Rated T for language.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Fruit Loops, or anything else you might otherwise recognize in this fic. Spoilers for Furt. Mentions of Duets, Never Been Kissed and The Substitute. This fic is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are mine alone.
Author's Note: Also, I took a few liberties with time in this fic. I don't think even Kurt could have pulled off a wedding in just a few days, and it usually takes about a week to set up a school board meeting (one would suppose), so I'm assuming that Furt happened over the course of a little over a week.
Teaser: a breif taste, a glimpse, or tantalization of something to come; the first few minutes of a television series before the main credits.
Dave hadn't even been gone that long. He'd cleaned out his locker on Friday after that friggin' painful meeting with Principal Sylvester and the Hummels. (Thank you very much, you flag-waving fairy, Dave thought.) One verbal bitch-slap from his dad, a meeting with the school board, and here it was, Tuesday again, and he was headed to class. He'd love to say he'd enjoyed his enforced vacation, but his mom had made him spend Monday and Tuesday of last week cleaning the attic, Wednesday cleaning the basement, and Thursday cleaning the garage. He was pretty sure a family of squirrels was living in the garage and he did not like rodents. Not even ones with fluffy tails. So believe it or not, he was actually kind of glad to be back.
Azimio welcomed him back eagerly, along with a few other guys from the hockey team. Still, he was alone as he went to his locker to put everything he'd cleared out last week back. The halls were beginning to clear when it happened.
Dave barely caught himself from face-planting the lockers from the first shove. He pulled himself upright and started to turn and face his pusher when he was shoved into the lockers again. He turned to find Finn Hudson and Mike Chang walking passed. He scowled and opened his mouth to tell them off when something rolled over his foot, making Dave swear and jump back just before Puckerman could shoulder him out of the way.
"Sorry, dude," Wheelchair Artie (Puck at pushing his chair) said. "My bad."
"Yeah, you might want to be careful," Puck added. "Floor seems awful slippery today. People are tripping all over the place."
"What the fuck ever, Puckerman," Dave snarled. "Keep the rest of Homo Explosion away from me or I will personally see to it you end up back in Juvie where you belong."
Neither of the other boys said anything back, just walked and wheeled off down the hall.
It a move that had been choreographed to perfection (though Dave didn't know that) Sam Evans passed his Glee-mates just as Dave was distracted and tossed his ice-cold Slushie into Karofsky's face, leaving Dave shocked and gasping.
"Hope you like Blue Raspberry," Sam said, wide smile in place as he walked away.
There was laughter all around him, coming from the other milling students in the hallway. Dave burned with humiliation and fury, but he couldn't even get out a sound as the Slushie dripped down the collar of his polo, trailing rivulets of sticky, frigid water down his neck and making him shiver. Then all of the boys were out of sight and out of hearing distance and he lost his chance to retaliate. He glared at the other people in the hallway and barked, "What?"
Most looked away immediately, but Dave still felt eyes on him while he bushed off the remaining crushed ice and wiped his face with the corner of his letterman jacket. He knew news of his first Slushie-facial since ninth grade would be making it around school by lunch, but now there was nothing he could do about it. He'd just have to be louder than usual in the cafeteria with Azimio and the rest of his boys to make up for it. Maybe shove a freshman or two into lockers.
Kurt briefly flashed through his mind, but he pushed his face away with practiced ease.
Dave turned back to his locker and finally managed to get the thing open—only to have a reeking pile of garbage tumble out as soon as the door was open. There were day-old lunch bags, empty Coke cans, plastic wrappers, Slushie cups…half a banana. His locker smelled like the outside dumpster and he lifted his hand to his nose to try and block the reek.
Down the hall, three clear female voices rang with giggles and he whipped his head around to watch as three of the Cheerios—Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, and Brittany Pearce—strolled passed, laughing at him and gently stepping around the mess that had spilled from his locker, all while Queen Quinn filed her pretty little nails.
For the second (or was it third?) time that morning, Dave heard the laughter of kids who hadn't dared do more than shuffle out of his way and pray they weren't on his list to meet The Fury less than two weeks ago. He felt the heavy stares of geeks and wimps and freaks that should know better weighing on shoulders and back as he kicked the garbage out of his way. He glared at the dark interior of his locker and wondered if he actually had to put anything in there until he could force some little fresher to scrub it out and spray the inside with Fabreeze. He was just about to jack in the whole deal when he heard a throat being cleared just behind him. Dave turned around to face a fierce threesome of girls—each very different, but all pissed.
"I'm sure by now you've noticed that some things have changed in your all-too-brief absence," Rachel Berry announced.
"Yeah," the heavy-set Black girl at her side said, leveling a glare at Dave that made him wonder if she might actually hit him. "Things like my boy Kurt transferring schools just to get away from your homophobic, honky ass."
"Did he, now?" Dave asked, voice strained. "Isn't that too bad? We were just about to hug and make up and become the bestest of friends."
If his heart hadn't been in his throat and he hadn't been struggling to breathe, Dave might have noticed that the girls in front of him had reacted to that statement with an impossibly increased level of ire and threat.
"Listen up," the emo-goth-punk-whatever Asian chick snapped. "Since we've have lost our friend because of all the bullying he's been subjected to—"
"Namely by you," the Black girl—Mercedes, Dave remembered he name was—added.
"We, the members of New Directions, have decided to share our pain," Rachel finished.
"Oh yeah?" Dave asked, not very originally, but he was still reeling from the onslaught of abuse he was suffering this morning along with the news of Kurt's departure.
"Yeah," Mercedes said.
"This is your only warning," the Asian chick said.
Berry gave him a mockery of a friendly grin and wished him a nice day before the girls went off to their first period classes.
Dave tried to get his mouth open to say something—anything!—to those freaks from Glee club, but they were gone before he could figure out what to say.
The sound of whistling warned him of someone new approaching, and he spun around, his sneakers squeaking in the Slushie melt on the floor to find Ms. Sylvester walking down the hall. She glanced at the mess around Dave's feet, the blue stain on his Polo shirt, and the frustrated scowl on his face, but never once did she break stride.
"Aren't you going to do something about those freaks?" he demanded.
The whistling ceased abruptly as the cheerleading coach stopped in the hall a few paces from him and turned around. "What exactly would you like me to do?"
"Well, let's see, you tried to expel me…."
Sylvester carefully, deliberately reclaimed the space between them, avoiding the garbage still strewn on the floor. Quietly, with all apparent interest, she asked, "Did anyone threaten your life or well-being? Did you or anyone else see who put the garbage in your locker?"
She waited a beat while Dave clenched his teeth, knowing that the answers to each question.
"No," she answered for him, voice pitying and soft. "They didn't. And all I saw was you talking with three very attractive young ladies. You could have been setting up a kinky, welcome-back, ménage à quart for all I know. So, no, I'm not going to do anything."
She turned around to resume her journey, and Dave—burning with humiliation and anger (Because, seriously? Him and three girls? Not fucking likely!)—lost it. He slammed his locker, hard, only to have it bounce back, so he slammed it again.
"You know, Principal Sylvester?" he yelled after her. "You are just as big a bully as I am, so you have no room to talk!"
Once again, the woman came to stand almost toe-to-toe with the furious jock, and when she spoke, she was quiet, calm, and dead-serious. "First of all, it's Coach Sylvester. Figgins is back in office, since you obviously haven't heard. And secondly, if you'll take a moment to kick-start that meaty brain of yours, you'll notice that I am equally and democratically rude to everyone, regardless of race, religion—or lack thereof—skin color, hair type, sexual orientation, or the way they dress. I am, one might argue, the least biased person in this school.
"Yes, I am mean," she admitted. "But I treat everyone with the same lack of courtesy. You, on the other hand, seemed to take an active and personal dislike for Porcelain based entirely on the fact that he's gayer than a box of Fruit Loops. So you see? I'm not like you at all."
Dave was forced to drop his eyes from hers, and he sputtered a few times before he could choke out, "So you're just gonna…gonna let them get away with this?"
He gestured to the trash on the floor.
"The way I see it, Jim-Bob," Coach Sylvester said, "nothing I can actually punish anyone for has occurred. But I'll keep my eye out for any more bullying behavior. You can count on it."
This time, he let her leave.
The bell rang. His first day back, and he was late for his first class, but since he was torn between screaming fury, running to the bathroom to be violently sick, and collapsing right here in tears, he couldn't find it in himself to care much. If this was how things were going to be from now on….
He wished he'd never come back.