AN: I wasn't sure whether to post on Christmas Eve, given all the distracting activity. But then I realized that this is just about the last of my chapter surplus, so I thought, why not? Christmas gift; the only one I can afford to give so many people. :) The holidays are, I assume, the reason for the drop-off in reviews of late... Hope those of you who are enjoying family and friends catch up! :)
Seriously, though, Merry Christmas, everyone. Thanks for the reads, reviews, and the like. Please be sure to keep 'em coming; it reminds me that someone is enjoying this thing, and it helps give me motivation (and in some cases, useful advice).
But since things of import are about to happen, why don't we cut to the chase and continue with the show...
As the McKinley High Titans (and their scabs) filed into the locker room, there was a palpable strain in the air. The benched players watched with their hands in their pockets and blank expressions as their teammates suited up.
"What are you guys doing here?" Puck growled.
Strando shrugged. "We want to watch you jackoffs fall flat on your faces?"
"I can't believe you'd throw away the championship for something so stupid," groused Artie.
"And I can't believe you're actually putting your girlfriends on the field," Jermaine Andrews countered. "Don't blame us if one of them ends up in the hospital."
Blaine's hands twitched in the pockets of his letterman. He thought about the rush of sprinting down the field, dodging guys twice your size, carrying that precious ball into the end zone, the back slaps and cheers. He thought of his voice, sailing high above the noise of the crowd, all eyes and ears on him. The two scenarios felt less dissimilar than he'd thought.
"Well, we've got a game to win." Finn put on his helmet grimly. "If you're not gonna join us, get out of the way."
The gathered ex-first stringers did so, watching as the others filed out of the locker room. Blaine took a step forward before remembering himself. As the last of them disappeared, Strando shook his head. "This I gotta see."
"I dunno," George Peyton muttered. "This could just end up embarrassing us just by being associated with this."
"Then what do you want to do?" Andrews countered. "Perform in front of everyone? Either way, we lose. At least this way maybe we keep some of our dignity."
"Dignity is overrated." The surprised group spun towards the source of the words, but Blaine hardly seemed to notice; he was too busy staring off into space.
"Blaine?"
"I'll catch up with you guys later." With that, he turned on his heel and vanished from the locker room.
"What the hell is his deal?" Peyton asked.
"Wish I knew," Strando replied quietly.
"Oh, God, it's even worse than I thought."
"C'mon, Kurt, they're not doing too bad... all things considered..."
"Believe me, Dave, this isn't exactly a typical high school football game."
"Oh, I already knew that..."
"They're setting up for the next play... I can't watch...!"
"Whoa... Is that girl... actually running?"
"Wha... She is! Tina! Tina, look out...!"
A groan of shared pain rang on every side of the stands.
"Ohmigod! She's hurt! Poor Mike, I can't imagine what he's... Is she okay?"
"She looks okay... Kind of. I've seen worse on the ice, and they're usually fine."
"But those are boys, Dave. Oh, Tina..."
"You can check on her in a bit. It's almost halftime... You think they're still going to do the show?"
"I have no idea... I wish I knew..."
Blaine, too, wished he knew; specifically, he wished he knew where his legs were taking him.
He'd been pacing the halls up and down, his mind wavering between one option and the other. One was safety, the other risk. Classic dilemma, really, one he'd faced many times before. So why was this one so difficult?
On his next length, he nearly ran into Noah Puckerman, jogging towards the locker room. "Watch it, Anderson!" he snapped.
Blaine stared at him blankly. "Halftime already?"
"Yeah, just about. Finn wants me to convince you assclowns to change your minds."
"Uh, do you not remember what happened to you the last time you tried to convince us of something? Why would that change now?"
Puck's mouth moved, as if he were speaking, but nothing came out. Then: "Fuck you, Anderson." He began stalking off; in that moment, the decision blazed into Blaine's mind.
"You want some advice?"
Puck slowly stopped, turning back towards Blaine. "About what?"
"About what you can say to make them change their minds, rejoin the team for the show. They're my friends too, y'know. I know how they think."
Puck frowned, staring at Blaine as if seeing him for the first time. "Why? Why would you care?"
Good question. Blaine sighed. "I guess... I just want to do something I want for once. Besides, I've got some insurance now..."
"I didn't understand any of that."
"And you don't need to. What you need is a ghost speechwriter." The old Anderson smirk came back to his face. "And buddy, you have the best."
Puck raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Why the fuck should I trust you?"
"Do you have a choice? Could I possibly make the situation any worse than it already is?"
"It's you; you probably can."
"Okay, fine, I can. Just not that much worse. At least hear me out. What do you have to lose? Just listen to me, and you'll be fine. Here's what you should say..."
Kurt was bouncing in his bleacher seat. "What's wrong?" Dave asked. "Getting freezer burn on your butt?"
The response was an eyeroll worthy of a Warner Brothers cartoon. "No. It's halftime."
"Oh, yeah. I wonder if..."
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's halftime show is brought to you by the McKinley High School Glee Club, joined by the Titans..."
The announcer's voice faded as the two boys, along with the rest of the crowd, cast their eyes towards the field. The music began pumping through the loudspeakers as a horde of zombified football players and cheerleaders took the field. Dave blinked; there seemed to be a lot more of them than there were on the field...
"They're back," Kurt gasped. "The entire team... They're back."
Dave didn't reply, watching as Santana (taking the place of a still somewhat discombobulated Tina) began to sing. He remembered her performance at Sectionals, which put into mind the conversation they had beforehand. Just the memory sent a shudder through him that had nothing to do with zombies. He didn't know much about her, but he did know that she was definitely not the kind of bitch to mess around with...
It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark...
The male voice was clear, smooth, and unfamiliar. It didn't match anything Dave remembered hearing during the New Directions' Sectionals performance. Then his eyes truly focused on the curly-haired zombie singing. "Holy shit..." He turned to Kurt, about to ask if he were hallucinating, only to see the same gobsmacked expression that Dave himself knew he probably had.
"It's..."
"That's the Anderson kid," Burt muttered in a half-growl.
As Blaine and Artie belted out the chorus in perfect harmony, Dave could hear Kurt gasp. "He... he really is good..."
"Kurt..."
"Dave, shhh!" Kurt leaned forward, as if trying to wring every last drop of sound from the air. Dave frowned.
Kurt, for his part, watched with eyes and listened with ears he still wasn't quite trusting. That radiant look on Anderson's face as he sang... He knew that look. He'd seen it on Dave the first time he'd seen the Warbler perform. Equating anything about Anderson to anything about Dave felt wrong, almost blasphemous, but... there was no denying it. In just a few minutes, everything Kurt knew (or thought he knew) about Blaine Anderson was being twisted, turned upside down into something that was at once familiar, yet practically unrecognizable as what it was before. The thought was more than a little disturbing.
Finn began the rap portion, and Blaine stepped back to join the rest of his fellow zombies in the final steps of the dance. Dave had to admit that the team actually looked like a team, their movements in perfect (if zombie-stiff) sync. The crowd was into it too; the roar of their cheers erupted into applause and hollering as the number ended. Titans and Glee Clubbers alike stood on the field, their chests heaving as they drank in the accolades.
"Holy shit," Strando whispered.
"This..." Todd Jameson began.
"Is awesome," Blaine Anderson whispered to himself.
The minutes ticked down like seconds, as they always did. With the full force of the first string McKinley football players back, the game had tightened up considerably. Down three with less than half a minute for one last play, Blaine found his every nerve humming like high tension wires. This was what he lived for: the ultimate test under the ultimate pressure.
The Titans had just recovered a fumbled snap (Blaine couldn't help but notice and appreciate the irony, especially accompanied with the zombie taunts), and now the game was tantalizingly in reach, but only just. Even with their play in place, there were too many factors in question: defensive reaction, timing, a hundred thousand little things that could turn everything against them. Yet when Hudson broached the possibility of just going for a field goal to send them to overtime, every player saw the silent agreement in each other's eyes: no. It was either win or go home.
Peyton's SportsCenter worthy snap sounded like a gunshot in Blaine's ears as he started his sprint. He had coverage, of course, but most of their opponents were drawn in to Chang and Hudson, who was currently faking a run.
Blaine Anderson and Finn Hudson had always had a rather odd relationship. They were friends of a sort once - as much friends as a couple of elementary schoolkids can be, at any rate. Then Hudson's remark about his eyebrows in the fifth grade... That started a rift that Blaine was almost startled to realize continued to this very day, a rift that never really had any significance to their lives until Blaine landed on the football team.
As Blaine's talent caused Tanaka (and then Beiste) to shift their strategy towards passes, the bond between quarterback and wide receiver suddenly swelled in significance. Despite Hudson's precise throws and Blaine's equally exact catches, the two had surprisingly little coordination. Much of their success hinged on their sheer individual talents and raw luck. Blaine disliked and frankly distrusted Finn; Hudson returned the enmity, only deepening after joining the Glee Club and the incidents with Kurt Hummel. So, despite the importance of the teamwork and "chemistry" that Shannon Beiste desperately wanted, there was a wall between Blaine Anderson and Finn Hudson that rivaled the one in China.
But as Blaine's eyes skimmed over Hudson's face - already in shadows thanks to the harsh lighting above them - something (for lack of a better word) clicked. Was it the hours of zombie camp? Was it the high of the successful performance? Was it some sort of weird understanding between them? Whatever it was, something in Blaine's head shifted. He knew exactly what Hudson was going to do, where he was going to throw and when, as clearly as if Hudson had shouted it in his ear.
With a quick spin and dodge, Blaine shook his cover. The rest were distracted by Chang and Hudson's run, leaving him wide open. Without so much as looking in Blaine's direction, Hudson did an aggressive pump fake, then threw the ball. It soared directly towards Blaine, dropping into his already waiting arms as if drawn there by some higher power. With the familiar warmth of the pigskin on his skin, Blaine ran, his legs burning with strain, his heart burning with adrenaline. He felt, rather than saw, the panicked defenders barreling towards him - at least the ones that weren't immediately slammed to the ground by Azimio or Evans. His eyes barely registered the scoreboard clock clicking down to zero, his ears deaf to the screams of the crowd (except was that Hummel's high pitched yelling? For him?). All his brain would accept from his senses was the empty field in front of him, the goalposts rushing towards him like a giant crazed bull.
As always, he only came back to himself at the familiar sound of the referee's whistle, and the sight of said ref's arms pointed directly into the air.
Within seconds of the touchdown, Kurt was on his feet. It was silly, his intellectual side told him, to be so worked up over a football game; he hadn't even lost his cool when he himself won one. But this time... What was it? He couldn't even ponder the question, not with the blood rushing in his veins.
He eagerly grabbed Dave's hand and yanked him to his feet (a fact that would've surprised him as much as it surprised the much heavier Dave, if Kurt had been conscious of anything else at that moment). He pulled his friend down towards the field, where the jubilant McKinley fans were already flooding on. "Finn!" As a performer, Kurt definitely knew how to project, though even he strained to be heard over the crowd. "Finn!"
Finn's head was peeking over the milling, jumping throng; at the sound of his name, he turned. A smile lit up his face as he began waving. "Over here!"
"Let me handle this, Kurt," Dave said. Taking the lead, he gently began pushing his way through the crowd, acting as an icebreaker so that Kurt could follow in his wake. It vaguely reminded Kurt of that first day seeing Dalton, only on a larger scale. Eventually, they made their way to Finn, who gave Kurt a huge, tight hug and Dave a triumphant fist-bump at the same time. Dave was the first of them to speak. "Congratulations, man."
"Thanks! God, that was a close one."
"Finn!" Kurt gushed. "That was... that was amazing! The throw, the catch, the show...! All of it!"
"Yeah, you did great," Dave said with a nod and a smile.
"Thanks, dudes. Though I can't really take all the credit; Anderson really did his part too, in all of it." Despite the noise, there was a moment of silence between the three; the mood instantly seemed to sour. Finn looked stricken, as if instantly realizing his mistake. "Geez, Kurt, I'm sorry..."
"No, it's okay," Kurt said quietly. "Actually... Where is he? I wanted to congratulate him too."
"You do?" both Kurt and Dave asked in surprise. "Why?" Dave added.
"I..." Don't know. Because I want to find out if what I saw of him out here was real, or just another one of his masks...? "It's okay. You guys are here to protect me. And if he'd wanted to do anything to me, he'd have done it long ago."
"Yeah, but you don't owe the guy a thing!" Finn argued. "Hell, he's the one who owes you."
"More than you know," Kurt muttered under his breath.
"That should've been you out there, Kurt, not him," Dave snarled. "I can't believe you'd…"
"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, the fact remains that it was him performing and not me. I've accepted that, Dave, and I ask you to do the same. All I was expressing was my opinion. And honesty compels me to say it: he was fantastic. Look," he continued to Finn more loudly, "you aren't denying what he did out on the field, are you?"
"Well... No... But you don't have to actually go out of your way to meet him right now. I can just give him a message from you if that's what you really want."
Kurt shook his head. "No, that's okay. Maybe... maybe it can wait anyway. Dave, why don't we..." He turned, but instead of the burly teenager he was expecting to see next to him, saw his father instead. "Dad? Where'd Dave go? He was standing right there..."
Burt shrugged. "Don't know. But I'm sure he's around here somewhere." Then he turned to Finn and pulled his stepson into a tight hug as a beaming Carole came into view. "Congratulations, kid. You deserved that victory."
As heartwarming as the sight was, Kurt couldn't help but frown. Where the hell did Dave go...?
Blaine knew that there were people out on the field looking for him, both teammates and spectators, but he really couldn't find it in himself to care. The hallway was empty as he hurried towards the locker room, his helmet hanging from his hand.
Now that the adrenaline was fading from his veins, he could think, and found that it wasn't exactly what he wanted to be doing at the moment. It was just too much. There was just too much. The game, the show, the song, Santana... His shoulders were starting to buckle under the weight. He needed time to sort it out, time to find himself again...
"Anderson!" Blaine jumped at the voice, echoing through the hall. A familiar teenager wearing a red windbreaker over a flannel shirt was approaching with an aggressive stride. Despite the radically different outfit, Blaine's mind flared in recognition.
"Oh, hello again, Dalton Boy. Name's Dave, isn't it? I'm surprised you found me."
"Asked around," Dave growled in return. He glared for a silent moment.
Blaine raised an eyebrow. "I take it this isn't a congratulations for winning the game...?"
"I'm warning you: leave. Kurt. Alone." Each word was punctuated by a poke to Blaine's chest - they were inflicted with a single index finger, yet they still somehow almost sent him stumbling back. "He doesn't need you screwing up his life any more than you already have."
Blaine was torn between rage, amusement, and weariness. "In case you didn't notice, I haven't done anything to him lately. What brought this on?"
"Doesn't matter," came the snappish reply. "You'd better stay away from him if you know what's good for you."
"Or else what? You'll kick my ass?"
"For starters. And I'd get away with it, too. You'd deserve it for everything you've done."
"Maybe." The quiet admission had a startling, yet somewhat pleasing, effect on the larger boy; he was the one who almost stumbled back this time, out of sheer astonishment. "But what do you care?"
"What do I care...? He's my friend, of course! A real friend, too, not just a teammate to hang around with and exploit."
Blaine's anger was starting to win over his other emotions; he felt his smirk returning. "Right. Just a friend."
"What the fuck are you implying? Two gay guys can just be friends, you know."
"I mean, how long did you know Kurt when we met?"
Dave frowned at the question, but for some reason answered anyway. "A few days. What's it to you?"
"So let me get this straight: you drove over two hours to confront me in the name of someone you'd known for just a few days."
Dave's frown deepened. "Yeah? So?"
"That doesn't sound exactly like a 'friend' to me."
"What does it sound like, then?" Dave shook his head violently. "You know what, don't answer. I don't care what you think."
"Did Kurt ask you to tell me to leave him alone?" Blaine pressed.
"Well, no, but..."
"Wow." Blaine threw up his hands in mock wonder. "You really are trying hard to fool yourself, aren't you?"
The look on Dave's face fell in an instant, a creeping hint of fear blossoming that Blaine found oddly thrilling. "What the fuck are you babbling about?"
"I'm just saying that I'm not a threat here. At least not the way you seem to think I..."
"Shut up!" Dave shouted, a little too loudly even for this situation. "Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything about me or..."
"Oh, Dave, Dave, Dave..." This time it was Blaine who shook his head, in exaggerated pity. "It's true, I don't know what issues you have that's making you so scared, and frankly, I don't care. Just don't go blaming me for your problems or Kurt's when we both know whose issues are really at play here." He gave Dave a poisonously sweet smile, one that reminded the Warbler uncomfortably of another McKinley student he'd met. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to shower and celebrate my big win. Nice talkin' to ya." He turned and walked casually away, feeling better than he had for months. He didn't even need to see Dave's face, pale and terrified, before the Warbler practically ran in the other direction.
The celebration at Breadstix was loud and raucous, but considering the victory of the hometown heroes, no one there, employee or patron, really minded. The tables were too small to seat together everyone who arrived; to the disappointment of many of those present, the groups divided up organically between the Glee Club members at one table and the non-members at the other. Still, there were some high fives, laughs, and stories swapped between the tables, which Kurt chose to see as progress.
At the moment, though, he was feeling a little hemmed in, what with Finn sitting on one side of him and Dave on the other, with both casting glances at Anderson at the other table every so often. But the wide receiver seemed to be behaving himself, sticking mostly with his group, other than the occasional joke cast towards Sam or Mike. Kurt thought several times about getting up and approaching, but one look at Finn and Dave convinced him that it would probably cause more problems than it would solve at the moment.
However, one of Kurt's silent predictions was coming true: Dave seemed to be getting along with the Glee Club at least tolerably. He was generally very quiet (which surprised Kurt quite a bit), but at least made an effort to engage with the others, which they seemed to appreciate.
"Dave?" he asked quietly. The addressed boy nearly jumped out of his seat, his soda almost spilling from the cup he was holding. "You okay?"
"What?"
"You've been really quiet ever since we left the game. Are you feeling all right?"
Dave's eyes flickered, never landing on Kurt for more than a moment. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just... I'm just tired, that's all. It's been a long day."
"Longer for Finn, I'm sure." The smile slipped from Kurt's face. "You sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I'm sure! Just drop it already, okay?"
"All right... Fine." Kurt shook his head, missing the remorseful look that flashed over Dave before vanishing completely. Kurt returned to his food, somehow not feeling quite as hungry as he had just a minute before.
"Hey, Anderson! Wait up!" Blaine turned to see Finn jogging towards him in the parking lot. The party was over, and most of the group was dispersing for the night to sleep the sleep of the righteous victor. "Hey, congrats on MVP, dude."
"Thanks. But you could've told me that in the restaurant. I'm beat."
"Yeah, I know. I really wanted to ask if... well... you wanted to join the Glee Club full-time." There was a dead silence. "I didn't ask before 'cause I didn't think you'd want Strando and the others hear me ask."
Blaine cocked his head, one of his unreadable expressions settling onto his features. "You were right. That was... actually intelligent of you, Hudson. Thanks."
Finn smiled, seeming much too pleased at the compliment. "You should, you know. You were really good. We could use another voice like yours in New Directions. Even Kurt thought you were great."
Blaine's spine stiffened. "He did?"
"Sure. He wanted to tell you himself, but… well, y'know." Finn rubbed the back of his head gingerly. "I said I'd pass that on to you, though."
Blaine's mind snapped back to his little… conversation with Dave in the hallway. Ah. That explains everything. "You sure the others would go along?" he asked Finn out loud. "With me joining your club, I mean? They tolerated me for this, but now that it's over..."
"They will. I'd make sure of that," Finn replied firmly. "All you'd have to do..."
"Ah, I knew there was a catch."
"No, no, no catch. Just... you'd just need to apologize to Kurt. I could take you to his school, and..." Finn frowned as he was interrupted by Blaine's almost hysterical laughter.
"G... Oh, God, I can't... I can't breathe!" Finally, the gales died down, and Blaine straightened from his almost doubled-over position. "Oh, man, thanks for that. I really needed that."
"I don't see what was so funny," Finn snapped bitterly.
"Look, Hudson, even if I had time to join Glee - and I don't - and the desire - and I don't - I'm not going to commit social suicide no matter how great the halftime show was. You really think their cheering meant something? What do you think those same people are going to do the next time you perform at school?" Finn opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Blaine nodded grimly. "McKinley is fickle, man. You of all people should know that. Besides, there's something else I'll be spending my time on..."
"What?"
"Oh, you'll see. Real soon now." Blaine clapped Finn on the arm. "Thanks for asking, though."
It was only long after Blaine drove away, and Finn himself was on his way home, that he realized that he'd never before heard the word "thanks" coming from Anderson's lips before. Ever. Certainly not towards him. He pondered this the rest of the night, trying to shake the vague sense of unease it gave him.