AN: A little experiment in keeping me writing (and hoping that turns into to even more motivation for my larger projects — and/or inspires others). As the summary suggests, this'll be a bunch of shorts on various subjects that don't feel "worthy" of individual posting, added to whenever I feel like it from now until probably when this site shuts down or whatever — some related to already published material by me, some not. I've already got a few ideas in the pipeline, but I'm starting it off with this.
Dave occasionally talked to himself — when he was working through a knotty math problem, when he was pumping himself up to get out on the gridiron or the ice, when he was nervous and about to do something he didn't want to do, but had to do.
He just didn't usually do it this literally.
But there he was, standing next to his desk, staring at... himself. Same black t-shirt with a plaid short sleeved shirt over it, same jeans, same eyes, which were sparkling in amusement.
"What the fuck...?" Weak-kneed, Dave stumbled against his desk. "W-who... what the fuck are you?"
Other Dave shrugged casually. "I'm your gay side."
Yes, those were words. Yes, they were in English. Yes, they were strung together in a grammatically correct sentence. Yet they still didn't make any sense.
"My... what?"
Other Dave rolled his eyes. "Did I stutter?" he snapped, sounding a lot like Jack in that moment. "I said, I'm your gay side."
Dave sat heavily down on his chair. "My... gay side."
"Yep." Other Dave grinned wickedly. "The part of you that likes abs and pecs. The part of you that sneaks peeks at backup QB's asses when they're not looking. The part of you that wonders what it'd be like to suck co—"
"Okay, okay, I get it! It's just... How...?"
Other Dave snorted. "Obviously because you're dreaming."
"... Dreaming?"
"Yeah. Remember junior prom last night? You basically cried yourself to sleep. Not that there's anything wrong with that," Other Dave added with another shrug. "You're not a fucking girl if you..."
"I'm... dreaming." Dave rubbed his forehead. He was starting to remember little bits and pieces of the previous night... Dancing with Santana... Winning prom king... Then Kurt and his request...
"That's what I said, wasn't it? Shit, I'm a dumbass." Other Dave frowned. "We're a dumbass? Fuck, English grammar isn't built for this kinda thing..."
Dave closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will himself awake. If this was a dream, then he could wake up, right?
"Nice try," Other Dave chuckled. "You ain't waking up until we have a little talk."
"Look, what do you want?" Dave's hands flexed menacingly, though part of him wondered what exactly would happen if he were to punch himself, even in a dream...
"What I want is for you to stop ignoring me. I've been here all your... our life..."
"Is that right?"
"That's right. I didn't just pop into existence just because you looked at Kurt for two seconds too long. You've done a pretty good job keeping me down, but these past few months?" Other Dave grinned again, a sharp and toothy smile that sent shudders through Dave. "I've been getting strong. Real strong. It feels good."
"Yeah, well, fuck you! You're the reason I got humiliated in front of the entire junior class! It's your fault my life is shit!"
"My fault?!" Other Dave roared, jumping to his feet. "You know how much of a beating I've taken from you? How long I've spent locked up in... in that fucking stuffy hellhole?" He waved his arms towards the closet; the door was hanging open, crooked on its hinges, the inside surface cracked and chipped from repeated blows.
"I didn't ask to be—"
"No, we didn't. But we are. And the sooner you fucking accept that, the sooner we can have a life."
"A life," Dave repeated in disbelief. "What the fuck kind of life? Living with some guy in the suburbs with a couple of dogs and a kid?"
"Would that be so bad?" Other Dave asked, his voice suddenly soft.
"I...!" He was about to yell something — something about wives and weddings and grandbabies for his mom to coo over — but somehow, nothing came out. His throat was too tight to let out anything but that one syllable.
"Look, I get it. I'm you, after all." There was something about the gentleness of the words, in his own voice, that somehow penetrated the haze of Dave's mind. "But all this shit you do to yourself... It affects me too. It fucking hurts." Somehow, that just made it worse — the crack in Other Dave's voice at that last word. "I'm not a monster."
Dave's reply was flat, without affect. "Yeah, well, maybe I am."
Other Dave shook his head. "See, that hurts us too. Why are you so afraid of me?"
"I'm not afraid! I... I just can't be you. I can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because...! Why do you even have to ask that? You know Mom! You saw what happened tonight! Why would I want even more of that?"
"Because you don't have a choice?"
"Why not?"
"Did you forget already? I'm already you. You can't change that, no matter how much you want to."
Dave snorted. "Yeah, whatever. You're just a fucking dream anyway. Besides, you're gay. How can I be...?" It hit him all at once, so hard that he almost physically felt it. His jaw dropped.
Other Dave dressed like him. He talked like him. He acted like him. He wasn't a fashion plate like Kurt or overly gelled like Blaine. He didn't swish or lisp like the stereotypes demanded.
Other Dave — gay Dave — was exactly the same as him.
Other Dave nodded with a satisfied grin. "You just got it, didn't you?"
Dave swallowed. "I..."
"I still like hockey. I still like video games. I like singing and dancing too, but that's just because we always did, even if you don't break it out as much as I'd like. By the way, those moves with Santana? Smoking, even if she is a chick." Other Dave sat back down on the bed. "Another thing we have in common: I don't take shit from anyone. Especially not myself."
Dave still couldn't bring himself to say anything.
"I'm tired, dude. I'm tired of always fighting with you. I'm tired of you pushing me into that fucking closet. I want... I want to hold a guy's hand in public. I want to kiss a guy — a real fucking kiss, man. I want..." Other Dave shook his head, eyes cast downward. "I want to be whole."
"... Whole?"
"We... we don't have to be you and me. In fact, it doesn't make a lot of fucking sense, does it? We can be... just one. Just Dave."
"Just gay?"
"Yeah." Other Dave looked back up with a determined gleam in his eye. "Look... Can we at least have a truce? If we keep fighting... We'll end up killing each other. 'Cause you can't get rid of me for good any other way. Because..."
"Yeah, yeah, we're the same person, I get it."
"Sometimes I don't think you do." Other Dave stood, then extended a hand. "Truce?"
Dave stared at the outstretched hand. Did he really want to do this? Could he really do this?
"I swear, you don't have to come out. Just... think about it, you know? Talk to me. Yourself. Whatever. Maybe sit in the parking lot of Scandals one of these days. You don't even have to go in." The hand remained outstretched, steady and firm. "You know I'm telling you the truth. You may lie to others, you may lie to me... But I'll never be anything but honest with you. Because my existence? All about honesty." Other Dave raised an eyebrow in challenge. "So what's it gonna be? We gonna go another round, keep on going until we die? Or are you gonna man up and deal with me like a civilized fucking human being for once?"
Dave stared. Just taking that hand — just thinking about taking it... It felt like stepping off the edge.
He could ignore it. Sneer at it. Answer it with a punch to his doppelganger's face. That would feel good.
But...
But...
There was something in Other Dave's eyes... Hope? Strength? Courage? All of the above?
Was it a coincidence that those were all the things that Dave desperately wanted for himself?
Before he could think twice, he raised a hand and clutched Other Dave's in a firm grip.
"Truce."
Dave blinked, wincing at the sunlight streaming through his windows. He glanced at the bedside clock; it was almost noon.
He groaned, sitting up in his bed. He'd fallen asleep in his suit, his pants legs bunched up and his coat rumpled. His face was itchy with dried moisture; he scratched at it idly.
It was weird, though. He'd fallen asleep feeling broken inside, but now...
He was feeling an odd sense of peace.
Dave had no idea where it came from, or how long it'd last, but his mind hadn't felt so clear in months.
He swung his feet onto the floor and jumped up. It was a new day, and he had a lot to think about.