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The sound of the doorbell cut through the Gaga blasting from his computer speakers.
"Coming!" Kurt called out, dropping the belts back onto the bed for later consideration. He ran down the stairs, pulling open the door. "Hey, ba- you're not Blaine."
David Karofsky, of all people, shook his head, slouched with his hands in the pockets of his letterman's jacket. "Can I talk to you?"
Kurt let him in. "Yes, of course."
Karofsky sat awkwardly at the kitchen table. "Um, well, first, I wanted to apologize, for everything I put you through last year. I'm-"
"Repeating yourself?" Kurt broke in lightly. "You've apologized, sincerely, before. And I've forgiven you."
"Even for ditching you at prom?" Kurt could see the pain radiating from his- from Dave, and he mentally kicked himself of last May.
"I'll forgive you for allowing me a perfectly romantic dance with my boyfriend if you forgive me for pressuring you to come out. That was out of line, and I'm sorry. Coming out should be at your own pace, and I just got caught up in all the, the drama." Kurt said gently.
Karofsky cleared his throat. 'Let's just call that fiasco a draw."
"Deal.” Kurt smiled, relieved. He really didn’t want to dwell on last year. “What else did you want to talk about?"
"That P-Flag thing you talked about? I think it would be a good idea, and we did agree in front of Figgins to start one. But I think it should be undercover. You know, so people can come and get informed without coming out. I know that would have helped me, and I think there are others like me. I know there are others like me, still in the closet."
"How, exactly, would that work?" Kurt didn't try to shoot the concept down, but, okay, it wasn't like they could Fideleus the whole thing.
Karofsky kind of smiled. "Game night. Here, or at school. Have some board games, maybe Wii or DDR or something, and snacks. Snacks are important,” He said seriously before continuing his explanation. “We could have the meeting and get to know each other, but mostly, it would just be a safe place to hang out, be ourselves. If someone shows up who really should not know, pretend it's just a game night and not GSA. You know, play Trivial Pursuit until they decide it's too boring and fuck off."
"So you're saying we should only invite people we know are gay to start-, and maybe allies once it's running for a while."
"And give Ms. P some invites, so if someone comes to her she can slip a flier in that "Help! Boys Give Me a Boner!" pamphlet."
Kurt laughed. "Seriously? I got "Closets are for Clothes" and "Me and My Hag". Sometimes, I swear she purposely chooses the pamphlets with the most ridiculous names."
Karofsky grinned, and not in that scary way he used to. "I know, right? The drug ones are hilarious.”
Kurt nodded in agreement. “As are the “Teacher Creeper” ones. I want to drop one of those on Schue’s desk. You know he spied on Finn in the shower and planted drugs in his office? Totally not on, but Finn doesn’t seem to think it’s a big idea. Then again...”
“He’s not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Karofsky finished. “So you think it would work?”
Kurt nodded. “Who to invite, though?”
“Just be you, me, and Brittana to start. No parents or friends at the beginning, okay? I'm not really ready to be out to anyone else. "
Kurt nodded, and then quirked an eyebrow at Karofsky. “Wait, do you know something about Santana that I don’t? I thought she wasn’t out to anyone, and we don’t want to assume anything.”
Karofsky grinned. “Oh, it’s confirmed. The bearding went both ways. And Brittany’s announced her bi-corn-ness to the entire school, so.” He shrugged. “I figure they won’t mind being included. Plus, Santana has wicked gaydar, and can tell us who else we need to invite.”
“Nice.” Kurt knew it, but getting your suspicions confirmed was always awesome, even if he couldn’t tell anyone. “So, what kind of board games did you have in mind?”
Planning didn’t take too long- as it was an unofficial school club, they didn’t need Figgin’s blessing, and they agreed to hold it at the Hudmel house to prevent accidental outing. It also meant they didn’t need a janitor, principal, and teacher to stay late once a week, so they were in the clear. After he talked to Dad and Carole and Ms. P, he talked to Finn. "Can you pause the game?"
Finn hit a button on the controller, turning to look at Kurt. "What's up?"
"I'm starting a…gay-straight alliance. Well, just a gay alliance to start, really, because I'm the only one in the group who's out, so we don't want straight allies coming until…the other members are ready for at least people we trust to know. And that's what I wanted to talk about. I need you to either get lost every Sunday night for the rest of the year, or pretend you don't know what's going on. If you see someone coming, don't assume anything. They could just be, you know, moral support or something. And don't try to talk to them about it at school or in glee or anything else. What happens here, stays here."
Finn nodded slowly. "Like Fight Club. Or Las Vegas."
"Exactly."
"Sweet. I never know secrets before everybody else does, so it’s kinda cool just to know something nobody else does, you know? It makes me feel smart. Or like a spy. And hey, stop laughing at me, you like spy movies just as much as I do.”
Kurt covered up his grin. “Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s cool. Tell me when you want to add the S to your GSA, because I'm sure there are things I'm still stupid about when it comes to all that gay stuff, and I want to be a good brother. ‘Cause you’re an awesome brother, dude.”
"Deal." Kurt grinned. Finn, ignorant? Of course not…
"Can I go back to Halo now?" Finn asked plaintively, and Kurt threw a pillow at his head
The first meeting was pretty much just Kurt and Karofsky, playing Settlers of Catan and not talking about anything beyond “I'll give you two wheat for one wool." He was good, too, even though he’d never played before. Kurt found himself having to plan four or five turns ahead, instead of planning tomorrow’s outfits in his head, like he did when playing with Finn. They both got bolder as the night went on, and Kurt was one wheat away from winning when Dave put down a settlement and flipped over a Victory Point Card, smiling wide. “And that is ten points. I win!”
Kurt bit back a curse and started picking his pieces off the board. “Beginner’s luck.” He grumbled. “Play again?”
“Oh, it is so on.”
They somehow burned through an entire box of Cheese-its, though, and Kurt resolved to just make enough dinner for five, next Sunday. Or do something like stew where people could get seconds and thirds. Spaghetti would be a good idea- sauce in the crock pot, and Finn would appreciate the extras, too.
At quarter to nine, Kurt holds up his soda can. "To a successful night?"
Dave shrugged. "I don't know about successful…nobody came, and we didn't talk about anything." He looked disappointed.
Kurt laughed in surprise. "We spent two hours together without tears or physical violence. If that's not progress, I don't know what is.” He finished off his drink.
“Well, that’s one way to look at it.” He sighed. “You’re right, that is significant. But maybe, next time, we can choose a topic and talk. Maybe ten minutes of discussion before the rematch?”
“Okay, but you have to come up with a topic. I provide food, you’re the entertainment.”
A week later, Kurt was setting up the board in the basement when Dave started thundering down the stairs.
"Are you prepared to los-" He looked up. "Oh, hello, Santana"
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "This the queer club?"
Kurt bit back several remarks, opting instead for "Cleverly disguised as a game night, yes. You want blue or green pieces?"
"You're not going to ask me…" Santana raised an imperious eyebrow.
"That's yours to volunteer, not mine to ask. Learned my lesson there." He grimaced and looked at Dave, who'd come in behind her.
"Oh." She sat down at the table. "So what's this game we're playing?"
****
Burt sat on the top stair, listening in on the game downstairs.
"Monopoly card. Give me alllll your ore."
"Damn you, Hummel, that's all my cards!"
"I know. Either of you want to buy your ore back?"
"Bastard! Fine, I'll give you a wheat?"
"Two cards or nothing, I'm not desperate, Hamhock."
“Not desperate, you say? Hobbit McAnderson is putting out, then? If baby gay is gettin’ some, I needs to know.”
"Just, like, no, okay, and none of your business, and I hate you so much right now."
“What the hell, Lopez, you just cut me off! I was gonna build there!”
“Bite me, Karofsky.”
“Not my type, Satan.”
Finn sat down next to him, handing him a root beer.
Burt stared at the door. "Should I be worried?"
"Nah." Finn said. "Listen to them. They're being mean, yeah, but it's all for the game. All three of them are, like, super smart. They've also used their big brains to find weaknesses and hurt people before. Kurt less than the others -he at least tries not to be cruel, but Rachel can really bring his claws out. But down there? They can play dirty. They don't have to hold back at all.”
Burt snorted. “Yeah, it’s like war or something. But you say that’s good?”
“I think it's a little liberating for all of them. S is a lot nicer this year, because she’s all fluttery over Brittany, who’s kind of like her sandpaper, smoothing out the rough bits. Karofsky's just trying not to get expelled. And Kurt, he hasn’t gotten bullied all year, and is on Cloud 9 all the time with Blaine, so he doesn’t get to stretch his insult muscles like he used to. I think he spent every homeroom sophomore year thinking of retorts to throw back at Azimio and Puck and me. There were some zingers in there, I tell you. It’s just...his personality. Part defense measure, part brutal honesty.” He chuckled a little before sighing. “But he doesn’t do that with me, not anymore. When Kurt plays with me, he's nice. He doesn't want me to, like, not be his brother or his friend if he hurts my feelings or makes me look like an idiot. He does the same thing with most of his friends, because he remembers how we all used to treat him, back before Glee. And some of them get all offended if you play to win. Especially Rachel- she’s no fun at all.” They both shuddered at memories of family games over the summer.
“But Santana and Karofsky? They’re not trying to impress each other or be nice, so they can be themselves. They don’t have to hold back, because they know that it’s not personal. Like, Kurt can insult them fluently in French, Santana can fire right back in Spanish. They plot ahead seventeen moves and sabotage each other’s plans and barter like no tomorrow. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re having fun playing to win.” Finn shrugged. “All’s fair in love and board games, Kurt says."
Burt nodded, soaking it in. There was a lot to soak in. Some insights on that Lopez girl and the boy who used to bully his son and about Kurt himself. Finn thoughtfully analyzing a situation and using 'liberating' correctly were kind of surprising, too. They were growing up. So much. He listened for a few minutes after Finn left him, startling as Santana swore loudly over Kurt's declaration of victory. Burt heard mentions of snacks and the door creak open and quickly stood, rushing to join Finn at the TV. Hawaii 5-0 was on, and while it didn't hold a candle to the original, it was still pretty good. And Kurt shouldn’t know he was eavesdropping, though it was kind of expected around here.
Their three player game expanded to four when Brittany first joined them in early October. Kurt was surprised that she didn't come sooner, but Santana said she had to be sure of that Brittany understood how a secret club worked- no gossip, no Muckraker articles, no Fondue for Two announcements "You are stifling my journalistic instincts, but I am ready to enter the Cone of Silence." She said seriously. "Is there a secret handshake to learn?"
Kurt smiled. "How about we elect you Secrecy Officer and you come up with a handshake."
She nodded, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "But then what's your title, Kurt?"
Two hours and three rounds of Hand and Foot later, Santana had declared herself HBIC and Kurt "Chief Gay", and she vetoed Dave's suggestion of Protection Officer, saying it made him "chief of condoms.", so Brittany called him "Defender of the Realm", declaring that he and his patrol of Rainbows and Unicorns would protect all the gay kids of McKinley from Bullies. They all laughed, but that’s exactly what he did.
Dave was leaving AP Econ for lunch when he saw the puckheads carting a tiny freshman into the locker rooms. He ducked into the door-frame, dropping his backpack to pull out his windbreaker and flipping on his beret as he ran after them. He reached the showers a moment too later- her backpack was in the urinal Johansson was using (okay, that’s just low. And disgusting) and the other two were taking turns shoving her into the shower. He remembered that trick- Hum… the kid tries to run blindly out of the freezing water, just to run right into the arms of your other captor and get shoved right back in. Didn’t leave bruises, yet was still very effective psychological torture. He mentally shuddered at the memory and shouted.. “Yo! Cut it out!”
The loser caught with his dick out spun around mid-stream, and the other two froze, Daniels keeping a firm grip on the girl.
“”That beret don’t make you scary, Karofsky.” Johansson said, tucking himself into his boxers but not zipping up.
“Yeah, but Beiste’s on her way over here. You want to justify sexual harassment and attempted sexual assault and destruction of private property, be my guest. Otherwise, get lost.”
“This ain’t no sexual harassment!” Daniels said defensively.
Dave snorted. “Yeah, the judge ain’t gonna see it like that. She’s gonna have bruises on her arms, and Johansson’s waving his cock around like it’s the American Flag. And you know Beiste’ll take the chick’s side, so…”
The third kid ran, Daniels letting go and running off in the opposite direction. With a puff, Johansson zipped up and made for the door, kicking a locker on the way. “You’re no fun anymore, K. We were just playing with the little dyke.”
“Just trying to avoid expulsion, puckhead. Don’t want to be a Lima loser like you.”
“ASSHOLE!” He bellowed on his way out, the sound of feet hitting lockers clanging as he walked.
As soon as the hockey player rounded the corner, Dave turned back towards the freshman, who was shivering just out of the shower water like she expected Dave to have a go at her. He sighed, walking past her to turn the water to warm. Her hoodie was plastered on, her jeans were soaked, her hair looked like it had traces of Spaghetti Surprise in it, and her lips were turning blue. “Here, don’t get hypothermia just standing there, kid. Get in the water. I’ll go find you a towel. And some clothes. Good Lord, I thought I was a jerk.” He said mostly to himself, stepping back to give her space.
With a nervous look towards him, she took a hand out of her armpit and tested the water. Once he saw her step in, he walked to the other half of the locker room. He twirled his lock and pulling the locker open angrily. He grabbed his own towels- freshly laundered, since it was Monday- and on impulse, that bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo Mom’d given him that he never actually used. (It smelled like strawberries. What teenage guy actually likes the smell of strawberries?) He pulled his phone out as he walked back towards the showers. “Kurt? Yeah, I’ve got a problem in the boy’s locker room. Clothes kind of problem.”
I don’t exactly keep clothes your size in my locker, David, so as much as I’d like to help you-
“It’s not for me. Just bring your emergency outfit; I know you have one.” He thought about how short the girl was. “But maybe Anderson’s jeans. The kid is tiny, dude.”
Oh, my. I’m on my way right now.
He hung up in the doorway to the showers, tossing the girl the shampoo. “Might get the spaghetti out of your hair easier.”
She sniffled, swallowed, and croaked out a “Thanks.”
He set the towels down on the bench before going to assess the damage on the chick’s backpack. He hauled in out, holding it away from his body before setting it down on the other end of the bench. He unzipped it, pulling out the binders and soaking books. In the smaller compartment, an X-Men lunchbox shielded a stack of paperback novels from most of the damage, though he winced at on waterlogged library book at the bottom of the pile. Ouch. Her wallet was plastic, thankfully, and there wasn’t much else of value in there. He tossed her the empty backpack. “Here, you might want to rinse this before the stench sinks in.”
“Karofsky? You in here?” Kurt’s voice came from the doors.
“By the showers!” He called back, snapping pictures of the damage to the books before flipping through her binder, recording every ruined assignment.
Kurt rushed in, a little breathless. “Here. Oh, my, that’s horrible. Is that...Is that smell what I think it is?”
Dave nodded grimly. “Johansson.”
Kurt shuddered before spotting the girl, who was watching them silently, still sniffling. She’d turned the water off and was wringing out her hoodie. Kurt looked at her appraisingly. “Well, at least the clothes should fit. David, go bring the poor girl a towel, she’s shivering.”
Dave chuckled. Bossy. But he obeyed anyway, unfolding one of his huge towels and wrapping her in it, up to her shoulders, just like he did his little cousins. Of course, they were usually laughing at being turned into burritos, instead of hovering on the edge of tears. He picked up the second towel and the clothes from Kurt, walking towards the storage room. He set the stack down on the chair inside, gesturing her inside. “It doesn’t lock, but you really don’t want to use the bathroom stalls. You’d catch something from the floor, and there’s no place to sit down. It doesn’t lock, but I’ll stand here until you’re done, okay? Just let me know when you need to come o-.” He shook his head. “Tell me when you’re done.”
She nodded mutely, shuffle-stepping in due to the towel around her shoulders.
Once the door was shut, Dave leaned against it, rubbing his forehead. “This is so karma.” He muttered.
“Anything I can do?” Kurt asked. “I brought a bag for the wet clothes, but it doesn’t look like any of her stuff is dry.”
He nodded, holding out his phone. “Get these pictures to Beiste, will you? And send copies to yourself, just in case. They should at least have to re-do her homework and pay for the books.”
“How will you prove it was them? As we’ve witnessed, Figgins won’t do much when it’s one or two witnesses, unless there’s hard proof.”
“I got the audio for the whole thing. Couldn’t get video without tipping them off, but they’ve got pretty distinctive voices.”
“Smart. I guess you’d know, though. What the loopholes are, and how to avoid getting caught, and I should just shut up now. Old news. Sorry.” Kurt looked apologetic, like he’d actually done something wrong.
“I know, okay? I thought the same thing. But it also means I can do more, now, because I know how guys like this think.” Dave shrugged. “Just- make sure Coach gets that. She’ll know what to do.”
A minute after Kurt left, a quiet voice came from the storage room. “Um, can I come out now?”
Dave stepped back. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Forgot I was blocking a door for a second there.”
She came ou- she emerged, looking a lot less like a war refuge. Anderson’s jeans were actually long on her, and Kurt’s black boots looked three sizes too big, but the sparkly black t-shirt and blazer combination was actually kind of cute. She looked like a five-year-old playing dress-up in her dad’s suit, but at least she was clean and dry. “Thank you. I don’t know why you helped me, but thanks.” She took a deep breath, audibly trying to stop sniffling, but couldn’t help the sounds escaping. He pretended not to notice.
“Lunch is almost over, but you should make fifth on time.” He walked her back to her things, spread over the bench. She had a full grocery bag in one hand, and an empty tote in the other. He nodded towards it. “Anything salvageable, put in the dry bag. Then I’ll walk you to class.”
He got her to Honors English 9 five minutes before lunch was over, so she sat down (front row, far right) and he straightened his Bully Whips beret and approached the teacher. He vaguely remembered her from freshman year, and he quietly explained the situation. “So if anything’s due...I mean, I have her binder here, but you really don’t want to touch it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I can smell it from over here, and you’re a good kid. I’ll just mark them all as complete, nothing further required, except- Kirby, hon, you have the rough draft of your creative writing assignment?”
The girl- Kirby, he guessed- shook her head. “The ink’s all run. But I emailed it to myself...”
Mrs. Morrison turned back to Dave. “She can print that out here; we’ll be working on it in class. Thank you for the escort, David. Go on, shoo, get to AP before Baylon marks you tardy.”
He “shooed”, waving goodbye to the timid freshman. If the other freshmen walking in saw him, it could only help her. Having them think you had a senior as a friend was never a bad thing for an underclassman.
Their fifth member arrived the day before Halloween, working up the nerve to ring the doorbell, armed only with a battered flier, creased and wrinkled like it had been crumpled and straightened time and again. Santana rescued him on her way in. "Hey look, it's fresh meat!" She muttered on her way up the driveway. She walked around him, opening the door before pausing, looking back. "Are you coming or what?"
With a squeak, he followed her in as she waved athe living room. "Yo, Mr. H, Mrs. H, Frankenteen." she called towards the football-watching group. “So, you got a flier from Pillsbury?” She asked the kids as they descended the stairs.
She shook her head. “David slipped it in my library book on Monday when he fished it out of the toilet.”
Santana looked at her appraisingly. “David, huh?”
The girl ducked her head and blushed as Santana opened the door. “Sup, peeps?” She grinned as Brittany bounded off the couch and over to her, wrapping her in a hug before kissing her. And that, amigas, was hot and also none of your beeswax.
___________________
The boy who brought the clothes smiled at her as she stepped around the kissing girls. She was still kind of “wow” about that, about being so brave in front of other people. She guessed it really was a safe place. She held out the bag of clothes, freshly laundered and folded, to Kurt.
“Thanks for the loan.” She said, blinking nervously at him.
“No problem.” The slender boy smiled at her. “We’re all used to wearing our spares from time to time. Sophomore year, I was slushied or dumpstered or both every day. My dry cleaning bills were horrendous.”
She felt a little giggle escape. “Well, at least I won’t have that problem. My clothes are pretty simple.”
Kurt smiled up at her, gesturing to the empty chair. “In case you forgot, I’m Kurt, Dave’s over on the PS2, you walked in with Santana, and that’s Brittany eating her face.”
****
“Karofsky, get over here.” Kurt called, and Dave watched the arrows fly to the top of the screen as his life-bar turned red.
“Whatcha need?”
He seemed to notice Kirby. "Oh, hey, you came! You've been keeping safe? " He grabbed the Railbaron box down without needing to even stretch onto his toes, setting it down in front of Kurt.
"Good so far." She smiled up at him. "Coach Beiste is making them scrub the locker room floors with a toothbrusth and pay for all the books they destroyed, so I'm happy. She said if they mess with me again, they'll get banned from athletics for the rest of the school year." She practically skipped over to where Brittany was setting up the Just Dance equipment.
Kurt leaned in as Dave sat down. "Wow, they've really cracked down since last year."
Dave shrugged. "Figgins is useless; we know that. But Beiste has ultimate power over athletes, outside the PTA or school board. We raise our own money, so they can't exactly pull out funding as a threat."
"Ah. As long as the bully plays sports, we have a plan."
"yeah." Dave looked down, picking at his nails. "I also typed a formal statement on what I saw and signed it, giving copies to Beiste and Miss P and saving one. It won't do anything now, but if it escalates…"
"There's a record, so someone can stop them before it happens"
"I- I can't go back in time, fix what I did, but. God, Kurt, if that choir teacher of your had pulled his head out of his ass, he would've documented every slushie, every dumpster toss, every shove and slur. Instead, after two years it was your word against mine."
He felt a soft hand on top of his and looked up. "One, you're going to destroy your cuticles doing that. Two, stop beating yourself up, okay? That's in the past, so let's focus on what we're doing now."
"What are you losers doing?" Santana sat down across the table with a bowl of popcorn.
Dave took a deep breath, regaining his composure. "Talking about documentation of bullying incidents. Beiste has the pictures of property damage, audio saved to CD, and a signed witness statement. I have copies of everything. So, I was thinking, maybe we shoud keep a set of copies, everything we see."
Kurt nodded. "Take pictures of the valdalism, record times and dates. That's …important, to the school board."
Santana held a finger up and finished her mouthful of popcorn before speaking. "Good plan. And if anyone ever says it's just kid stuff, or it's exaggerated or we're being dramatic, we'll have records. That could get policies in place in the future, even if it doesn't help for particular cases."
"It could also help us spot patterns. Like, who's the worst offender, what's the worst time of day or worst spot. We could tell new kids where to avoid or come up with better Bully Whip strategies based on that." Dave ventured.
"Oh, my gaga. You're bringing statistics into this."
Santana smirked. “Just because you seem to think a box has four sides, doesn’t mean we’re all bad at math.”
Kurt flushed. “You- that was sophomore year, okay, and I’ve actually passed geo/trig since then. And Algebra II. Just because I’m in Pre-Calc and not taking some community college class like boy genius over, doesn’t mean I’m bad at math. I just didn’t have your head start.”
“You just keep telling yourself that, Hummel.” Kurt snapped back, and before long they
(They never got back on topic that night.)
(Yeah, she had a little bit of hero worship going on. It wasn’t, like, a crush, or anything, but David was like the big brother she’d always wanted. Her sister Rain was four years older and treated her like dirt. No, less than dirt; dirt got acknowledged, at least. Starr was six years younger than her and the baby of the family, but Kirby had always wanted a big brother. Someone to stick up for her, show her things, take her to football games and hunting. Her parents were pastors, okay? They spent their weekdays planning sermons and youth group trips and arranging choir parts. She didn’t get clubs or extra trips or vacations, and she was usually fine with that. She wrote, the librarians all knew her by name, and she practiced piano a lot. But when Dave found out she liked camping, he took her and two of her friends out to the local mountains with Santana and Kurt’s stepmom as a chaperon (because I have to make my parents happy, he said, and alone with a group of girls doesn’t look good). He invited her along when he went hunting and fishing with his dad, and showed her how to fire a shotgun. He made sure she had a ride to football games with some of the JV team, and walked her to class, and stopped the hockey team from throwing her into dumpsters.
Dave was there when the other girls were picking on her, even though she didn’t want him to hear. Yeah, her shoes were from Payless and were on their last legs, and her jeans were too short and went in at the ankles, which just looked stupid. Basically all her shirts were from various church retreats and camps. She had one from a Switchfoot concert, but she saved that for special occasions. She wasn’t ungrateful for what her parents could afford. They couldn’t afford stylish clothes, and usually not even new clothes. She rocked the fill-a-bag-for-twelve-dollars sale that Salvation Army had, first Tuesday of the month, and got bags of hand-me-downs every year from families in the church. And it’s not that she was particularly picky; she just wanted jeans that fit well, that didn’t look like mom jeans. She just wanted to not stick out so much. But why did they have to pull out the mockery in front of the only senior who gave her the time of day? Not cool. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.
Okay, he didn’t say anything to her. He obviously said something to Kurt, because when she showed up for game night on Sunday he pulled her into his (epic, epic) closet and handed her a box labelled “too-small clothes” and instructed her to try things on. Even though they were cut for a boy, his jeans fit better than hers. Outfit after outfit, but at the end she had a backpack full of seriously cute clothes, and he was going to alter one of his old suits, too. Then, the girls at school stopped making fun of what she wore. Wasn’t that the awesomenest thing ever? Of course, they had other things to mock, but at least most of those were unfounded, or things she didn’t care about. It still cracked her up when someone called her a dyke and a Jesus Freak in the same sentence, but since they were both true, it didn’t bother her too much.
But Dave didn’t even care about clothes- he only told Kurt because he heard the teasing. He cared, and actually did something about it. He even withstood her parent’s interrogation when they asked why this boy was picking her up every week. “I promise, Mrs. Walker, we’re just friends. We go to the same game night every week. It’s at the Hummel home, would you like Mr. Hummel’s phone number? We’re just trying to encourage safe weekend activities through the mentoring of underclassmen, ma’am, and our program is supported by the guidance councilor. Yes, I am a believer, I attend at Good Shepperd. Yes, ma’am, I’ll make sure she gets home on time.”
“I can’t believe you said all that with a straight face!” She buckled her seatbelt as he started the truck.
“Well, I wasn’t lying.” He laughed. “Parents have a way to see through lies. We are trying to keep McKinley underclassmen safe, and we are mentoring you midgets, and she is welcome to call Burt. Burt knows what your parents do, who they are, and won’t spill the beans. She just needed to know I wasn’t trying to date her adorable little piece of jailbait.”
“Really? You think that’s what she thought?” Kirby’s eyes went wide. “No. Freaking. Way.”
“Yeah, my dad asked the same thing. Or rather, warned me off doing so.” Dave grinned. “You are way too young to be dating, young lady. Girls or boys.”
“Fine, go and ruin all my fun.”
So yeah, she had a serious case of hero-worship. But that was okay, because she was safe with David Karofsky and he made her feel special. And she wasn’t looking to date anytime soon, because the only girl she like-liked was Mercedes Jones, and she was way too fierce and awesome to even look at a little freshman like Kirby. Also, her boyfriend was bigger than Dave, and really scary looking. But her little crush wasn’t important, because she was safe and had friends))
He was a big, lumbering jock, and he wasn't on the Brainiacs . But he wasn't stupid. Or blind. And his boy Davey? Wasn't exactly subtle. Three times this week, he started to tell Az something, would pull him aside and shuffle his feet and start a sentence before suddenly remembering something he had to do right then, or faking an incoming text from his mom.
Really? Not subtle at all. The third time happened on the ride home Thursday after school.
"We're bros, right Az? Loyal and shit?"
Where are you going with this, Karofsky? "Yeah, sure, I got your back, man."
"So if I told you something, something big, you'd keep it to yourself, right?" Dave was staring at the road, hands at ten and two, not moving. His jaw worked slowly. "Never mind, this is stupid."
He turned up the radio, a Blink-182 song thudding out.
They didn't talk the rest of the way home.
Friday morning, Azimio showed up to AP Econ early and grabbed the seat next to Hummel. He leaned over the aisle. "Yo, Hummel."
The skinny kid glanced at him before going back to outlining the chapter.
"If I, theoretically, had a friend who I thought was gay and shit and was trying to tell me, and I didn't want to say something stupid if…my friend ever gets the balls to do it, is there someplace I could learn that shit?" He whispered in a rush.
"I'm impressed both by your use of a six-syllable word and your desire for knowledge. If it's insincere, I will end you. But if you really want to learn something, come to game night. Six PM, Sunday night, my place. I assume you remember where it is from the lawn furniture incident sophomore year. Now let me finish this; it's due at the bell." He talked in a voice that was actually low like a normal dude's, and didn't carry like his normal voice did. He didn't look up. Kid was smart- before the Bully Whips started roaming the halls, staring at the jocks could get you tossed in a dumpster.
Azimio grunted a "thanks" and pulled out his binder, digging for the scrap of paper he'd made his own outline on. He knew it was somewhere in here.
He honestly expected, like, rainbow ribbons or something on the house. But when he knocked on the open door, Hummel's dad (who looked nothing like him, and was pretty scary) sized him up and asked, gruffly, "Here for game night?"
Az nodded.
"The kids are already downstairs. Have fun."
Then he went back to watching what looked like Modern Marvels.
At the top of the stairs, Cheerio Brittany made him pinkie promise (because it's the most sacred of oaths, duh) not to “disclose, deliberately or accidentally, any information regarding the members, agenda, or happenings of this meeting.”
He held up his right hand, just like in scouts, and repeated the pledge.
“It’s great to have you here, Special Agent Z!” She said, opening the door. Azimio stepped inside- definitely a bedroom, not a basement like he’d expected. Even with all the furniture pushed up against the walls except a few tables and a ton of chairs, it was also very obviously Hummel’s room. He glanced around silently, hands in pockets. On a beach-towel-covered bed, Lopez was painting another chick’s nails, blabbing about something or the other. Hudson, Berry, and a few underclassmen he vaguely recognized were playing what looked like Egyptian War at one end of a long table, and Hair-Gel Anderson was arm-wrestling with Dave at the other, both of their sleeves pushed up and muscles bulging. The kid was putting up a good fight.
“They do this every time.” Hummel said, appearing beside him, a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand. “Blaine’s only ever won twice.”
Azimio raised an eyebrow and grabbed a chip. “Pretty impressive, holding his own, though. Serious guns for such a scrawny dude.”
Hummel coughed. “Yes, well, he works out. Obviously not to jock-levels, but...” He shrugged.
“There usually this many people?”
The f- the kid laughed. “Oh, God, no. Usually there’re like, six of us? Seven if Blaine can get away from family dinner; he’s only here tonight because they got tickets to a touring production of Stomp!”
“So why tonight?”
“Bring-a-friend night. Or sibling, or parent, or other straight ally. I’m pretty sure Puck’s only here for the food and in hopes of watching Brittana make out. Finn’s here becaues he loves the bean dip and Rachel’s on his case to be supportive, and half the freshmen here are Kirby’s friends. So, you know, you fit right in.” He looked like he was about to pat Azimio on the arm, but stopped himself. The arm-wrestling was still in limbo, and Hummel huffed. “Seriously, boys.” He grabbed a bunch of grapes from a nearby table, sauntering over to stand behind Dave. He waved at Frodo and said something before popping a grape in his mouth. Helmet-head looked distracted for a second, and then Dave slammed his hand down with a thud.
“Not fair! I was distracted.”
Dave laughed heartily. Z couldn’t remember him laughing like that since, fuck, since like middle school or something. All free and shit, not the fake laugh he gave when they slushied a loser. “Dude, you should have seen your face. What was he doing?”
Hummel sat down between them at the corner of the table, crossing his legs like a chick and leaning back in the chair. He looked between them and, smirking, ate another grape. No, he molested the poor grape. This time, Azimio could see his face, and...damn. If a girl had been doing that, it would’ve been really hot. Like, he was licking his fingers. Anderson dug on the dudes, so yeah, that would’ve been distracting.
With a laugh and a pat on his boy toy’s pink cheek, Hummel stood up. “Welcome, everybody! We’re going to play a round of Nuclear Uno before we start, so anyone who wants in, take a seat. Spectators and cowards, sit back, please.” Once everyone shuffled around the table, he split the deck between Dave and Santana, who started shuffling while he reviewed the rules and collected watches and rings and “anything that might cause lasting harm, please. I don’t have time to go to the emergency room tonight.”
The game was surprisingly violent-or maybe not so surprising, considering that a)half the players were on the football team, b)Santana Lopez, and c) Hummel’s little warning about bodily harm? Totally deserved. These gay kids were vicious. Dave, Hummel, Lopez, and Pierce each hit “Uno” several times- Berry got caught out not saying it and had to draw ten cards- but in the end, Brittany wiped the floor with the rest of them.
After the game, they passed around the snacks (and this cheese dip? Was freaking awesome) and Kurt led a discussion on parents- coming out to parents, supportive parents, asshold parents.
Lopez was not going to tell her parents before she graduated high school and moved out, because her old man had a temper. She looked scared. He’d never seen Santana Lopez, fiercest bitch at McKinley, scared before. Anderson’s parents were apparently passive-aggressive and disappointed, and kept on introducing him to the daughters of their friends in hopes that the right girl would turn him straight. Berry talked about how she’d never even met her Jewish grandparents, because of her dads’ wedding.
When they got to Brittany in the circle, she just shrugged. “My parents think I’m really, really stupid. I mean, they’ll talk about how limited my intelligence is, in front of me, like I’m deaf or just don’t understand their big words. They let Santana sleep over all the time, and haven’t even asked about the notches in my bedpost. They don’t think I know what dating or sex or love even means, so when I told them I liked boys and girls, they were just, like, that’s nice, sweetie. It’s good that you have friends.”
Emboldened by the seniors, some of the underclassmen opened up, one had pastors for parents, one’s dad was abusive, another had hippies who really didn’t care. Azimio tuned them out in favor of studying Dave out of the corner of his eye- he hadn’t said a word to Z the whole night, and was now staring at the table, biting his lip like he always did when he was nervous.
The conversation moved on- siblings and friends and alternate support systems, but he didn’t forget that look. It soon degraded into Berry, Puckerman, and Hummel getting involved in a serious conversation about Nazis and the discrimination against gays and Jews and gay Jews over the years, while the underclassmen at the other end of the table argued about classes. Eventually, Hudson yawned, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “I have to admit, Kurt, that I expected, you know, more dick jokes or something.”
Puck sat up straight. “What, like, how do gay guys play Star Wars?”
Hummel leaned over his stepbrother to slap a hand over Puck’s mouth. “My god, not in front of the freshmen!”
Azimio leaned back in his chair towards Santana. “I don’t get it.”
She snorted and whispered back. “Glow in the dark condoms.”
Ack! Okay, that was a mental image he did NOT want.
Hummel stood up, flushing. “Okay, less discussion, more game night. Karofsky, you want to settle an island?”
Before long, Pierce was back at the DDR, squashing all challengers. Berry and Hudson led the freshmen coalition in some complicated game involving teams and seven decks of cards(link), and Dave was nowhere to be found. No, wait, that was him, sitting at a card table with Hummel and Suspenders McSockless. He hadn't talked to him the whole night, and that was just not on, so Z squeezed past the dancing girls-and-Puckerman and plopped down in the fourth chair. "'Sup, dudes?" He asked humel, across the table, who was busy putting pieces together and sorting out little wooden houses by color. His pet Twilight extra excused himself to get more soda and snacks, and Dave leaned over, voice pained. "Dude, what are you doing here?"
Z snapped in the board piece Hummel gave him. "Yo, something wrong with me being a better citizen of the world? Plus, chicks dig on this touchy-feely acceptance crap. Why are you here?"
Hummel cut in, sliding a pile of pieces across the table. "David is here because co-founding a gay-straight alliance was a condition of him not getting expelled last year. . Pass me the development cards?" Dave handed the cards over without looking away from Azimio.
"That's not all." He stared down at the table. "Um. Yeah. I'm gay. That's why I'm here."
Z looked up aat Hummel, eyes wide. What do I say to that? "Um, thanks for telling me?" Hummel must've been a mind-reader or something, because he held up the scorepad, BFF STILL!!!! scratched on it in large letters.
Oh, yeah, I can do that. Dude, you're my best friend, bro. I ain't gonna freak just just 'cause you you're an ass man. Blood brothers, right? We're cool." He stock out his fist, and Hummel gave him a smile and a thumbs-up from behind Dave's head.
"Really?" Dave fist-bumped, smiling tentatively.
"Dude, of course. More chicks for me, right?
"Riiiiiight…."
Hummel snorted and Dave rolled his eyes, but the logic made perfect sense to Azimio. Anderson sat back down, opening a can of pop. "So, what'd did I miss?"
The other three broke down laughing, and it took several minutes before thy stopped giggling long enough to start the game.
The last final, for the seniors, was over. Graduation was a week away, so all they had left were rehearsals, Glee practices, and parties. The Superintendent, school board president, PTA president, teacher’s union representative, Principal Figgins, Coach Beiste, Ms. Pillsbury, and the head of each department at McKinley sat awkwardly in an empty English classroom, which was as close to neutral territory as they could find. The adults were talking amongst themselves, and union rep wondered out loud, “Does anyone know why we’re here?”
At that, Santana pushed open the door, HBIC-face firmly on, followed by Brittany, Kurt, and David in tight formation. They were all still in suits from Glee’s dress rehearsal, and their faces were sober as Kurt and Dave each dropped a box on the teacher’s desk.
Santana spoke first- she was, by far, the best at public speaking. “Actually, we called this meeting. Thank you all for arriving promptly, and I thank you in advance for your silent attention until we’re done presenting. Fear not, there will be opportunities for questions at the end.”
Brittany took over, smiling happily. “We’ve taken our senior year to study the bullying epidemic at McKinley High School. Though some isolated incidents have been handled well, many others have been dismissed. We’d like to share our findings and petition for a comprehensive anti-bullying policy not only for McKinley, but the entire school district. We believe that if you see the whole picture, instead of isolated incidents, you’ll be spurred to action.”
Kurt walked up and down the aisles, handing each teacher or official a stapled packet. “We’ll be going through this page by page, but your copies have all names removed. If you need to imagine a student, imagine your own children being subjected to this abuse. We’re going to start with David reviewing the statistics before Santana and I focus on individual cases, both the everyday kind of bullying and the more dramatic incidences of the past year. I’d like to say before we start that we’re not looking to punish the bullies of the past, but establish a clear policy to prevent things like this happening in the future.”
With that, Dave pulled up the Powerpoint and started talking. Dumpster tosses per day, slushies per day, physical violence. Sue Sylvester got three slides to herself. Month-to-month statistics, the difference between first and last period, the difference between a Monday and a Friday. Kurt showed pictures of bruises, hospital records, homework ruined, lawn furniture on a roof and "SLUT" scratched into the hood of Brittany's car. He explained the average cost of dry-cleaning and replacing clothes ruined by a slushee, and the annual total with an average of two slushees a week shocked them all. Brittany showed a video, compiled from four years of Jacob Ben Israel's footage, and followed with an interview on Fondue for Two of three freshmen about their problems with bullying. Finally, Santana waited until the room was dead silent before clicking play on an audio montage of ten solid minutes of increasingly-graphic slurs. She'd had Puck, Rachel, Mercedes, Mike, Tina, that Lebanese kid in AV club, Brittany, Becky, and some of the more-maligned underclassmen carry around recorders for a week. It had worked far better than she could have imagined.
Two hours later, the shocked officials and slightly-ashamed teachers meekly followed Santana’s instructions in writing a bullying-prevention policy, which included strict consequences for violators, guidelines for teachers, reporting programs both anonymous and official, and an education program starting in elementary school.
Because high school wasn’t all fun and games, and the four of them knew that more than anyone.
Epilogue
Somewhere other than Ohio, 2065
"Give it up, old man. I have Boardwalk, Park Place, and allll of the yellows." She snarked.
"I'm only three months older than you, and I own half the board." Dave stroked his beard, pondering the board.
"The cheap half." Santana drawled. Kurt, already out, laughed out loud from the armchair where he was curled up with the latest Vogue.
Brittany rolled the dice, flipping back her long, gray braids. "Yes!" She landed on free parking and collected the massive stack of bills, immediately starting to sort them out. "Go on; I'll trounce you my next turn. Got to count now. One thousand nine hundred, two thousand…"
That 4,562 paid for hotels on the dark greens and un-mortgaged her reds and railroads. Three rounds later, Santana was conceding after rolling doubles twice in a turn, landing on three of her wife's properties in rapid succession. Another two turns, and Brittany was gloating while Dave was forced to join the others in doing the dishes.
They'd been playing games a long, long, long time. Finn joked that they'd keep playing until the day they died, because they were always calling rematch on each other. They'd seen each other through births and deaths, breakups and makeups, graduations and new jobs and promotions. Kurt and Dave were there each time Santana married Brittany, one by one through all fifty states as it was legalized. Others had come and gone over the years, but the four of them kept up the tradition whenever they were in driving distance on a Sunday night.
Now, they held their mugs in the air for a toast. "To game night!"
"To game night!"