He waits a while after Kurt leaves with his drunken, inattentive, douche of a boyfriend - waits until he's sure he won't run into the unpleasant sight of the two of them making out in the parking lot, or something equally likely to make him sick, not with the hatred and shame he used to feel, but with longing. Finally, a good half hour after the two oblivious boys left together, Dave gets up from his seat and heads for the door.

Tonight, being here just doesn't feel like fun anymore.

He winces a little at the sight of Kurt's Navigator, still parked a few short yards from the door, but swallows hard and squares his shoulders, quickening his pace as he hurries by.

A soft, broken little whimper makes him stop short, his breath freezing in his throat.

He knows that sound.

He's been the icause/i of that sound.

Against his better judgment, Dave turns toward the Navigator, hesitantly moving around it to the driver's side - stopping in stunned horror when he sees Kurt on the ground, huddled against the side of the car, the rear door open. The tears on Kurt's face shimmer in the soft illumination of the dome light - but his eyes are distant, barely comprehending.

He's clearly in shock.

He flinches as Dave's shadow passes over him, but Dave crouches down quickly, soft shushing murmurs escaping his lips without intention.

"It's okay," he whispers. "You're okay." He wills it to be so, though his heart is sinking, because he's not quite sure. "Kurt - what happened?"

Kurt just shakes his head, crying into his trembling hands, and Dave notices with a frown, with a dark anger rising up, coiling in his chest, that Kurt's hand is scraped, and there's something dark under his fingernails, something like iblood/i.

"What can I...?" Dave hesitates, unable to remember the last time he felt this useless - though he's pretty sure if he icould/i remember it, that it would ialso/i involve Kurt. "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Kurt shakes his head, raising pleading eyes to Dave's before averting them quickly with something that should never be in those beautiful eyes, never be on the proud, challenging face that Dave's come to admire so much - ishame/i.

"No," Kurt whispers, his voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, no, just - I just want to go ihome/i." His voice breaks over the word, and Dave's chest aches with sorrow.

"Can you - can you get up?" he asks softly. "Want me to help you?"

"I - I don't think so," Kurt whispers. "It - it hurts..."

Dave doesn't want to think about what hurts, exactly, or why Kurt can't even stand on his own, or where his selfish douche of a boyfriend is now, to have left him here alone and traumatized and in pain.

He'll think about that later, when he doesn't have Kurt to take care of, and he's free to actually ido/i something about it.

"Okay," he whispers, hoping his tone's as soothing as he means it to be. "Okay, Kurt... I'm just going to - I'm gonna help you up, okay? Get you to the - the front seat. I'll drive you home. Okay?"

Kurt hesitates, but then he nods, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, and it hurts to see him this helpless, this broken. Dave hurts to think that he ever made Kurt feel anything close to this, himself.

He braces one hand against the car as he cautiously slides his other arm under Kurt's knees, shifting his slight, surprisingly heavy form forward against his chest as he struggles to get up. He's surprised, and touched, when Kurt puts his arms around Dave's neck, clinging to him, helping the process as Dave finally manages to get to his feet, Kurt cradled in his arms like a child.

"It's okay," Dave whispers again, though by this point he's not at all sure that it is. "It's okay. I've got you."