Baby Steps Chapter 1
Title: Baby Steps
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofsky. Situational Klaine.
Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form mine.
Summary: School starts, and Dave and Kurt start the GSA. Here's to baby steps.
Notes: Proxydialogue and raving_liberal are awesome.
Chapter 1
Football tryouts more of a formality than anything else, especially when you were a returning senior. Especially for the McKinley Titans. Sure, Coach Beiste was an awesome coach, and the team had really turned around, was starting to be a big name. But--
“You ready to rock this thing, fucker?”
Dave looked up at Azimio from where he was sitting, holding his helmet in his hands. He had been relieved when Az had left to spend the summer with his grandparents; it was much easier to lie to a computer. But no time to dwell on that now. Dave smirked and stood, putting his helmet on, donning Karofsky like an ill-fitting suit.
“Let’s tear this shit up.”
“Hell, yeah!” Az came at him with an arm and they grappled for a minute before heading over to join Beiste and the hopefuls.
***
Dave stood in front of his locker, dressing after his shower, half-listening to the rest of the team around him as they caught up on their summers, jostling each other good-naturedly and settling back into their familiar dynamic. Hudson was in the next row of lockers with Puck, Evans, and Chang, talking about glee, of all things. Dave shook his head. It was like they couldn’t even see it. Or worse, didn’t care.
Of course, Dave would probably be worse off once news of the GSA traveled the gossip circuit. True, Dave could pass if off as a requirement: The Bullywhips, sure, but a GSA? Nah, that’s not me. I have to do it or I get expelled again. It was a condition.
But.
Dave already had enough to lie about. He wasn’t going to lie about this too. He would just have to suck it up and deal. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the look in Kurt’s eyes whenever Dave didn’t come out. None.
The gleeks started singing, The Boys are Back in Town, and Dave slammed his locker. They were too much.
“Can you believe those loosers?” Az said, coming up next to Dave as he sat to tie his shoes. “Hey!” Az yelled, pounding his fist on the locker. “Nobody wants to hear that shit.”
“Fuck off, Azimio.” Hudson called back.
Az turned to Dave. “You hear that?”
“I hear that.”
“Wonder if the cafeteria is open yet,” Az said, loud enough to carry. “I really do with a slushie right now. You in, D?”
“Nah,” Dave said. He stood, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “I could go for a milkshake, though.”
“You--what?” Az said.
“No more slushies, Az,” Dave said. “It’s not worth it.”
“Tsk, Man,” Az said. “You used to be fun.”
“I used to need therapy,” Dave said. “And fuck you, I am fun. You want Dairy Queen, or what?”
Az stared at Dave for a minute, and Dave forced himself to meet Az head on. “Yeah, why the fuck not. Then we’re goin’ back to yours, and Imma kick your ass at Black Ops.”
They left the locker room. “In your dreams, you’ll kick my ass.” Dave said.
“Your nightmares.”
Dave grinned at the back and forth. It was hard sometimes, in the face of his Secret, to remember that Az really was his best friend, and why. They were almost out of the building when Dave reached for his keys and realized they weren’t in his pocket.
“Fuck,” He said. “I left my keys in my locker. I’ll be right back.” Dave jogged back to the lockers.
“Hurry the fuck up,” Az called after him. “I want my Blizzard.”
“Yeah, like it was your idea,” Dave muttered as he pushed his way back into the locker room. Sure enough, there were his keys, sitting on the shelf in his locker. He closed the door and turned, only to find himself surrounded by the glocks.
“Sup?” Dave asked, and fought to not press himself against the lockers.
“You mean what you said?” Hudson began. “No more slushies?”
“Yeah,” Dave said, shrugging.
“Cool,” Hudson said, and backed away. The other glocks followed him out the door, only Puck turned around to say:
“Welcome back, Karofsky.”
“Yeah, you too,” Dave said, but they were gone. Dave shook his head, and left to re-join Az.
“The fuck kept you?” Az said. “I nearly died of hunger, here, man.”
Dave snorted. “Yeah, that’s likely.”
“Aw, fuck you.” Az pushed open the double doors and they walked back out into the August heat. “Fuck me, it’s hot.”
“It is summer, fucker.”
“One day, Imma punch that smug mouth, and you won’t be a smartass no more.”
“Try it, tons of fun. I can run circles ‘round you.”
“Oh yeah?” Az started to shuffle. “Come at me, bro.”
Dave swung, and Az dodged and they shadowboxed their way to Dave’s truck. Dave threw their bags in the back, and when he started the engine, Az took over the radio, turning it to the local top 40 station, without waiting to hear what was already playing.
“You’re my bro, man, but you got shit taste in music.”
Dave rolled his eyes. Az had been giving him shit for his music ever since he had first gotten his truck. His grandparents had been in town, and he had the radio set to the big band station from when he had driven his grandfather around for errands (but mostly to show off his new driving skills). He kept telling Az it was just for his grandfather, and if the station had found a way into his presets, well, what Az didn’t know about Dave could fill a book.
“Whatever,” Dave muttered, and drove to Dairy Queen, listening to Az butcher Taio Cruz in the passenger seat.
“Get the fuck out of my truck, you tone deaf bastard,” Dave said once they parked, and Az followed him inside, continuing the song louder and even further off key.
Az broke off, laughing, and sauntered up to the counter.
Later that night, when Dave’s eyes felt strained and gritty from staring at the TV, Az finally threw down the remote to call it a night. Dave stretched. This afternoon had been--good. Like things had been before he went all fucked in the head over Kurt Hummel.
“Imma say this once, so don’t get excited,” Az said. “But I fucking missed you, bro.”
Dave grinned at Az, because he’d missed Az, too. And for longer. “Yeah, me too.” They bumped fists, and Az rolled to his feet.
“All right, enough of this gay shit. I gotta head home.”
It was like a kick in the gut; Dave felt his chest tighten, and forced out a “yeah. Later, fucker,” to the “Peace!” Az tossed over his shoulder. He told himself that it hurt more because he hadn’t been expecting it, that it had blindsided him; that he’s been stupid enough to forget.
Dave groaned and fell back onto his bed. His phone buzzed. It was Kurt.
Tomorrow. 10am @ the Lima Bean? Bring a notebook.
Right. Their planning session. k. He texted back. c u there.
:)
Dave smiled wryly and let the phone drop to the bed. He still wasn’t entirely sure about this club, still had moments of blind panic that made him want to crawl as far into his closet as possible and set down roots, but--
Kurt was right. A GSA was just what McKinley needed. And when he finally did come out, or God help him if he was outed, he was going to need it, too.
***
Dave really didn’t think he needed coffee at the moment, he was already jittery enough to jump out of his skin from nerves, but he needed something to do with his hands, and sitting alone in a coffee shop with no coffee was--conspicuous. He would stick out out enough when Kurt--
Kurt dropped heavily into the chair across from him, drinking deeply from something that looked, and smelled, like it was mostly sugar. He looked frazzled.
“You okay?” Dave asked before he could think better of it.
Kurt swallowed, put the cup on the table, and licked whip cream from his upper lip. Dave felt something short in his brain just for a moment, and he barely heard Kurt say:
“Yes--well, no, but it’s not--” Kurt sighed. “Blaine and I had a fight and I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“Okay,” Dave said. He could live without hearing about Prep School. Dave reached into his backpack for his notebook. Since he had gotten his letterman, when he really needed a notebook he had curled one up and stuck it in his pocket--too cool for school. But he figured the attention of wearing his jacket while at the Lima Bean with Kurt was too much, and so he had brought his backpack, and like always, had overfilled it. So, in addition to the notebook, he had pens and printouts of information he had found online about starting GSA programs, and different things they could do with the club, gum, a gameboy with Pokemon Yellow because fuck you that game kicked ass, and a dog eared copy of Captain Blood that lived in the bottom of the bag because Dave learned long ago that pirates beat ninjas and Errol Flynn was hot. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and looked up to see Kurt staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You--you’re the first person not to push.”
Dave shrugged. “It’s your life. You don’t wanna tell me, it’s none of my business.” Because if there was one thing Dave got, was how annoying it was to have people constantly asking you to talk when it was the last thing you wanted; when all you wanted was to forget, just a little bit.
“Well,” Kurt said. “Thanks.”
Dave shrugged. “So, how we gonna do this?”
“Well,” Kurt said. “We’re going to need an advisor, someone to sit in on meetings and such. So, maybe we should start there? And maybe more than one, in case the one we want says no?”
Dave nodded. “Okay. I could ask The Beiste, I guess. She’s been real good about promoting anti-bullying.”
“That works,” Kurt said, and Dave wrote ask Coach on his paper. “We could ask Ms Pillsbury, too.”
“Not Mr. Schuster?” Dave asked, even as he wrote and Ms. P.
Kurt snorted. “No way. He has his moments as a teacher, but he’s largely oblivious to the bullying in this school, and he’s uncomfortable about gays in general, so...”
“But he runs Glee,” Dave said, and wow, where his filter go? He was worse than Hudson. Kurt sighed. “I mean,” Dave said, “I thought the arts were supposed to be all accepting and shit.”
“Yes, one would think,” Kurt said. “But often, or at least often in Lima, being in the arts doesn’t mean you’re more accepting, but that you’re forced to be tolerant. Because it’s expected of you.” He sighed. “It all comes down to peer pressure, one way or the other.”
“Oh,” Dave said. He stared down at his paper. That was--depressing.
“That’s why we’re doing this, David. To turn help turn intolerance and tolerance into acceptance. Anyway, in a year we’ll be out of Lima, and hopefully leave some of this crap behind.”
“How do you know?” Dave asked, hating the way his throat went tight. He drank some of his coffee. It was cold.
“Know what?” Kurt asked.
“That I’ll be out of Lima.”
Kurt blinked at him. “Do you want to stay?”
“Hell no.” David said. There was nothing for him here that wouldn’t lead him to the bleak future Santana had painted for him, still in the closet and half-crazy in a loveless marriage.
“Then you’ll get out. One way or another.” He leaned forward. “This place is poison for boys like us, Dave,” he said, voice barely audible over the hum of the shop. “You’ve felt it already. We’re going to get out because there is no other option.”
Dave nodded. “I’ll talk to Coach tomorrow. We’re in for training in the morning. If she says yes, I’ll let you know.”
“Wonderful,” Kurt sat back and picked up his coffee, crossing his legs and bouncing his foot. “So have you thought about what you want from a GSA?”
Dave thought about the papers in his bag, with phrases like “safe space” and “positive environment” and “community enlightenment.”; the how-tos for events and days to honor and observe; the push to be forward, to move towards coming out, and coming out safely. And Dave thought about his own life, and what helped him the most.
“I want a place where I can just be.”
Kurt reached over and covered Dave’s hand with his own, just for a moment, and Dave looked at Kurt, feeling the lingering warmth tingle. Kurt was smiling, a soft expression in his eyes.
“We’ll make one,” Kurt said, and Dave smiled back, ducking his head and nodding.
“So, a place to just be is our first priority. But I think our sponsor, whoever it ends up being, will push for us to have some kind of activities planned, or goals. I know of a couple special days I want to celebrate, like National Coming Out day.”
Dave froze. Kurt waved a hand. “It’s not mandatory to come out, of course, but if someone was waiting for the right moment, then that could be an opportunity. And, of course, one needn't come out as gay to come out. Anything that you’re keeping in your closet could count.”
“Even skeletons?” Dave asked.
Kurt sniffed. “I believe the correct terms is flesh and blood challenged, thank you.”
Dave laughed. “Well, I don’t know much, but I did some research last night,” Dave dug out the printouts, and grinned at Kurt’s wide-eyed look. He flipped through the pages until he came to the one he was looking for. “Here’s a list of activities other GSAs have done. Maybe we can decide as a group to do a couple?”
Kurt took the paper, smile growing as he read. “You enjoy confounding my expectations, don’t you?”
“Heh,” Dave laughed. “Yeah, a little.” At Kurt’s look, he grinned. “Okay, a lot.”
“I have to say, I’m starting to like this side of you.” Kurt sat back, watching Dave over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Me, too.”
“Well, hey, look who it is!” Dave heard the voice and froze, because this was exactly the last thing he wanted, recognition, and worse, he knew that voice, would know it even if he hadn’t seen the way Kurt tensed; Popped-Collar Douche. “Gay-Face and Closet-Cub.”
“Meerkat,” Kurt sneered.
“Go away, dickwad,” Dave growled. He could feel it, that old familiar urge to panic, to run, fight or flight, and his knuckles itched with the need to brake Popped-Collar’s teeth.
“Aw, Cubby, there’s no need for that.”
“Maybe not,” Kurt said. “But there’s no need for you to be here, bothering us, either. So go crawl back under the rock you crawled from, before the sight of your obnoxious horse-teeth makes me puke.”
“You know, If anyone’s going to puke, it’s going to be me.” Popped-Collar leaned in closer. “You reek of desperation.”
“Manwhore,” Kurt snapped back, but he was shaking. Dave looked between the two, relief at being mostly ignored warring with concern for Kurt; he was missing something here.
Popped-Collar just grinned, standing up and backing away, licking a finger, and drawing a tally mark in the air. His eyes cut over to Dave, and just smirked, walking away without another word.
“Please tell me that asshole isn’t going to our school,” Dave said.
“No,” Kurt said shortly. “Dalton.”
Dave blinked. “Isn’t that where--” and the pieces fell into place; the anger, the score, that night at Scandals. “He’s after your man.”
Kurt sniffed. “He isn’t exactly subtle about it, no. And the only one who can’t see it is Blaine.” Dave raised his eyebrows at that, wondering how much Blaine couldn’t see compared to how much he told Kurt he couldn’t see. He felt mildly bad thanking like that--he was Kurt’s boyfriend, asshole or no--but not too bad. Kurt sighed. “It’s why we fought,” he said, silently. “Well, more like his presence is highlighting things we would have fought about anyway, but--” he shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one holding on.”
Dave didn’t think about it, just reached over and gently squeezed Kurt’s forearm, like he would for his father, or like his grandfather had done for him when Dave was so messed up in his head he couldn’t stand to be hugged. Kurt looked up in surprise, but covered Dave’s hand with his own in thanks, and smiled.
***
One of the biggest problems with admitting to yourself that you’re gay, Dave thought, Is thinking up excuses that everyone will believe when you can’t face the locker room. He knocked on the door to Beiste’s office, still in his practice uniform, glad for the excuse to delay this time, at least. He heard Beiste call out that the door was open, and he poked his head in.
“Hey, Coach. Can I talk to you?”
Beiste waved him in, jerking her thumb at the seat. She was seated at her desk, looking over her playbook. “You did good out there today, Karofsky.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said, and sat. He hesitated.
“What’s on your mind, kid?” Beiste said, looking up.
It was on the tip of his tongue to bring up the circumstances of his return to McKinley the year before, but what came out of his mouth was simply, “Hummel and I want to start a GSA, and we want you to be our sponsor.”
Beiste put her pen down, and folded her hands over he playbook. “You’ve talked about this?”
“Yes, Coach,” Dave said. Beiste studied him for a moment longer, and Dave could just imagine what was running through her head. Before Dave did something stupid, like blurting everything out just to break the silence, Beiste nodded slowly, like she had seen all she needed to.
“I’d be honored,” she said. “Get me the paperwork, and I’ll talk to Figgins about a room.”
Dave grinned, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Thanks, Coach.”
“It’s no problem. I think a GSA is exactly what this school needs.”
“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “That’s what Kurt said.”
Beiste just nodded again, “And I think it’ll be good for you, too.”
“Yeah, It’d be nice to--” Dave stopped, realizing what he’d just--he’d just--he felt the blood rush from his face, and he was glad he was sitting, because if he was standing, he probably would have fallen over. Then Beiste was next to him, her hand on his shoulder, telling him to breathe, it’s okay, just breathe.
When Dave could force his mouth to work again, he said, “You--you know? That I’m--” Dave swallowed; he couldn’t say it. Beiste raised her eyebrows, and the word just popped out. “Gay.”
Beiste was quiet for a moment. “I suspected. Thank you for telling me, Dave. That was very brave of you.”
Dave laughed, and could hear the panic just under the surface. “Brave, shit. I feel like my insides are melting.”
“So you can sit here until they stop,” Beiste said. “I won’t tell anybody, Dave. Your secret’s safe with me, for as long as it is a secret.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said, grateful and blinking away tears that had been coming all too fucking often. He was done with crying over this shit.
“Who else knows?” Beiste asked, quietly.
“Kurt,” Dave said. “Santana figured it out last year. Kurt’s boyfriend. You.” Dave decided not to mention the bears from Scandals, there were just too many things there that his coach didn’t need to know.
“Dave,” Beiste said, and Dave had to look up. Beiste never used their first names. “Until you tell your parents, or even after, if you need someone older to talk to, I want you to know you can come to me. Even if you just need to hide in my office for a while, understand?”
Dave nodded.
“Good,” Beiste said. “All that pressure’s no good for anybody.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “And we already know how well I respond to pressure.”
Beiste didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. She went back to her desk, and opened her playbook once again. “Take a minute to compose yourself before you go shower.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Beiste nodded, and Dave tried to calm his breathing. He wiped his hands over his face. His eyes were probably red, but if he got to the showers quickly enough, he could always say he got soap in his eyes. After a few minutes, Dave stood. He was almost at the door when he stopped; and impulse gripped him and sounded better and better as he thought. “Coach?” Dave asked, turning.
Beiste looked up.
“I wanna try out for Hockey this year,” Dave said. “But the seasons starts during playoffs.” Beiste waved her hand.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work around it.”
Dave grinned again. “Thanks, Coach!” Dave slapped the doorjamb as he nearly bounced out of the office.
“You look entirely too happy after that ass-whupping on the field,” Az called to Dave as he passed the lockers. Dave waved him off. He was trying out for hockey. Beiste was going to sponsor the GSA. Dave had come out to Beiste and the world didn’t end. Dave was over the fucking moon. Who cared about practice in the face of that?
Dave started humming under his breath as he peeled off his uniform and pads, and by the time he was in the shower he was singing, bouncing to the beat in his head, and he was glad the showers were empty, because getting caught would be beyond embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure, in this mood, if even that would have stopped him.
***
Dave was, unsurprisingly, the last one out of the locker room, and he was kept humming as he walked out to his truck. The notes died in his throat, however, when he found his way barred.
By Santana.
The Cheerio leaned against the driver’s-side door of his truck, arms crossed and managing to glare and smirk at him at the same time. Dave sighed. After Prom, Santana had pretty much ignored him until mid-summer, when Brittany had gone on vacation with her family. Santana had called him one night, drunk enough to cry, and Dave had talked to her, kept her on the phone as he drove until he found her, alone in a field with a half-empty bottle of tequila and months of self-loathing. He had driven her to a diner, fed her bread and water as she cried about Brittany until three am, when he had dropped her off at home.
He’s thought about calling her after that; they weren’t friends, not really, but they were allies. Had been allies. And that meant something. The next time he saw her, she had been at the movies with Brittany, and had looked right past him. And he had remained invisible until the next time she had called him, drunk.
And a pattern had been established; they weren’t friends, but when Santana felt the pressure, Dave was her valve. This was the first time he had seen her sober since Prom. Dave raised his eyebrows at her, and crossed his arms, unimpressed.
“Santana,” Dave said. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your bottle.”
“Cute,” Santana said. “Cubby thinks he can fight with the Big Cats.”
“You know,” Dave said. “They used to stage fights between Lions and Bears out in California during the gold rush. Bears were undefeated. Turns out Lions? Were just big pussies.”
Santana blinked. “How do you know that?”
“I spent a lot of time online this summer,” Dave said. “I had to have something to do in-between looking after your ass.” Santana looked away and Dave felt big for all of three seconds before he felt like a tool.
“Thank you,” Santana said.
“What?”
“I said it once, I’m not saying it again,” Santana said. “You were there for me, more than once, when I needed you. So. You know.”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to re-open our arrangement,” Santana said, stepping away from the door.
“What about Brittany?”
“What about Brittany?” Santana snapped. Dave sighed.
“Off-again, huh?”
Santana shifted. “Not--exactly. But--she won’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Yeah, because you’d tell her not to. But you would,” Dave said. “And I would.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t worried about what they say? Another year in that locker room? Without a girlfriend? Suddenly not picking on the gay kid? You don't have the Bullywhips to hide behind, anymore.”
Dave looked away. Because of course he was worried. He had spent the summer in a place where he was out, and the closet was a lot smaller than he remembered; he was already bursting seams if what happened with Beiste was any clue. But that’s why he and Kurt were forming the GSA; so that when the structural integrity of his closet failed, he had a place to go. Dave bit his lip, wondering when, exactly, he had started thinking of “when” as opposed to “if”.
“I am,” he said. “But...” he let himself trail off. He didn’t owe Santana any more of his secrets.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with a certain blue-eyed twink, does it?”
“Not everything in my life revolves around Kurt.”
“Bullshit,” Santana said. “But I’ll let you think that, if you really want to.”
Dave glared, suddenly done with this conversation. “I’m serious. You were wrong about me, Santana. I’m not going to be a closet case, and the first step is not taking any backwards steps.”
“Look at you,” Santana said. “You sound like a fucking pride float.”
“You know what? I’m done,” He reached out a hand, and moved Santana to the side. He got in his truck and started the engine. Opening the window, he said, “Kurt and I are starting a GSA here at McKinley, a place where people like us don’t have to be afraid. You should join.”
Santana looked away, and Dave said, “Think about it,” and drove off, wondering where the hell that had come from. He breathed deep, and let it out slowly. Honesty was turning out to be very addictive.
Chapter 2a
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofsky. Situational Klaine.
Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form mine.
Summary: School starts, and Dave and Kurt start the GSA. Here's to baby steps.
Notes: Proxydialogue and raving_liberal are awesome.
Chapter 1
Football tryouts more of a formality than anything else, especially when you were a returning senior. Especially for the McKinley Titans. Sure, Coach Beiste was an awesome coach, and the team had really turned around, was starting to be a big name. But--
“You ready to rock this thing, fucker?”
Dave looked up at Azimio from where he was sitting, holding his helmet in his hands. He had been relieved when Az had left to spend the summer with his grandparents; it was much easier to lie to a computer. But no time to dwell on that now. Dave smirked and stood, putting his helmet on, donning Karofsky like an ill-fitting suit.
“Let’s tear this shit up.”
“Hell, yeah!” Az came at him with an arm and they grappled for a minute before heading over to join Beiste and the hopefuls.
***
Dave stood in front of his locker, dressing after his shower, half-listening to the rest of the team around him as they caught up on their summers, jostling each other good-naturedly and settling back into their familiar dynamic. Hudson was in the next row of lockers with Puck, Evans, and Chang, talking about glee, of all things. Dave shook his head. It was like they couldn’t even see it. Or worse, didn’t care.
Of course, Dave would probably be worse off once news of the GSA traveled the gossip circuit. True, Dave could pass if off as a requirement: The Bullywhips, sure, but a GSA? Nah, that’s not me. I have to do it or I get expelled again. It was a condition.
But.
Dave already had enough to lie about. He wasn’t going to lie about this too. He would just have to suck it up and deal. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the look in Kurt’s eyes whenever Dave didn’t come out. None.
The gleeks started singing, The Boys are Back in Town, and Dave slammed his locker. They were too much.
“Can you believe those loosers?” Az said, coming up next to Dave as he sat to tie his shoes. “Hey!” Az yelled, pounding his fist on the locker. “Nobody wants to hear that shit.”
“Fuck off, Azimio.” Hudson called back.
Az turned to Dave. “You hear that?”
“I hear that.”
“Wonder if the cafeteria is open yet,” Az said, loud enough to carry. “I really do with a slushie right now. You in, D?”
“Nah,” Dave said. He stood, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “I could go for a milkshake, though.”
“You--what?” Az said.
“No more slushies, Az,” Dave said. “It’s not worth it.”
“Tsk, Man,” Az said. “You used to be fun.”
“I used to need therapy,” Dave said. “And fuck you, I am fun. You want Dairy Queen, or what?”
Az stared at Dave for a minute, and Dave forced himself to meet Az head on. “Yeah, why the fuck not. Then we’re goin’ back to yours, and Imma kick your ass at Black Ops.”
They left the locker room. “In your dreams, you’ll kick my ass.” Dave said.
“Your nightmares.”
Dave grinned at the back and forth. It was hard sometimes, in the face of his Secret, to remember that Az really was his best friend, and why. They were almost out of the building when Dave reached for his keys and realized they weren’t in his pocket.
“Fuck,” He said. “I left my keys in my locker. I’ll be right back.” Dave jogged back to the lockers.
“Hurry the fuck up,” Az called after him. “I want my Blizzard.”
“Yeah, like it was your idea,” Dave muttered as he pushed his way back into the locker room. Sure enough, there were his keys, sitting on the shelf in his locker. He closed the door and turned, only to find himself surrounded by the glocks.
“Sup?” Dave asked, and fought to not press himself against the lockers.
“You mean what you said?” Hudson began. “No more slushies?”
“Yeah,” Dave said, shrugging.
“Cool,” Hudson said, and backed away. The other glocks followed him out the door, only Puck turned around to say:
“Welcome back, Karofsky.”
“Yeah, you too,” Dave said, but they were gone. Dave shook his head, and left to re-join Az.
“The fuck kept you?” Az said. “I nearly died of hunger, here, man.”
Dave snorted. “Yeah, that’s likely.”
“Aw, fuck you.” Az pushed open the double doors and they walked back out into the August heat. “Fuck me, it’s hot.”
“It is summer, fucker.”
“One day, Imma punch that smug mouth, and you won’t be a smartass no more.”
“Try it, tons of fun. I can run circles ‘round you.”
“Oh yeah?” Az started to shuffle. “Come at me, bro.”
Dave swung, and Az dodged and they shadowboxed their way to Dave’s truck. Dave threw their bags in the back, and when he started the engine, Az took over the radio, turning it to the local top 40 station, without waiting to hear what was already playing.
“You’re my bro, man, but you got shit taste in music.”
Dave rolled his eyes. Az had been giving him shit for his music ever since he had first gotten his truck. His grandparents had been in town, and he had the radio set to the big band station from when he had driven his grandfather around for errands (but mostly to show off his new driving skills). He kept telling Az it was just for his grandfather, and if the station had found a way into his presets, well, what Az didn’t know about Dave could fill a book.
“Whatever,” Dave muttered, and drove to Dairy Queen, listening to Az butcher Taio Cruz in the passenger seat.
“Get the fuck out of my truck, you tone deaf bastard,” Dave said once they parked, and Az followed him inside, continuing the song louder and even further off key.
Az broke off, laughing, and sauntered up to the counter.
Later that night, when Dave’s eyes felt strained and gritty from staring at the TV, Az finally threw down the remote to call it a night. Dave stretched. This afternoon had been--good. Like things had been before he went all fucked in the head over Kurt Hummel.
“Imma say this once, so don’t get excited,” Az said. “But I fucking missed you, bro.”
Dave grinned at Az, because he’d missed Az, too. And for longer. “Yeah, me too.” They bumped fists, and Az rolled to his feet.
“All right, enough of this gay shit. I gotta head home.”
It was like a kick in the gut; Dave felt his chest tighten, and forced out a “yeah. Later, fucker,” to the “Peace!” Az tossed over his shoulder. He told himself that it hurt more because he hadn’t been expecting it, that it had blindsided him; that he’s been stupid enough to forget.
Dave groaned and fell back onto his bed. His phone buzzed. It was Kurt.
Tomorrow. 10am @ the Lima Bean? Bring a notebook.
Right. Their planning session. k. He texted back. c u there.
:)
Dave smiled wryly and let the phone drop to the bed. He still wasn’t entirely sure about this club, still had moments of blind panic that made him want to crawl as far into his closet as possible and set down roots, but--
Kurt was right. A GSA was just what McKinley needed. And when he finally did come out, or God help him if he was outed, he was going to need it, too.
***
Dave really didn’t think he needed coffee at the moment, he was already jittery enough to jump out of his skin from nerves, but he needed something to do with his hands, and sitting alone in a coffee shop with no coffee was--conspicuous. He would stick out out enough when Kurt--
Kurt dropped heavily into the chair across from him, drinking deeply from something that looked, and smelled, like it was mostly sugar. He looked frazzled.
“You okay?” Dave asked before he could think better of it.
Kurt swallowed, put the cup on the table, and licked whip cream from his upper lip. Dave felt something short in his brain just for a moment, and he barely heard Kurt say:
“Yes--well, no, but it’s not--” Kurt sighed. “Blaine and I had a fight and I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“Okay,” Dave said. He could live without hearing about Prep School. Dave reached into his backpack for his notebook. Since he had gotten his letterman, when he really needed a notebook he had curled one up and stuck it in his pocket--too cool for school. But he figured the attention of wearing his jacket while at the Lima Bean with Kurt was too much, and so he had brought his backpack, and like always, had overfilled it. So, in addition to the notebook, he had pens and printouts of information he had found online about starting GSA programs, and different things they could do with the club, gum, a gameboy with Pokemon Yellow because fuck you that game kicked ass, and a dog eared copy of Captain Blood that lived in the bottom of the bag because Dave learned long ago that pirates beat ninjas and Errol Flynn was hot. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and looked up to see Kurt staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You--you’re the first person not to push.”
Dave shrugged. “It’s your life. You don’t wanna tell me, it’s none of my business.” Because if there was one thing Dave got, was how annoying it was to have people constantly asking you to talk when it was the last thing you wanted; when all you wanted was to forget, just a little bit.
“Well,” Kurt said. “Thanks.”
Dave shrugged. “So, how we gonna do this?”
“Well,” Kurt said. “We’re going to need an advisor, someone to sit in on meetings and such. So, maybe we should start there? And maybe more than one, in case the one we want says no?”
Dave nodded. “Okay. I could ask The Beiste, I guess. She’s been real good about promoting anti-bullying.”
“That works,” Kurt said, and Dave wrote ask Coach on his paper. “We could ask Ms Pillsbury, too.”
“Not Mr. Schuster?” Dave asked, even as he wrote and Ms. P.
Kurt snorted. “No way. He has his moments as a teacher, but he’s largely oblivious to the bullying in this school, and he’s uncomfortable about gays in general, so...”
“But he runs Glee,” Dave said, and wow, where his filter go? He was worse than Hudson. Kurt sighed. “I mean,” Dave said, “I thought the arts were supposed to be all accepting and shit.”
“Yes, one would think,” Kurt said. “But often, or at least often in Lima, being in the arts doesn’t mean you’re more accepting, but that you’re forced to be tolerant. Because it’s expected of you.” He sighed. “It all comes down to peer pressure, one way or the other.”
“Oh,” Dave said. He stared down at his paper. That was--depressing.
“That’s why we’re doing this, David. To turn help turn intolerance and tolerance into acceptance. Anyway, in a year we’ll be out of Lima, and hopefully leave some of this crap behind.”
“How do you know?” Dave asked, hating the way his throat went tight. He drank some of his coffee. It was cold.
“Know what?” Kurt asked.
“That I’ll be out of Lima.”
Kurt blinked at him. “Do you want to stay?”
“Hell no.” David said. There was nothing for him here that wouldn’t lead him to the bleak future Santana had painted for him, still in the closet and half-crazy in a loveless marriage.
“Then you’ll get out. One way or another.” He leaned forward. “This place is poison for boys like us, Dave,” he said, voice barely audible over the hum of the shop. “You’ve felt it already. We’re going to get out because there is no other option.”
Dave nodded. “I’ll talk to Coach tomorrow. We’re in for training in the morning. If she says yes, I’ll let you know.”
“Wonderful,” Kurt sat back and picked up his coffee, crossing his legs and bouncing his foot. “So have you thought about what you want from a GSA?”
Dave thought about the papers in his bag, with phrases like “safe space” and “positive environment” and “community enlightenment.”; the how-tos for events and days to honor and observe; the push to be forward, to move towards coming out, and coming out safely. And Dave thought about his own life, and what helped him the most.
“I want a place where I can just be.”
Kurt reached over and covered Dave’s hand with his own, just for a moment, and Dave looked at Kurt, feeling the lingering warmth tingle. Kurt was smiling, a soft expression in his eyes.
“We’ll make one,” Kurt said, and Dave smiled back, ducking his head and nodding.
“So, a place to just be is our first priority. But I think our sponsor, whoever it ends up being, will push for us to have some kind of activities planned, or goals. I know of a couple special days I want to celebrate, like National Coming Out day.”
Dave froze. Kurt waved a hand. “It’s not mandatory to come out, of course, but if someone was waiting for the right moment, then that could be an opportunity. And, of course, one needn't come out as gay to come out. Anything that you’re keeping in your closet could count.”
“Even skeletons?” Dave asked.
Kurt sniffed. “I believe the correct terms is flesh and blood challenged, thank you.”
Dave laughed. “Well, I don’t know much, but I did some research last night,” Dave dug out the printouts, and grinned at Kurt’s wide-eyed look. He flipped through the pages until he came to the one he was looking for. “Here’s a list of activities other GSAs have done. Maybe we can decide as a group to do a couple?”
Kurt took the paper, smile growing as he read. “You enjoy confounding my expectations, don’t you?”
“Heh,” Dave laughed. “Yeah, a little.” At Kurt’s look, he grinned. “Okay, a lot.”
“I have to say, I’m starting to like this side of you.” Kurt sat back, watching Dave over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Me, too.”
“Well, hey, look who it is!” Dave heard the voice and froze, because this was exactly the last thing he wanted, recognition, and worse, he knew that voice, would know it even if he hadn’t seen the way Kurt tensed; Popped-Collar Douche. “Gay-Face and Closet-Cub.”
“Meerkat,” Kurt sneered.
“Go away, dickwad,” Dave growled. He could feel it, that old familiar urge to panic, to run, fight or flight, and his knuckles itched with the need to brake Popped-Collar’s teeth.
“Aw, Cubby, there’s no need for that.”
“Maybe not,” Kurt said. “But there’s no need for you to be here, bothering us, either. So go crawl back under the rock you crawled from, before the sight of your obnoxious horse-teeth makes me puke.”
“You know, If anyone’s going to puke, it’s going to be me.” Popped-Collar leaned in closer. “You reek of desperation.”
“Manwhore,” Kurt snapped back, but he was shaking. Dave looked between the two, relief at being mostly ignored warring with concern for Kurt; he was missing something here.
Popped-Collar just grinned, standing up and backing away, licking a finger, and drawing a tally mark in the air. His eyes cut over to Dave, and just smirked, walking away without another word.
“Please tell me that asshole isn’t going to our school,” Dave said.
“No,” Kurt said shortly. “Dalton.”
Dave blinked. “Isn’t that where--” and the pieces fell into place; the anger, the score, that night at Scandals. “He’s after your man.”
Kurt sniffed. “He isn’t exactly subtle about it, no. And the only one who can’t see it is Blaine.” Dave raised his eyebrows at that, wondering how much Blaine couldn’t see compared to how much he told Kurt he couldn’t see. He felt mildly bad thanking like that--he was Kurt’s boyfriend, asshole or no--but not too bad. Kurt sighed. “It’s why we fought,” he said, silently. “Well, more like his presence is highlighting things we would have fought about anyway, but--” he shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one holding on.”
Dave didn’t think about it, just reached over and gently squeezed Kurt’s forearm, like he would for his father, or like his grandfather had done for him when Dave was so messed up in his head he couldn’t stand to be hugged. Kurt looked up in surprise, but covered Dave’s hand with his own in thanks, and smiled.
***
One of the biggest problems with admitting to yourself that you’re gay, Dave thought, Is thinking up excuses that everyone will believe when you can’t face the locker room. He knocked on the door to Beiste’s office, still in his practice uniform, glad for the excuse to delay this time, at least. He heard Beiste call out that the door was open, and he poked his head in.
“Hey, Coach. Can I talk to you?”
Beiste waved him in, jerking her thumb at the seat. She was seated at her desk, looking over her playbook. “You did good out there today, Karofsky.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said, and sat. He hesitated.
“What’s on your mind, kid?” Beiste said, looking up.
It was on the tip of his tongue to bring up the circumstances of his return to McKinley the year before, but what came out of his mouth was simply, “Hummel and I want to start a GSA, and we want you to be our sponsor.”
Beiste put her pen down, and folded her hands over he playbook. “You’ve talked about this?”
“Yes, Coach,” Dave said. Beiste studied him for a moment longer, and Dave could just imagine what was running through her head. Before Dave did something stupid, like blurting everything out just to break the silence, Beiste nodded slowly, like she had seen all she needed to.
“I’d be honored,” she said. “Get me the paperwork, and I’ll talk to Figgins about a room.”
Dave grinned, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Thanks, Coach.”
“It’s no problem. I think a GSA is exactly what this school needs.”
“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “That’s what Kurt said.”
Beiste just nodded again, “And I think it’ll be good for you, too.”
“Yeah, It’d be nice to--” Dave stopped, realizing what he’d just--he’d just--he felt the blood rush from his face, and he was glad he was sitting, because if he was standing, he probably would have fallen over. Then Beiste was next to him, her hand on his shoulder, telling him to breathe, it’s okay, just breathe.
When Dave could force his mouth to work again, he said, “You--you know? That I’m--” Dave swallowed; he couldn’t say it. Beiste raised her eyebrows, and the word just popped out. “Gay.”
Beiste was quiet for a moment. “I suspected. Thank you for telling me, Dave. That was very brave of you.”
Dave laughed, and could hear the panic just under the surface. “Brave, shit. I feel like my insides are melting.”
“So you can sit here until they stop,” Beiste said. “I won’t tell anybody, Dave. Your secret’s safe with me, for as long as it is a secret.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said, grateful and blinking away tears that had been coming all too fucking often. He was done with crying over this shit.
“Who else knows?” Beiste asked, quietly.
“Kurt,” Dave said. “Santana figured it out last year. Kurt’s boyfriend. You.” Dave decided not to mention the bears from Scandals, there were just too many things there that his coach didn’t need to know.
“Dave,” Beiste said, and Dave had to look up. Beiste never used their first names. “Until you tell your parents, or even after, if you need someone older to talk to, I want you to know you can come to me. Even if you just need to hide in my office for a while, understand?”
Dave nodded.
“Good,” Beiste said. “All that pressure’s no good for anybody.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “And we already know how well I respond to pressure.”
Beiste didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. She went back to her desk, and opened her playbook once again. “Take a minute to compose yourself before you go shower.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Beiste nodded, and Dave tried to calm his breathing. He wiped his hands over his face. His eyes were probably red, but if he got to the showers quickly enough, he could always say he got soap in his eyes. After a few minutes, Dave stood. He was almost at the door when he stopped; and impulse gripped him and sounded better and better as he thought. “Coach?” Dave asked, turning.
Beiste looked up.
“I wanna try out for Hockey this year,” Dave said. “But the seasons starts during playoffs.” Beiste waved her hand.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work around it.”
Dave grinned again. “Thanks, Coach!” Dave slapped the doorjamb as he nearly bounced out of the office.
“You look entirely too happy after that ass-whupping on the field,” Az called to Dave as he passed the lockers. Dave waved him off. He was trying out for hockey. Beiste was going to sponsor the GSA. Dave had come out to Beiste and the world didn’t end. Dave was over the fucking moon. Who cared about practice in the face of that?
Dave started humming under his breath as he peeled off his uniform and pads, and by the time he was in the shower he was singing, bouncing to the beat in his head, and he was glad the showers were empty, because getting caught would be beyond embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure, in this mood, if even that would have stopped him.
***
Dave was, unsurprisingly, the last one out of the locker room, and he was kept humming as he walked out to his truck. The notes died in his throat, however, when he found his way barred.
By Santana.
The Cheerio leaned against the driver’s-side door of his truck, arms crossed and managing to glare and smirk at him at the same time. Dave sighed. After Prom, Santana had pretty much ignored him until mid-summer, when Brittany had gone on vacation with her family. Santana had called him one night, drunk enough to cry, and Dave had talked to her, kept her on the phone as he drove until he found her, alone in a field with a half-empty bottle of tequila and months of self-loathing. He had driven her to a diner, fed her bread and water as she cried about Brittany until three am, when he had dropped her off at home.
He’s thought about calling her after that; they weren’t friends, not really, but they were allies. Had been allies. And that meant something. The next time he saw her, she had been at the movies with Brittany, and had looked right past him. And he had remained invisible until the next time she had called him, drunk.
And a pattern had been established; they weren’t friends, but when Santana felt the pressure, Dave was her valve. This was the first time he had seen her sober since Prom. Dave raised his eyebrows at her, and crossed his arms, unimpressed.
“Santana,” Dave said. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your bottle.”
“Cute,” Santana said. “Cubby thinks he can fight with the Big Cats.”
“You know,” Dave said. “They used to stage fights between Lions and Bears out in California during the gold rush. Bears were undefeated. Turns out Lions? Were just big pussies.”
Santana blinked. “How do you know that?”
“I spent a lot of time online this summer,” Dave said. “I had to have something to do in-between looking after your ass.” Santana looked away and Dave felt big for all of three seconds before he felt like a tool.
“Thank you,” Santana said.
“What?”
“I said it once, I’m not saying it again,” Santana said. “You were there for me, more than once, when I needed you. So. You know.”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to re-open our arrangement,” Santana said, stepping away from the door.
“What about Brittany?”
“What about Brittany?” Santana snapped. Dave sighed.
“Off-again, huh?”
Santana shifted. “Not--exactly. But--she won’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Yeah, because you’d tell her not to. But you would,” Dave said. “And I would.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t worried about what they say? Another year in that locker room? Without a girlfriend? Suddenly not picking on the gay kid? You don't have the Bullywhips to hide behind, anymore.”
Dave looked away. Because of course he was worried. He had spent the summer in a place where he was out, and the closet was a lot smaller than he remembered; he was already bursting seams if what happened with Beiste was any clue. But that’s why he and Kurt were forming the GSA; so that when the structural integrity of his closet failed, he had a place to go. Dave bit his lip, wondering when, exactly, he had started thinking of “when” as opposed to “if”.
“I am,” he said. “But...” he let himself trail off. He didn’t owe Santana any more of his secrets.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with a certain blue-eyed twink, does it?”
“Not everything in my life revolves around Kurt.”
“Bullshit,” Santana said. “But I’ll let you think that, if you really want to.”
Dave glared, suddenly done with this conversation. “I’m serious. You were wrong about me, Santana. I’m not going to be a closet case, and the first step is not taking any backwards steps.”
“Look at you,” Santana said. “You sound like a fucking pride float.”
“You know what? I’m done,” He reached out a hand, and moved Santana to the side. He got in his truck and started the engine. Opening the window, he said, “Kurt and I are starting a GSA here at McKinley, a place where people like us don’t have to be afraid. You should join.”
Santana looked away, and Dave said, “Think about it,” and drove off, wondering where the hell that had come from. He breathed deep, and let it out slowly. Honesty was turning out to be very addictive.
Chapter 2a