietly. "That's got to count for something, right?"

"But I want him to love me," Kurt said in a small voice. "Why won't anybody love me?"

I could love you.

Dave cleared his throat. "You want some water or something?" he said gruffly.

Kurt raised his arm and peered at him in the half-light. "You're familiar," he accused. "Why're you familiar?"

Dave got up quickly. "I'll be right back," he said hastily.

He disappeared back into the club. The heavy music crashed around him and dulled in his ears as he made his way over to the bar. "Hey, Dave, how's the kid doing?" Stephanie asked as she expertly mixed a cocktail.

"Out of it," Dave said. "Can I get a water for him or something?"

"Sure thing," Stephanie said. "Someone coming to get him?"

"Yeah, a friend," Dave said shortly. He picked up the glass of water and headed to the back room.

Kurt hunched over, his shoulders shaking. "Hey," Dave said. "Hey, what gives, Hummel?"

"I don't feel good," Kurt said, rubbing his temples. "I don't feel good, and everything's spinning, and I…I can't remember anything. I don't remember! I was dancing, and then, a drink…but I don't…I wanna go home."

"Hey, cool your jets, Hummel," Dave soothed. He forced the glass of water into Kurt's hand. "Just drink some of that, okay? And…lie down, or something."

Kurt sipped the water carefully, the glass trembling in his hand. "I don't feel good," he mumbled forlornly.

Dave rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't know what to do.

The door tapped open. "The kid's friend is here," Stephanie said.

Dave scrambled to his feet. "I gotta go," he said. "Don't tell him I was here."


He ducked out the back door, fully intending on getting his ass out of there. But he paused. There was a crack wide enough to look through.

Stephanie ushered the prep school boy into the back room, although he was dressed in a sweater and jeans instead of his uniform, rumpled and wrinkled like he'd gotten dressed in a hurry. "Here's your friend," she said.

"Oh my god," Blaine said. "Oh my god, Kurt, are you okay?"

Kurt shook his head, tears welling up. "I don' feel good," he said. "'m dizzy."

Blaine knelt down in front of him, cupping his cheek in his hand. "What on earth is going on?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know about that, but I do know he's out of it because someone spiked his drink," Stephanie said. "I couldn't catch the guy fast enough, and I didn't want to get the kid to press charges, since he's underage and could get in trouble. He's just sick and dizzy, but no real harm done. He won't remember anything in the morning."

Blaine smoothed Kurt's expertly styled hair. "Let's get you home," he said gently. Kurt swallowed hard, trying to stifle his tears. "I'll get you to bed, all right?"

"I just wanted you to pay attention to me," Kurt sobbed. "Just want someone to pay attention."

Dave watched the shocked expression wash across Blaine's face like a wave on the short. "Kurt," he breathed. "Oh, Kurt." He cupped Kurt's cheeks gently in his hands. "You don't need to do anything to get my attention, or anyone's." Dave watched Blaine trace Kurt's jaw lightly with his thumb. "Please don't cry. Let's get you back to school, okay?"

Kurt nodded, closing his eyes and dropping his head against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine smiled faintly as he gently helped Kurt to his feet. "You're going to be fine," he murmured into Kurt's hair.

Dave watched them leave, Blaine's hand firm but gentle against Kurt's waist, and his stomach sank.

Author's Notes:

This was originally going to be a scene in my multichapter fic, "Blacking Out the Friction," but seeing as how that story was terrible, I just sort of...ended it. But I liked the idea for the scene, so I wrote it here.

Originally it was going to be Finn and Ella coming to Kurt's rescue, and there was no Karofsky. But then Blaine happened, and the Karofsky kiss happened...and my outline changed.

This takes place shortly after Blame It On the Alcohol, so it's basically just more of Blaine being oblivious and Kurt being lonely and a little bit jealous.

But yeah.

I've only written a few things from Karofsky's POV, and it's so strange getting into his head. His thoughts are so sparse compared to Kurt's overflowing emotions.

I hope this makes sense! And thanks to Kat and Zoey who skimmed over it first and told me it was decent. I looove them.