Chapter 7
Hate On Me, Hater
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The average Wednesday morning was just as average and boring as was expected. Just a mob of bleary-eyed students trudging along to their first classes of the day, counting down the weeks until finals, prom, and graduation. The last of which always brought up conflicting emotions within Dave because he felt like each moment he drew closer to freedom was something to be celebrated; soon he would be out of here and he wouldn't have to abide by this stupid high school caste system and hiding in fear would be but a thing of the past. But then there was also the staggering fact that Sam was just a junior to his senior, and whenever Dave managed to escape this place he couldn't bring the blond with him, not that- he was getting ahead of himself, thinking of life beyond high school with college and then jobs and it probably wasn't healthy at all that he envisioned doing all of this with Sam but his heart was kind've a bastard and seemed happy enough to ignore all the warning signs and picture it anyway, because Dave was just a hopeless romantic like that.
God, he was pathetic. What happened to him? He used to think he was beyond this stuff, but just look at him now…
He wanted to regret it but, like many of the things he had done in the past couple of months, found that he just couldn't.
Which was why plan Stealth-Woo-Sam had to work. Dave's only options if it failed was a few years of pitiful heartbreak where he bemoaned the horrors of love in a depression that rivaled Mike's and no one should rival Mike, that had been a feat. A level of despair that people shouldn't even dream to aspire to. It was too powerful.
…Dave was getting horribly off topic. If there had been a topic.
Mornings had a way of sending his mind on aimless mental tirades. He should eat a better breakfast, maybe that would help.
Further thoughts of early meals came to an abrupt end whenever Sam (who Dave may or may not have been waiting for as he casually leaned against the wall) finally strode into view, meeting Dave's eyes with a smile and a short wave before he purposefully strode on, moving past the other teen as he continued making his way down the hall.
Not an unexpected occurrence, it was sort of their early morning tradition. Or, if he was being honest, Dave went out of his way to make it a morning tradition because otherwise he wouldn't get to see the blond for a couple of hours and going that long without even a hello from Sam seemed incredibly ridiculous when Dave knew he was capable of making time for the other teen. So he did. He would stand in this exact place like he was waiting for someone else and then Sam would walk by and wave and Dave would give a slow nod as though he were still half asleep and then Sam's smile would grow and Dave would get that stupid warm feeling he always got whenever Sam found something particularly entertaining.
Yes, he got it; he was not helping himself with the whole "pathetic" business.
As it turned out he did not give a damn. Not one em'.
And the fact that he gave no damns seemed to work wonders in his favor, because otherwise Dave wouldn't have been there that morning to see a Sam Evans, who couldn't have been in the building for more than five minutes, literally covered in slushie ice, walking at a frantic pace and plastering on a wide grin as he quickly waved to Dave, either embarrassed by his state or really hoping Dave wouldn't notice. Or both.
On second thought, it was probably both.
Dave reached out and snagged the other teen's shoulder before he could get out of reach, abandoning his pretend post by the wall and falling into step beside him easily, giving Sam a quick look over as he began to lead him to the bathroom by the auditorium. It would be safest.
"What the hell happened to you?" Dave asked, forcing himself to ignore the sudden rage that flared up as he felt the blond's shoulder quaking, the other teen's clothes soaked with artificial dye and sugar, clinging to his frame. Something Dave would have been more appreciative of if someone had not messed with his friend. No one did that. Not here. Not if they expected to get away with it.
Maybe it was the hockey guys. They always acted too big for their britches, cocky and arrogant as though their mullets gave them divine right to own the school. It couldn't have been any of the football players, they were all still reeling from the latest stunt Clark had pulled and planning an appropriate revenge, so there was no reason for them to seek out Sam. And it wasn't like Dave had blown off Azimio lately, so it couldn't be something as stupid as jealousy acting up.
As they rounded the corner Dave could see their destination in sight, like a shining beacon of hope in the distance, and the jock quickened his pace, trying to look as intimidating as possible in case any smart asses that felt like making comments.
He wished he had imaged the slight trepidation in Sam's tone whenever he replied, the blond tensing up at Dave's question, like he hadn't expected it.
"You don't know?" Sam asked, eyes widening, genuinely surprised.
Dave pulled him into the bathroom before he answered the question, doing a quick inspection of the room to make sure it was empty before turning back to Sam, confused.
"How would I know?" Dave furrowed his eyebrows in thought, wondering what he could have missed that had led to…this being expectable. It wasn't, not by a long shot, but Sam was acting as though he should know what was going on and was wet and cold and just the tiniest bit fearful and that brought out so many overprotective instincts in Dave he had to sit back and make himself focus. He wanted to make this better; he wouldn't do either one of them any favors if he ran into the hallways and started hunting down the dumbass that had the gall to slushie Sam.
He really wanted to, but he wouldn't.
At least, not yet.
Sam eyed him, looking almost…nervous, hands constantly moving as he brushed the red ice off himself, avoiding Dave's eyes in favor of staring down at the sink. "You didn't get a call…?"
"The only call I got yesterday was from Brittany," Dave replied honestly, reminiscing on his ill-spent night. "And for the life of me, I have no idea what it was about."
Actually Dave had known exactly what the cheerleader had been happily prattling on about the night before. It had been a constant stream of half thought-out ideas on what Dave should do to properly win Sam over. His favorite had been the scenario where he rode into school on a white horse, pulled Sam into the saddle behind him where the blond would be frozen still, awestruck by Dave's majestic horse-taming skills and ride off into the sunset while the glee club serenaded them and tossed handfuls of rose petals in their wake.
As grand as an idea as it had been Dave had managed to strike down the plan based on the fact that A) roses were expensive and should not be wasted on romantic mooding that said romantics involved would never see, B) no one they knew owned a horse, C) horses were also expensive, and D) riding off into the sunset would requiring being at McKinley at sunset, which was a horrible waste of an evening.
It took Brittany awhile to agree to that last one, and the fact that Dave had managed it at all left him to believe there was still hope for this world.
But, as those things were not something Sam particularly needed to be let in on, Dave elected not to share them, which still begged the question why had Sam been attacked with slushies?
Dave was pulled from his thoughts by Sam quietly mumbling, "Oh, so that's who…"
He trailed off with a start, probably not intending to say those words aloud and shook his head, sending pieces of ice flying in a watered down cascade.
"Anyway," Sam continued, clearing his throat. "I was just uh…in the wrong place at the wrong time. With Puck. And a brain-damaged audience."
Dave breezed over the answer to the mystery of who-was-trying-to-call-him-last-night (Brittany had been so adamant he couldn't find a way to cut her off and answer the call) and focused on the more pressing issue of what Sam was talking about. The taller teen moved off to the side, grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispensers to help Sam clean up, keeping it to business as usual while the blond turned the water on and attempted to do what he could, keeping his eyes fixed on the pink-stained water trails slipping into the sink as he washed out his hair.
"So," Dave asked, keeping his voice casual as Sam accepted the towels. "What were you doing with Puck?"
And really, a sudden burst of jealousy would be completely and totally unreasonable so obviously the uneasy feeling in Dave's gut wasn't that. That would be preposterous. And if Dave was anything, it wasn't preposterous.
It wasn't like he had any claim to Sam anyway; the blond was allowed to spend his free time with other people. And it was Puck. Who was spoken for, twice, by two freakishly possessive Asians. There was nothing to worry about there, not that Sam would be doing anything worth worrying about anyway, so by that logic Dave was obviously feeling concern.
Lots and lots of concern.
It didn't help his…concern whenever Sam began to fidget at his question, squirming under his gaze like a kid that had done something they knew they shouldn't have. Dave had to keep himself from reaching out and shaking the teen just so he could get on with it.
Sam fidgeted some more, making use of his restless hands to splash some water against his face, clearing the ice away. "I might have…and this isn't entirely my fault. Well, it kind've is, but how was I supposed to know Puck would be all- like, offended and sad and stuff? I wasn't, that's how, so…" he cut off his babbling, realizing that amongst his river of words he hadn't said anything that coherently explained the situation to Dave, and sighed, looking over at the other jock. "I just…wanted to surprise you, is all. Be a badass like you."
And then he got this dejected, kicked-puppy kind of expression on his face as he sighed again, utterly morose, and cut off further explanation by shoving his head under the water. Which was as good an opportunity as any for Dave to think a moment.
First of all, yeah, he was screwed. He knew he had always been screwed but- damn Evans, why did he have to go and say stupidly heartwarming things like that? Why? And why didn't he care?
And then there was the added bonus that he thought Dave was a badass (he knew Sam appreciated the heat he took off of the glee club but he hadn't known the other teen still took it to heart-) which was a pretty high compliment in the world of Sam and Dave couldn't smile, he couldn't, he had to keep his serious game face on and keep his eyes on the prize.
What had Sam and Puck been doing that earned the blond a slushie-covered fate?
"Sam-"
"I was trying to interrogate him," Sam exclaimed, gesturing frantically with his non-paper toweled hand, mood taking an immediate one-eighty as he got defensive. "See if I could investigate some on my own and then bring it back to you but I must have hit a sore spot or something, because instead of being a helpful interogee Puck got pissed and then he got all loom-y and threatening, like he does, and way into my personal space and then the gig was up and I had to tell him, and then he was cool but still loom-y, and oh-" he looked up from his babble, wagging a finger in Dave's direction like he was pointing out something important. "He didn't do it by the way, didn't even know the notebook had gone missing."
But he knew about it, Dave thought, fighting off the frown that tugged at his lips at the comment. He would have to talk to Mike later, see what that was about.
In the meantime, Sam continued his helpful chatter. "So we were there, in his car-"
"Why were you in his car?" Dave interrupted, because sure Dave, that was the important part.
Despite the sarcasm his subconscious still found this a very pressing matter that he needed to be enlightened on now, thanks, so he supposed that attempted reality check was a moot point anyway.
"We were getting more Coke," Sam explained, in that he explained nothing, making a vague gesture as his eyes trailed off to the side, trying to figure out where he left off. "Okay, so we were in his car, in the parking lot, and he yelled and threatened and then he was cool, and we were cool, and then we got out of the car and…" he dropped off uncertainly, buying himself a few moments as he swiped at his face with the paper towels, wiping away the dampness.
But Dave had a good feeling where he was going anyway.
Because if he was feeling concerned by some looming…
Someone else, someone who didn't know the complete story would probably assume something different was transpiring, and their range of feelings probably wouldn't happen to include concern.
Dave steadfastly ignored the wave of nausea that roiled in his gut, that stubborn anxiety clenching at his heart in a sudden and unwelcomed return. It was worse this time though, because this time it was for Sam.
"Who saw you?" Dave found himself asking, keeping his face neutral of the emotional storm building in him.
The other teen had his head bowed, patting down his hair with the mostly damp towels, face obscured but voice trying for nonchalant. "It wasn't like-"
"I know," Dave interrupted, "It wasn't like that", recognizing the argument, the plea that had probably been ignored when the first few barrages of slushie went Sam's way. "But who saw you?"
Dave wasn't even sure why he was asking though; he already had a fair idea of who it was.
Someone who would call him, someone Sam was surprised hadn't called him.
Someone who Dave really didn't want it to be.
Therefore making them the most likely choice.
"Azimio," Sam admitted, almost- no, entirely apologetic, like it was his fault Dave's stupid best friend was going out of his way to hate on the blond. "We tried to tell him we were just arguing and like, why would I want to make out with Puck? Seriously, I can do better, but he wouldn't…" Sam trailed off with a half-hearted shrug, looking timidly in Dave's direction. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried anything on my own."
"It's not your fault," Dave responded automatically, hating that his assurance was only met with a disbelieving snort as the other teen turned away, chucking the used paper towels into the trash can. "It's not."
"Yeah dude, it kind've is," Sam replied, finally regaining some of his usual confidence as he folded his arms across his newly-stained shirt. "I was the one that set Puck off, I was the one that didn't push him away, and I'm the one…" he trailed off, but Dave knew where he had been going.
I'm the one Azimio hates.
"It's not your fault," Dave echoed, because repetition was the key to learning and Dave needed Sam to know this. "You can't control someone else's stupidity. He was just-"
"Seeing what he wanted to see," Sam finished with a quiet exhale, like he had been repeating that to himself ever since it happened. And that- damn him, damn Azimio, he couldn't just-
"So I was thinking." Sam inspected himself in the mirror, frowning as he tugged at the bottom of his soaked shirt. "We should probably…you know, not hang out for a bit."
"No way." Dave wasn't dealing with that shit. He was not. "I hang out with whoever I want to, that includes you-"
"Well that was before Azimio started spreading rumors that Puck and I are bumping uglies," Sam interrupted, determination setting in as he turned to stare the other teen down. "Who do you think did this to me in the first place?" he said, motioning to himself, and it was so much worse now that it was confirmed, Dave resolutely ignoring the urge to flinch. "I'm not making anymore problems because I made a dumb choice. Just, give it a couple weeks and people will get bored-"
"I'm not doing that," Dave growled, pissed at the state of the world. That Sam was still blaming himself for this, that Azimio was being a moron, that a stupid rumor was trying to get between him and his Sam-time.
"First of all," he continued, grabbing onto Sam's shoulders and staring him dead in the eye so he couldn't look away. "It is not your fault. None of that was foreseeable. The only dumb thing you could do is assume it is your fault because life is too unpredictable to try to apply reason to it, especially to that situation. Second of all," he said making sure that Sam was keeping up with him. He was, but the blond still looked like he wanted to object. "What you did was not dumb. You were trying to help out a friend, that is never dumb. And you didn't think too much about your positioning in a conversation that was by rights, private, so why would you think of it? Why would someone spy on you? And why would their opinions, and their actions as a result of their opinions, ever be your fault?"
He pulled back after that, taking in the (cutely) surprised look on Sam's face, taking in a slow steady breath to help regain his composure. He didn't…ranting at Sam wasn't something he really did. Or for that matter something he ever particularly wanted to do, despite some of the blond's more exasperating and hair-brained schemes. But Dave also couldn't let Sam walk around for one more second thinking any of this crap was his fault, because it clearly wasn't.
He only had the best intentions, and if Azimio hadn't been there at that exact moment, it would have been fine.
So none of it was Sam's fault.
Then again, Dave was hopelessly biased, but he was pretty sure that worked out right anyway.
"It's…not." Sam concluded, smiling brightly on the completion to Dave's speech which- he couldn't describe the amount of relief that hit him because he didn't normally have these kinds of conversations with Sam. These touchy-feely things.
Guys don't do that, Dave's mind unhelpfully suggested, but the teen brushed it off quickly with a sigh, choosing instead to focus on his more immediate concern, Sam.
"Exactly," Dave replied, turning away from that brilliant smile. Now that Sam had been absolved of his "crimes" the blond was back to his enthusiastic self, all barely-contained energy and - the best . Not a great description, but it was Sam. And Sam was best.
As the other teen got to work cleaning off the remainder of his slushie barrage Dave searched through his backpack, finally coming upon the spare shirt he had brought to school for…well, no reason at all. It wasn't like he had any reason to worry about getting slushied.
Ever.
"Here," Dave offered, thrusting the shirt in the blond's direction. Sam, who had been staring forlornly at his own ruined t-shirt, relieved him of the yellow polo with a look of delight, gingerly putting it to the side where it was safely out of staining-distance before grabbing at the bottom of his own shirt and slowly peeling it off.
Very. Very. Slowly.
Seriously, sometimes Dave thinks that fate just likes to screw with him, because watching the tan skin of Sam's defined abs being revealed ever-so gradually was probably both the best and most mentally challenging three seconds of Dave's life. On one hand, there was the obvious temptation of ogling like it was his goddamn job while the source of his ogling was blissfully unaware, on the other hand, respect and boundaries and the very pressing need to not freak out his friend by blatantly checking him out so they could keep that 'relationship' thing progressing as opposed to being abandoned in the corner when Sam remembered what a ridiculously attractive specimen he was.
Dave would like to think he was successful on the not-stare front but there must have been something in his expression anyway because Sam honest to God smirked after his little strip tease, cocking an eyebrow in Dave's direction that the other jock studiously ignored, putting on the pretense he was cleaning up any of the red droplets that had failed to make it to the sink.
"Yep," Sam murmured, sounding amazingly smug. "I'm awesome."
There was something about the honest playfulness of it all that should have shaken Dave more than it did, that Sam felt comfortable enough to deal with this side of him, and as much as Dave fought against it there was still a stupid amount of hope flaring in his chest, obsessing and over-calculating that this meant more than it did.
It didn't, they were just friends-
Or, his mind so helpfully provided, Operation Stealth-Woo was going a lot better than you think it is.
Dave just- he really hated hope. Because it was so hard to fight off.
"No one likes an ego," Dave snarked back, just as casually as he normally would have. When he looked up in the mirror he was met by a wide smile, an expression of cheer that he steadfastly kept focused on to ignore how appealing Sam looked wearing his oversized shirt, a little too wide in the shoulders and the collar hanging open, but still bearing the same countenance as if they were his own, that this was natural. That this was nice.
"Yeah well, I've been told I have a charming personality."
"Lies," Dave replied, and Sam's smile grew, like it was nothing.
Like the shirt that didn't fit him quite right and the wet hair and the stupid hope he ignited within Dave was just nothing.
And it was.
But it also, you know, wasn't.
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Cornering Brittany probably should have been harder, Rachel thought, or perhaps Santana's reputation towards fierce overprotection of her girlfriend was enough of a deterrent that Brittany could happily make her way through the school on her lonesome, without fear of being cornered by those whose intentions were less-than-honorable. It was surprising though, that Rachel had actually managed to find the cheerleader without her menacing shadow trailing on her heels, doing…whatever it was Santana and Brittany did when they were together. Shoplifting maybe. Oh, or working on a new dance routine for Regionals! That would be nice.
Focus, Rachel thought, chiding herself for wasting time getting lost in useless speculation. She had a goal here and her window of opportunity probably wouldn't be that long. Eventually Brittany would be remember she had an appointment with Santana or Blaine or Mike or Quinn and get whisked away from her mindless wanderings or, more likely, one of her appointees would hunt her down and Rachel needed to fit in a thorough interro-
…a thorough chat with Brittany that would probably require a good deal of time. She needed to get started.
With a few brisk strides she fell in step beside Brittany just as the blonde passed her particular position (hideout) in the hallway. The cheerleader didn't seem to notice her at first, too busy making doodles in a notebook she held close to her chest, humming a cheerful tune with no discernable melody as she did so.
"Hey Brittany," Rachel chirped, keeping her tone friendly and chipper.
It was the same voice she had used when she had approached the blonde teen to recruit her in the fashion expenditure of yester year, which probably explained why Brittany's response was, "I can't help you with your clothes Rachel, I'm not magical enough."
She stopped dead in the hallway, forcing Rachel to jar to a halt as her target tilted her head to the side, staring off into the distance as though thoroughly lost in thought.
"I don't think anyone is," Brittany said eventually. "Not even Kurt."
"I'm not here to ask you about clothes," Rachel replied, tense, forcing herself to keep a pleasant, relaxed expression.
"Oh, so you want to borrow some of my sweet moves?" Brittany asked, continuing before Rachel had a chance to assure she did not. "Because I like you Rachel, I really do. You're loud and sometimes that scary-mean that Santana is and you give people the right people headaches, well," she paused, shrugging. "Sometimes that means you also give us headaches but you work really hard to be good at things so I think that deserves recognition right? It does. But I'm saving my moves for a special occasion, so you're just going to have to get your own."
"I don't want to talk about dance moves Brittany," Rachel said quickly, perhaps a little too tersely as her frustration finally began to ebb into her tone. She shook her head, deciding to continue before Brittany could take them down a wild path to nowhere. "I would like to ask you about Dave."
"You mean Big Bear?" Brittany asked, clapping her hands together, notebook and sparkling pen and all, with a bright smile.
Under her expectant stare Rachel simply nodded, hoping that they were actually talking about the same David and not some imaginary one that pulled capers with Lord Tubbington or something.
"Yes," Rachel said, motioning for her and Brittany to continue walking. Hopefully to somewhere private. "I wanted to talk to you about him and Sam."
When Rachel was met by another round of enthusiastic clapping she assumed her guess was correct, and the forced grin from earlier was relaxed into something more genuine. Things were going quite smoothly.
"So you want to help too?" Brittany looked pleased by the idea of recruiting another person to "help" in her endeavor. "Awesome, because Dave needs a lot of help. He won't ever use any of my brilliant ideas even though I so generously give them to him. And then, because I'm amazing and like, a super love-guru, I even listen to his complaints and think of new ideas for him, but he won't use them either."
She finished this with a sigh, tugging on the end of her pony with a pout just as Rachel began to lead them into the backstage area of the auditorium, away from prying ears.
Though she might have been a little too delayed in doing so because-
"Love guru?" Rachel echoed, face schooled to that of respectful interest were it not for the rapid blinking that gave away her attempts at processing what Brittany said. "You mean-"
"Yep." The blonde gave her a conspiratorial wink as they waltzed towards the costume closet. "I found out from Santana that Dave wants to be really good friends with Sam. Like," she leaned forward, eyes darting side to side to search for any eavesdroppers before she whispered, "Really good friends."
"Like-" Rachel began, eyes widening at what exactly Brittany was inferring.
"Yep," Brittany repeated with a definite nod. "Like, touching butts."
The fact that Rachel managed to quell the small bark of laughter that threatened to escape on that declaration was a testament to her acting prowess, but she couldn't bear that any mind because if Brittany had gotten her information from Santana, a reliable source, that further dimensioned the probability that this was simply a misunderstanding on Brittany's part.
It would also explain why Kurt didn't feel particularly keen to let Rachel in on it.
Because if Santana knew, Kurt knew, he had to know, which explained David's fixation on him last year and the sudden peace treaty instigated by Santana. It explained why Dave sought out friendship with Mike, enough to help him with his love life (so informed Rachel by her dutiful boyfriend Finn or else she wouldn't know anything-). It explained why Blaine and Kurt and Santana were all suddenly fine with him, accepted him.
And it certainly explained his near-permanent presence at Sam's side. Because he wanted to be "really good friends".
That was certainly one way of putting it.
It was…conflicting, the new swell of emotions that hit Rachel as soon as she realized Brittany's words were true. Her mind thought back to when Finn and the others had originally joined the glee club, when Quinn had Santana and Brittany follow after her, that even though it was where they wanted to be and they were outrageously popular they were still bogged down. Even them. Even being the most popular kids in school hadn't kept them from being targeted with slushies and dumpster-dives, and Dave-
Must have been terrified. Once he figured it out. Must have hated himself, and then taken that hate and used it all on Kurt, hoping it would go away.
But it didn't. It didn't and that probably scared him more.
And Rachel could see it, could see Santana or Kurt figuring it out and then Mike figuring it out and the silent support and this double life, this result of wanting to be "friends" with Sam and not-wanting to be hazed by the rest of the school-
It had to be awful.
"So," Brittany asked, bobbing up and down on her heels with a grin, bring Rachel back to the present. "Are you going to help?"
And honestly…there was only one answer Rachel could choose.
"Yes," she replied, smile matching Brittany's joy easily, earning a celebratory hoot from the other teen.
Yes, she would help Dave. That teenager she met, the one that she talked too, the one that had been watching Sam investigate a locker with a look of fondness he couldn't hide, that was someone she wanted to help.
So she would. Anyway she could.
"Good!" Brittany cheered, pumping a fist into the air. "We'll help them become best friends or my name isn't Rainbow Sparkledust!"
And with that declaration Brittany charged out of the costume closet, as though she were advancing on some invisible army, leaving Rachel staring in her wake, shaking her head at the blonde's enthusiasm.
"But it's not," she muttered.
Then again, details. It wasn't like Dave really wanted to be best friends with Sam anyway.
…at least, not just best friends.
Okay, time to strategize.
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"I still say we should have waited for Brittany," Blaine muttered, smoothing down the front of his sweater in a conscious effort to play off his anxiety. "It probably wouldn't have taken that long."
"She knew the deal," Finn replied in a voice that tried to be commanding and cool and ultimately failed at either due to his own nervous twitching. "We have a tight schedule. You never know how long Sam and Dave's study sessions go. Sometimes it's hours, sometimes they give up and come here."
He gave Blaine a pointed look. "Which means we have to be done searching here and be long gone before that happens."
"Possibly happens," Blaine murmured, on principal.
That earned him a distracted nod from Finn, showing he agreed, but the other teen kept his eyes focused on the house in front of them. He inhaled slowly, taking in a deep breath before releasing it with a sudden rush of air, and then the next moment he was striding forward, gaze never wavering from the front door. Confidence, that was it, they just needed confidence-
Blaine really wished they had waited for Brittany. He knew realistically that having the blonde along for this particular mission was half as likely to ruin it as it was to see its success, but the teen couldn't deny that Brittany had this utter sincerity and charm about her that pushed away any nerves that came with trying to con your way into enemy territory. They could have let her do all the talking, only interjecting to correct her as the kind friends they were in an "Oh, don't mind her" sort of way, and they'd be in and out with no questions asked. Blaine wasn't entirely sure how Brittany managed it, but she did, and now he could only mourn her lack of presence.
By the way Finn restlessly drummed his fingers against the side of his pants Blaine could tell he did too, but the jock was far too dedicated to their mission to ever consider calling it off.
It was go time.
With more certainty than he could possibly posses Finn reached out and rang the doorbell, quick-like before he could change his mind. Blaine hovered half a step behind him, hands fidgeting with the strap of his shoulder bag as he tried to school his expression into that sense of casual charming he used to be able to pull off before he started partaking in all these secret glee spy missions. He vaguely wondered when this became normal for him and spent a moment to lament the loss of a time when all he cared about was acapella arrangements and hair gel. Those were good times. Simple times. Where had he gone wrong?
The door opened before Blaine could fall completely into despair, and he plastered a smile on his face, pulling back its intensity before it began looking manic.
A pleasant looking woman stood before them, the only indication of her age being the sprinkling of grey streaks in her chestnut, shoulder length hair. She gave off the distinct feeling of a housewife, mild-mannered with kind eyes, and it probably helped that she happened to be wearing a flowered apron over her clothes, dusted with flour and other stains one risked when attempting culinary ventures.
"Hello Mrs. Karofsky," Finn said, putting on an easy smile. "Is Dave home?"
Blaine wanted to wince at how horribly fifties it all sounded, like "I Love Lucy" and "Leave it to Beaver" had snuck into their brains and devoured their capacity for using current day lingo and replaced it with utter politeness.
Then again, there was a good chance Blaine was being overly critical because he didn't want to be here.
It was an option.
Mrs. Karofsky returned the gesture easily, previously-hidden laugh lines crinkling around her lips as they drew back in a smile. "No, uh…"
"Finn," the towering teen supplied eagerly.
"Finn," Mrs. Karofsky repeated with a delicate nod of the head. "I'm afraid Dave's tutoring someone right now."
Oh, what a horribly unforeseen coincidence.
What ever shall they do?
As though they weren't perfectly away of these circumstances Finn and Blaine put on their best disappointed faces, careful to not overdo it (Blaine had made Finn practice in the car several times before his was satisfactory), and then Finn continued, almost hesitant. "Oh, well- you see Mrs. Karofsky, I'm a friend of Sam's, you know-"
"The blond one," the Mrs. supplied, eyes focusing on a spot over Finn's shoulder as her mind wandered to fill in the blanks.
"Yeah," Finn said eagerly. "Him. Anyway, Sam lost one of his notebooks and we've been like, searching everywhere for it, and the only place we haven't checked yet was here, since he comes over so often."
Mrs. Karofsky followed along with the explanation easily, nodding in all the right places to show she understood.
"Yeah and," Finn continued, reaching up to scratch the back of his head in a show of bashfulness. "Normally we would just, ask Dave but we-" Finn motioned between himself and Blaine. "Are working on a project with Sam, and his notebook kind've has some important stuff in it, for the project-"
"And we might have waited until the last minute," Blaine added, with a hopeless boys-will-be-boys shrug, as a universal indicator that this behavior was to be expected.
"Right," Finn said, nodding. "So uh…could we…?"
"You boys could check inside Dave's room if you would like. See if you could find your friend's notebook."
"Really?!" Finn's enthusiasm was a hundred percent genuine, probably surprised that their stupid plan had worked. "Thanks Mrs. Karofsky. It'll only take like, five minutes, tops."
"It might be longer than that," the woman joked, eyes openly amused at Finn's happiness. "Take your time boys; just promise me you'll try to manage your time better in the future."
"Done," Finn chirped, going so far as to snatch up Mrs. Karofksy's flour-covered hand from her side and give it a few enthusiastic pumps. "Thanks Mrs. Karofsky, you are totally saving our grades."
"Thank you," Blaine added quietly as Dave's mother motioned them inside, still smiling at Finn's antics. "We really do appreciate it."
"No skin off my nose," she replied breezily, already heading back towards the kitchen. "It's up the stairs, second door on the right."
"Got it!" Finn called, and if the woman replied Blaine didn't hear it because he was suddenly being hauled up the staircase, Finn's iron grip dragging him along in the taller teen's wake.
Step one: lying to Dave's parental unit, complete.
Step two: Investigate for clues.
"I feel like we may be crossing a line here," Blaine muttered as he was pulled into the indicated room, Finn closing the door behind them with hurried care before prowling about the space, giving it a quick once-over to see where they should get started.
"Yeah dude, not the first time you've said that." Finn's reply was distracted, he had zeroed in on a medium-sized bookcase right by the door, hands skimming along the edges of old novels and PC game boxes as he began the task of finding any hints as to what the state of Sam and Dave's investigation was. They were supposedly attempting to try and get ahead of the detective duo so they could try to do damage control, but Blaine suspected Finn had simply gotten tired of their lack of progress and the only way to possibly rectify that situation was to do something that would probably be as productive as most of the other stuff they had tried, as in, it wouldn't, but at least they were actually doing something, and that made Finn happy.
To be honest, the only reason Blaine had tagged along was to make sure Finn didn't do anything stupid while treading in what was unquestionably delicate territory. Karofsky probably wouldn't take their snooping too kindly if he ever caught wind of it, but their excuse had been a pretty solid one (the result of many hours which they made sure Brittany didn't assist in) so if he did, he wouldn't find anything suspicious.
Besides, what other reason would Finn and Blaine have for being in his room?
Aside from pure stupidity.
Blaine sighed and wandered over towards Karofsky's desk, puttering around with the few papers scattered atop of it and giving them a cursory look to check for notes on the investigation.
Surprisingly enough, there weren't any.
What a shocker.
Blaine turned to give Finn a tired glare. "So I suppose restating any of my old arguments at this point wouldn't make you change your mind?"
He knew they had already come this far but for basic human dignity's sake; it wasn't like they couldn't just turn around right now. Leave this business behind them. At least pretend they were decent people.
"Nope." Finn shook his head, deliberately ignoring Blaine's exasperated sigh as he flipped through a spiral notebook, the word "Math" scrawled across the front in hasty chicken scratch. "Check the drawers," he added, nodding over to the desk without pulling his eyes away from Dave's math notes, visibly put-off by the fact they dared not to be what they were looking for.
"Sure," Blaine mumbled with false enthusiasm. "Because that's not a blatant violation of privacy."
"Less complaining, more searching," came the flippant reply. The math notebook was replaced with an aggravated shove before Finn continued his inspection.
"You know he could be just like us." Blaine started a half-hearted search through Dave's desk, inspecting the drawers filled with remarkably unsuspicious office supplies and knickknacks. "Keep his notes in his backpack. With him."
"Maybe," Finn replied distractedly, temporarily consumed with a rubik's cube that had fallen behind a stack of novels. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't at least look."
"Because you're doing such a great job of that now," Blaine muttered, taking a small hint of satisfaction as Finn gave an indignant sputter, quickly followed by the sound of his toy being tossed back onto the shelf.
"Focus Blaine," the other teen chided, crouching down to get a better look at the bookcase's bottom level. "Maybe if you put more energy into being helpful instead of a buzzkill we would be done by now."
"Sure," Blaine scoffed, pulling open another desk drawer. "Hey, when we're done finding nothing we and reevaluate just how helpful I am."
Finn must have decided that any reply he would only result in further argument so he chose not to answer, instead giving up his bookcase and turning his attention to Dave's closet, probably looking for shoe boxes or folders that were secreted away in the clothing's depths.
With a roll of his eyes Blaine went back to examining his desk drawer, this one appearing to consist of a stack of abandoned papers, either sentimental or forgotten, and he pulled away the upper portion of the stack, intending to flip through them to satisfy his partner in crime. What he got was a couple of rough drafts of papers, a few pop quizzes (Dave took French, Kurt would love that), and what looked like some extra credit assignments, none of them of obvious importance. Blaine was about to move on when he noticed that a drawing was now on top of the pile. The paper it was on was slightly crinkled and the drawing itself a bit smudged, but Blaine couldn't help but laugh at the elaborate scene that was depicted, a bunch of stick figure pirates conquering a ship of ferocious looking cheerleaders, trying to fend off their attackers with a load of pom-poms and confetti cannons.
It was, dare Blaine think it, utterly adorable, and with a laugh he eagerly moved on, pulling out the next couple of pages to see they were more of the same illustrations of a wandering imagination, some featuring the football team making their way towards victory, others featuring damsels getting rescued from fire-breathing dragons, standard knights in shining armor replaced with tough and hardened commandos using rocket launchers. It was quite a sight to behold and it wasn't long before Blaine's snickering grabbed Finn's attention, drawing the other teen over to his side so he could see what all the fuss was about.
"I had no idea Dave was an artist," Blaine managed through his laughs, holding the picture up so Finn could see it. "He should try writing comics for the Muckraker, it would be way better than some of the stuff they're printing now."
He turned back to the drawer, ignoring Finn's thoughtful silence as he flipped through some more sketches, some of them having obviously been crumpled up in a fit of anger and carefully unfolded, closer to the bottom of the stack in order to help them flatten back out, Blaine presumed.
He had almost reached the bottom of the pile when Finn cleared his throat, meeting Blaine with a confused expression when the other teen looked his way. "Dude, I think these are Sam's drawings."
"Sam?" Blaine asked, feeling his eyebrows furrow. "But why would they be here?"
"I dunno man," Finn replied, shifting a little uneasily. "But he draws like, a ton of these things but only keeps about half of em'. Says that the other ones aren't good enough to waste space on or something."
"Pretty hard critiquing for stick figures," Blaine murmured, giving the papers another look. On closer inspection, all of them seemed to be folded or crumpled, at least a little bit, which made the possibility of them being discarded all the more likely.
"Yeah well, didn't say it made sense." Finn shrugged, frown beginning to tug at his lips. "Hey uh…isn't this a little creepy?"
"Creepy?"
"Yeah like," Finn shuffled uncomfortably. "It seems a little weird for Dave to collect these and keep them all in one place, like a collection or something. I can understand having a few of them lying around, that's sort of unavoidable when you hang out with Sam and paper at the same time, but like this…" he shrugged again, handing the papers back to Blaine unhappily. "Kind've creepy."
"Well I think it's cute," Blaine replied absently, giving the pages one last look of fondness before carefully replacing them. "And a little sweet."
The moment he finished the sentence he knew he had said the wrong thing, so consumed with Dave's obvious fondness that he forgot who he was talking to. So it wasn't the least bit surprising when Finn let out a chocked sound of disagreement, instantly beginning to shake his head.
"Dude, guys don't do cute. Or sweet. Not us anyway," he continued, watching as Blaine re-hid the drawings with the schoolwork he had taken out earlier. "I mean, maybe guys like you and Kurt…and like, Mike now too I guess, would, but the rest of us try to stay away from that sentimental stuff as much as…"
Blaine turned to look at him as Finn trailed off into silence, expression on his face going from confused to thoughtful, his eyebrows furrowed as he began to stew over what he had just said. It was no matter of overreaction that Blaine felt his stomach immediately drop as he realized where Finn was going, and then Finn realized where he was going, and when the theatre-loving teen was met with an incredible look of disbelief from one Finn Hudson he discovered that his usual charming look of I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about didn't feel like existing whenever he needed it most.
Figured.
"…guys like you- oh my God!"
He barely kept his voice low enough so it wouldn't be heard downstairs, but it was a near thing, and Finn clamped a hand across his mouth, eyes wide as he realized what at least half of glee club had to know at this point.
"You," Finn hissed, pointing to Blaine frantically as though he were at fault for this sudden epiphany (and, to be fair, he was, but that didn't mean he liked it). "Did you-? Do you-? Does Kurt-?"
"Yes," Blaine replied, running a hand across his face, feeling nothing short of absolutely terrible for accidentally outing Dave. "Sweet", he had said. Couldn't just keep his opinions to himself. Had to try and defend Dave's honor.
Well look at where that got him.
"That..that…that actually makes a whole lot of sense and I can't believe I didn't see it sooner but really?! Is this actually happening and you and Dave didn't band together to try and teach me some lesson-?"
"Nope," Blaine mumbled sadly, not meeting Finn's inquisitive eyes.
This was what shame felt like. Blaine had been shamed.
"Holy crap," Finn muttered, grabbing the side of his head as though it could stabilize him through the emotional storm. "Karofsky's gay?"
"Weeell…" Blaine drew out the vowel, hoping by the end of it he would discover a few other words to follow but unfortunately he came up nothing, so all that was left was uncomfortable silence and a questioning jock that wanted answers that Blaine didn't particularly want to give him.
Kurt was going to kill him. That was just the unfortunate truth of it. Kurt was going to kill him and then Santana was going to kill him and if by some chance someone managed to bring him back to life he was going to lose his bro membership card for participating in the most absolute failure of bro-itude.
A rather disastrous turn of events, if he did say so himself.
"I can't believe it," Finn continued, disbelieve sketched into his features. "I mean it makes sense, but still, and-" his eyes widened suddenly and he looked at Blaine, another realization hitting him. "Sam."
Just one word, "Sam".
It was really all he needed to say.
"Does he know-?" Finn asked, reaching forward to grab at Blaine's shoulder, as though having some physical connection to the other teen would somehow make the answers he wanted to hear tumble forth.
"He knows," Blaine confirmed with a tired sigh.
Finn nodded, and darted his eyes over to the desk drawer. "And does he know about the…?"
"Nope," Blaine said. That was it; he was the worst gay guy ever. It was official.
He expected Finn's next words to be somewhere along the lines of "Well we must tell him!" or "We must protect him!" or "Who else knows?!" but instead of any of those options Finn's expression turned frustrated and he gave Blaine a serious look, one indicating that he would take no shit from here on out.
"Is the notebook thing legit?"
Blaine paused for a moment, blinking stupidly at the unexpected question. "…No?"
Finn's expression hardened. "Look Blaine, I mean it. Is this one of Kurt's match-making schemes or do we have an actual case here?"
"I think so," Blaine replied earnestly, because he did, but now that Finn has asked…
It was beginning to sound a lot like something Kurt would cook up.
"Okay then," Finn nodded, grip relaxing as he took up a less serious tone. "We'll just have to ask him later. And like…think about this later."
"Finn," Blaine started, grabbing the other teen's arm as he turned towards the door. "You can't tell anyone, not even Sam-"
"I know," Finn muttered, surprisingly enough. "I understand you wouldn't…you and Kurt and Santana wouldn't let anything bad happen, so I won't say anything. That doesn't mean I don't want answers though."
Yeah well, that would make two of them.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Endnotes:
Alternate titles to this chapter include "In Which Dave's friends are shit at keeping secrets" and "Almost as bad as Paisley is at pacing". I think both have a certain ring to them.
A bountiful number of thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Abby, dosqueen67, and Frosted Heaven. Sorry about the delay guys, but one of the chapters of another story I'm working on ate up way more of my life than I thought it would. But hey, I brought back Dave! Hadn't realized how long it had been since he had an appearance. I missed that guy.
(As for you Abbs, I see how it is. No happy-glee-gossip messaging for us then.)
And onto the chapter!
I couldn't actually find out how tall Dave is, so for the moment we're just going to go ahead with my assumption and say he's taller than Sam. And the business with the costume closet is a reference to this story's prequel, "Not a Problem, Just a Challenge". Apparently that's the greatest place to have secret conversations ever.
I'm pretty sure that's a scientific fact.
Until next time : )
