Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.
He poked aimlessly at the remains of his baked potato. The clink of silverware on plates and the low steady murmur of chatter blurred his ears. His mother signaled to the waitress to refill her water glass while his father studied the dessert menu. His younger brother jostled him as he fought with their sister over the last roll.
"Cut it out, Jonathan," he mumbled.
"Why?" Jonathan teased. "Make me!"
Their mother reached over, took the roll, tore it in half, and handed one piece to Jonathan and one piece to Sophia. "Don't pick on your brother, David," Laura said.
"I wasn't," he sulked, dropping his fork on his plate with an irritating clang.
"Mom, Jonathan won't give me any butter," Sophia complained.
Laura took a bite of her salad. "Jonathan, stop it," she said. "What's wrong with you, David?"
"Nothing," he muttered.
"You've barely touched your dinner, aren't you hungry?" Laura pressed.
"Big lunch," he lied.
"Aren't you feeling well?" she asked.
"Headache," he said.
Laura leaned back in her seat. "Did you get hit in football practice yesterday?" she asked. "I swear, that coach of yours needs to make sure everyone has their helmet on."
"It's fine, Mom," Dave said through gritted teeth.
His father looked at him across the table. "We'll head home soon," he said.
He sat by quietly as the waitress took the check and brought them to-go boxes. His mother chatted loudly with his father, sometimes with his still-squabbling younger siblings. But he stayed silent.
He hated Sunday night dinners. He always had. When he was younger he had to put up with his perfect older brother Seth out-talking him, always nabbing their parents' notice before he could. And when Sophia and then Jonathan were born, they stole even more attention away from him. He didn't even know why they kept this stupid tradition anyway. His mom always complained about how much money they were spending, and the little kids were just always fussing. His dad just always quietly insisted that they go. That it was something the family did together.
And now, when he thought about the bloody tee shirt in the back of his closet, he would give anything to keep up with these damn dinners, if only it meant that all of that was a bad dream and it would never come back to haunt him.
"Dave?"
He glanced up. His parents stood up, reaching for their coats. "We're going home, honey," Laura said as she slid her arms through the sleeves.
"Oh," he said. He stood up and picked up his old winter coat.
Jonathan grabbed Sophia's gloves and dangled them above her face, making her shriek and strike out at him. "Kids, watch it," Paul warned.
Dave followed the rest of the family out of the restaurant and into the cold. Sophia dared Jonathan to race her to the car; he let out a yell and raced after her. He thrust his fists deeper in the pockets of his coat.
"Where's your jacket, David?" Laura asked.
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Your jacket," she repeated. "Your letterman's jacket. Why aren't you wearing it?"
"Oh," he said. "It's, uh, it's kind of dirty."
Laura climbed into the front seat of the minivan. "Hang it up in the laundry room before you go to bed, I'll take it to the dry cleaner's tomorrow," she said. "Jonathan, stop picking on Soph."
"She started it," he retorted as he clambered into the middle seats of the van, Sophia plunking down beside him. Dave brushed past them and sank into the back seat, behind the two younger kids, and huddled in the warmth of his coat as his father started the van and pulled out of the parking lot.
He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window while his siblings argued and his parents chatted and the radio played Christmas music. In vain he wished that he could have taken his own car, so he didn't have to put up with his stupid family.
But on the other hand, he didn't want to get back in his car. Sitting his car made him think too much about…about the things he didn't want to remember.
He pressed his forehead against the window until it nearly hurt. This wasn't going to last much longer. He knew it.
Maybe Hummel would talk. Maybe he wouldn't. But he'd seen how Hummel's dad was back in the expulsion meeting at school. This wasn't going to be the kind of thing he'd take lightly, not if he demanded an expulsion after a few locker shoves and empty threats.
There was no way Hummel's dad would let this slide. No doubt the police were involved by now.
And they would be coming after him.
"Dave, are you all right?" his mother called from the front seat. "You- Sophia, stop it- you don't look very well. Is your headache still bothering you?"
He raised his head. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick.
"I'll get you some Tylenol when we get home," Laura said. "Jonathan, Sophia, be quiet. David doesn't feel good."
He endured the rest of the car ride home in silence, listening aimlessly to the Christmas music on the radio until they pulled into the garage. Jonathan and Sophia leaped out first, still arguing about something, and he slammed the van door shut
He was nearly to the stairs, almost in the safety of his bedroom, when he heard his father clear this throat behind him. "David?" Paul said.
He halted, his hand nearly on the banister. "Yeah, Dad?" he said.
Paul nodded towards the living room. "Come here for a moment," he said.
Reluctantly he walked back towards his dad. Paul crossed his arms. "You doing all right, son?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," he said. "You know, I've just got…I've just got a headache-"
"Your mother told me you came home drunk on Friday night," Paul said. "Would you like to explain that?"
"I wasn't drunk, just buzzed," he mumbled.
"It's the same, David," Paul said. "You're underage."
"It was just a party, Dad," he defended. "Everybody drinks at parties after the games."
"Yes, but did everybody drive home afterwards?" Paul countered. He stood in the middle of the living room, his face shadowed in the light of the tall floor lamp. "You could have been killed, David. Or you could have killed someone else."
He felt like he was going to choke. "Dad, it was fine," he lied.
"You made it home safe this time, but maybe you won't next time," Paul said. "You know your mother and I don't want you drinking. It isn't safe, and it's a bad example for Jonathan and Sophia."
"Can't Seth be their example?" Dave snapped. "He's the perfect son, they should just look up to him."
Paul frowned. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
Dave sighed and ran his hand over his short hair. "Nothing," he muttered.
"You've been acting strangely for a while now," Paul said. "Especially since you went back to school. Is there something wrong?"
Dave stared at his shoes. He used to go to his dad for everything when he was a kid- every time he was upset, or hurt, or even just angry. Now what could he do?
Yeah, Dad, something's wrong. I got drunk and tried to rape a guy in a parking lot, then I beat him up. Oh, and by the way, Dad, I'm gay. Hope you're okay with that.
"Nothing's wrong," he said in a low voice. "Just…pissed about football. We've been on a losing streak."
Paul's mouth turned down. "That's no reason to drink," he said. "We're taking your car away for a month, David. We'll give you rides to school and football, and that's it. You can have it back after Christmas break."
"Fine," Dave said. "Can I go now?"
Paul put his hand on his shoulder. "Your mom and I are doing this because we love you," he said. "We just don't want to see you destroy your life over a stupid decision. Getting a DUI or getting into a wreck while drunk will ruin your life."
Dave couldn't move. Stupid decision? he thought. I would love it if my stupid decision was just a DUI.
He could never explain this. Never. There was no way. His parents might love him now, but they loved the football player who was dating a nice girl and going off to college in the fall. A carbon copy of his older brother.
There was no way they could ever love the awful person he really was.
Apparently his dad was waiting for an answer, but when Dave said nothing, Paul sighed reluctantly and patted him on the shoulder. "You can go," he said.
Dave backed away and booked it up the stairs, nearly running over Sophia in the hallway. "Ow," she complained. "Watch it, Davey, you almost knocked me over."
He stared down at his scowling little sister and she frowned. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm just…pissed at Dad."
She tossed her long ash blonde hair over her shoulder. "'Cause they're taking your car away?" she said. "Yeah, that sucks."
Sophia looked so much older than he remembered. Usually he just saw her as some pesky grade schooler, trying to get on his nerves. But she would be thirteen in a few weeks.
Would he even still be home for her birthday? Or would he be locked away in an orange jumpsuit instead?
Dave reached over and pulled her into an awkward hug. "G'night, Soph," he mumbled.
She hugged him back tentatively. "Geez, you're acting weird," she said, pulling away quickly.
Jonathan dashed past them. "Guess what I found under your bed, Sophy?" he teased.
Sophia ran after him with a squeal. "Jonathan, give that back, you brat!' she bellowed.
Dave disappeared into the safe depths of his bedroom. It still looked the same as it did on Friday night when he came home, buzzed and dazed and bloody. He sank onto his bed with a heavy sigh.
Someone knocked lightly. "David, it's Mom," Laura called.
"Come in," he said begrudgingly.
She walked in with a small glass of water in her hand. "I brought you something for your headache," she said.
He held out his hand and she tipped two pills into his cupped palm. "Thanks," he said as he popped the pills.
"Your father talked to you, right?" she said. He nodded as she handed him the glass. "You need to deal with the consequences of your actions. You drive drunk, you don't get to drive."
He took a long swig of water and wiped the droplets off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I get it," he said bitterly.
Laura took the glass back. "We're doing it for your own good, David," she said firmly. "Now get some rest. You look like you haven't gotten any sleep this weekend." "Staying up late playing video games," he mumbled.
Laura paused in front of his closed closet doors. "Oh, that's right, your jacket," she said. She threw the doors open. "How did it get dirty?"
He scrambled off his bed and bolted towards the closet. Laura stepped back.
She can't find it, not the shirt, if she finds it I'll be dead…
He whipped the jacket off the hanger and thrust it in his mother's hands. "It, uh, I dropped it," he said. "Put it in the front seat of my car and it, uh, fell out when I opened the door."
Laura looked at him warily while he stared at the front of the jacket. Even in the bright lights of his bedroom, he couldn't see the blood, but he knew it was there. Big red droplets of Kurt Hummel's blood, soaked deeply in the red of his beloved letterman's jacket.
No amount of dry-cleaning would ever make him forget that.
"All right," Laura said. "I'll take it in tomorrow. Good night, honey."
"'Night, Mom," he whispered.
She left the room with his jacket draped over her arm and closed the door behind her. Dave stared into the depths of his closet. He knew the shirt was still there, the white shirt stained red, and he didn't know what to do.
Should he destroy it- burn it, maybe? Or keep it hidden away so that no one would ever find it, even its ashes?
And should he turn himself in, or wait for the police to come to him?
He sank down to the floor, leaving heavily against the wall with his head in his hands. His parents were doing everything they could to prevent him from making a mistake and ruining his life.
Too bad he had already done it. And there was nothing anyone could do, not even himself, to make it better.
Author's Notes:
It's very, very odd to try to get inside Karofsky's head.
This chapter actually links, in a way, to one of my oneshots, "Now That There's Time to Think." I created the rest of the Karofsky family in that story, and I brought them back for this. I know it's kind of weird to write Dave as part of a very stable, upper middle class family with both parents and several siblings, but that's the storyline that jumped out at me to write.
Kat and I are working ridiculously hard on this story. It's insane. Our MO is to get together and talk through our ideas, then she writes out the outline and I write the actual story. She's also reading a massive book on criminal law, in order to prepare properly for the second half of the story. We are officially crazy people.
The next chapter is going to be...interesting. I'm a little scared to start writing that one, to be honest. Basically, everything is going to hit the fan. I suspect I'm going to cry over that one.
