Baby Steps Chapter 3a
Title: Baby Steps
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofksy. situational Klaine
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: School starts and Dave and Kurt start the McKinley GSA. Here’s to baby steps.
Notes: proxydialogue and raving_liberal are the best!
Chapter 2b
The rest of the day was--uneventful. He had Spanish with Senior Shuester, which was probably why he didn’t know any Spanish come to think of it, and AP Physics and AP Calc II went without a hitch, even if that wheelchair kid did give him a funny look. But the kid had spent most of his time staring at Puckerman, who was asleep at his desk already, too-long mohawk flopping over his head. Even English, his last class, passed mostly uneventfully. He was one of the first ones there, and claimed the desk in the farthest corner from the door and put his head down. The room filled around him, and he was barely listening to the chatter of people still catching up from the summer when he heard Kurt and Mercedes enter the room.
Dave didn’t look up, not expecting them to sit anywhere near him. So when he heard Kurt’s voice suddenly from the seat next to him, Dave cracked an eye open and peered at the other boy though his arms. Kurt was sitting in his seat, pulling out a notebook, ignoring Mercedes’s look of “are you kidding me?” Dave laughed quietly, because really.
“Uh, Kurt?” Mercedes said. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for class like the honors student that I am.”
Dave had to hide a smile, however rueful it was. He knew better than anybody that sometimes it didn’t matter how friendly you were, there were people you didn’t sit with.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“I know no such thing.”
“Yeah, you do,” Dave said, speaking into the desk.
“You, shush,” Kurt said. “You don’t a say in this.”
Dave had to lift his head for that, because what? Kurt was giving him epic bitchface, though, so Dave just rolled his eyes and sat up, slouching back in his seat. He shifted, trying to get comfortable but the fucking desk was too small. They never built these things with football players in mind.
“Well, I got a say in this, and I’m sayin’ why?”
“Because David is my friend, and for my magical senior year, I’d like all of my friends to get along.” Kurt paused. “Or, at least, not cause a scene on the first day of class.”
“I’m good,” Dave said, looking up at Mercedes. Mercedes stared down at Dave, and even after dealing with Az’s sisters for years, not to mention not flinching in the face of Santana’s special brand of crazy, Dave had to fight not fidget.
“Tsk, fine,” Mercedes said, and sat on Kurt’s other side with a humph. Kurt looked sidelong at Dave with a superior little smirk on his face. Dave put his head back down, and listened with half an ear while their teacher talked about reflecting on their true selves and the human condition or some shit like that.
Mrs. Finch stopped teaching about ten minutes before the final bell, giving her students “time to digest the day.” Mercedes wasted no time, chasing the student in front of Dave out of his chair, so she could sit and glare at him. Dave leaned back.
“What?” he said.
“What’s this I hear about you and my boo starting a GSA here at McKinley?”
“I dunno,” Dave said, as Kurt hissed Mercedes! “What’d you hear?”
“Don’t play smart with me, boy,” Mercedes said. “I will win.”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Yes. We’re starting a GSA. No it is not a stunt. First meeting is next week. We’ll see you there.”
“Damn straight, you’ll see me there.” Mercedes said. “I can’t figure you out, you know?”
Dave shrugged. “Not much to figure.”
Mercedes snorted. “Now that’s a lie,” she said.
“What happened to my friends getting along?” Kurt asked the air in front of him.
Mercedes pursed her lips, but backed off, still shooting looks at Dave, but also looking a bit contrite. Dave took a deep breath, and forced his shoulders to relax.
“Kurt suggested the club last year,” Dave said quietly. “I ran into him over the summer and he brought it up again. It--sounded like a good idea.”
“It is,” Kurt said, and Dave nodded, because he knew that. He looked back up at Mercedes, who still looked skeptical, but the heat was gone.
“Yeah, it is,” Mercedes said. “It’s about time.”
“Past time,” Kurt said.
And how, Dave thought.
***
Practice was practice. He and Az dominated on the field, like always, and Dave was in good spirits, joking and roughhousing as they returned to the locker room, filthy with dirt and sweat. Some days, Dave couldn’t find an excuse to wait for a shower, and ended up with everyone else.
Usually, he just grit his teeth, looked at the floor, and tried to shower as quickly as possible. He was pretty sure the other guys thought he was just shy about being naked. It wasn’t entirely a lie--he always had been the little fat hairy kid; puberty had hit him like a ton of bricks before they were out of middle school, something Hudson didn’t usually let him forget. And yeah, he was thick, lacking the sculpted muscles of Sam, or Puck, or Mike. But his summer at Scandals had given him a new appreciation of the form he did have; there was nothing like getting hit by attractive guys, even if he never took them up on their offers, (Call him romantic, he wanted his first time to mean something). He was solid, stronger than anyone but Az, and trim without being skinny. And to be honest, he had one of the biggest dicks on the team. That usually prevented a lot of the ribbing. And what it didn’t, well, whatever. My dick is bigger. Your argument is invalid.
After practice, Dave followed Az back to his place and they played Left 4 Dead 2 until Dave had to go home for dinner. Dinner was quiet; his parents were fighting again and were too preoccupied in their stalemate to pay Dave much attention at all. Which was perfectly fine with Dave. After dinner, he went up to his room, and fucked around on the internet, watching amateur jackass videos and laughing as the “stars” fell off roofs and were shot with balls and BBs and other projectiles that always hit them in the nuts.
Dave went to bed that night, thinking maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to pull this off.
***
Of course, the next day, Dave found Kurt tearing down the flyers.
“You okay, Fancy?” Dave asked. Kurt spun, shoving the flyers in Dave’s face.
“Do I look like I’m okay?” Kurt snapped. “Look what they--this is exactly why this club is needed.”
Dave snatched the flyers from Kurt and spread one out. His breath caught, and he let out a shaky sigh. Somebody gotten creative with a sharpie. It was something different on each flyer--a cartoon dick here, a slur there, and though they were all done with the same style pen, there only seemed to be a few minds behind the damage. Kurt was still ranting.
“How are we supposed to make this place safe--safe enough so that people can come forward, even if it’s just to the club--if they see this in the hallway? I--”
“Fancy,” Dave said, and grabbed Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt stilled. “Kurt,” Dave said. “This is why we have extra flyers. Why don’t you take down the rest, and I’ll start replacing them, okay?”
“Okay,” Kurt nodded. “Yeah that a good--don’t give them the satisfaction. The tear us down, we get back up.”
“Uh, right,” Dave said, and for the second time in two days, went to Coach Besite’s office to grab the flyers. He started near the gym, taping a new flyer where the old ones stood, trying to follow Kurt’s path the best he could. He was just taping one up near the homecoming trophy case, when he heard the electronic squeal of a megahorn turning on and off behind him.
“Hold it right there, Teddy Ruxpin.”
Dave spun, and saw Coach Sylvester at the other side of the hall, bullhorn in hand, and determined glare firmly in place. She--it wasn’t a walk. It was more predatory than that. She stalked forward, and it was all Dave could do not to back up against the wall. Sylvester reached out, and plucked a flyer from Dave’s hand. She looked it over with look on her face that was either a sneer, or the need for glasses. Dave was pretty sure it was both.
“So,” she said. “You and Porcelain are starting a support group.” She looked over Dave. “It was his idea,” she said. “Don’t bother denying it.”
Dave shook his head. Everyone knew the best way to deal with Sylvester’s attention was to do whatever she said.
“You’ve changed, Paddington,” Sue said. “And if I hadn’t had my heart surgically replaced by one of vibranium alloy two weeks ago, it would be warmed by your sudden growth into something that might, one day, resemble something vaguely human.”
Dave wasn’t sure, but he might have just been compliments. “Thank you, Coach,” Dave said, deciding to hedge his bets.
“That being said. If I hear you’ve laid one unwelcome paw of Porcelain’s buttermilk-fine skin, I will personally see that my band of guerrillas freedom fighters relocate you in the Florida Everglades in several tiny pieces.”
Dave flushed with anger. He knew why everybody assumed the worst about him, but really? Wasn’t this taking it a little too far?
“Sue Sylvester does admit that she plays favorites, as only Sue Sylvester’s favorites are worth any time at all, and Porcelain has deemed himself more worthy than most.
“And, of course, I will be warning Porcelain about his tongue; sometimes I’m surprised he can talk, it’s so sharp.” At Dave’s look of surprise, Sylvester added. “You two boys have been through enough together to know exactly where each other’s weak points are; you could easily tear each other apart.” Sylvester stepped back. “Now go forth, Baloo, and do Sue Sylvester proud.”
Dave nodded, “Yes, Coach,” and was halfway to the next poster before he stopped, and turned. “Coach,” he asked. “The names?”
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know?” she paused. “Cubby?”
Dave’s eyes widened. “No, Coach. Thank you, Coach.”
Sylvester nodded and walked off down the hall. Dave watched her leave, and tried to remember how to breathe.
***
And really, that was the end of it. Dave wasn’t sure if Sylvester had said or done something to the water supply, to make sure no one bothered him, but whatever it was, the new flyers stayed unmolested and Dave remained hassle free for the rest of the week. For the most part.
Mercedes still looked at him like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Az kept giving him pitying looks. Santana still mocked him. Everywhere he turned, it seemed like he saw Sylvester watching him from down the hall, and the Glocks--
The Glocks might have been the weirdest part of it. They all said hi to him now, not like they’re friends, but like they’re letting him know that they’re watching. But it all had a very campy spy-movie quality to it, nothing like Sylvester’s campaign of terror. Like, Dave half-expected to see Hudson and Puckerman peeking around the lockers one day in trenchcoats with those false nose glasses.
Dave sat next to Kurt in study-hall that Friday.
“Did you tell your brother to keep an eye on me, or something?”
“What?” Kurt looked up from his phone, puzzled and a little irritated. He shook his head. “No, what are you talking about?”
“Hudson and his buddies, they’ve been watching me all week, but like, real unsubtle about it. It’d be funny if it wasn’t kinda creepy.”
“Oh, for--” Kurt pinched his nose, sighing. “I’m going to kill him.” Kurt waved a hand at Dave. “I told my Dad about us starting the GSA--he thinks it’s good for you, by the way. He doesn’t know, or at least, I never told him, but--Dad’s real big on second chances. Finn--”
Kurt looked around the room and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “When Finn and Carole first moved in, we were supposed to share a room. In hindsight, it was a terrible idea all around, but Finn freaked about having to share a room with, well, me, and threw the f-word around where my father could hear. Dad kicked him out, said he loved Carole, but he wouldn’t tolerate homophobic attitudes in his house. That was partly why Finn wore that Gaga dress, that one time. He was making amends.” Kurt shrugged. “And after he really kinda failed to stand up for me last year, and get that look off your face, Dave, it wasn’t just you, he’s been overcompensating just a little bit.”
“Oh,” Dave said. “That’s--nice of him.”
“It is,” Kurt said. “It’s nice to know that he cares. But now it’s like he thinks I can’t handle anything on my own and, sometimes, that’s even worse. It’s an extension of the whole ‘Kurt is very gay and must, therefore, actually be a girl’ mentality that they don’t think they still have. They try to get all, I don’t know, chivalrus? But it just comes across as insulting. I mean, just because I’m a fashion trendsetter doesn’t mean I don’t have a dick.” He sighed, “And honestly, I feel like I have a deeper understanding of second wave feminism because of it.”
Dave frowned. “They think you’re a girl?”
“In their defense, I don’t think they’re aware that they think that. They’re aware that their attitudes towards women aren’t really the most forward, but nobody’s bothered to point out to them that their attitudes towards me show that they haven’t really learned anything. They still think of me as a girl, and they still think that’s less than them. So.”
Dave shook his head. “I think I’m still hung up on the girl thing. I mean--yeah, I could see it two years ago, when you were wearing clothes from the women’s department, how they’d think that,” Dave rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, I did my share of name-calling then, about just that but--you’re very much a boy, Kurt.” And a hot one, at that, he didn’t say. “And it’s just gotten more obvious now that you’re, you know, taller.”
Kurt looked a little flushed, and wouldn’t look at Dave, though he was pretty sure that was just to hide the smile. “Thank you, Dave.”
Dave shrugged. “S’truth.”
“I think my repeated claims to be an honorary girl didn’t help my case, however,” Kurt said. “It’s just--I’ve been “one of the girls” for so long; but it’s like I never really had a chance to be “one of the boys”, so--” he sighed. “It’s hard to be part of a group when they look at you like you’re going to contaminate them.”
“Maybe that’s something to address in the GSA, then,” Dave said. “Gender stereotypes.” At Kurt’s look, Dave squirmed. “What? I have Google.”
“I knew that,” Kurt said quickly. Then, more seriously, “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Yeah,” Dave smirked. “I can have ‘em, too.”
Kurt swatted his arm playfully, hand resting on Dave’s forearm just long enough to give a little squeeze before drawing back.
***
Friday was their first away game, and it went like any other, except for when Puckerman realized halfway there that this was their last first game and got all teary.
“Sentimental fool,” Az had grumbled from the seat across from Dave as Finn did his best to comfort Puck without outright hugging him. Now that Kurt had said something, he could see it in the way the glocks acted--like they were all still actively trying to change the way they thought. But Dave knew how deep those thoughts could run, how they could lurk beneath the surface where even you couldn’t see them. Dave shook his head. Kurt was right, again; this GSA would be good for more than just them.
“Fuckin’ faggot hasn’t stopped blubbering for the last twenty minutes,” Az went on, barely trying for under his breath.
“Watch your mouth,” Dave said, distracted, thinking about his talk with Kurt earlier, and how they could make it into a lesson or something. Were they supposed to have lessons? Would a discussion really work? He knew Dr.-Banks-Call-Me-George thought so, otherwise his sessions would be very different.
So, it took Dave a moment to realize Az had gone silent.
“Excuse me?” Az said. “Did you just tell me to ‘watch my mouth’?”
“Uh,” Dave said, thinking. “Yeah.” Dave was very aware, however, how the bus had gone silent.
“I don’t get you, man.” Az said. “Last year you wouldn’t have batted an eye--”
“Last year I got expelled and put into therapy, Az.” Dave snapped. “That’s a damned good sign something had to change.”
“Yeah, man, but you?” Az shook his head. “Why did you have to change?”
Dave just shrugged. “What else have I got.”
“I just don’t know, man,” Az said, turning away.
Dave rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” But his gut rolled. What if it wasn’t coming out that ruined his friendship with Az; what if it was keeping the secret. What if, no matter which way it went, he was fucked.
He turned towards the window and watched the scenery pass, and tried to put it all out his his mind. He had to get his game on.
By the time they got to Westfield High, Dave was in a weird headspace, one where he wanted to cry and scream and curl up into a little ball and never talk to anyone ever again. But he filed off the bus with his gear, and followed the team into the locker room. He had almost finished lacing up his pads when Chang sat down on the bench next to him.
“I heard you and Az,” Chang said quietly, and Dave jerked his laces a little harder than necessary.
“Yeah? And?”
“Kurt told us about the club,” Chang went on. “We were a little worried you weren’t going to take it as seriously as he was. But that’s not true, is it?”
Dave tied off his laces, and braced his hands on his knees. “And what are you basing that on?”
“I heard you.”
“Yeah, well,” Dave stood and tugged his jersey on. “You and your buddies aren’t exactly subtle with the whole watching thing.”
Chang, surprisingly, rolled his eyes. “You mean Finn and Puck, right? Yeah, they can get wrapped up in their own drama, sometimes. But, they’re just worried about Kurt. They still blame themselves for what happened last year, they feel like they let him down. Like, it was their job to protect him--”
“Stop,” Dave said. “I get it. I’m the big bad man. And yeah, they did fall down; I’ll be the first to admit that what I did to him was fucked up, and never should have gone as far as it had. But don’t for a minute think that Kurt can’t take care of himself. And instead of stalking me in the locker room, maybe you should, you know talk to him. He is supposed to be your friend, right?” He grabbed his helmet. “Good luck out there,” Dave said, and went to wait by the door for Beiste’s pre-game pep talk, leaving Chang on the bench, looking vaguely poleaxed.
Beiste came in a moment later, and then they were on the field and the game was on, and Dave pushed everything away, focusing on this play, and running these yards, and working with the team. At the end of the night, when the Titans walked away with a victory of 21-7, Az slung an arm over his shoulders, riding high, and Dave smiled, laughing along, willing to let it go as if it had never happened, if only for right now.
Chapter 3b
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofksy. situational Klaine
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: School starts and Dave and Kurt start the McKinley GSA. Here’s to baby steps.
Notes: proxydialogue and raving_liberal are the best!
Chapter 2b
The rest of the day was--uneventful. He had Spanish with Senior Shuester, which was probably why he didn’t know any Spanish come to think of it, and AP Physics and AP Calc II went without a hitch, even if that wheelchair kid did give him a funny look. But the kid had spent most of his time staring at Puckerman, who was asleep at his desk already, too-long mohawk flopping over his head. Even English, his last class, passed mostly uneventfully. He was one of the first ones there, and claimed the desk in the farthest corner from the door and put his head down. The room filled around him, and he was barely listening to the chatter of people still catching up from the summer when he heard Kurt and Mercedes enter the room.
Dave didn’t look up, not expecting them to sit anywhere near him. So when he heard Kurt’s voice suddenly from the seat next to him, Dave cracked an eye open and peered at the other boy though his arms. Kurt was sitting in his seat, pulling out a notebook, ignoring Mercedes’s look of “are you kidding me?” Dave laughed quietly, because really.
“Uh, Kurt?” Mercedes said. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for class like the honors student that I am.”
Dave had to hide a smile, however rueful it was. He knew better than anybody that sometimes it didn’t matter how friendly you were, there were people you didn’t sit with.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“I know no such thing.”
“Yeah, you do,” Dave said, speaking into the desk.
“You, shush,” Kurt said. “You don’t a say in this.”
Dave had to lift his head for that, because what? Kurt was giving him epic bitchface, though, so Dave just rolled his eyes and sat up, slouching back in his seat. He shifted, trying to get comfortable but the fucking desk was too small. They never built these things with football players in mind.
“Well, I got a say in this, and I’m sayin’ why?”
“Because David is my friend, and for my magical senior year, I’d like all of my friends to get along.” Kurt paused. “Or, at least, not cause a scene on the first day of class.”
“I’m good,” Dave said, looking up at Mercedes. Mercedes stared down at Dave, and even after dealing with Az’s sisters for years, not to mention not flinching in the face of Santana’s special brand of crazy, Dave had to fight not fidget.
“Tsk, fine,” Mercedes said, and sat on Kurt’s other side with a humph. Kurt looked sidelong at Dave with a superior little smirk on his face. Dave put his head back down, and listened with half an ear while their teacher talked about reflecting on their true selves and the human condition or some shit like that.
Mrs. Finch stopped teaching about ten minutes before the final bell, giving her students “time to digest the day.” Mercedes wasted no time, chasing the student in front of Dave out of his chair, so she could sit and glare at him. Dave leaned back.
“What?” he said.
“What’s this I hear about you and my boo starting a GSA here at McKinley?”
“I dunno,” Dave said, as Kurt hissed Mercedes! “What’d you hear?”
“Don’t play smart with me, boy,” Mercedes said. “I will win.”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Yes. We’re starting a GSA. No it is not a stunt. First meeting is next week. We’ll see you there.”
“Damn straight, you’ll see me there.” Mercedes said. “I can’t figure you out, you know?”
Dave shrugged. “Not much to figure.”
Mercedes snorted. “Now that’s a lie,” she said.
“What happened to my friends getting along?” Kurt asked the air in front of him.
Mercedes pursed her lips, but backed off, still shooting looks at Dave, but also looking a bit contrite. Dave took a deep breath, and forced his shoulders to relax.
“Kurt suggested the club last year,” Dave said quietly. “I ran into him over the summer and he brought it up again. It--sounded like a good idea.”
“It is,” Kurt said, and Dave nodded, because he knew that. He looked back up at Mercedes, who still looked skeptical, but the heat was gone.
“Yeah, it is,” Mercedes said. “It’s about time.”
“Past time,” Kurt said.
And how, Dave thought.
***
Practice was practice. He and Az dominated on the field, like always, and Dave was in good spirits, joking and roughhousing as they returned to the locker room, filthy with dirt and sweat. Some days, Dave couldn’t find an excuse to wait for a shower, and ended up with everyone else.
Usually, he just grit his teeth, looked at the floor, and tried to shower as quickly as possible. He was pretty sure the other guys thought he was just shy about being naked. It wasn’t entirely a lie--he always had been the little fat hairy kid; puberty had hit him like a ton of bricks before they were out of middle school, something Hudson didn’t usually let him forget. And yeah, he was thick, lacking the sculpted muscles of Sam, or Puck, or Mike. But his summer at Scandals had given him a new appreciation of the form he did have; there was nothing like getting hit by attractive guys, even if he never took them up on their offers, (Call him romantic, he wanted his first time to mean something). He was solid, stronger than anyone but Az, and trim without being skinny. And to be honest, he had one of the biggest dicks on the team. That usually prevented a lot of the ribbing. And what it didn’t, well, whatever. My dick is bigger. Your argument is invalid.
After practice, Dave followed Az back to his place and they played Left 4 Dead 2 until Dave had to go home for dinner. Dinner was quiet; his parents were fighting again and were too preoccupied in their stalemate to pay Dave much attention at all. Which was perfectly fine with Dave. After dinner, he went up to his room, and fucked around on the internet, watching amateur jackass videos and laughing as the “stars” fell off roofs and were shot with balls and BBs and other projectiles that always hit them in the nuts.
Dave went to bed that night, thinking maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to pull this off.
***
Of course, the next day, Dave found Kurt tearing down the flyers.
“You okay, Fancy?” Dave asked. Kurt spun, shoving the flyers in Dave’s face.
“Do I look like I’m okay?” Kurt snapped. “Look what they--this is exactly why this club is needed.”
Dave snatched the flyers from Kurt and spread one out. His breath caught, and he let out a shaky sigh. Somebody gotten creative with a sharpie. It was something different on each flyer--a cartoon dick here, a slur there, and though they were all done with the same style pen, there only seemed to be a few minds behind the damage. Kurt was still ranting.
“How are we supposed to make this place safe--safe enough so that people can come forward, even if it’s just to the club--if they see this in the hallway? I--”
“Fancy,” Dave said, and grabbed Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt stilled. “Kurt,” Dave said. “This is why we have extra flyers. Why don’t you take down the rest, and I’ll start replacing them, okay?”
“Okay,” Kurt nodded. “Yeah that a good--don’t give them the satisfaction. The tear us down, we get back up.”
“Uh, right,” Dave said, and for the second time in two days, went to Coach Besite’s office to grab the flyers. He started near the gym, taping a new flyer where the old ones stood, trying to follow Kurt’s path the best he could. He was just taping one up near the homecoming trophy case, when he heard the electronic squeal of a megahorn turning on and off behind him.
“Hold it right there, Teddy Ruxpin.”
Dave spun, and saw Coach Sylvester at the other side of the hall, bullhorn in hand, and determined glare firmly in place. She--it wasn’t a walk. It was more predatory than that. She stalked forward, and it was all Dave could do not to back up against the wall. Sylvester reached out, and plucked a flyer from Dave’s hand. She looked it over with look on her face that was either a sneer, or the need for glasses. Dave was pretty sure it was both.
“So,” she said. “You and Porcelain are starting a support group.” She looked over Dave. “It was his idea,” she said. “Don’t bother denying it.”
Dave shook his head. Everyone knew the best way to deal with Sylvester’s attention was to do whatever she said.
“You’ve changed, Paddington,” Sue said. “And if I hadn’t had my heart surgically replaced by one of vibranium alloy two weeks ago, it would be warmed by your sudden growth into something that might, one day, resemble something vaguely human.”
Dave wasn’t sure, but he might have just been compliments. “Thank you, Coach,” Dave said, deciding to hedge his bets.
“That being said. If I hear you’ve laid one unwelcome paw of Porcelain’s buttermilk-fine skin, I will personally see that my band of guerrillas freedom fighters relocate you in the Florida Everglades in several tiny pieces.”
Dave flushed with anger. He knew why everybody assumed the worst about him, but really? Wasn’t this taking it a little too far?
“Sue Sylvester does admit that she plays favorites, as only Sue Sylvester’s favorites are worth any time at all, and Porcelain has deemed himself more worthy than most.
“And, of course, I will be warning Porcelain about his tongue; sometimes I’m surprised he can talk, it’s so sharp.” At Dave’s look of surprise, Sylvester added. “You two boys have been through enough together to know exactly where each other’s weak points are; you could easily tear each other apart.” Sylvester stepped back. “Now go forth, Baloo, and do Sue Sylvester proud.”
Dave nodded, “Yes, Coach,” and was halfway to the next poster before he stopped, and turned. “Coach,” he asked. “The names?”
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know?” she paused. “Cubby?”
Dave’s eyes widened. “No, Coach. Thank you, Coach.”
Sylvester nodded and walked off down the hall. Dave watched her leave, and tried to remember how to breathe.
***
And really, that was the end of it. Dave wasn’t sure if Sylvester had said or done something to the water supply, to make sure no one bothered him, but whatever it was, the new flyers stayed unmolested and Dave remained hassle free for the rest of the week. For the most part.
Mercedes still looked at him like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Az kept giving him pitying looks. Santana still mocked him. Everywhere he turned, it seemed like he saw Sylvester watching him from down the hall, and the Glocks--
The Glocks might have been the weirdest part of it. They all said hi to him now, not like they’re friends, but like they’re letting him know that they’re watching. But it all had a very campy spy-movie quality to it, nothing like Sylvester’s campaign of terror. Like, Dave half-expected to see Hudson and Puckerman peeking around the lockers one day in trenchcoats with those false nose glasses.
Dave sat next to Kurt in study-hall that Friday.
“Did you tell your brother to keep an eye on me, or something?”
“What?” Kurt looked up from his phone, puzzled and a little irritated. He shook his head. “No, what are you talking about?”
“Hudson and his buddies, they’ve been watching me all week, but like, real unsubtle about it. It’d be funny if it wasn’t kinda creepy.”
“Oh, for--” Kurt pinched his nose, sighing. “I’m going to kill him.” Kurt waved a hand at Dave. “I told my Dad about us starting the GSA--he thinks it’s good for you, by the way. He doesn’t know, or at least, I never told him, but--Dad’s real big on second chances. Finn--”
Kurt looked around the room and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “When Finn and Carole first moved in, we were supposed to share a room. In hindsight, it was a terrible idea all around, but Finn freaked about having to share a room with, well, me, and threw the f-word around where my father could hear. Dad kicked him out, said he loved Carole, but he wouldn’t tolerate homophobic attitudes in his house. That was partly why Finn wore that Gaga dress, that one time. He was making amends.” Kurt shrugged. “And after he really kinda failed to stand up for me last year, and get that look off your face, Dave, it wasn’t just you, he’s been overcompensating just a little bit.”
“Oh,” Dave said. “That’s--nice of him.”
“It is,” Kurt said. “It’s nice to know that he cares. But now it’s like he thinks I can’t handle anything on my own and, sometimes, that’s even worse. It’s an extension of the whole ‘Kurt is very gay and must, therefore, actually be a girl’ mentality that they don’t think they still have. They try to get all, I don’t know, chivalrus? But it just comes across as insulting. I mean, just because I’m a fashion trendsetter doesn’t mean I don’t have a dick.” He sighed, “And honestly, I feel like I have a deeper understanding of second wave feminism because of it.”
Dave frowned. “They think you’re a girl?”
“In their defense, I don’t think they’re aware that they think that. They’re aware that their attitudes towards women aren’t really the most forward, but nobody’s bothered to point out to them that their attitudes towards me show that they haven’t really learned anything. They still think of me as a girl, and they still think that’s less than them. So.”
Dave shook his head. “I think I’m still hung up on the girl thing. I mean--yeah, I could see it two years ago, when you were wearing clothes from the women’s department, how they’d think that,” Dave rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, I did my share of name-calling then, about just that but--you’re very much a boy, Kurt.” And a hot one, at that, he didn’t say. “And it’s just gotten more obvious now that you’re, you know, taller.”
Kurt looked a little flushed, and wouldn’t look at Dave, though he was pretty sure that was just to hide the smile. “Thank you, Dave.”
Dave shrugged. “S’truth.”
“I think my repeated claims to be an honorary girl didn’t help my case, however,” Kurt said. “It’s just--I’ve been “one of the girls” for so long; but it’s like I never really had a chance to be “one of the boys”, so--” he sighed. “It’s hard to be part of a group when they look at you like you’re going to contaminate them.”
“Maybe that’s something to address in the GSA, then,” Dave said. “Gender stereotypes.” At Kurt’s look, Dave squirmed. “What? I have Google.”
“I knew that,” Kurt said quickly. Then, more seriously, “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Yeah,” Dave smirked. “I can have ‘em, too.”
Kurt swatted his arm playfully, hand resting on Dave’s forearm just long enough to give a little squeeze before drawing back.
***
Friday was their first away game, and it went like any other, except for when Puckerman realized halfway there that this was their last first game and got all teary.
“Sentimental fool,” Az had grumbled from the seat across from Dave as Finn did his best to comfort Puck without outright hugging him. Now that Kurt had said something, he could see it in the way the glocks acted--like they were all still actively trying to change the way they thought. But Dave knew how deep those thoughts could run, how they could lurk beneath the surface where even you couldn’t see them. Dave shook his head. Kurt was right, again; this GSA would be good for more than just them.
“Fuckin’ faggot hasn’t stopped blubbering for the last twenty minutes,” Az went on, barely trying for under his breath.
“Watch your mouth,” Dave said, distracted, thinking about his talk with Kurt earlier, and how they could make it into a lesson or something. Were they supposed to have lessons? Would a discussion really work? He knew Dr.-Banks-Call-Me-George thought so, otherwise his sessions would be very different.
So, it took Dave a moment to realize Az had gone silent.
“Excuse me?” Az said. “Did you just tell me to ‘watch my mouth’?”
“Uh,” Dave said, thinking. “Yeah.” Dave was very aware, however, how the bus had gone silent.
“I don’t get you, man.” Az said. “Last year you wouldn’t have batted an eye--”
“Last year I got expelled and put into therapy, Az.” Dave snapped. “That’s a damned good sign something had to change.”
“Yeah, man, but you?” Az shook his head. “Why did you have to change?”
Dave just shrugged. “What else have I got.”
“I just don’t know, man,” Az said, turning away.
Dave rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” But his gut rolled. What if it wasn’t coming out that ruined his friendship with Az; what if it was keeping the secret. What if, no matter which way it went, he was fucked.
He turned towards the window and watched the scenery pass, and tried to put it all out his his mind. He had to get his game on.
By the time they got to Westfield High, Dave was in a weird headspace, one where he wanted to cry and scream and curl up into a little ball and never talk to anyone ever again. But he filed off the bus with his gear, and followed the team into the locker room. He had almost finished lacing up his pads when Chang sat down on the bench next to him.
“I heard you and Az,” Chang said quietly, and Dave jerked his laces a little harder than necessary.
“Yeah? And?”
“Kurt told us about the club,” Chang went on. “We were a little worried you weren’t going to take it as seriously as he was. But that’s not true, is it?”
Dave tied off his laces, and braced his hands on his knees. “And what are you basing that on?”
“I heard you.”
“Yeah, well,” Dave stood and tugged his jersey on. “You and your buddies aren’t exactly subtle with the whole watching thing.”
Chang, surprisingly, rolled his eyes. “You mean Finn and Puck, right? Yeah, they can get wrapped up in their own drama, sometimes. But, they’re just worried about Kurt. They still blame themselves for what happened last year, they feel like they let him down. Like, it was their job to protect him--”
“Stop,” Dave said. “I get it. I’m the big bad man. And yeah, they did fall down; I’ll be the first to admit that what I did to him was fucked up, and never should have gone as far as it had. But don’t for a minute think that Kurt can’t take care of himself. And instead of stalking me in the locker room, maybe you should, you know talk to him. He is supposed to be your friend, right?” He grabbed his helmet. “Good luck out there,” Dave said, and went to wait by the door for Beiste’s pre-game pep talk, leaving Chang on the bench, looking vaguely poleaxed.
Beiste came in a moment later, and then they were on the field and the game was on, and Dave pushed everything away, focusing on this play, and running these yards, and working with the team. At the end of the night, when the Titans walked away with a victory of 21-7, Az slung an arm over his shoulders, riding high, and Dave smiled, laughing along, willing to let it go as if it had never happened, if only for right now.
Chapter 3b