AN: I'm actually back to this. I'm hoping that writing more regularly, and putting out relatively short chapters, will keep the mojo going. I don't like it when I don't finish stuff.
July 15, 2015
"I've been thinking..."
"Uh oh." Dave stuck his tongue out at Kurt. "Really? What are you, twelve? But seriously, what were you thinking about?"
"Life. How weird it is."
"Don't I know it."
"I just wonder sometimes. What would've happened if things had been different."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Like..." Dave turned red. "Never mind..."
"No, what were you gonna say?"
"It'll make me sound like a complete asshole."
"That's because you are a complete asshole. Now finish your sentence before I plot some kind of humiliating revenge with your boyfriend."
"Okay, fine." Dave took a deep breath. "Like... I wonder what would've happened if I grew up with my birth family. What life would be like now. What we'd be like." He turned to his brother, staring with half a wince on his face, as if waiting for the recriminations to erupt.
Instead, all he got was a nod. "Of course. That's completely natural, Dave. I'm sure every adopted child has those thoughts at least once in their lives. And even some who aren't."
"I know, it's just... Being a Hummel just means so much to me, I don't want to sound... I dunno, ungrateful..."
"Believe me," Kurt said with a lopsided smirk, "one thing I will never think is that you don't value us." The smirk melted away as Kurt considered. "But I don't know what could've been different. It's kind of futile to try to guess, so it's usually not worth thinking about. Still... I happen to believe that as much as nurture affects us, there are certain parts of our core self that would resist such change."
"Oh? Like a soul?" Dave asked with a grin.
"No, not like a soul! It's just that I find the idea of our personalities just being a collection of brain impulses that could shift with any sort of injury or stimulus to be kind of... bleak. I know it's probably true, but... I have a romantic side too. I like to think that there's some part of us that's us, that doesn't change. I mean, look at us: we were raised by the same parents, but in many ways, we couldn't be more different. I think that comes from someplace fundamental inside us."
"So if I weren't your brother..."
"I like to think I'd be largely the same. Maybe better in some ways, maybe worse, but basically the same person." Kurt's eyes twinkled. "You, on the other hand..."
"I knew I shouldn't have brought this up."
"I think being a Hummel has improved you significantly. If you lived with anybody but us, I think you'd be a vastly inferior human being."
"Oh, right, that's because you were such a good influence on me, right?"
"Obviously not enough," Kurt sniffed, casting a critical eye on Dave's current clothing. "I think I failed you as a brother, unfortunately. But..." Kurt's voice and face softened. "At the same time, I think you being in our family has improved us too. I can't imagine it being just Dad and me after Mom died. I think we would've driven each other crazy, or maybe retreated into our own shells. But having you in our house strengthened us. You gave us a reason to go on. Three legged stools and all that."
Dave stared; his Adam's apple bobbed. He parted his lips as if to say something, but nothing came out at first. He took a deep breath and succeeded on his second try. "No, you guys gave me a reason to go on. After my birth family died, after Mom died... You guys kept me sane."
Kurt sniffled — from the dry air or something, obviously. "No, actually, I think we did a damn poor job of that." Dave laughed wetly. "But that's what family does."
"Yeah," Dave said hoarsely. "That's what family does."
"So are you still wondering what you'd be like if things had been different?"
"A little. But I'm not going to let that keep me from appreciating what and who I have now."
"Oh, my, wisdom! I take everything back: we've obviously been a tremendous good influence on you."
"Go to hell."
"You first."
January 8, 2010
"Hi, I'm collecting signatures for a petition to expand Ohio's hate crime laws to match up with federal laws. Would you like to sign?" The girl breezed by without a word or a glance, too enraptured in her phone. Ah, well, Dave told himself, at least it wasn't because she was disinterested. Or not just because.
He shivered in the early morning chill, tightening the scarf wrapped around his neck. He was cold and tired, he still had to finish his history homework, and despite all of his prep and Internet research, he still felt like he was completely unprepared for what he was doing. He did not need the apathy and hostility of his fellow classmates...
"Hi, I'm collecting signatures for—"
"Freak."
"Fuck you too!"
... But he was getting quite a bit of both.
Dave muttered under his breath darkly, mentally berating himself for having some actual hope that McKinley would show any kind of compassion. But then, he was that desperate, wasn't he? Or maybe he'd been looking for some sign, any sign, that his next four years of high school wouldn't be the hell he feared it would be for himself and his brother?
If so, he hadn't found it yet. All the worst stereotypes were out there in full display, most especially the complete intolerance for anyone who committed the unspeakable crime of being different. Dave could take care of himself, but Kurt...
Well, that's why he was doing this: for his brother, for everyone else like his brother out there.
"Hi, I'm collecting signatures—" Okay, that one definitely tuned him out deliberately. Maybe if he rephrased his introduction, talked about the cause up front instead of trying to break the ice first, he'd get more bites?
And Ryan Reynolds would drive up and sweep him off his feet and have beautiful half-Canadian babies with him.
"You." The voice behind him stiffened his spine. "Yeah, you. Gay Guevara." Slowly, Dave turned. Somehow, Coach Sylvester's nose was already mere millimeters away from his own.
"Um..." He wanted more than anything to stay calm, casual, spit out his spiel. But his throat — his entire body — locked up. He couldn't even feel any humiliation at the fact. He wasn't stupid; he knew when he was at a disadvantage. "Hi... Coach."
Sylvester's gaze, as frigid as the winter weather, lowered to the clipboard in his hands. "What's that?"
"Uh... A... a petition..."
"Ah. You said something about hate crime laws?"
"Y-yeah."
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. "Didn't Figgins tell you to cut out the soapboxing?"
The mention of Figgins sent a much needed jolt of hot anger through him. "Yeah, he did. But I'm doing it anyway. I've got free speech rights, just like anyone else. Besides, whatever he does to me is nothing compared to what the victims of hate crime go through."
Surprisingly, Sylvester didn't respond; she just stared at him with those hard, cold, almost reptilian eyes. In fact, she didn't break that eye contact at all, not even for a second, as she snatched the petition out of his hands, signed it with the pen tied onto the clipboard, and handed it back. Dave stared down dumbly at the paper in his hands; despite her not even looking at what she was writing, her signature was perfectly centered and level on the once blank line.
"Come by the teacher's lounge this afternoon," she said without a single unusual note to her voice. "I have a feeling the entire faculty will be lined up to sign." She turned on her heel. "And straighten that spine," she snapped without even turning around. "You're twitchier than an epileptic puppy."
Dave's jaw remained dropped, and his heart rate elevated, until Sylvester disappeared into the school. Finally, without her... aura, he was able to shake off the mental trauma. He had absolutely no idea what that was all about, but he had a signature, and, if Sylvester was right (and he had the oddest certainty that she was), he'd have a bunch more soon. Wasn't that what he wanted?
He heard footsteps behind him. C'mon, Hummel, get your head in the game. "Hi," he said as he turned, "I'm collecting signatures for a petition to expand Ohio's hate crime laws to match up with federal laws. Would you like to sign?"
"Sure!" It was the first direct, audible affirmative he'd heard all morning. As a result, his tongue tied itself into a few neat knots. He didn't know the boy standing in front of him, except for a few glimpses in the halls occasionally. He was hard to miss, being one of the relatively few non-white students at McKinley — tall, lean, kinda cute. The boy grinned a white grin. "So, uh... Can I sign now?"
"What? Oh, yeah!" Dave handed over the clipboard as he mentally kicked himself; he'd never felt so off in his life, and he hated the lost, helpless feeling. It was all Sylvester's fault. "Heh, sorry; you're one of the few people who's actually signed."
The boy shrugged as he signed the petition. "My parents were activists. So were their parents, and their parents. I got relatives who helped run the Underground Railroad, marched in DC, testified in Congress..."
"So you understand," Dave said a little breathlessly. He didn't explicate further, but if he was right, he didn't need to...
"Yeah," the boy said with a firm nod as he handed the clipboard back, "I do." He cocked his head a little. "I've heard a lot about you."
Dave snorted. "I'll bet."
"Ah, I knew you couldn't be that bad."
"So what?" Dave glared at the boy's letterman jacket. "You ever tell your buddies that? Or stop 'em from calling me and my brother names no one should ever be called?"
The boy flushed in what actually resembled shame. "Sorry..."
"No, no, it's okay," Dave said hastily, though he wasn't sure why he cared about this dude's feelings. "I didn't mean..."
"I still want to make it up to you somehow."
"... Why?"
"'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.' I've heard that a million times from my grandpa and my mom, and they'd both slap me silly if they heard I was lookin' the other way while bullying was going on. You aren't going to tell them, right?" There was just a shade of "not joking" in the mostly joking tone.
"Nah, I won't. And it's fine. I know how hard it can be to get involved when you're not directly involved."
"Don't mean it's right, though."
"No, it doesn't," Dave admitted.
The boy stuck out a hand without hesitation despite the honesty. "I'm Anthony Rashad."
Dave accepted the shake; it was warm. "Dave Hummel."
"Yeah, I know. I told you, I've heard a lot about you. You've kinda made a name for yourself at this school already."
Dave laughed. "Yeah, well, you gotta shake things up sometimes."
"I know. Believe me, I know." Dave didn't know what it was about his tone, but he really did believe Anthony did know. "Hey, I've got a few friends in the Black Student Union who'd probably sign the petition. Want me to introduce you?"
"Hey, that'd be awesome!"
"Then follow me." Anthony clapped a hand on Dave's shoulder and cocked a thumb towards McKinley with a wide grin. "Let's get you some help shaking things up."
Dave tried not to let his knees give way.
January 14, 2010
Anthony was definitely straight. Dammit.
December 11, 2010
Nevertheless, Anthony was a cool guy. The stories he told of him sitting at his parents' and grandparents' knees, listening to memories of Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, and Jesse Jackson, weren't necessary to make one thing perfectly clear to Dave: he understood The Struggle. Yeah, it'd be stupid to try to compare his own activism to what Anthony's family fought and literally bled for, but the fact remained that they shared a... wavelength that not even he and his brother shared. Having that here, right in front of him, and not across some cold distant Internet connection was... heady.
Anthony knew what it was like to feel like you were alone while in the middle of a crowd of people; maybe more, in fact, because he occasionally got a peek behind the curtain — what his peers said and did and joked about behind closed doors, when they forgot he was black. "Even the guys you'd think are cool. They don't think they're being racist." Anthony said it with a shrug, as if he were used to it — or resigned to it.
But all that resignation seemed to evaporate every time he and Dave talked about activism. Many was the afternoon when they'd start talking about the latest police brutality scandal or protest march. Almost every time, it felt like they'd only be talking for a few minutes before Anthony's mother was knocking on the door and wryly asking Dave if he wanted to stay for dinner again.
For the first time in many years, Dave Hummel felt so much less alone, it was like he was living an entirely new life. He felt guilty the first time he thought it; it felt like an insult to everything his family had done, and was continuing to do, for him. But at the same time, they were his family; it wasn't like they had a choice (although his being adopted did make it more so than normal). Anthony was someone he had no previous relationship with, someone with absolutely no existing stake in his well-being, and they still connected.
Anthony Rashad was, in short, Dave's first real friend.
Kurt gently mocked him, of course ("Of course your best friendship would revolve around mutual hate of the rest of the world."), but Dave could tell his brother was happy for him. Besides, Anthony was a way better video game rival than Kurt could ever be.
It was during one of those marathon gaming sessions they could get deep into (this time Madden NFL — the only way Dave would get anywhere close to the game of football) that one particular topic was first brought up. "So," Dave said as halftime paused the game, "how's things going with you and Mercedes?"
Anthony shrugged. "Not bad. She's nice."
"Not feelin' it, huh?" Dave said sympathetically.
"Not so far," Anthony sighed. "You talk with your brother about setting people up based on race?" His tone was half-joking, but only half.
"Hey, I told you, it was because you were my friend already, so you were vetted. Besides, it's not his fault. I mean, yeah, he's socially progressive, obviously, but he's too worried about his future stardom to think nearly as much about these things as I do."
Anthony chuckled. "So what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Getting a boyfriend. I can't believe Kurt hasn't tried to set you up with anyone."
Dave rolled his eyes. "Like he'd set me up with anyone without trying himself first. The two of us are, like, most of the out gay teen population of Lima. Besides... I seriously don't think much about it."
"I'll bet."
There were shades there, in Anthony's tone. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Uh, all I'm saying is that you're... focused, man. It's, like, I don't know shit about what you want outta life, and I know way more than I want to about my teammates. Half the time all we talk about is The Struggle, and that's cool," he hastened to add. "It's just... You're not the kind of guy who's really focused on yourself."
Later (much later), Dave would start to understand where Anthony was probing. But at that time, at that moment, he was a stupid shithead. On the other hand, would he have wanted to go down that path with himself then? Maybe not. But that didn't change the fact that at that time, at that moment, he replied, with a casual shrug, "I guess. I mean, I've got it pretty good, compared to other kids out there. It's all because of my family, man. Dad and Kurt. I'd... I'd seriously do anything for them."
"Yeah, I know." Again, those shades. This time, they went completely unheard.
"Anyway, between school and work..." This, they both knew, referred to The Struggle, as Anthony put it. Anthony's brow furrowed, just a little, but that was about as blatant a reaction as he gave. "... Like I said, it's just not something I think of a lot. Maybe it'd be different if we were surrounded by cute gay guys, but as it is..." He shrugged. "I don't mind waiting."
"I'm sure you don't." So many implications, and he missed every single one.
Would he have said more had Dave not remembered the game? They'd never know. "Hey, you gonna press start, or what?"
"Oh! Oh, yeah. Get ready for the ass whoopin' of your life, Hummel."
"Hey, shut the fuck up with your heteronormative stereotyping. You think I can't take you, any day, in any way?"
"This has nothin' to do with who you sleep with. This has to do with who you are. And what you are, Dave, is an inferior gamer. But it ain't your fault. You were just born a loser."
"Oh, that is it. I'm gonna kick your ass so hard, the Xbox is gonna feel it."
"Just a bunch of words 'til you actually do it, brother."
"Just watch."
January 16, 2011
"You know," Kurt said, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, an impish smile on his face, "normal people would actually be out enjoying the weekend."
"And there are normal people in this house?" Dave muttered, biting the cap of his pen, not tearing his eyes away from his laptop for a second.
"Touche." Kurt strode forward and snatched the pen out of his brother's mouth with a grimace. "Stop that. It's disgusting." He tossed the pen onto Dave's desk. "So what are you doing this time? Another online petition? I know you're not reading Fox News again, because you're not screaming at the screen. I don't know why you keep doing it when you know it's bad for your blood pressure..."
"Because it's important to keep up on what the enemy's doing. As for this..." Dave winced. "This is, um... research."
"For school?"
"Not school." Dave let out a sigh. "I'm researching the Karofskys."
"The...? Oh." Kurt sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the desk. "What have you found out?"
Dave glanced at his brother for a moment, eyes searching — for what, Kurt had no idea. Finally, after a long moment in which Kurt was starting to get impatient, Dave returned his eyes to the screen. "Not a lot. My dad's... my birth dad's side of the family was pretty small. Not a lot online. His parents were dead by the time he died, and he didn't have any brothers or sisters. Closest relatives he had were cousins. My birth mom's family is the more interesting one." Neither boy knew that this was exactly when Burt just happened to be passing by outside in the hall. Hearing those words, he froze, by the door, just out of their sight. "Apparently, my blood grandfather was a big time businessman. His kids all work in the family businesses, and so they're, like, filthy rich."
"Hm. Wonder why you weren't adopted by one of them, then."
"Dunno."
"So why are you looking them up now?"
"Well, 'cause last week I met with Ms. Pillsbury to discuss colleges. She asks me, what do I want to do, and I suddenly realize I have no fucking clue. I've been kind of living for the present, you know? I've been so focused on it that I never really thought about the future."
Kurt nodded. Burt, hidden around the bend, leaned against the cool wall. "I always thought you'd be doing something with your activism."
"That's what I thought at first, but then Ms. Pillsbury asked whether there was something else I thought I might like doing, or be good at. I can't think of anything at first, so she asks if there's some kind of family business I could continue, and there's the garage, but I don't think I have what it takes to be a mechanic. You've always been better at that."
"Very true," Kurt said with a smirk, remembering that time when they were eleven that their father presented them with a competition: sample engines to diagnose and repair, cobbled together from spare parts. Kurt breezed through his with little thought. Dave ended the episode covered practically head to toe with oil.
"And Mom studied architecture, but she never really got to do anything with it. So I start thinking, what else is there? Then I remember..."
"Your birth family," Kurt said quietly. Dave nodded. "So what did you find out?"
"Paul Karofsky was a lawyer. Debra Karofsky was an MBA."
"Either of those sound interesting to you? Your Karofsky blood calling out to go into one of those fields?"
Dave shook his head, aiming a punch at his brother's arm. Kurt gracefully dodged. "I thought about it, but not really. I don't want to be part of the military/industrial complex. Lawyer sounded interesting, going up in court against the government and corporations, but having to work in the legal system would be... frustrating."
"Yeah, you always were the in-your-face type. More Punisher than Daredevil any day."
"I suppose," Dave said with a snort. "But once I got into looking, I sorta found... I couldn't stop. I really wanted to find out more about where I came from."
"So...?" There was a lot left hanging, all of it clear, all of it heavy. Burt found his jaw clenching, just a little.
"It's... weird. Kind of surreal. I'm reading all this stuff about these families, and I share DNA with them, but they're... strangers. Like, they've got nothing to do with me."
"You've never met any of them before. They literally are strangers."
"I know that! I'm not an idiot!"
"Most of the time."
Dave turned to his brother in annoyance. "Why are you here again?"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Go on."
"Remember I tried searching for 'em when I was a kid just to see what they looked like? I still can't find anything. It's just... weird, knowing I came from these people, but I still have no idea what they even looked like."
"Does it matter?" Burt had that same question himself in his mind. "I mean, obviously, it does matter to you. I guess the question is: how much?"
Dave sighed, tossing his pen onto his desk. "I guess... I mean..." He shook his head. "It sorta matters, a little, or like you said, I wouldn't even be thinking about it. And these are my roots, so I am curious, but... At the same time, I'm trying to think of a way it would change a damn thing about me or my life, but I can't think of any."
"Unless you have some genetically heritable condition."
"Oh, gee, now that you bring that up, I feel a lot better," Dave said sardonically.
"I'm your brother. My purpose in life is to pick you up."
"So you can kick me back down again?"
"Why, I never! Are you implying I get some kind of pleasure in yelling at you?"
"Because it makes you feel superior? Damn right you do!"
"You make me sound like some kind of... of sadist!"
"And that's not what you are? Sometimes I think you buy me new clothes and make me wear them just so you can see me suffer!"
"You wouldn't 'suffer' if you'd just look at something that's not a single layer of cotton or denim and take the time to appreciate how it makes you look!"
"And I don't want to look like something out of a magazine with cologne samples in it!"
"So you just want to be a slob forever?"
"At least I can get up and out of the house in less than an hour!"
"And that is why your grades are so mediocre!"
"This has nothing to do with grades!"
"It has everything to do with your attitude towards life!"
"Oh, it's not me that has an 'attitude'..."
As the argument raged on, Burt relaxed. This... this was normal, at least for this house.
He didn't know why he cared at all. It wasn't like this was the first time Dave had shown curiosity about his birth family. Nor was he concerned in the slightest that Dave felt like anything less than a full member of the Hummel family.
It was just...
Why did life have to be so complicated? He loved his boys the way they were, and made sure they knew that every day, but he was under no illusions that the rest of the world thought as highly of them as he did. In fact, if Dave knew how much his father's personal politics had shifted leftward in the past decade, he would've been as "insufferably smug" as he sometimes accused Kurt of being.
It was enough of a struggle for him, as a parent, dealing with a hostile society on his children's behalf — he couldn't imagine actually having to live it like his sons did.
In fact, it made him wonder, sometimes... Could he follow Dave's lead? Was there a way he could actively work for change for his boys, for everyone even a little like his boys? Maybe politics — become a city council member or something...?
Burt shook his head wryly at the idea. "Nah." He walked away, leaving Kurt and Dave to bicker in "peace".
