AN: Well, there has been, as you've noticed, a bit of a holding pattern in many aspects of this tale. It's not only dramatically appropriate, but it fits in with canon events.
That is ending. Things are going to happen. Status quo? Forget about it. From here on in, nothing for Kurt or Dave is ever gonna be the same, starting now.
Given the length of earlier chapters, I thought long and hard about splitting this into two. But so much of significance is concentrated at the end that I decided to give y'all this (by this 'fic's standards so far) mega-chapter. I felt a little bad about losing the opportunity to extend the 'fic, but it would've been a little too artificial. Besides, I'm eager to get to this particular plot point.
Enjoy.
When it was all over, Dave looked like he was about to faint. "My God…" he whispered. "And I thought Anderson was bad… You actually went to the same school as… that?"
"Yes," Kurt said flatly. He changed into the HOV lane as the car rocketed its way towards Westerville.
"How can you be so calm?" Dave demanded. "I… she…!"
"Deep breaths, Dave, deep breaths. I know that initial exposure to Sue Sylvester can be a little… traumatizing. But remember: she lives two hours away from Westerville. She can't hurt you."
Dave surprised himself by laughing, immediately breaking through his trauma. "Okay… you're right. I'm fine now. It's just that…"
"I know, I know. But really, once you get used to her… Well, fine, you never quite get used to Coach Sylvester. But you at least learn how to deal with the fear."
Their encounter at the coffee shop had been entirely random. Even in a town as small as Lima, it was large and populous enough that running into Sue Sylvester had been a surprise. At first, Dave was polite but curious; he'd heard a lot about Sue from Kurt, but his mental image (which involved flames crackling in her eyes, horns, and a pair of bat wings) didn't jive with the reality he saw. That quickly changed.
Sue looked Dave over with an appraising glare that he could almost physically feel. "I didn't know they let belugas into private school."
"E-excuse me?" Dave sputtered.
"Let me stop you right there, Hamhock. You've said a total of thirteen words to me and I'm already bored." She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes briefly flickering towards Kurt at least twice. "But I suppose you deserve a little slack for watching out for Tickle Me Doe-Face. Just keep your gorilla-like paws to yourself. I haven't seen Porcelain here for months, and I can already tell this is not the time to be giving in to your sneaky gay urges."
Kurt coughed, sharply and loudly, which had the desired effect of taking Sue's eyes off Dave and onto him. "Ah, Coach Sylvester, Dave and I really should be…"
"One moment. I have some information for you about Will Schuester's clown college. I assume you want to hear it."
The two Warblers glanced at each other. Kurt tried to keep his shrug casual. "If you insist…"
"It's not what she said, although some of it was pretty, um, odd." Dave was babbling now; Kurt could tell that much of it was trying to justify his reaction to himself. "It was… I dunno, her – the way she looks at you and the way she… It felt like I was being beaten up by her aura or something."
"If anyone's aura could inflict physical harm on another, it'd be Coach Sylvester's," Kurt agreed.
"Um… Kurt?" Dave started with obvious reluctance. "Are you… gonna tell the others about what she said? About New Directions?" There was a pause. "Because I won't if you don't want me to."
Kurt sighed. "I… don't know. I mean, I am a Warbler now; I have to think about the Warblers first and foremost. On the other hand, I… don't want to hurt New Directions, especially not this way."
"On the other other hand, you know we could use any sort of edge we can get," Dave pointed out.
Kurt nodded. "On the other other other hand…" He grimaced. "I can't believe I just said that. But anyway, I have to consider the source. Using information from Coach Sylvester is just more salt in the wound, assuming she's not lying about it for her own purposes."
"Well, if you decide not to tell Wes and the others… I won't either."
"That's… thanks, Dave." Kurt's hands tightened around the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip.
"You have another hour and a half to make a decision. Want to talk about it?"
"No… I just need to think."
"I'll let you think, then," Dave replied softly. He turned his gaze towards the window, towards the scenery, urban and otherwise, rushing by. Kurt had long ago turned off the radio, so there was just the hum of the air conditioning, the growl of the engine, and the swooshing of blacktop under tires. It was forty five minutes before either boy said a word.
"I'm telling them," Kurt said quietly.
"Okay."
"I figure either way, I'm disappointing someone. It just came down to what's best for me, right at this moment."
"Okay."
"I expected a little more than just 'okay,' Dave," Kurt laughed, an edge of bitterness creeping in. "Like 'you're doing the right thing, Kurt' or 'of course you're absolutely right, Kurt.'"
"Can't say that," Dave replied quietly. "It's a tough choice. I don't know what the right answer is, or what will happen. But whatever you do, I'll support you."
It was almost funny, Kurt thought, how just a few words seemed to make everything better…
Blaine Anderson stalked the halls of McKinley High School. Not too long ago, he would've run a gauntlet of angry glares and fearful, fleeting glances, which he had to admit gave him no small amount of satisfaction, not to mention a feeling of power. But now, the only angry glares he got were from bullies like the hockey team, and the occasional snappish or bewildered look from his football teammates (though they had the sense to not do or say anything overtly hostile). The rest… Whenever Blaine or his fellow Bully Whips appeared in the halls, the general student population (at least the ones who gave them a second glance) had looks of… admiration. Relief. Gratitude. He thought he'd miss the old days, but oddly enough, these new reactions still gave him a sense of satisfaction and power… only in a different way. Besides, he was owning his black suit, and he knew it.
"Oracle to Blue Two. Oracle to Blue Two." Artie's voice rang clearly over Blaine's earpiece.
"Blue Two, standing by." Each of the Bully Whips had a callsign; Artie's designation as Oracle was Sam's idea (he'd also insisted on the callsign Red Five for himself). There was little real point to it, but it sounded more professional, not to mention more cool/badass.
"Slushie alert in sector three."
"Copy that. Responding." Blaine quickened his pace; he knew Brittany was positioned at the other end of the school, so he was the closest to this newest alert.
He quickly arrived at the lockers near the gym. Just as the report Artie got from some random student said, three baseball players were walking together, each bearing a plastic cup brimming with slushie.
No need for backup on this one. Blaine simply planted himself in front of the jocks, his arms folded.
"Well, well," the one in the lead sneered. "Looks like a member of the Fag Patrol's gotten uppity!"
"Hey, isn't that Anderson?" another chimed in. "What, Beiste cut off your balls?"
Blaine didn't so much as twitch. Such gibes had bothered him in the first couple of weeks of the Bully Whips, but they had long since lost their impact, which never ceased to surprise him. "We don't need any trouble, boys," he said firmly.
"Yeah, right," the third baseball player chuckled. "There are three of us, and one of you. What are you gonna do, yell at us?" The others laughed.
"Hell, maybe we should just slushie him now. Teach him a lesson."
"Go ahead," Blaine replied calmly. "Your parents would probably be very interested in why they're getting my dry cleaning bill."
"Aw, look at that. He's threatening to run to our mommies and daddies!"
"Why not? My guess is that it's the nightmare scenario for at least two of you." The one on the left in the back got a sudden case of twitchy eye, while the mouth of the one in front trembled just slightly. And there we go. His smug grin returned. "Besides, haven't you heard? Thanks to the Bully Whips, the administration is taking incidents like this much more seriously. And don't forget Candid Camera." That was a total bluff, of course; he and Santana had proposed that tiny webcams broadcasting footage of offenders to Artie in real time be part of their arsenal, but even Figgins' "devotion" to the Andersons couldn't tamp down his fear of legal issues. But the rumors that they had them anyway persisted, which they all found inordinately useful. And, of course, the Bully Whips themselves made effective eyewitnesses on their own regardless, especially with most bullying done in public. "You guys had your fun, but it's over now. So why don't you turn around and walk away? Or better yet, have a drink? You seem thirsty."
The trio stared with unreadable faces for a long moment. Finally, the leader put his cup to his lips, taking in a long draught in front of his surprised friends. "C'mon, guys. This is a huge waste of time. Leave the loser alone with his little power trip."
The baseball players slunk off, leaving Blaine, and the other scattered students watching in attitudes ranging from amusement to awe, staring after them until they'd vanished. He was pretty sure they weren't going to cause any trouble now. It was a pretty long encounter, all things considered, especially since the average time spent with any individual incident had steadily plunged since the Bully Whips started their patrols (a fact Artie never failed to crow over via elaborate Powerpoint presentations). Still, taking time like this was necessary occasionally to hammer home the point to the especially thick-headed: the Bully Whips were keeping order. If you didn't like it, tough. Certainly there was bullying done in private, out of their sight, but students were starting to step up, step forward, now that they saw that they would be taken seriously and that their tormentors were starting to face real consequences. There was a new world order, yet Blaine, in a way, was still at the head of it. He wondered whether that was the reason why it was going down so well with him.
But it wasn't just that, not by a long shot. Everyone was surprised at how well he took to Bully Whips duty, himself included. Sure, there was the intimidation, which he already knew he was good at, but the very act of standing up for someone else… It was, for lack of a better and less clichéd word, natural.
He wondered what Kurt would think if he could see things now. He'd probably be impressed at how much the school had changed, how much Blaine had changed…
Wait. Hold on one fucking second. Why was he thinking about Kurt Hummel? Why did he care? Well, of course he'd care a little; getting Kurt back to McKinley was one of Santana's goals, after all. But that didn't mean that Blaine had to think about Kurt on his own time. He had no reason to.
Abruptly, he remembered a dream… no, a nightmare… from the previous night. He was at a costume ball, wearing his football uniform and a white full-face mask with a grinning (no, leering) expression. He was dancing with Santana, but couldn't help watching Kurt, who was wrapped in the arms of Dave Karofsky. At midnight, it was time for unmasking. He took his off, but there was another underneath, this one smiling beatifically. Annoyed, he took this one off, and there was another underneath that one. This new mask came off, and there was another. And again. The partygoers around him began to murmur. Santana tapped her foot in impatience, and Kurt and Dave started to snicker. He ripped off mask after mask, adding to a growing pile at his feet. Roaring in frustration, he finally tore off the last one, and Santana screamed in horror. Everyone was staring in fear, except Kurt and Dave, who were now outright laughing. His heart pounding, he found a mirror… and saw that his face was blank. Featureless. Santana was still screaming, but was almost drowned out by Kurt and Dave's laughter… He'd woken up covered in sweat.
Fuck, am I screwed, he thought bitterly.
"Oracle to Blue Two."
"Blue Two standing by." His voice sounded hoarse and weak to his ears.
"Student escort request at room B-235 in two minutes."
"Copy that. Responding." Blaine hurried away, trying to let in as much reality as he could into his mind to avoid thinking of the fantasy.
Kurt had never begrudged anyone for loving someone else. But with his tenure in the McKinley High School Glee Club, he also knew, better than anyone, how crazy love can make otherwise sane and normal people. Funny how much of the drama seemed to involve Finn; remembering his own role in the insanity still made him flush in embarrassment.
That was one big reason why he appreciated romance, the grand, dramatic, hearts-and-flowers gestures that bespoke huge and epic emotions: the honesty, the purity, and, of course, the drama (the right kind, at least), so different from the revolving doors and backs of hands nailed to foreheads that so often seemed to accompany Glee Clu… er, high school relationships.
So it was refreshing when David (Thompson, to Kurt's regret) brought up the big idea with stars in his eyes and flutters in his heart. He'd been like that ever since his big Valentine's Day with Callie, not to mention the many days after; some of the other Warblers swore there were times David's shoes didn't even touch the floor. It was thus almost natural that when Kurt and Dave shared Sue Sylvester's intel that he was the one to make the suggestion.
"Why don't we counter? Do a big sexy number of our own? Show the judges that we're hotter than just a bunch of identical uniforms?"
A mutter went through the assembled Warblers like the tide. Some had skeptical faces, others excited. Kurt kept himself studiously neutral. A glance at Dave told him he was doing the same.
"Excellent suggestion, Senior Warbler Thompson," Wes said.
"But what do we know about sexy?" Trent Nixon cut in. "We can't just judge that on our own. Except Kurt and Dave, I guess, but they're not enough…"
"Why not perform for Crawford?" David suggested. "I can ask Callie..." Here a few Warblers rolled their eyes; David had been bringing that name into every conversation for weeks, including one about Chinese New Year. "... to have her sister gather a few of her classmates."
"We can record it too, take a look for ourselves afterward," Dave added.
Wes nodded. "So shall it be." He slammed his gavel, just to make it official. "Now, as to the issue of singers…"
Dave raised his hand. "I nominate David," he said with an evil grin. "It's obvious he's channeling the sexy times already."
David blushed at this. "Well… with Callie's sister in the audience, they might be biased…"
"Nonsense!" Wes declared with a grin of his own. "I think I speak for everyone when I say you'd be perfect." The others murmured assent.
"Fine… But I think I could use a co-singer…"
"I volunteer!" Everyone whirled to face Kurt, who had his head held high. "One gay singer, one straight… we've got all our bases covered that way."
"I approve. Senior Warbler Thompson, Junior Warbler Hummel, it will be your responsibility to pick a song and present it to the council and Warblers at large."
As the Warblers filed out of the room at the end of the day's session, Kurt noticed Dave staring. "What?"
"Nothing. I'm just… a little surprised you volunteered."
Kurt stopped, his arms akimbo, fists resting on his hips. "What, you don't think I can do sexy?"
Dave didn't answer for a moment. "What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? Whatever I say, I get humiliated." Kurt glared. "Fine… You're going to do… great, Kurt. Really."
He seemed mollified. "Thank you, David. That's all I wanted to hear." This, of course, was a complete lie, but that was a matter for later.
Days later, Kurt was staring at his laptop screen in horror. "Oh my God…"
"What's wrong?" Dave leaned over Kurt's shoulder, staring at and listening to the footage they'd recorded of the Warblers' performance for Crawford. It had gone without difficulty, performed at Dalton's arts auditorium after some negotiation with the administrators. "I thought it went really well. You killed your parts."
"What's wrong?" Kurt repeated in disbelief. "Look at me!"
"Yyyyeah, you look like you. So what?"
"Look at my face! I was trying to go for 'sexy', but look at me! Why didn't you tell me I looked like a constipated Buddha?"
"Don't be silly, Kurt."
"Oh, I'm silly now, am I? Tell me: do you think I look sexy in this video?" A bead of sweat rolled down Dave's forehead as Kurt glared. "Well?"
"I, uh… You… Um…"
Kurt threw up his hands. "I knew it!" He leaped to his feet and began pacing the room.
"Kurt, you're overreacting. Why are you so concerned about it anyway?"
"Because this is the first time I've ever seen how ridiculous I look! I mean, sure, there's the mirror, but now I have live video proof! I can compare myself to David, who looks incredibly hot, by the way. And now I can see…" He turned to the mirror and made a face. "All my expressions look the same!" He threw himself onto his bed face-down. "I'm going to be alone forever."
Dave chuckled, which earned him a quick flash of angry glare from Kurt. "C'mon, man, that isn't exactly a high priority for most guys. 'Single white male looking for boyfriend. Must be able to make sexy faces.'"
"It proves I have the sex appeal of a baby penguin." Kurt's voice was muffled by his face being planted firmly into the bed.
"It's not that bad. Want to see one of my sexy faces?"
Kurt raised his head instantly, only to behold the sight of Dave's scrunchy, pained look. He couldn't help but laugh. "You look like you have gas! You're exaggerating just to make me feel better, aren't you? Please tell me you are!"
"No, really. I'm not exactly the most, uh, experienced guy myself." Dave's voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if he were afraid someone was listening in at the door. "To tell you the truth… I'm kind of a prude. I mean, gimme a hot guy wearing nothing but a g-string, and I'll be totally turned on. But take that g-string away, and…" He made a limp-wristed "wilting" gesture, which Kurt snickered at. "I'm sure I'll be raring to go when I finally do have sex, but watching it? I gotta tell you… I think it's a little gross."
Kurt was now sitting fully upright, his face aglow. "Me too! I've tried watching, uh, 'those' movies before, but all I could think about was how those guys have mothers and what would they think if they knew… It wasn't arousing at all." He sighed. "I don't know anything about sex… and I'm not sure I want to."
"Whoa, there, Kurt, that's going a little too far, isn't it? I mean, unless you plan on remaining a virgin forever…"
"At this rate, I won't have a choice." He turned back to the mirror and tried the face again. It still looked exactly the same. "It doesn't even look like I'm trying, does it? I suppose I'm more of the 'romance' type. Maybe I'll just ask Mr. Ryerson for tips on how to be utterly alone."
Dave sat next to Kurt, putting on his own so-called sexy face; the latter giggled. "Well, then, I guess I'm just gonna be there too, completely alone right next to you. Hey, why don't we practice? Maybe we'll hit on something we can actually use at Regionals."
Kurt bent over double for a moment in mirth. "Oh, why not? We'll take turns." For over half an hour, anyone passing by Kurt's room would've heard regular outbursts of laughter and cries of "ooh, that was a good one" and "oh, I gotta get a photo of this!" Any assumptions they would've made at such a time would've been completely excusable.
Burt Hummel was elbow deep in metal and grease. But it was a comfortable feeling – always had been, ever since he first picked up a wrench. The puzzle posed by a malfunction that had to be solved, the skill in threading together disparate parts, the honest sweat… Besides Kurt, working on cars had been the only other thing keeping him sane after his wife's death. (Or should that be late wife… The very conception of it still cast a shadow over his heart.)
It was late in the day; there were only a few more quick jobs to wrap up before it was time to call it for the evening. He grunted as he finally managed to get a bolt tightened to his satisfaction. He was starting to straighten when he heard footsteps approaching. A young man who was becoming very familiar to him entered the garage, dressed in a blue and red blazer, overcoat, and scarf, guardian against the still-lingering chill. He carried a large manila envelope, and waved a little as he approached.
"Hello, Dave."
"Hi, Mr. Hummel. My dad has some more papers for you to sign."
Burt sighed. "More? Christ, I don't think I had this much paperwork in school. Put it by that tool chest, will you?" He watched as Dave started to do so. "Oh, while you're there, think you could hand me the carburetor?"
"Sure… Uh…" He stared helplessly at the array of metal bits and parts scattered all about.
"It's the shiny thing, over there. Next to the socket wrench."
"Oh, this?" Dave held up a piece of metal; Burt nodded. The younger man jogged over and handed it off.
"Thanks." There was a short pause as he gently placed it into the engine. "You didn't have to drive all the way down here, you know. Your dad could've just faxed or e-mailed the papers."
"Yeah, well… I needed to come down here anyway. My dad has another client nearby, and Kurt wanted me to run an errand for him too." Dave rocked on his heels nervously. "I'll see you later, Mr. Hum…"
"Just a sec." Burt's head emerged from the car engine. He grabbed a rag and started wiping his hands. "I'd like to talk to you if you have the time."
Dave swallowed. "S-sure."
"How's Kurt doing?"
"He's doing fine, sir."
"You're watching over him, huh?" The senior Hummel's expression was flat, neutral.
"I… I guess so. But Kurt can watch out for himself."
"I suppose he can." Silence. "Look, son, I'm not trying to meddle in Kurt's life…" Burt brought himself up short. Well, that's exactly what you're trying to do. And why not? You're his father, for Christ's sake. But he didn't, couldn't, harbor any illusions about what his son would think of said meddling. So goddamn independent, just like his mom… He sighed. "He… You… What do you two…?" Burt stopped.
"Mr. Hummel?" Dave asked, bewildered.
Burt almost asked, right then and there. But some small part of his brain (his cowardice? His sanity?) played a mental image of Kurt's likely reaction should he ever discover that his father asked that question of Dave. And Kurt wouldn't be all that unjustified. Burt stifled a groan. He couldn't stop his son's pain at the hands of the bullies. He couldn't keep him from having to transfer away from friends he loved. But, he could keep his son from emotional anguish, right this very second. But only if you get the right answer, that annoying part of his brain told him. If you're wrong, you could create that anguish. Then what will Kurt do? He sighed again, deeper this time. This won't be the first time I trust Kurt to do the right thing, to be strong… It probably won't be the last… "I… I was just asking… about that time I found you in Kurt's bed…"
Dave flushed. "Nothing happened, sir, I swear. Kurt was just being a good friend to an idiot. He didn't even sleep in the same room, and…"
"I know, I know. It's just that… he's had a hard time of it lately."
"Believe me, I know."
"And… he doesn't deserve to be hurt. He deserves everything good in life. People who won't hurt him or betray him. People who will be honest with him, and who he can be honest to in return." Burt cast a look at the teenager; he hoped it wasn't too harsh (though if it did scare the kid a little, well, that could be good too).
Dave nodded grimly. "I completely agree, Mr. Hummel."
"I'm glad you do." He turned slightly to gently let down the hood of the car he was working on. "But I'd also appreciate it if you'd let me know the next time you need to sleep off a night of drinking in my house."
"I am so sorry about that," Dave stammered. "But you don't have to worry about Kurt and me." His words sped up; Dave could almost feel himself starting to babble. "Even with… everything else, he's a lot like me. I mean, he doesn't even want to know anything about sex, and…" He stopped dead, gaping and pale. "Oh, God, Mr. Hummel, please don't tell Kurt I said that…"
"No, it's okay, Dave. All you did was confirm something I was already thinking." He ran his fingers over his bare scalp. "I was kind of thinking that maybe I needed to have that discussion with him anyway." Burt grimaced. "I'm not exactly sure I'm the person to do it, but…"
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my dad already had that talk with me." Dave smiled wryly. "It was embarrassing, for both of us, but we got through it. I kinda appreciate that he learned all that for me, that he was concerned enough for me to make the effort." He laughed a little. "Maybe you could ask him about it the next time you two talk – get some tips."
Burt nodded. "Y'know, that's not a bad idea. Thanks." He glanced at his watch. "Gotta start shutting down now. Thanks for the delivery, Dave."
"No problem, sir. Say hi to Finn for me."
"I will." Burt watched the teenager leave, trying to make sense of his own thoughts and fears. God, Liz, give me strength… Watch over Kurt…
"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" Blaine stopped short; the voice was definitely Santana's.
"No, not really." And that was definitely Brittany Pierce. He carefully peeked around the corner; the two of them were deep in conversation. Neither took any notice of him, for which Blaine thanked his lucky stars. He knew he should just slink away right now, let the two say whatever they wanted to say to each other without him listening in (a thought he never would've had just a few months ago, not with such juicy blackmail material… ain't life a kick in the teeth?). But for some reason, his legs wouldn't move. He just stood there as the two cheerleaders continued to talk.
"Please say you love me back. Please."
Oh, God, Santana… Blaine could almost feel this whole discussion rocketing towards a train wreck, with the same inevitability as a Road Runner cartoon. And why not? People like him, Santana… They never got what they wanted – only what they deserved.
"I can't break up with him."
And boom. He winced; he'd endured hours of Santana talking about Brittany over the course of their "relationship." The vulnerability that appeared in her eyes whenever that name came up, a vulnerability he didn't even know she had… The pain of wanting someone you couldn't have…
"But what about the Bully Whips?" Santana's voice was pleading, on the edge of desperate. "I'm doing so much good! I…"
"I know that. But so is Artie. We're all doing this together, right? Santana, you have to know: if Artie and I were to ever break up…"
Blaine sank against the wall, shaking. The conversation soon ended, in tears, as he'd expected. He heard footsteps walking away from him and another, quicker set heading towards him. In seconds, Santana barreled around the corner, streaks running down her face. She nearly tripped over Blaine's feet; her eyes registered first surprise, then murderous rage. Blaine gulped.
"Having fun spying, Anderson?" she hissed. "Bet you were having a gay old time, laughing at me."
Blaine fixed her with a calm, serious look, which he knew was the only thing that could possibly save him from a knee to the crotch or worse. "Santana…"
"What?"
He pulled her into a hug. She stiffened, then tried to pull away for a few seconds. Finally, she melted, grabbing onto him like a life preserver. He patted her back, which was shaking with her sobs; he could feel her tears soaking into his shirt. The couple stood there, in the thankfully empty corridor, for what seemed to Blaine to be forever and a day.
"We have to go to the next stage of the plan," Santana finally mumbled, her face still buried in his shoulder.
"I agree," he replied quietly. Even if it's not for your reason.
"It's up to you, Anderson. Do not fuck this up."
"I won't." The two separated; Blaine gently wiped Santana's teary cheeks. "I won't."
"…and now I have all these pamphlets, and I… Ugh!" Kurt tossed the mentioned pamphlets at Dave, who caught flashes of organs and positions as they fluttered past his face. "God, I thought I was going to sink into the ground."
"He did it because he cares about you," Dave replied as he picked up the pamphlets.
"I know… It's just that… what even made him think of doing this in the first place?"
"No idea." Dave struggled to keep his voice even. "But you should make an effort to learn, y'know. Just so both of you won't have gone through that for nothing." He handed the stack of pamphlets back to Kurt, who handled them like a used condom.
"I suppose you're right. It's not like I can go forever not knowing." Kurt shook his head as he sat at his desk. "Feelings are weird enough to begin with. Like seeing Anderson kiss Rachel…"
"What's so weird about that? He was drunk and trying to stay in the closet."
"Yes, but… I think it was more than that. He wasn't trying to prove anything to everyone else; no one there except me knew. I think… he was trying to prove something to himself."
"Fool himself, you mean," Dave snorted.
"Maybe. But… I think it was more out of desperation than scheming."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It was just a feeling." Kurt sighed, staring out the window; it had been raining buckets for hours, and the glass was streaked with rivulets of water. "I'm starting to think he's not a monster, Dave. He's just as scared as I was, just in a different way."
"That doesn't excuse what he did to you, Kurt."
"I know it doesn't! It just… explains it." The two listened to the pitter-patter of the rain for a moment. "All I know is that with everything the others have been telling me about the Bully Whips, and seeing him at that party… I don't think he's the same guy who stalked me anymore."
"He's also a master of bullshit!" Dave declared. "He may just be playing you to get you to drop your guard!"
"If so, he's even more of a genius and an actor than we thought. I can't explain it; it's just what I feel." Kurt rose from his seat. "I hate to kick you out, but I still have that literary analysis to write…"
"Say no more. G'night, Kurt." Dave left, gently closing the door behind him. He strode down the hall towards his own room, nearly crashing into a young underclassman. What was his name…? Gabe? George?
"Hi… You're Dave Karofsky, right?"
"Yeah."
"I ran into some guy on the way in. He said he needed to talk to you."
"Now?" He glanced out one of the windows; the rain still poured down. "Who?"
"No idea. He just said it was urgent. Something about someone named Kurt Hummel…? He's waiting out by parking lot 2."
Dave nodded. If it was about Kurt… "Okay. Thanks."
He was walking out the front halls a few minutes later, rain beating on his umbrella in staccato pops like fireworks. Dave's shoes splashed into puddles as he made his way down the sidewalk. In the distance, he could see a figure standing under the glow of a lamppost; it was… dancing? As he drew nearer, he could hear an angry voice screeching through the blank, cold night. Then the face started to take shape…
"Anderson?" Dave gasped.
It was indeed Blaine Anderson. His "dancing" was actually his kicking angrily at an umbrella at his feet, turned inside out by the wind. His normally curly hair was plastered flat against his skull, and his clothes were soaked through, giving him the mien of a drowned rat. "Goddammit! God-fucking-dammit! Fucking piece of shit!" He gave one last mighty kick, and the useless umbrella sailed in a shallow arc across the pavement, splashing into a muddy puddle.
Dave gave a sarcastic golf clap, causing Anderson's dripping head to snap up. "Congratulations. Now that you've kicked the shit out of a defenseless umbrella, you can get the fuck out of here before I punch your face in."
"No, wait, I have to talk to you."
"We have nothing to talk about, Anderson. I'm going to go back inside now, where it's warm and dry, and you'd better get going before I call the cops. Or you can just catch pneumonia; I don't give a shit." He turned away.
"Wait! Please!"
The words stopped Dave cold. It wasn't just the words themselves, though hearing the word "please" from Anderson's mouth was shocking enough on its own. It was the desperation in them, the anguish. He could be faking again… But if he is, that deserved a goddamn Oscar. Kurt's words from earlier echoed in his mind as he turned slowly around. Anderson was awash in the harsh glare of the lamp above him; even through the sharp shadows on his face, Dave could see the glow of all too familiar anxiety and despair.
"Please…" The word was a whisper, but it rang loud in Dave's ears even above the rain.
Dave schooled his features into a frown. "Okay. Two minutes."
Anderson took a step forward. "I need you to give something to Kurt." He started to fumble in his pockets.
"Why the hell should I do that?"
"It's just a letter." He finally came up with a plain white envelope nestled safely in a sealed Ziploc bag. Dave raised an eyebrow at this particular bit of preparation; Anderson must have noticed it. "I thought I might have to duct tape it to the door or something. I didn't want it to get soaked."
"Just a letter?" Dave repeated. "You've already sent Kurt a bunch of them. They helped drive him out of McKinley."
"Not this one. I… We… the Bully Whips… We want him to come back."
Dave stared in disbelief. "Seriously. And you're the one asking this?"
"Would it mean any more if someone else asked on my behalf?" Anderson snapped. "We both know I'm the reason he's gone, so I have to be the one to fix it."
"Why the fuck should you want to 'fix it'? Why should I let your letter get within ten feet of Kurt?"
"I swear, he can ask his friends. This is for real. You and I both know he wants to come back to McKinley. This is his chance. I'm trying to make amends."
Dave looked over the soaked, shaking boy before him. He certainly looked sincere, but… "And you're asking me. You know I could just tear the damn thing up the second you give it to me."
Anderson nodded. "I know. But I don't have much of a choice, do I? It's not like it's the smartest idea to give this to him myself right now, and you're the only other guy here whose name I know. Besides…" A ghost of a smile came over his face. "I think you want to do what's best for him." He held out the letter like an olive branch. Dave stared at it for a long moment, as if being offered a steaming pile of cow manure. "I know I have no right to ask this, but please… for Kurt's sake… I need you to trust me. Just a little. Just about this."
Dave stood, unmoving. Whether he was thinking, or whether he was just watching Anderson get further soaked by the rain, was something neither boy really knew. Finally, Dave's arm swept in a violent arc, snatching the letter from Anderson's hand.
"Thank you…" Anderson whispered. Dave grunted. He merely turned on his heel and returned to the safety and shelter of the Dalton main building, leaving Anderson staring after him.
Dave returned immediately to his room. Without even thinking, he opened the Ziploc bag, and pulled out the letter. The envelope, marked "Kurt" (what right did Anderson have to be so familiar?), was fortunately not sealed. Dave's hand dipped in, emerging with a single sheet of paper. He began to read.
Kurt:
I don't know what you'll think when you see this. You might destroy it, and that's your right. I wouldn't blame you. But please read it before you decide.
I suppose you've heard a lot about the Bully Whips. We're making a huge difference here, we really are. Figgins is actually punishing bullies. Everyone is safer now.
You'd be safe too, if you returned. Remember, it's not just me and Santana; it's the entire Glee Club… your friends. They've been keeping me in line for months, and they'll continue to do so even when you're back. No more hiding behind my friends.
Okay, I really don't know what to say, so I'm going to be blunt. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I did to you. You didn't want me to kiss you… and I'm not sure I wanted to either. I don't know why I did it. But I did. Then I blamed you for how I felt, for kissing you, and made your life a living hell. I don't know if I can ever make up for that, but I want to try.
I don't know how to convince you I'm no longer a threat; I'm not sure I'd believe me if I were me. That's why I'm writing this letter, and signing my name. This is your weapon against me. If I ever do anything even the tiniest bit out of line, use it. Publish it in the paper, give to Jacob ben Israel, whatever. This is your insurance.
So please, come back. I know you miss your friends, and they miss you. Even if you still fear me, even if you doubt my sincerity… Don't doubt that.
(signed)
Blaine Anderson
It took Dave's breath away. The words were just that: words, black ink on white paper. But the heaviness, the emotion behind them, punched him in the gut. It wasn't just the words, though; it was the intent. As it said, Anderson was delivering into Kurt's hands the ultimate instrument of ruin against him, a way to bring about everything Anderson feared when he drove Kurt from McKinley. Dave tried to imagine the Blaine Anderson he knew (thought he knew?) doing such a thing; he couldn't. There had to be something else behind it. There had to be.
But even if there was, that didn't change the facts. There was no way Kurt wouldn't take this opportunity and go back to McKinley, not with this potent weapon, not with his trusting nature, not with his homesickness. This letter was still the key to Kurt's return to McKinley, given willingly to him by one of his worst enemies. This was still Blaine Anderson willingly entrusting his greatest nightmare to someone who had every reason to use it.
Dave considered doing just that, giving Anderson a taste of his own medicine. But no, Kurt would never forgive him if he did that.
Then again, if he ever discovered what Dave was about to do, he might still never forgive him.
Dave opened his desk drawer, shoved the letter inside, and slammed it shut. He sat on his bed and buried his face in his hands. He closed his eyes and listened to the cold rain outside.
Next: "Original Song," of course; just as it was a major turning point in Kurt and Blaine's relationship in canon, so it will be for Kurt and Dave in this AU. Watch for it...!