Baby Steps Chapter 2b
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 2a
Dave parked his truck in the lot and turned it off, sitting in silence as he watched the growing crowd of students milling about the high school. It looked staged, like a movie or a TV show; entrance shot: typical teenage high school. It didn’t look dangerous. And that was, of course, the most dangerous thing about it; you could never see the threats coming.
Unless, of course, they were wearing letterman jackets and carrying slushies. Then, everyone ran.
Dave shook himself. And he had thought Kurt was a drama queen. He got out of his truck, settling his jacket around himself like armor. He could see a group of jackets by the dumpsters, and for a moment felt a spike of fear that it was Kurt--but no, it was only Jewfro.
Dave paused. As a former bullywhip, and, well, former bully, he should probably step in and stop the early morning dumpster-dive.
But he really hated that kid. The annoying little shit had a future as a tabloid paparazzo, and a love of exposing secrets that tipped the balance from “lack of morals” to “pathological.”
Either way, it was out of his hands. He hesitated, Jewfro ended up in the dumpster, and Dave pushed on into the school, head down.
Whatever hopes Dave had had of getting through homeroom without talking to anybody were shot as soon as he passed through the front doors.
“Fucker, where you been?” Az called down the hall.
“Language, Mr. Adams,” Principal Figgins said.
“Oh, my bad,” Az said, and slung an arm around Dave’s shoulders. Dave tried not to tense, but there was something--not menacing, not really, but suspicious, about the way Az had grabbed him. And there it was, the blind panic of oh shit, he knows, but he pasted on a smile for Figgins, and let Az lead him down the hall.
“Question stands, fucker. You’ve been gone lately, man.”
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Az shifted his walk, moving Dave until Az had him pushed up against the wall. It wasn’t the first time, and Dave knew he could easily get away if he wanted to, but he just stood there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Az poked his chest.
“You don’t wanna say, fine. Say you don’t wanna say. But don’t you fucking lie to my face.”
Dave looked away, and sighed. “Fine. Its nothing, okay? I just haven’t felt very social recently, that’s all. And I really don’t wanna talk about it.”
The warning bell rang, and Az backed away. “All right,” Az said. “All right.” He rolled his shoulders. “Later, fucker.”
“Later,” Dave waited until Az was gone before he entered his homeroom.
Santana had been in Dave’s homeroom for all four years, but this was the first time she had saved a seat for him--well, the first time since their “breakup” after Prom. Dave raised an eyebrow at her, but as in the seat.
“The answer’s still no,” Dave said in greeting. Santana rolled her eyes.
“I’m not interested,” She snipped. Dave smirked.
“That’s not what you said the other day.”
Santana glared at him, but Dave was used to Santana’s glares, and this one was missing its usual heat. “Please,” she said, looking him up and down. “You know you want to get with this.”
“Oh yeah,” Dave said, deadpan. “You’re the only woman for me.”
“And don’t forget it.” Santana arched an eyebrow at him, and Dave had to fight to keep from smiling.
“Oh, don’t worry. I--”
“All right, class,” Mrs. Green said. “I’m passing out your schedules. Please take only yours.”
Santana rolled her eyes. “What does she think we’re going to do with someone else’s schedule?” she muttered.
“Year long senior prank?” Dave said, “Identity theft? Paper mache?”
“Paper mache?”
“Don’t mess. You know you’re jealous of my mad macrame skills.”
Santana snorted. “Yeah. Green.”
So, of course, when the schedules came around, Santana snagged hers and Dave’s before handing the rest back. Dave rolled his eyes, and grabbed at it half-heartedly. Santana held it away, looking over it with a low whistle.
“AP Calc II, AP Physics, and Honors English? Who are you?”
Dave half-stood and snagged the paper back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dave said, sitting back and smoothing out the paper. His grades had returned with the BullyWhips, and, to be honest, his father had pulled some strings to get Dave into the classes he was “supposed to be in.” Calc II and Physics weren’t a problem, numbers were easy, but Honors English?
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath.
“Sure, but fair warning--my dick’s rubber.”
“No thanks. I make it a policy not to date chicks with bigger balls than me.”
The bell rang and Dave stood. He was lucky, he had history first, and the classroom was right next to the hallway to the gym, so he should be able to meet Kurt and not be too late to class.
Santana followed him out, tossing a “later, loser,” over her shoulder. Whatever. Dave shook his head. Crazy.
Kurt was standing in the hallway, bag over his shoulder and staring down at the phone in his hands and Dave took a moment to wonder that Kurt was waiting for him, then he got close enough to see Kurt’s face and--he looked so fucking melancholy. Dave frowned. There was something very wrong about a melancholy Kurt.
“Hey,” Dave said. Kurt started and looked up. He smiled with a sigh, hand covering his heart.
“David,” Kurt said. “I didn’t see you there.”
Dave shrugged. “You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing,” Kurt said. “Let’s get those posters, shall we?”
Dave watched Kurt’s face for a moment, but whatever it was, Kurt wasn’t going to be talking about it. At least, not to him, anyway. So, he just nodded and lead the way into Beiste’s office.
She smiled up at them when Dave knocked. Dave could just feel Kurt hovering, and he rolled his eyes. “You here for the posters?” Beiste asked.
“Yes, Coach,” Dave said. She nodded towards a box that was sitting on one of the chairs.
“It should all be there.” Dave nodded, and Kurt dove at the box with an excited little bounce. Whatever had him down apparently couldn’t keep him down for long. Kurt pulled out one of the posters and unrolled it.
“Oh, David, they’re perfect.”
“Yeah?” Dave asked, and stepped forward to look. Kurt tilted the paper toward him.
The posters were printed on glossy paper, one for each of the three billboard that had glass covers. There were six stylized figures, each in a different color of the rainbow, and showed three pairs all holding hands; two boys, two girls, and a boy and a girl. The print read: “Join McKinley High’s Gay-Stright Alliance: Together We Can Stop The Hate.” At the bottom, it said to contact Coach Beiste, Kurt Hummel, or David Karofsky for more information. Dave felt a little thrill of fear at the sight of his name surrounded by rainbows, but nodded. The posters looked good. He looked in the box. There were several flyers in pale lavender; they would tape some up and keep some to pass out--or use to replace the ones that were defaced. There were buttons and stickers, and a small pile of cards that had upside down pink triangles and the words “safe space” printed on them.
Dave looked up at Beiste, and noticed one of the cards was already pinned to her corkboard. Dave nodded and picked up the box. “We’ll get these up,” he said. She nodded at them and they left her office.
“I’ve got history next,” Dave said. “But my study hall is right after.”
“Oh, mine too,” Kurt said. Shall we wander the halls then?”
Dave nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”
“Do--” Kurt hesitated. “Do you want me to take the box? I’m going to get far more looks than you are.”
Dave thought about it. It was tempting, but--well--his name was already all over everything. It’s not as if nobody would find out that he was involved. “Nah,” he said. “I gotta get used to it sometime. Thanks, though.”
Kurt nodded. “Well, I should get to French. Salut!”
“Yeah, see-ya,” Dave said, and walked into his history class.
The worst part about being last was the lack of seating. Usually, if Dave was late, he was stuck in the very front. But Mr. B was young and hot and the front couple rows were filled with dreamy-eyed Cheerios and the few brainiacs that were able to beat out teenage hormones. Which meant Dave had a seat in the back. Next to Azimio, who raised a hand in greeting when Dave entered. Dave froze, just for a moment, hands suddenly damp against the cardboard. He shifted his grip just slightly, praying he wouldn’t drop the box and spill evidence everywhere and--
Dave sat next to Az, putting the box down on his other side, and raising his hand to meet Az’s fist bump.
“What is all that shit?” Az asked, leaning closer as Mr. B started to talk about the coming year, turning to write “key phrases” or some shit on the board.
“Stuff,” Dave said.
“No shit, fucker. What stuff.”
“Posters ‘n’ shit.”
Dave looked over at Az; Az had leaned back in his seat, and was staring at Dave, unipressed. “You are tighter than Fort Knox sometimes, you know that?”
Dave snorted; well he’d have to fucking be, wouldn’t he? He had to keep a lid on everything, even when he felt blown open and exposed for everyone to see.
“I’m an open book, man.”
“You’re a fucker, ‘swhat you are.”
“Takes one, fucker.”
Az snorted, but dropped it. Dave knew he wasn’t getting past this class without Az finding out, but fuck if he was going to try to explain that he was starting a GSA with Kurt Fucking Hummel in the back of his History class.
Sure enough, as soon as the bell rang, Az was in Dave’s space, trying to look in the box. “Dude,” Dave said, pulling the box away. “Not here.” Already there were students trying to come in; they looked smaller than Dave remembered them ever looking; Freshmen. He didn’t remember his class being that small when he was a Freshman; even Hummel, who had been so young for so long, was larger in his memory than these kids, had been an equal on some level. Fuck, some of them were tiny. Already Dave was feeling a little better about the box in his hands, if it would help protect some of them from monsters like he--like he had been. And maybe it would help them from becoming him, in the same way.
He lead Az out into the hall, and down towards the gym, ducking into an alcove and waiting for Az.
Az grabbed one of the flyers out of the box before Dave could say anything, reading aloud: “Join the McKinley High Student Gay-Straight-Alliance...what the fuck?” Dave raised his eyes and Az looked again. “Contact...David Karofsky.” Az looked up. “I repeat. What. The fuck.”
“I’m helping Hummel start a GSA here.” Dave said, and braced, but Az didn’t say anything, just stared at Dave for a long moment.
“You going fairy on me, Big D?” Az asked, voice only mostly joking, and Dave felt his heart freeze. He forced a sneer, and took the flyer back.
“Shut up, fucker,” Dave said.
“No, no,” Az said. “You--this is like that Bully Whips shit, isn’t it?”
Dave thought about saying no. For just one brief moment, he thought about telling Az everything, but faced with the actual possibility--he just nodded, because in a way, yeah, they were similar. Both were doing a good thing for selfish reasons, and both were, technically, stipulations for his return to McKinley. Not that Dave thought they’d kick him out now, if they didn’t do the GSA, but still.
“You see why I don’t want this shit getting around more than it has to, right?” Dave said, and the words felt heavy in his mouth, foreign and sour like dirty pennies.
“Yeah, yeah,” Az said. “I get it. Not fair to commit social suicide because the school tells you to.”
“You could come,” Dave said, acting on a sudden impulse. “If we get enough of the top of the school, the club could start off higher on the food chain.”
Az snorted. “Yeah, right. Fuck, no.”
Dave rolled his eyes, at once relieved and disappointed and feeling his old friend paranoia waving to him from the sidelines. Without Az there, Dave could probably be more of himself. But--if Dave ever wanted to come out, there was no way Az-as-he-was would accept that. Sometimes, Dave felt there was a ravine between him and Az that only he could see, and every time Az said something, or did something, that reminded Dave of whom he had been, Dave felt that chasm groan wider.
“Well,” Dave said. “I gotta get these up, so--”
“Yeah, yeah,” Az said, backing away. Dave walked away to meet Kurt, wondering when his life turned into an After School Special.
Once again, Dave found Kurt watching his phone as he waited, waiting for a text, probably. Most likely from his boyfriend. His boyfriend who had school with Popped-Collar. Fuck me, I don’t need this drama, Dave thought and stopped next to Kurt.
Kurt didn’t startle this time, just looked up at Dave with a half-hearted smile. “You ready?”
“I carry, you tape?”
“Works for me,” Kurt said, and they headed towards the main entrance and the first of the three glass cases.
“So I talked to Finn,” Kurt said as they walked. “I told him that, as my brother, he was required to come to the meetings. He said he thought he could get the rest of the Glocks (Rav, is this your thing or is this canon?) on board. Rachel will be there, and the rest of the girls in Glee will probably follow. The only one I’m not sure of is Santana.”
“Yeah, I dunno,” Dave said. “She didn’t seem too keen in homeroom.”
“Hmm,” Kurt said. “Did you talk to anybody about it?”
“What, the club? Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Az.”
“Oh,” Kurt said, an odd note in his voice. “Did you...?”
“No,” Dave said. “But he asked, and I let him assume I said ‘no’. I told him to come, I told him it was to get the popular kids in, but really, if I’m gonna come out...”
“And he said no.”
“Fuck, no.”
Kurt squeezed Dave’s forearm, like Dave had done at the Lima Bean, and Dave felt his ears flush. “I’m sorry, Dave,” Kurt said. “It’s hard when you can’t count on your friends.”
Dave pulled away, because who said that, but more because it was true and fuck. He had no idea how Ax would react other than badly and--
And Kurt was watching him with wide eyes as Dave slowly crushed the box. Dave sighed, forcing himself to relax his arms. “Yeah,” he said, quietly.
Kurt started to talk as they walked, and kept up a gentle stream of words and inconsequential topics in between taping flyers to the walls, asking Dave how practices were going (fine), if he saw any good movies over the summer (Captain America was pretty badass, but the new Conan sucked), and how he liked his schedule for his final year.
“It’s alright,” Dave said. “I don’t know how I ended up in Honors English. I feel like I can barely speak it, some days.”
“Honors--with Mrs. Finch?”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “You too?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “Good grades in English are important when pursuing an Arts degree.”
“Oh,” Dave said. “Where you thinking of looking?”
“NYADA in New York,” Kurt said, and fuck if he didn’t just light up when he said that. “They have the best musical theatre program in the country, and I will get in.” Kurt turned a bit fierce at that, and Dave raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t doubt that, Fancy.” Dave froze--the name just slipped out, but Kurt just stuck his tongue out at him, and taped another flyer to the wall.
“If you’re going to tease--”
“No, no. I mean it,” Dave said. “You’re, like, crazy talented. And if anyone has what it takes to get out of Lima, well...”
Kurt was giving him that look again, like Dave had done something unexpected. “Thank you, David.”
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what i’m going to do,” Dave said. “I was thinking something with sports, like, management or something. I’m good on the field and on the ice, but I don’t think I’m professional player material.”
“Well,” Kurt said. “Can you think where you’re like to be in, oh, ten years?”
Dave shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten past ‘not here’, you know?”
Kurt smiled. “Well--no. I’ve had my dream for so long, but--yes. I know.”
They finished the posters just before the period ended, and Dave offered to run the rest of the stuff back to Beiste’s office for safekeeping. Kurt waved him off, however, taking the box, saying he had class that way anyway. Kurt smiled his goodbye and was gone just as the hallway started to fill and Dave made his way to his next class.
Chapter 3a
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 2a
Dave parked his truck in the lot and turned it off, sitting in silence as he watched the growing crowd of students milling about the high school. It looked staged, like a movie or a TV show; entrance shot: typical teenage high school. It didn’t look dangerous. And that was, of course, the most dangerous thing about it; you could never see the threats coming.
Unless, of course, they were wearing letterman jackets and carrying slushies. Then, everyone ran.
Dave shook himself. And he had thought Kurt was a drama queen. He got out of his truck, settling his jacket around himself like armor. He could see a group of jackets by the dumpsters, and for a moment felt a spike of fear that it was Kurt--but no, it was only Jewfro.
Dave paused. As a former bullywhip, and, well, former bully, he should probably step in and stop the early morning dumpster-dive.
But he really hated that kid. The annoying little shit had a future as a tabloid paparazzo, and a love of exposing secrets that tipped the balance from “lack of morals” to “pathological.”
Either way, it was out of his hands. He hesitated, Jewfro ended up in the dumpster, and Dave pushed on into the school, head down.
Whatever hopes Dave had had of getting through homeroom without talking to anybody were shot as soon as he passed through the front doors.
“Fucker, where you been?” Az called down the hall.
“Language, Mr. Adams,” Principal Figgins said.
“Oh, my bad,” Az said, and slung an arm around Dave’s shoulders. Dave tried not to tense, but there was something--not menacing, not really, but suspicious, about the way Az had grabbed him. And there it was, the blind panic of oh shit, he knows, but he pasted on a smile for Figgins, and let Az lead him down the hall.
“Question stands, fucker. You’ve been gone lately, man.”
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Az shifted his walk, moving Dave until Az had him pushed up against the wall. It wasn’t the first time, and Dave knew he could easily get away if he wanted to, but he just stood there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Az poked his chest.
“You don’t wanna say, fine. Say you don’t wanna say. But don’t you fucking lie to my face.”
Dave looked away, and sighed. “Fine. Its nothing, okay? I just haven’t felt very social recently, that’s all. And I really don’t wanna talk about it.”
The warning bell rang, and Az backed away. “All right,” Az said. “All right.” He rolled his shoulders. “Later, fucker.”
“Later,” Dave waited until Az was gone before he entered his homeroom.
Santana had been in Dave’s homeroom for all four years, but this was the first time she had saved a seat for him--well, the first time since their “breakup” after Prom. Dave raised an eyebrow at her, but as in the seat.
“The answer’s still no,” Dave said in greeting. Santana rolled her eyes.
“I’m not interested,” She snipped. Dave smirked.
“That’s not what you said the other day.”
Santana glared at him, but Dave was used to Santana’s glares, and this one was missing its usual heat. “Please,” she said, looking him up and down. “You know you want to get with this.”
“Oh yeah,” Dave said, deadpan. “You’re the only woman for me.”
“And don’t forget it.” Santana arched an eyebrow at him, and Dave had to fight to keep from smiling.
“Oh, don’t worry. I--”
“All right, class,” Mrs. Green said. “I’m passing out your schedules. Please take only yours.”
Santana rolled her eyes. “What does she think we’re going to do with someone else’s schedule?” she muttered.
“Year long senior prank?” Dave said, “Identity theft? Paper mache?”
“Paper mache?”
“Don’t mess. You know you’re jealous of my mad macrame skills.”
Santana snorted. “Yeah. Green.”
So, of course, when the schedules came around, Santana snagged hers and Dave’s before handing the rest back. Dave rolled his eyes, and grabbed at it half-heartedly. Santana held it away, looking over it with a low whistle.
“AP Calc II, AP Physics, and Honors English? Who are you?”
Dave half-stood and snagged the paper back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dave said, sitting back and smoothing out the paper. His grades had returned with the BullyWhips, and, to be honest, his father had pulled some strings to get Dave into the classes he was “supposed to be in.” Calc II and Physics weren’t a problem, numbers were easy, but Honors English?
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath.
“Sure, but fair warning--my dick’s rubber.”
“No thanks. I make it a policy not to date chicks with bigger balls than me.”
The bell rang and Dave stood. He was lucky, he had history first, and the classroom was right next to the hallway to the gym, so he should be able to meet Kurt and not be too late to class.
Santana followed him out, tossing a “later, loser,” over her shoulder. Whatever. Dave shook his head. Crazy.
Kurt was standing in the hallway, bag over his shoulder and staring down at the phone in his hands and Dave took a moment to wonder that Kurt was waiting for him, then he got close enough to see Kurt’s face and--he looked so fucking melancholy. Dave frowned. There was something very wrong about a melancholy Kurt.
“Hey,” Dave said. Kurt started and looked up. He smiled with a sigh, hand covering his heart.
“David,” Kurt said. “I didn’t see you there.”
Dave shrugged. “You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing,” Kurt said. “Let’s get those posters, shall we?”
Dave watched Kurt’s face for a moment, but whatever it was, Kurt wasn’t going to be talking about it. At least, not to him, anyway. So, he just nodded and lead the way into Beiste’s office.
She smiled up at them when Dave knocked. Dave could just feel Kurt hovering, and he rolled his eyes. “You here for the posters?” Beiste asked.
“Yes, Coach,” Dave said. She nodded towards a box that was sitting on one of the chairs.
“It should all be there.” Dave nodded, and Kurt dove at the box with an excited little bounce. Whatever had him down apparently couldn’t keep him down for long. Kurt pulled out one of the posters and unrolled it.
“Oh, David, they’re perfect.”
“Yeah?” Dave asked, and stepped forward to look. Kurt tilted the paper toward him.
The posters were printed on glossy paper, one for each of the three billboard that had glass covers. There were six stylized figures, each in a different color of the rainbow, and showed three pairs all holding hands; two boys, two girls, and a boy and a girl. The print read: “Join McKinley High’s Gay-Stright Alliance: Together We Can Stop The Hate.” At the bottom, it said to contact Coach Beiste, Kurt Hummel, or David Karofsky for more information. Dave felt a little thrill of fear at the sight of his name surrounded by rainbows, but nodded. The posters looked good. He looked in the box. There were several flyers in pale lavender; they would tape some up and keep some to pass out--or use to replace the ones that were defaced. There were buttons and stickers, and a small pile of cards that had upside down pink triangles and the words “safe space” printed on them.
Dave looked up at Beiste, and noticed one of the cards was already pinned to her corkboard. Dave nodded and picked up the box. “We’ll get these up,” he said. She nodded at them and they left her office.
“I’ve got history next,” Dave said. “But my study hall is right after.”
“Oh, mine too,” Kurt said. Shall we wander the halls then?”
Dave nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”
“Do--” Kurt hesitated. “Do you want me to take the box? I’m going to get far more looks than you are.”
Dave thought about it. It was tempting, but--well--his name was already all over everything. It’s not as if nobody would find out that he was involved. “Nah,” he said. “I gotta get used to it sometime. Thanks, though.”
Kurt nodded. “Well, I should get to French. Salut!”
“Yeah, see-ya,” Dave said, and walked into his history class.
The worst part about being last was the lack of seating. Usually, if Dave was late, he was stuck in the very front. But Mr. B was young and hot and the front couple rows were filled with dreamy-eyed Cheerios and the few brainiacs that were able to beat out teenage hormones. Which meant Dave had a seat in the back. Next to Azimio, who raised a hand in greeting when Dave entered. Dave froze, just for a moment, hands suddenly damp against the cardboard. He shifted his grip just slightly, praying he wouldn’t drop the box and spill evidence everywhere and--
Dave sat next to Az, putting the box down on his other side, and raising his hand to meet Az’s fist bump.
“What is all that shit?” Az asked, leaning closer as Mr. B started to talk about the coming year, turning to write “key phrases” or some shit on the board.
“Stuff,” Dave said.
“No shit, fucker. What stuff.”
“Posters ‘n’ shit.”
Dave looked over at Az; Az had leaned back in his seat, and was staring at Dave, unipressed. “You are tighter than Fort Knox sometimes, you know that?”
Dave snorted; well he’d have to fucking be, wouldn’t he? He had to keep a lid on everything, even when he felt blown open and exposed for everyone to see.
“I’m an open book, man.”
“You’re a fucker, ‘swhat you are.”
“Takes one, fucker.”
Az snorted, but dropped it. Dave knew he wasn’t getting past this class without Az finding out, but fuck if he was going to try to explain that he was starting a GSA with Kurt Fucking Hummel in the back of his History class.
Sure enough, as soon as the bell rang, Az was in Dave’s space, trying to look in the box. “Dude,” Dave said, pulling the box away. “Not here.” Already there were students trying to come in; they looked smaller than Dave remembered them ever looking; Freshmen. He didn’t remember his class being that small when he was a Freshman; even Hummel, who had been so young for so long, was larger in his memory than these kids, had been an equal on some level. Fuck, some of them were tiny. Already Dave was feeling a little better about the box in his hands, if it would help protect some of them from monsters like he--like he had been. And maybe it would help them from becoming him, in the same way.
He lead Az out into the hall, and down towards the gym, ducking into an alcove and waiting for Az.
Az grabbed one of the flyers out of the box before Dave could say anything, reading aloud: “Join the McKinley High Student Gay-Straight-Alliance...what the fuck?” Dave raised his eyes and Az looked again. “Contact...David Karofsky.” Az looked up. “I repeat. What. The fuck.”
“I’m helping Hummel start a GSA here.” Dave said, and braced, but Az didn’t say anything, just stared at Dave for a long moment.
“You going fairy on me, Big D?” Az asked, voice only mostly joking, and Dave felt his heart freeze. He forced a sneer, and took the flyer back.
“Shut up, fucker,” Dave said.
“No, no,” Az said. “You--this is like that Bully Whips shit, isn’t it?”
Dave thought about saying no. For just one brief moment, he thought about telling Az everything, but faced with the actual possibility--he just nodded, because in a way, yeah, they were similar. Both were doing a good thing for selfish reasons, and both were, technically, stipulations for his return to McKinley. Not that Dave thought they’d kick him out now, if they didn’t do the GSA, but still.
“You see why I don’t want this shit getting around more than it has to, right?” Dave said, and the words felt heavy in his mouth, foreign and sour like dirty pennies.
“Yeah, yeah,” Az said. “I get it. Not fair to commit social suicide because the school tells you to.”
“You could come,” Dave said, acting on a sudden impulse. “If we get enough of the top of the school, the club could start off higher on the food chain.”
Az snorted. “Yeah, right. Fuck, no.”
Dave rolled his eyes, at once relieved and disappointed and feeling his old friend paranoia waving to him from the sidelines. Without Az there, Dave could probably be more of himself. But--if Dave ever wanted to come out, there was no way Az-as-he-was would accept that. Sometimes, Dave felt there was a ravine between him and Az that only he could see, and every time Az said something, or did something, that reminded Dave of whom he had been, Dave felt that chasm groan wider.
“Well,” Dave said. “I gotta get these up, so--”
“Yeah, yeah,” Az said, backing away. Dave walked away to meet Kurt, wondering when his life turned into an After School Special.
Once again, Dave found Kurt watching his phone as he waited, waiting for a text, probably. Most likely from his boyfriend. His boyfriend who had school with Popped-Collar. Fuck me, I don’t need this drama, Dave thought and stopped next to Kurt.
Kurt didn’t startle this time, just looked up at Dave with a half-hearted smile. “You ready?”
“I carry, you tape?”
“Works for me,” Kurt said, and they headed towards the main entrance and the first of the three glass cases.
“So I talked to Finn,” Kurt said as they walked. “I told him that, as my brother, he was required to come to the meetings. He said he thought he could get the rest of the Glocks (Rav, is this your thing or is this canon?) on board. Rachel will be there, and the rest of the girls in Glee will probably follow. The only one I’m not sure of is Santana.”
“Yeah, I dunno,” Dave said. “She didn’t seem too keen in homeroom.”
“Hmm,” Kurt said. “Did you talk to anybody about it?”
“What, the club? Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Az.”
“Oh,” Kurt said, an odd note in his voice. “Did you...?”
“No,” Dave said. “But he asked, and I let him assume I said ‘no’. I told him to come, I told him it was to get the popular kids in, but really, if I’m gonna come out...”
“And he said no.”
“Fuck, no.”
Kurt squeezed Dave’s forearm, like Dave had done at the Lima Bean, and Dave felt his ears flush. “I’m sorry, Dave,” Kurt said. “It’s hard when you can’t count on your friends.”
Dave pulled away, because who said that, but more because it was true and fuck. He had no idea how Ax would react other than badly and--
And Kurt was watching him with wide eyes as Dave slowly crushed the box. Dave sighed, forcing himself to relax his arms. “Yeah,” he said, quietly.
Kurt started to talk as they walked, and kept up a gentle stream of words and inconsequential topics in between taping flyers to the walls, asking Dave how practices were going (fine), if he saw any good movies over the summer (Captain America was pretty badass, but the new Conan sucked), and how he liked his schedule for his final year.
“It’s alright,” Dave said. “I don’t know how I ended up in Honors English. I feel like I can barely speak it, some days.”
“Honors--with Mrs. Finch?”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “You too?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “Good grades in English are important when pursuing an Arts degree.”
“Oh,” Dave said. “Where you thinking of looking?”
“NYADA in New York,” Kurt said, and fuck if he didn’t just light up when he said that. “They have the best musical theatre program in the country, and I will get in.” Kurt turned a bit fierce at that, and Dave raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t doubt that, Fancy.” Dave froze--the name just slipped out, but Kurt just stuck his tongue out at him, and taped another flyer to the wall.
“If you’re going to tease--”
“No, no. I mean it,” Dave said. “You’re, like, crazy talented. And if anyone has what it takes to get out of Lima, well...”
Kurt was giving him that look again, like Dave had done something unexpected. “Thank you, David.”
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what i’m going to do,” Dave said. “I was thinking something with sports, like, management or something. I’m good on the field and on the ice, but I don’t think I’m professional player material.”
“Well,” Kurt said. “Can you think where you’re like to be in, oh, ten years?”
Dave shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten past ‘not here’, you know?”
Kurt smiled. “Well--no. I’ve had my dream for so long, but--yes. I know.”
They finished the posters just before the period ended, and Dave offered to run the rest of the stuff back to Beiste’s office for safekeeping. Kurt waved him off, however, taking the box, saying he had class that way anyway. Kurt smiled his goodbye and was gone just as the hallway started to fill and Dave made his way to his next class.
Chapter 3a