(no subject)
Title: Tell the Truth Now
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairings: Will/Finn, Puck, mentions of Kurt/Sam, Rachel/Mike, Tina/Artie, various Gleeks, Sue, Emma, Principal Figgins
Summary: A fundraiser gone wrong and Will and Finn finally being honest with each other. And there's pie.
AN: Part of my series other stories being Closer , Hollywood Ending, All in My Head and My Mind is Set on You. This series was started before Season Two aired and as such, certain relationships and plot points do not reflect canon. Title from the Nina Simone song Do I Move You. Also quoted/referenced is I'd Do Anything for Love and Paradise by the Dashboard Lights by Meatloaf. And the film To Have and Have Not (the movie where Bogie met Bacall.) Tracy Chapman is awesome. As is The Hunger Games book trilogy. And yes, this totally is an actual fundraiser that my high school did. Also massive shoutout and thanks to tawg as all that discussion on the Winnners Fanon Bible were hugely inspiration for character insight.
Word Count: 4,700 for Part One. 7, 900 Overall.
Honestly, when Finn first starts seeing the posters, he doesn’t think much of it besides the fact that it seems like a waste of good dessert.
Is it any surprise that a school administration that turns a blind eye to students being hit by slushies and tossed into dumpsters would consider a raffle for the opportunity to pie a member of the faculty in the face a viable fundraiser?
And then he overhears Brittany and Santana talking about it.
“I think it’s sad. Mr. Schue’s nice and I like his hair, I don’t care what Coach Sylvester says. I don’t want him to get pie in it.”
“Yeah, well with the way she’s been stuffing the ballot box, it’s pretty much inevitable. Shoot me in the head for making a lame ass pun like this, but Mr. Schue is gonna get creamed.”
He tries to warn Mr. Schue and almost screams in frustration when the man’s reaction to the very real possibility that he’s going to get a pie to the face in front of the entire school is to simply offer up an ‘eh, them’s the breaks’ shrug of his shoulders.
“She’s totally cheating! You’re a teacher, aren’t you supposed to care about that sort of thing?”
“You can’t cheat at this, Finn. There’s no rule about how many tickets you can buy. If Sue Sylvester wants to spend her entire paycheck to make sure I’m attacked with pastry, that’s her business. Maybe it’ll keep her from plotting any other mayhem for awhile.”
Mr. Schue isn’t even looking up from the papers he’s grading and Finn has to cross his arms over his chest to keep from slamming his hands down on the desk and demanding he pay attention.
“But-but she’s making other people do it too! All the Cheerios have had to contribute at least twenty bucks and she’s been hovering in front of the ballot box and glaring everyone who buys a ticket into writing your name! Just this morning Karofsky accidentally bumped into her in the hall and she shook him down for whatever he had in his wallet in exchange for not getting him suspended for assaulting a teacher.”
Does Mr. Schue even care that Coach Sylvester is going to be humiliating him in front of the entire school with Principal Figgins’ seal of approval? Finn knows that Mr. Schue has been depressed lately, but has he given up entirely? Is he not even going to bother fighting back anymore?
(He’s doing an awesome job of faking it, but it’s no match for Finn’s bordering on stalkerish awareness of the man. Yeah, he’s not stumbling around like a sleep deprived zombie anymore, but Mr. Schue hasn’t given Finn a genuine ‘make his stomach do somersaults’ smile in ages.)
“It’s for a good cause, Finn.”
“Bullshit.” Finn’s too angry right now to even acknowledge Mr. Schue’s ‘watch your language’ eyebrow raise.
“Buying Coach Sylvester a new dry ice machine or-or a stretch limo or whatever the hell she’s gonna use this money for, and you know it’s going to end up in her pocket, Mr. Schue, don’t lie, is not a fucking good cause.”
Finn remembers the way he felt standing in the hall with Slushy dripping down his hair and slithering underneath the collar of his shirt while the other students stared at him. And then he imagines how he’d feel if that embarrassment happened in an auditorium full of people who’d actually paid money for the privilege of seeing it.
“If you wanna lock yourself away and fester in all of your my shit’s fucked up angst that’s fine, but lying down so that Coach Sylvester can grind her Nike’s into your face just makes you look as pathetic as she always says you are.”
Mr. Schue’s hand briefly clench around the pen he’s holding hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.
“I appreciate your concern, but I think you need to get to class, Finn. And in the future I’d prefer if you would refrain from discussing my personal life as it’s really none of your business.”
He sounds as if it’s taking all his effort to keep his voice even.
Oh shit. Finn crossed the line. No, he’s way beyond that. The line is just a tiny hazy blur in the distance. Because there’s being open and honest with your really cool and understanding teacher and then there’s what Finn just did, better known as sticking his foot in his mouth up to his knee and pretty much guaranteeing that Mr. Schue is never ever going to confide in him ever again.
“Mr. S-”
“Close the door behind you, thank you.”
And just like that, he’s been dismissed.
**
He’s pissed off.
He’s pissed off and feeling betrayed, because it’s like Mr. Schue is conceding defeat, like all that talk about everyone in Glee being worthwhile human beings and that they shouldn’t have to be treated like crap is all nothing but empty meaningless inspirational teacher-speak. But he’s also still pathetically, head over feet, in love with his teacher, so he doesn’t give up there.
If this is some sort of fucked up cry for help or something, he’s going to do whatever he can to save him.
Which isn’t much since he’s only got about forty bucks to his name and he’s not really good at math, but he knows forty tickets with Coach Sylvester’s name compared to the hundreds (or maybe thousands) of tickets with Mr. Schue’s isn’t going to do much.
His attempts at getting the rest of Glee involved has somewhat mixed results as they’re all terrified of Coach Sylvester swooping down on them in all her fiery track suited vengeance.
Most of them happily contribute to the ‘Keep Mr. Schue from Getting Pied’ fund, but no one is ready to step up and actually put their name to it.
Mercedes, Quinn, Artie, and Tina are good for twenty each.
Santana tells him to keep walking when he tries to ask her about it, because she’s tapped out and even if she had money, she’s not stupid enough to risk it getting back to Coach Sylvester that she defied her.
Brittany’s also out of money, but she promises that on all the tickets she wrote Mr. Schue’s name on, she made sure to spell it wrong.
“That’ll help, right?”
Sam and Kurt chip in thirty each (although Finn is temped to set it aside for the massive therapy bills that will likely be the result of Sam winking at Kurt and whispering ‘Whipped cream’ with this like, nostalgic look on his face.)
And that just…Finn’s accepted the fact that he’s not totally straight but Kurt’s his brother. It’s like imagining your parents doing it.
Oh.
Oh, my God.
Ew.
Not enough brain bleach in the world.
The most frustrating holdout is Rachel and they get into a knockdown drag out argument over it because now that her petition to get the whole event canceled has failed, she’s busy having a won’t someone please think of the chickens hissy fit.
“It’s a matter of conscience, Finn! I can’t allow anyone to get hit with some-some egg and butter and milk abomination! Even Coach Sylvester! I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I was an accessory to animal cruelty.”
He just rolls his eyes and doesn’t comment on the fact that she doesn’t seem nearly as concerned with the people cruelty aspect of it.
He has to laugh though when Mike corners him after football practice one day and slips him fifty bucks, frantically looking over his shoulder like they’re in the middle of a drug deal.
“Just for the love of God, don’t ever tell Rachel about this.”
Score.
And Finn didn’t even have to bust out his ‘Hey, so remember how I gave you the go ahead to ask out my ex-girlfriend?’ guilt card.
The biggest shock is Puck. Who only gives him ten but Finn wasn’t even expecting that what with Puck, you know, not really being big on the whole school spirit thing or caring about other people in general.
“What are you going to do if this plan of yours works? Are you seriously gonna pie Sylvester in the face for Mr. Schue?”
“Yeah.” He answers like it’s no big deal.
But he can’t bluff for shit and it’d be useless to even try with Puck since they’ve known each other almost their entire lives and Finn holds his breath because this is it, he knows it. Puck is going to use his sixth sense for anything involving sex and/or the possibility of anyone having it, wanting it, or thinking about it and sniff out his crush on Mr. Schue (does that count as a sixth sense? What with smell being one of the original five?) and totally freak out.
Instead after a long speculative look, he just shrugs and nods.
“Okay, man. Whatever makes your monkey shine.”
He picks up a pen and starts helping fill out tickets.
“Now, am I writing Mrs. Finn Schuester here, or did you decide to keep your maiden name?”
“Douche.”
Finn punches Puck in the arm, but he can’t help smiling a little because Puck’s laughing at him, but it’s a casual, needling, just messin’ with ya bro laugh and that means they’re still cool.
He writes his name over and over, big and bold in all caps until his hand cramps up. And then he switches and keeps going until the other one cramps up too (he hadn’t even known there was a word for it until Mr. Schue commented on it once, but being ambidextrous rocks.)
He feels all noble and heroic and shit. Like that Coyote dude they read about in Spanish class. The one who tries to fight windmills.
As he writes, he hums to himself.
He thinks he’s got a really great song choice for Regionals.
Maybe I’m crazy, But it's crazy and it's true,
I know you can save me,
No one else can save me now but you.
As long as the planets are turning,
As long as the stars are burning,
As long as your dreams are coming true
You better believe it! -
That I would do anything for love
**
It’s not Mr. Schue’s name.
And it’s not Coach Sylvester.
It’s Ms. Pillsbury.
Finn’s jaw drops in shock because of all the possibilities, he’d never even considered that. What kind of asshole would want to hit Ms. Pillsbury in the face with a pie? She’d never hurt anyone.
Oh big surprise, it’s the Azimio type of asshole. Fucking figures.
Poor Ms. Pillsbury appears absolutely terrified, shaking like a leaf and looking like she’d run out of the room if she could manage to stand on her feet without collapsing.
“She’s going to ruin her outfit.” Kurt sounds like he’s trying not to cry. “She’d totally incompetent as a counselor, but she’s so nice and she always wears such kickass retro stuff, why would anyone want to embarrass her like that?”
Sam lets out a disgusted scoff.
“She probably called him out on his visible from space latent tendencies and he’s getting his revenge now.”
Finn has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out “Wow, you picked up on that too?” because he’s not supposed to have gaydar.
He’s overcome by a creeping awareness of how everyone is staring at Ms. Pillsbury like she’s one of those wounded gazelle’s in a nature special. They clearly don’t care how nice she is or how pretty her sweater is, they paid their money and they want to be entertained.
Suddenly Mr. Schue is rushing forward.
“I’ll take her place.”
Principal Figgins shakes his head.
“William, I can’t allow that. The students paid their money, it wouldn’t be fair…”
“And I’ll let Sue do the honors.” He blurts out over Principal Figgins.
Instantly, Coach Sylvester is shoving forward.
“Rules are made to be broken, I always say. Any of you little grease stains object?”
She glares out at the audience and when she turns it full force on Azimio, he lets out a noise that sounds like a squeaky toy getting stepped on.
Not a single student says a word.
Mr. Schue calmly takes off his jacket, tie, and dress shirt, folding them up to rest on the podium until he’s standing there in just a t-shirt and jeans. And the little impromptu striptease would be totally hot except for the fact that this is all the complete fucking opposite of Finn’s plans. He’s more than a little annoyed that the characteristics he loves about Mr. Schue, his kindness, his empathy, his readiness to help others is so spectacularly coming back to bite him in the ass.
Rachel’s swooning.
That’s the only way to describe it. Mr. Schue sacrificing himself on the altar of humiliation for Ms. Pillsbury clearly trumps any earlier objections about animal cruelty.
“Holy shit, it’s like The Hunger Games up in here.” At Kurt’s double take, Puck simply shrugs his shoulders.
“What? I read. That Katniss chick is a BAMF.”
Tina is squeezing Artie’s hand and using the other one to cover her eyes.
“Oh, I can’t look, I can’t look, I can’t look. I feel like someone should be offering him a blindfold and a last cigarette.”
There’s a low thrumming tension in the air, the entire audience whispering, because everyone knows Coach Sylvester has it in for Mr. Schue and this is going to be good, this is going to be better than they’d even hoped for.
It makes Finn want to throw up.
He will at least give Coach Sylvester this.
When the blood starts gushing from Mr. Schue’s nose, she does look genuinely horrified.
A few girls scream.
Ms. Pillsbury faints.
Principal Figgins is freaking out, frantically reminding Mr. Schue that he consented, that it isn’t assault if he consented, and that he’d tried to object and had been overruled, so he has no liability in the matter.
And somewhere in all of that, he isn’t even aware of doing it, Finn rushes forward and grabs the bundle of clothes from the podium and pulls Mr. Schue from the stage, pressing the shirt to his face in an effort to stop the bleeding. He guides him into the nearest restroom, an arm around his shoulder the entire way.
**
Finn tilts Mr. Schue’s chin up so that he can get a better view of the damage in the light. And he is such a shitty person because as awful as this is, it’s doing nothing to keep his heart from hammering and his palms from tingling because he’s cradling Mr. Schue’s face in his hands.
“Okay, I’m going to touch your nose now. This is probably going to hurt, so I’m sorry.”
He bites his lip and then reaches out, trying to be as gentle as possible.
“Sonofabitch fucking goddamn motherfucking shit! Uh---you didn’t hear any of that.”
Finn does a fair impression of Mr. Schue’s ‘watch your language’ eyebrow raise.
And then gives the man a ‘relax, ain’t no thang’ smile.
“Hear what?”
Mr. Schue gets that slightly embarrassed look he always has when he slips up and allows the fact that he’s an actual human being to peak out from behind his teacher-ness.
Finn loves it when that happens, Mr. Schue letting himself be frustrated or tired or sarcastic or cursing a blue streak. He likes to think it happens with him more than anyone else because Mr. Schue trusts him.
“Well, you’re going to have a bit of a shiner but since you’re not bleeding anymore, I’m thinking either your nose isn’t broken or it’s a nice clean one that’ll heal up without needing surgery or anything.”
Which is good because if Coach Sylvester jacked up Mr. Schue’s face, Finn would be forced to kill her. Of course, knowing her, she’d probably haunt him. Who is he kidding; she’s probably just come back to life and yell at him for being a sucky murderer.
“And you’re a doctor now?”
“No, but I’ve had a broken nose before and it looked like yours. A few weeks of tape across it and I was good as new. Of course, I’m not claiming that you shouldn’t seek out a second opinion from an actual doctor.”
“How’d you break your nose?”
“Duh, Puck, of course. Who still remains the only person I know who can have a game of Monopoly end in stitches. Between the two of us we’ve managed a broken nose, wrist, collarbone, three arms, a leg each, a dislocated shoulder, two concussions, and a few cracked ribs. I think it should freak me out a lot more how many times our last words were almost ‘Dude, watch this!’”
Mr. Schue snorts at this and then winces slightly, clearly regretting it.
“The two of you must have given your mothers heart attacks.”
“My mom’s got four older brothers and Sophie---Mrs. Puckerman’s a nurse. They kind of had a survival of the fittest attitude when it came to us. It worked. Mostly.”
It’s none of his business (as Mr. Schue so bluntly told him) and he’s almost afraid of the answer, but he has to ask. It’s like the masochistic urge to keep poking at a bruise.
“You know, Rachel thought you stepping up for Ms. Pillsbury like that was totally romantic. Are you two um-I mean I know that you kind of once---“
He can’t finish the thought.
He’s got that want to throw up again feeling because what if it turns out that Mr. Schue would also do anything for love? What if he’s trying to win Ms. Pillsbury back and he marries her and they have a bunch of cute red haired babies and Finn goes back to being just another student, just another kid he’ll write glowing college recommendation letters for and maybe if he’s lucky after he graduates, if he actually manages to get the fuck out of Lima, they’ll e-mail occasionally or have a catch up lunch when they run into each other at the movies while he’s home on break.
What would he do then?
(Let him, obviously. Because it’d be what Mr. Schue wanted. And he’d totally love Mr. Schue’s children. He’d babysit them while their parents went out for their anniversary even if it hurt like death from a thousand paper cuts.)
“No. Emma’s just a friend. I only did it because I knew how upset she’d be if she was forced to go through with it.”
He wheezes out something that sounds like “Friends are good.” And wants to face palm at how dumb that is. But he can’t help it. Because Mr. Schue’s looking at him intently, like maybe it’s really, really important for him to understand that he’s not at all interested in Ms. Pillsbury.
“Finn, the money. For the fundraiser, it’s for Glee.”
His thoughts are like molasses and it takes him a moment to grasp what he’s being told.
“Huh?”
“I planned this, obviously not the Sue breaking my nose part, that was a bit of improv since I never thought it would be Emma’s name pulled, but the rest of it. I got Figgins to sign off on it and agree to let us keep all the profits because I knew the temptation to embarrass me would be too much for her. And she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. We raised almost five thousand dollars and most of it is thanks to her, her ballot stuffing, bullying and bribing. If-when we go to Nationals, it’s going to be on her dime.”
Mr. Schue grins at him.
“We’ll have to send her a thank you card. One that sings when she opens it.”
Mr. Schue is smiling and Finn’s can’t help smiling back because it’s actually reaching his eyes for the first time in forever and he’s sounding all optimistic and excited about the future.
He smiles because Mr. Schue isn’t giving up on life or in love with Ms. Pillsbury.
Because Mr. Schue stood up in front of everyone in that auditorium and took a pie to the face for them because he is a totally noble and heroic windmill tilting crazy evil genius.
Finn smiles because he practically gave himself carpel tunnel syndrome to save Mr. Schue from being attacked with baked goods and it turns out that was the plan all along.
…And he kept it a secret.
From everyone.
From him.
Huh. Now he doesn’t feel so much like smiling. In fact, it kind of slithers off of his face.
(He idly wonders if a falling smile would break apart and shatter or would it make a wet squelching plop noise when it hit the ground. And then he wonders where the fuck this stuff in his head comes from.)
“Wow-that-congrats on you know, keeping it close to the vest all that time-I-“
And okay, yeah it makes sense, he gets it, what’s the point of coming up with a super secret plan and then sharing it with another person, but still…Finn’s a little hurt that it turns out he falls into the category of ‘everyone else.’
So much for that trusting him thing.
Some of this must clearly show in his expression (or maybe Mr. Schue heard his smile when it fell) because he gives him his best earnest teacher look.
“Finn, I wanted to tell you. I just couldn’t risk it possibly getting back to Sue. I hated not telling you and that’s why-that day in my office, I was so rude to you because I almost did blurt it out right then and there and I’m sorry. I don’t-I don’t really feel that way. It means a lot that you were worried about me.”
It’s probably more than a little sad how his knees sort of buckle with relief to know that his opinion matters to Mr. Schue, that Mr. Schue doesn’t want him to butt out of his life, that he’s important enough to him that hurting his feelings makes him feel bad.
But he can’t make himself care because Finn suddenly realizes that somewhere when he wasn’t paying attention, something in the room had slipped off an edge and now there’s an odd weighty silence all around them, calming and comforting and confusing all at once. Mr. Schue is watching him with a gaze that’s steady and intent enough to make the back of Finn’s neck heat up, it’s like he’s searching his face-for what? And when he finds it, will he tell him?
It’s all so much, so big and scary and strange in how not strange it feels, his palm resting high up on Mr. Schue’s arm, almost at his shoulder, the heat of Mr. Schue’s body through his thin shirt. If he stretched his fingers out, they would be brushing the skin of his bicep, he could run his hand down Mr. Schue’s arm and grab his hand, lace their fingers together and maybe that wouldn’t be strange either. Maybe Mr. Schue would let him, maybe that’s what the look means, maybe that’s why Mr. Schue hated keeping secrets from him.
The possibility of this makes his chest hurt, a vague clawing ache, it’s like listening to Warren Zevon for the very first time on the best sound system available and cranked all the way up to eleven.
Mr. Schue is warm and so close and he could just, if Finn wanted to--no that’s never been the issue, if Finn had the guts to do it, if he were brave enough, he could kiss him, just lean down and…
His brain wages a brief but intense inner battle.
‘He’s finally opening up to you again, don’t jinx it!’
‘Mmm, pretty green eyes. And he smells so good.’
‘You see each other every day, potential awkwardness!’
‘Dude, just go for it!’
It’s the last one that wins.
(And later he’ll be slightly creeped out when he realizes it’s Puck’s voice saying this.)
Finn triple dog dares himself.
Says a quick prayer to the gods of sex, drums, and rock and roll and then he leans forward, slowly and carefully, mindful of Mr. Schue’s nose, and he kisses him.
Finally.
Closed mouth but there is no mistaking his intent, it’s pretty obvious he didn’t trip and fall on him or anything. At first there’s nothing, no response. Mr. Scue doesn’t push Finn away, but merely stands there unmoving, his body fairly radiating tension from every pore.
But then he kisses back, his hand tightening at the hem of Finn’s shirt and Finn decides to go for broke, he slides his tongue along the seam of Mr. Schue’s lips and into Mr. Schue’s mouth and he tastes like sugar and copper pennies and it should be gross because that’s blood he’s tasting. But it’s not. It’s perfect. Except for the part where Mr. Schue pulls away.
They’re still close enough that he can feel Mr. Schue’s breath on his face, pressed together from hip to knee.
“What was that?”
He doesn’t sound angry, just confused and it’s a relief but also more than a little scary because Mr. Schue is putting this all in his hands. Finn can make this as meaningless as he chooses. If he apologizes and walks away, Mr. Schue will let him do that, they’ll never talk about it again (it’ll just go on top of that towering pile of other things they don’t talk about) and he won’t hold it against him. Finn knows it because Mr. Schue’s that kind of man, the ‘let a poor dumb kid down easy when he reads the signs wrong and fucks up the best thing in his life’ kind of man.
“That was me kissing you. It -um, it’s better when you help.” He tries to ease the tension with a joke, it’s a line from a movie he’d watched with Kurt once (and he can’t help pointing out that Humphrey Bogart had been way, way older than Lauren Bacall and no one thought the fact that they ended up together in the film and in real life was wrong or gross.)
“So-uh-you-” At this point, Mr. Schue can only content himself with a vague hand motion.
Finn’s mind happily fills in the rest, ‘Want you, want you, want you, wanna jump your boooooooones!’
Out loud he replies, “So-uh, I am interested. And hoping you’re not gonna like, beat me up or anything.”
Finn tries to keep his tone light, but he can’t keep the niggling doubt from creeping into his voice and coloring his words.
“It’s funny you’d say that. I can’t tell you why it’s funny though, because you’ll think I’m crazy.”
Mr. Schue laughs, but it doesn’t sound like a laugh at all.
When Finn tries to reach out for him, he neatly sidesteps away from him. And now Finn’s knees definitely buckle. He has to hold on to the sink to keep from falling over. He almost can’t hear what Mr. Schue is saying over the dull roaring in his ears.
“Look, we can’t have this conversation right now. And I absolutely can’t have it here. Not when I’ve got blood all over me. I am going to go get that second opinion you suggested. And then I’m going to go home. If you-if you decide you still want to have this conversation, that’s where I’ll be. But I just…Finn, I want you to think about this, okay? About what you want and why you want it. And if there is even the smallest part of you that is doing this out of pity, in the name of pulling me from my-how did you put it? My shit’s fucked up angst, please, I’m begging you, don’t come over.”
Mr. Schue touches his arm in farewell and then grabs his things and hightails it out of the room like the hounds of hell are after him.
PART TWO.