I'd brush the Summer by - Puck pov, PG13
Aug. 30th, 2011 01:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters; all of the songs mentioned belong to whoever wrote them; title from Dickinson
Warnings: verbal and emotional child abuse; mentions of violence/homophobia/bullying; slightly AUish; mostly takes place in senior year
Pairings: Lauren/Puck, Kurt/Blaine, mentions of unrequited Karofsky/Kurt, Mr. Puckerman/Mrs. Puckerman
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 6500
Point of view: third
Note: Puck’s pov before and during this story.
Dad left when Puck was a kid, before Sarah even started toddling around. Mom did her best, but she never got over it, and Puck knew it was his fault from the moment Dad stepped out the door, long before Mom told him so.
Puck had a history of never being enough. Dad left, Mom had no trouble telling Puck how much he lacked, and no girl or cougar ever wanted him around after the fact. He was a Lima loser, born and raised, and there’s still a gaping wound where a little girl be, but he didn’t have a say about his daughter. He named her and that’s all he’ll be allowed to do.
And, yeah, stealing his mom’s car in an attempt to track Shelby Corcoran down was a stupid fucking move, but calling the cops him was so uncool. Less than a month in juvie, and, no, he didn’t learn a lesson, except to not ever get caught again.
At McKinley, his rep was going strong because everyone believed his bullshit story about being topdog.
He had not been topdog. One-on-one was fine – he could kick any punk’s ass, and fuck anyone for thinking otherwise. But the fuckers teamed up against him and he learned how very not tough he was.
And then he got back just in time to be completely useless while a douchebag chased out Puck’s very own pet homo. (And Kurt would fucking kick his ass if he ever learned Puck thought about him like that.)
Finally getting to know Lauren sorta helped with Puck’s post-juvie crisis. Seeing Kurt’s confidence go back up was even better, because the kid that left McKinley was not the one Puck used to toss into dumpsters. Kurt had always kept his head high, rattled off some long-winded insult. But Kurt lost that somewhere along the way, and Puck didn’t notice until he was gone.
The Kurt that came back was awesome. Even with his hobbit trailing after him a few months later. Puck liked the Warbler well enough, and then he was an ex-Warbler, and Puck promised himself (and Finn) that he’d watch out for his two pet homos. (And he really needs to quit calling them that in his head, because with his luck, he’ll say it out-loud and Kurt will make him regret it forever.)
Puck didn’t understand why Karofsky chose Kurt for his favorite target until senior year, when Karofsky began protecting him instead of throwing him against lockers. All it took was one look after Karofsky body-checked someone and Puck got it. He thought it over for a few days, and tried to ask Lauren in a roundabout way, and he decided to just ignore it.
If Karofsky tried to poach Kurt from the ex-Warbler, then Puck would intervene. Until then, Kurt seemed to have Karofsky on a leash, and Santana’s claws were still in him, so Puck would let it be.
Senior year was full of big decisions. He thought it was time to stop focusing on being topdog and begin preparing for the rest of his life. It would suck bigtime if these were the best years of his life, and the only way to keep that from coming true would be getting the fuck out. College, hopefully. His father never went to college. He just played around with the ladies and performed in bars and ran out on his wife and kids.
Puck refused to become his father. He’d have been an awesome dad to Beth, if were his choice.
And Kurt and his ex-Warbler went to a smart-kid school, and everyone knew they (and Rachel, but no way will he go to her for help) were bound for somewhere far away and riches and world-wide fame.
He doesn’t want to be famous. But far away and rich sound pretty fucking good.
0o0
Puck sees the ex-Warbler and Kurt walking together in the hall. A hockey player who hasn’t learned his lesson yet is arrowing in on them, slushy in hand, so Puck strolls over and throws his arms across their shoulders, shoving in between them.
“’s’up, dudes,” he says.
“Nothing, Noah,” Kurt responds, pulling away. His boy follows.
“Listen, Warbler,” Puck says, “you’re smart, right? Both of ya. You went to that fancy school.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, until the boytoy says, “Yeah, I guess.” He glances at Kurt for help.
Kurt rolls his eyes and says flatly, “We’re not doing your homework.”
And, yeah, Puck can where he might think that, but it kinda stings, so he protests, “No, that’s not it.”
His reputation isn’t the most important thing anymore, but he also doesn’t want to lose the protection it affords (both for him and the entire glee club). So he grabs them – gently, of course – and drags them to the choir room. He’s surprised Kurt allows it, but he’ll take what he can get.
He has to say everything right. If he pisses Kurt off, that’s it. So he thinks over the words and then says softly, “I’ll never get out of this place.” He can’t look at either them, because if he does he’ll lose his nerve. “I’ve always wanted to, but I know… I’m a Lima loser, and that’s all I’m ever gonna be.”
Kurt’s boy, nice guy that he is, says, “Puck, I’m sure that’s not true.” (And Puck probably should just start calling him Blaine now, since he’s gone and asked for help.)
Puck scoffs – he knows better. He knows exactly what he is. He might escape the town, but he’ll always have Lima in his blood.
Kurt asks, “What do you want from us?”
Meeting Blaine’s eyes, then looking at Kurt, Puck says, “Help me find stuff to do to bring up my grades. Or add stuff to college applications. Math’ll be easy – I show up for test days and I ace ‘em. But everything else…” He shrugs. Math’s always been fun. He’s had to prove each year since sixth grade that he’s not cheating, but that’s not hard.
There’s no warning before Rachel storms into the room. Finn and Tina follow in her wake, listening to her diatribe with glazed eyes. Puck leaves Kurt and Blaine without a backwards glance, going to save his boy from Rachel’s fury.
He’s made the first move. He’ll give them a day, max, before seeing what’s up.
0o0
Puck thought picking out a song for Schue’s latest soul-baring thing would be easy. He was wrong.
He thought Billy Joel’s “Moving Out” might work, but after a second listen, it doesn’t work at all. He briefly considered Eminem’s “Cleanin’ Out My Closet” for a laugh, just to see the looks on everybody’s faces, but nixed it after a few minutes.
Everything he brainstormed up didn’t work.
… Kurt always has the perfect song ready for anything at any moment.
Well, now the assignment’s taken care of.
0o0
On Wednesday, Puck follows Blaine out of Glee and asks, “So?”
Blaine glances up at him. “So what?”
Puck sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. “So, Warbler, have you thought about it?”
“Oh,” Blaine says. “Yes, right.” He pauses momentarily before adding, “Well, attendance and actually completing homework would help your grades, and your image for potential colleges.”
If he wasn’t such a goddamned nice guy, Puck might think that was sarcastic. Also, it’s terrible advice, so he says, “What? Dude, school is so boring. Since I can’t fight anymore, I might as well not come.”
Most of that is actually just him dicking around, because he knows that wouldn’t help his plan at escaping at all, but then Blaine stops and swings around, poking Puck in the chest. Puck freezes in shock, staring down at him. “The fuck?” he says.
“Listen to me,” Blaine hisses, looking a little taller. “You want out of this cesspool? Want to make something of yourself?” Blaine’s hand drops. “You asked me for advice. I gave it. If you want to drown in Lima, keep doing what you’ve been doing. But me and Kurt? We’ll be gone.”
He turns away and goes to Calculus.
Puck watches him stalk away, respecting the little dude. Puck might be losing some of his edge on the making-all-of-McKinley-fear-him thing these days, but no one smaller than him would ever dare do what Blaine just did. (Except Kurt.)
So, just before the bell rings, Puck slips into his Calculus class for the first time since the last test and stalks to the back, ignoring Blaine. He collapses into a desk and glares at the room in general.
It’s easy as it’s always been, but he is marked down for attendance, so booyah.
0o0
That night, Dad comes home.
Puck goes to Finn’s.
0o0
Mr. Hummel watches Puck go up the stairs. Just before he turns down the hall, Mr. Hummel calls from the first floor, “You alright, kid?”
Damn, but he must look rough. Mr. Hummel hates his guts. “Fine, Mr. H,” Puck tells him.
Finn’s on his bed, nodding and “uh-huh”ing into the phone, so he must be talking to Rachel. But he looks up as Puck walks in, shuts the door, and leans back against it, eyes closed and head ‘thunking’ on the wood.
“Gotta go,” Finn says, hanging up. “Puck, what’s wrong?”
Puck just says, “Dad’s back.”
Finn just says, “Fuck.”
0o0
Finn is the only person Puck has ever told the whole story to. Not even Quinn knows, and she lived in Puck’s house for a few months. There isn’t a single picture of Dad anywhere. Mom went through and systematically destroyed them all, in these first few terrible months after he left. If it weren’t for Puck and Sarah, there’d be no proof Mom ever married him.
He wasn’t a terrible person. He didn’t drink to excess (usually) and he didn’t cheat (that often) and he didn’t hit them (except Puck that one time, and he was kinda being a little shit). Dad just… got tired of having a family. So he left.
It was easy. He walked out one day and never came back.
Until tonight.
0o0
“You okay?” Finn asks, sitting up on his bed.
“Yeah,” Puck says. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Finn gives him a look he hasn’t seen in over three years, since he fucked everything up royally by fucking Quinn. “Noah,” Finn says.
Puck avoids Finn’s gaze. “I’ll be okay, Finnegan,” he replies. “I just… couldn’t stay there tonight.”
Finn nods and scoots over, so Puck faceplants onto the bed.
0o0
In the morning, Puck runs into Kurt coming out of the bathroom and mumbles at him. Kurt stares at him before saying, “Hello, Noah.” Puck waves at him and heads on down the stairs.
He isn’t hungry, so he leaves.
0o0
Puck spends most of Thursday in a daze. He ignores Finn’s worried glances, barely speaks to Lauren, even when she pauses to watch him with a questioning expression, and wonders what the hell to do now.
During his last class, he’s called to Ms. Pillsbury’s office. “Have a seat, Noah,” she tells him.
Her clasped hands are on her desk, along with half a dozen pamphlets he knows can’t help. His favorite is Daddy Still Loves You, Even Though He Left! Fucking waste of trees. “We don’t have enough time today,” she says, “but you should come back tomorrow, Noah. You’ve been doing good about the roughhousing this year, and I think it would be best to keep it that way.”
“Sure, Ms. P,” he mutters.
She smiles brightly. “Tomorrow afternoon, then. You’re doing wonderfully in Calculus, so I’ll inform Mrs. Alden you have an appointment with me.”
“Whatever you say,” he grumbles. “Can I go now?”
She nods.
0o0
Finn catches him at his locker, grabbing every one of his books. “Dude,” Finn says. “You okay yet?”
“I’m fuckin’ golden,” Puck snarls. “I have to see Pillsbury tomorrow and Dad’s at home and I don’t have a fucking song for fucking glee, and fuck.” He rests his head against the side of his locker.
He’d forgotten to ask Kurt for help. Because Dad came home. Fucking bastard.
He flinches away from Finn’s hand, when Finn tries to touch his shoulder. Finn’s hand drops back to his side. “You can come over again,” he offers.
“No, thanks,” Puck says softly. He glances up in time for Finn’s sad smile, and then Finn walks away.
0o0
He has to go home, but he really doesn’t want to. Dad left. He shouldn’t get the chance to come back, especially not more than a decade after the fact.
But he’s there when Puck walks in the door, a backpack full of homework he’s actually going to do, just because it’s that or start a fight. He’s itching to break someone’s face. Preferably Dad’s.
“Noah!” Mom says from the couch, where she’s sitting with Sarah while Dad stands by the recliner. “You never called me back.”
“Sorry,” he says, eyes on Dad. “I turned my phone off.”
Sarah’s looking at Dad like he’s amazing. She was so young when he left… But Dad’s looking back at Puck, and he says, “You should apologize to your mother, Noah.”
“Fuck you,” Puck spits at him, spinning on his heel and storming out, slamming the door behind him.
0o0
He goes to Lauren’s. She doesn’t ask questions, just takes him to bed. Not for sex, not this time; she just drags him down next to her and holds him. She hums something he thinks he recognizes from one of her Twilight Saga soundtracks, but they’re both silent until her Dad calls her to supper.
“C’mon, Puckerman,” she says, pulling him up with her. “Time to eat.”
Mr. and Mrs. Zizes talk about the wrestling championship Lauren’s determined to win. Lauren goes through a list of each her opponents, rating them on a scale of one to ten: ten could possibly beat her. One would shatter at a steely glare.
Puck listens, focusing on them to drown out the little boy deep inside him, crying for Daddy to come back.
Daddy came back. That boy died a long time ago.
0o0
Lauren’s parents don’t say anything when Puck clears off the table and spreads his schoolbooks over it. “Gonna actually do homework tonight?” Lauren asks.
Puck nods.
She smiles at him and settles on the other side of the table with her laptop. “Don’t bother me,” she orders. “I’m making a spreadsheet about all the little boys I have to beat to win.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, opening his physics book.
0o0
On Friday, Puck is determined to secure Kurt’s help with his song.
So after Kurt totally kills one of those girly Taylor Swift songs he’s heard Sarah playing on repeat, he chases them down the hall. “Dudes,” he says, “I need help.”
“We already established that, Noah, remember?” Kurt asks, digging through his manpurse for something. “Don’t you have a meeting with Ms. Pillsbury to get to?”
“Ah, shit,” Puck groans. “I totally forgot.” And how the hell does Kurt know about that? Fucking Finn. But that’s not Kurt’s fault, and he needs Kurt’s help, so he reaches out to gently shove Kurt’s shoulder; Kurt looks up with a glare. “But, seriously, I have no idea which song to do.”
Kurt blinks, glances at Blaine, then blinks up at Puck again. “You… want my help to pick a song about your relationship with your parents?” Kurt couldn’t sound more disbelieving if Puck suddenly announced he was the long-lost heir of Germany or something.
Puck looks at the floor and nods. After a second, Kurt says, “I assume you’ve already considered and discarded quite a few?”
Puck nods again.
“Are you free tomorrow?” Kurt asks. “You should email me a list of the songs you’ve vetoed, and maybe… would you be comfortable telling me what you want to convey with your final selection?”
Puck looks up at Blaine, but Blaine is very pointedly staring at the wall, and Blaine’s already proven he’s a tough little dude. “Never bein’ good enough. Never bein’ sure what anyone wants, and why I’m not enough.”
They’re all quiet for a moment. When Puck meets Kurt’s gaze, he’s got a comforting sort of smile on his face. “Come over tomorrow afternoon,” he says. “We’ll find the perfect song for you.”
“Thanks,” Puck mutters, brushing past them. Halfway down the hall, he spins on his heel, determined to have the last word, and says, “Warbler, homework’s funner than I thought. School’s still boring, though.”
He stalks towards Ms. Pillsbury’s office, scowling so fiercely most of the kids scramble out of his way. And then Artie rolls up to him, bumping into him to make him slow down. “What the fuck, dude?” Puck demands, whirling to face him.
“Are you okay?” Artie asks. “You’ve been kinda out of it the past couple days.”
“I’m fine,” Puck says. He walks around Artie, calling over his shoulder, “Later, dude.”
0o0
Ms. Pillsbury is about as much help as Puck expected. She’s nice. She’s sincere.
She’s utterly useless, and Puck still wants to break his father’s face.
0o0
He goes home again. Mom’s at work, Sarah always goes to her friend Maggie’s on Fridays, and Dad is sitting in the recliner.
“Noah,” he says severely as Puck shuts the door. He stands, crossing his arms.
Dad is still taller, but Puck’s broader now. Dad looks frail and tired.
“Are you sick?” Puck asks, heading towards his room.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Dad shouts. “I haven’t seen you in ten years and this is how you treat me?”
And that – that pisses him off. “And whose fault is that?” Puck demands, wheeling around to face him. “At least Finn’s dad had the decency to die – you just decided you didn’t want us anymore!”
Dad’s arms drop and he steps forward. “I was suffocating here,” he shouts. “Ruth was nagging, and you were such a little attention whore, and the baby wouldn’t stop screaming. I had to get away.”
Puck sucks in a breath, staggering back. Those words hurt worse than any punch he’s ever taken. “You fucker,” he murmurs. “Just… go away.” He turns, rushing down the hall, locking his door behind him.
Dad bangs on the door for a few minutes; then he shouts, “Fine, Noah. Sulk like the little bitch you are.”
Puck curls up on his bed, wishing he was anywhere else. Wishing Dad – no, not Dad. Not anymore and never again. He hasn’t loved the man since he was the little boy left behind. The fucker’s name is Micah, so that’s what Puck will call him every day from now on. And he wishes Micah had never come back.
0o0
Mom gets home with Sarah, and Micah yells something about ungrateful punks, and Mom yells back that if he doesn’t like it, he should leave, since that’s never stopped him before. Puck ignores them, typing up the list of all the songs he considered and discarded, sending it to Kurt. Kurt replies within fifteen minutes, telling Puck he has the perfect song in mind, and it’s Pink’s ‘My Vietnam.”
Puck sends back, U serios?
Kurt responds only, Emails have spell-check, Noah. As does Word. Utilize it so as not to look like a heathen.
That gets a laugh. Puck shakes his head and types, I’ll see you tomorrow.
0o0
Dad’s gone in the morning. Puck hopes it’s for good. He yells, “Goin’ to Finn’s, Ma!” and shoulders his backpack and guitar.
0o0
Carole lets him in with a smile. “Finn’s still asleep; I think he has plans with Rachel later.”
Puck shrugs. “Can I just set up at your kitchen table? I’m actually here for Kurt, but we’re not workin’ till later.”
“Oh,” she says. “Well. I guess so.”
“Thanks, Mrs. H.” He grins sunnily, and her raised brow tells him she knows it’s fake.
Mr. H is standing by the coffee maker and he watches Puck spread his books all over the table. “You here to stay?” he asks, pulling a mug out of the cabinet.
“For the day, sir,” Puck answers, glaring at his copy of Jane Eyre. It’s such a boring book. They had to read a chapter in English yesterday, and have half the book done for Monday. He can’t stand it. Who gives a fuck about Jane? Not him, that’s who.
“Finn’s got plans,” Mr. H says.
“I know,” Puck says, flipping through his Calculus book. Should he do that first, or save it as a reward? “I’m actually here for Kurt.”
“You are, huh,” Mr. H says, and Puck finally registers his tone.
Puck looks up. Mr. Hummel is staring at him, head tilted, assessing him like he’s a threat. Puck has never considered that Kurt’s dad knows Puck was one of the ringleaders of his bullying for five years.
Mr. Hummel knows. And Puck is in his house, needing help from his son. The son he tormented mostly because he could.
Well, fuck.
“Dad, it’s fine,” Kurt says, breezing into the kitchen. “Noah asked me to aid him in a betterment project.” He smiles at his dad before digging around in the fridge, muttering, “I know I put it in here. Hmm… there! Hah, victory.”
Mr. Hummel smiles down at his coffee. Puck hides his smile behind his hand.
“You know makeovers are my crack,” Kurt says, setting a Tupperware container on the counter. “And Noah is full of so much potential…”
“Okay, okay,” Mr. H says. “I’ll leave the two’a ya to it.” He grabs his coffee and heads to the den.
“Potential?” Puck asks, leaning back in his chair.
Kurt gives him a sincere sunny smile. “That’s always been true,” he says. “You just never wanted to reach it before.”
Puck looks down at his book, at a loss of words. Kurt laughs slightly and finishes preparing his snack. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” he asks after a few minutes.
“Nah,” Puck says. “Not hungry.”
“What are you working on?” Kurt asks, bringing his plate and glass to the table, daintily settling in the chair across from Puck.
“Tryin’ to decide,” Puck says, letting his book flip closed. “I gotta write a paper about the most boring book ever, and do a fifty problem set, and answer twenty questions at the end of the physics chapter, and read a chapter of my history book, and write five paragraphs in Spanish, and pick out a good song.” He shoots Kurt a glare when Kurt chuckles. “This is why I didn’t do homework for three years, dude.”
Kurt laughs aloud. “Well, I can help with the Spanish and song. Blaine’s good at history, if that’s giving you any trouble.” He rolls his eyes. “If it’s not the history of fashion, I have a harder time caring.”
“If it’s not about World War II,” Puck says, “I have a hard time caring at all.”
“Write the Spanish thing while I’m sitting here,” Kurt suggests. “If you get stuck, I can give you a slight push in the right direction.”
So that’s what they do. It takes about an hour, because Kurt refuses to just give him the answers, or simply write it for him, which would’ve taken all of five minutes.
“Now,” Kurt says, “I’ve played around with the music for ‘My Vietnam,’ as well as come up with five alternate songs if you loathe it. Do some of the math while I set everything up.”
Puck nods; Kurt goes back up to his room. Puck’s finishing up the thirty-sixth problem when Finn stumbles into the kitchen twenty minutes later. “What’re you doin’ here?” he mutters, collapsing into Kurt’s chair.
“Kurt’s helpin’ me,” Puck says, setting his notebook aside and grabbing Jane Eyre. He flips through it to find where he left off and looks up in time to see Finn fall asleep again, slumped over the table. He chuckles, trying to power through at least ten pages.
After he reads the last word on the tenth page, he drops the book and leaves Finn snoring on the table. Kurt’s been gone for almost an hour and Puck is honestly curious about which songs Kurt had chosen for him.
Kurt’s typing at his desk when Puck walks in; he looks up and his eyes widen. “Noah!” he says. “I’m sorry, I got so caught up – Devon just realized Vic is totally in love with him, and there was baseball, and… you don’t care at all, sorry.” He blushes, turns back to his laptop, and saves the document before closing it.
“You know enough about baseball for it to work?” Puck asks, kicking off his shoes so he can climb onto Kurt’s bed without getting ripped a new one.
“I know much more about baseball than I do football,” Kurt says.
Puck snorts. “I know more about Spanish than I do French,” he scoffs. “You know what that means? I still know shit about either of ‘em.”
Kurt waves his hand dismissively. “This is about your song, Noah, not my play.” He grabs his iPhone off the desk and queues up the music. “I arranged this in order of most-suitable to least-suitable. Just listen and tell me if any resonant with you.”
‘My Vietnam’ is first. Puck has heard the song before; he’s just never listened.
He listens now.
“Yeah,” he says as the next song starts to play. “I guess that’s it.” He rubs at his eyes. “I don’t like the first verse, but that’s the only part.”
“Okay,” Kurt says softly. “Here’s the music, rearranged for just a guitar. I don’t know…” He licks his lips. “Do want any of the band up there with you?”
Puck shakes his head. “It’s about me, right?” he asks, mostly rhetorical. “Me and my parents.” He rolls his eyes. “My mom. Deadbeat fuckers don’t count as parents.”
Kurt watches him, but doesn’t say a thing.
“I’m gonna go do more math,” Puck says. “After I finish that, I’ll sing the song through, just to see. That okay?”
“Of course,” Kurt says. “After a few run-throughs, I’ll help you figure out a theme for your Jane Eyre paper.”
“Thanks, dude,” Puck mutters and beats it downstairs.
Finn’s working his way through a Digiorno supreme pizza. Puck asks, “Kurt know you’re eatin’ that?”
Finn shrugs. “It was this or his healthy crap. I’m too hungry for rabbit food.”
“Whatever, dude.” Puck dives back into his math.
His reputation would be completely gone if anyone knew just how much he enjoys math.
After a few minutes of silence, Finn ventures, “Puck? How’re things with your dad?”
Puck doesn’t look up from his notebook. “I haven’t talked to him.” Technically, that’s true. He muttered and he yelled.
Finn dissects the last piece of his pizza, thinking so loudly Puck can practically hear him. “Just ask,” he says wearily.
“Do you ever wish he’d stayed?”
“I used to,” he admits. “Until he came back now. Now I just wish he’d stayed gone.”
0o0
Puck is incorporating all of Kurt’s comments into his outline for his Jane Eyre paper (his first serious effort in an English assignment since middle school) when the plot for the awesomest sci-fi movie ever occurs to him.
“So, if an army of zombies and a fifty-foot mutated man-eating platypus got in a fight, who would win?” Puck asks.
Kurt looks up from his iPhone and stares at Puck for almost a minute – Puck counts. Then he shakes his head and goes back to his music library without answering. “Boys are so weird,” he mutters. “I don’t understand at all.”
Puck snickers. He stretches and then begins to pack up. He’s done with math, physics, Spanish, and a good chunk of English. “I can email you the paper?” he asks.
Kurt nods. “Whenever you’re done, as long as it’s before Tuesday morning.”
“Thanks, dude,” Puck says.
He fidgets with his pen for a moment, darting quick glances at Kurt before looking down. “Just ask, Noah,” Kurt tells him. “I’ll answer or I won’t.”
A week ago, he’d have never asked. A week ago, Kurt hadn’t taught him to use a dozen naughty words in the same Spanish sentence, all grammatically correct, if physically impossible.
“Last year,” Puck starts, “did Karofsky… did he do anything to you?”
“He shoved me into lockers,” Kurt says. “And threatened to kill me.”
“No, Kurt,” Puck says. “You know what I mean.”
Kurt grabs the pen from Puck right before he stabs the table. “I know what you mean,” Kurt says, twirling the pen between his fingers. “And I answered you.”
Well.
“He did,” Puck growls. “Fuck. I just thought he had a homophobic freak out because he finally figured out he liked you, but he actually did something—”
“Noah Puckerman,” Kurt says loudly, dropping the pen to touch Puck’s hand. “If you confront Dave and make him suffer a setback…” His voice is sharp and hard, and the light touch turns into a tight grip.
Puck looks him in the eye. “Tell me what he did.”
Kurt looks him in the eye right back. “It doesn’t matter,” Kurt says. “I forgave him.” A pause, and then pointedly, “Like I forgave you.”
“I never threatened to kill you!” Puck says, jerking back.
“No,” Kurt agrees, clasping his hands together and sitting up straight. “You just threw me in a dumpster at least three times a week for two and a half years.”
Puck looks away. “I never did apologize, did I?” he asks. “Not for any of it.” He laughs humorlessly. “I’m sorry, Kurt. For all of it. You got a bigger pair than anyone I know.”
Kurt chuckles, shaking his head. “I won’t argue with that, Noah.” He stands. “I’ll tell Blaine to help you with history. Don’t forget to write the paper and email it to me before Tuesday.”
Puck nods, grabbing his booksack and guitar. “Thanks, dude,” he says as he heads out.
“And Noah,” Kurt says at the door, all levity gone. Puck turns back. “Don’t do or say anything to Dave.”
“I promise,” Puck says. “He’s watching your back now.” He hesitates, and then just decides to say it. “But if he makes a move, or tries to steal you from Blaine, I will kick his ass, no matter what you say.”
Kurt laughs. “If he does that, Noah, I’ll kick him in the balls.” He raises a brow, smirking. “And you’ve seen me kick.”
Puck stares at him, reflexively wincing. “I’m… I’m goin’ now.”
Kurt’s laughter follows him to his truck, and the whole way home, he hums ‘Single Ladies,’ no matter which song is playing.
0o0
Dad doesn’t come back on Sunday. Puck spends most of the day writing his fucking English paper; he’d settled on going for something you want, no matter how hard it is as his theme. SparkNotes and Kurt explained what happened later, and how that fit, as long as Puck swore to actually read the whole thing. He emails Kurt the finished product just before supper; after the tense meal of reheated take-out Chinese, Kurt’s pleasantly surprised reaction is needed. Puck can hear Kurt’s voice in his head as he reads, Well, Noah, I must say – this is surprisingly good, for a Neanderthal. I expect this deft language in all aspects of your life now.
As he read Kurt’s comments and suggestions, Puck grins. Five hundred words, two pages: Kurt added two commas, deleted another, and rearranged a single phrase.
You’re like the paper whisperer or something, dude, Puck sent back. Never wrote like this before you took me under that flashy wing of yours. He thinks about adding a LOL or misspelling something, then decides not to. Kurt knows he likes math. Kurt knows he doesn’t want to be a Lima loser.
Kurt knows he’s sorry.
He sends the message and goes to watch ‘What Not To Wear’ with Sarah.
0o0
Monday morning, Mom grabs the pillow out from under Puck’s head and hits him with it, hissing, “He’s gone again. I hope you’re happy, Noah. Why are you always so selfish?”
Puck doesn’t say a thing. Not even when she adds, “Just like last time! Why aren’t you better?” He swallows, biting his lip, and averts his eyes, trying with all his might to head off the tears.
Mom drops the pillow and stumbles out. Puck clenches the sheet in his hands and breathes deeply, in and out, until he doesn’t want to scream anymore. Then he rolls out of bed, dresses, and leaves the house without grabbing breakfast. He barely pauses to snatch up his guitar and booksack. Sarah can catch the bus or nag Mom to take her to school – Puck can’t be trusted right now. He’s so pissed off, so hurt. He doesn’t want to do or say anything to Sarah about this.
So he goes to school. He turns in his completed work in the classes when its due. He only speaks when spoken to. He breaks Rachel’s stalker’s camera and microphone, sits in silence with Ms. Pillsbury for half an hour, and steals half of Artie’s lunch.
Lauren asks him why he never called over the weekend. “Oh,” he says. “I totally forgot to turn my phone back on.” He digs into the bottom of his backpack, grabbing it, and when he tries, it won’t work. “Oops,” he mutters. “Fuckin’ thing is dead.”
She shrugs. “Feed it when you get home, Puckerman. I don’t like my man bein’ out of contact.”
He nods, shoving it back into the bag.
0o0
Puck hasn’t been this nervous about a performance since… ever. He slouches into glee and goes straight to Kurt and Blaine, sitting in their usual spot, the left corner, top row. Puck plops next to Kurt, slouching down, crossing his arms, and glaring. “Stop sulking,” Kurt tells him. “Be the badass I know you are. You’ll kill the song.”
Puck doesn’t say anything; Kurt turns to Blaine and asks about a math principle. Blaine explains it wrong, so Puck leans across Kurt to tell Blaine, “You’re so very fuckin’ wrong, dude.”
Kurt grins and Puck realizes that was the whole point, so he rolls his eyes, while Blaine smiles at them both.
“Now,” Mr. Schue says, “we have five performances left, so let’s get started.”
Mercedes goes first, singing some song about dancing with her father. Her voice is loud and beautiful, like always. All the song does is make him jealous.
“Mercedes, that was truly awesome,” Mr. Schue says. “Puck, you’re up next.”
Puck freezes. He’s never frozen before, and he doesn’t know what to do. Kurt elbows him so he lunges to his feet and marches to the front of the room, carefully grabbing his guitar from its stand. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters, and then he starts to play.
He starts out soft, singing lines he doesn’t believe in, that he never experienced: “Daddy was a soldier; he taught me about freedom, peace, and all the great things that we take advantage of.” Micah didn’t teach him shit. Nothing except what not to do. “Once I fed the homeless. I'll never forget the look upon their faces as I treated them with respect.”
His voice gains strength the further he goes. “And this is my Vietnam. I'm at war. Life keeps on dropping bombs and I keep score.” He adds a bitter twist to, “Momma was a lunatic; she liked to push my buttons. She said I wasn't good enough, but I guess I wasn't trying.” That’s not quite true; he tried all the time, up until the day he decided he just couldn’t care anymore.
The next part is just so true, but he knows maybe three people in the room will believe him (hell, last year, Artie offered to tutor him in geometry. That gave him a good laugh.) “Never liked school that much. They tried to teach me better, but I just wasn't hearing it because I thought I was already pretty clever.”
He uses the repeated chorus to ready himself for the most honest part, for the verse that is the reason Kurt (and Blaine, who apparently suggested it to Kurt) chose this song: “And this is my Vietnam. I'm at war. Life keeps on dropping bombs and I keep score. This is my Vietnam. I'm at war. They keep on dropping bombs and I keep score.”
He finally looks up from the guitar, his eyes going from Schue’s shocked expression to Finn’s sad eyes, to Kurt and Blaine, holding hands and gently smiling at him. He takes strength from that and demands, “What do you expect from me? What am I not giving you? What could I do for you to make me okay in your eyes?”
Puck lets his voice go gentler, softer, as he ends. “This is my Vietnam. I'm at war. They keep on dropping bombs and I keep score. This is my Vietnam. I'm at war. Life keeps on dropping bombs and I keep score. This is my Vietnam. This is my Vietnam.”
After he finishes, Puck gently puts his guitar back, ignoring the enthusiastic cheering after a moment of shocked silence, and stalks up the riser to sit by Kurt again. “It was amazing,” Kurt tells him, Blaine nodding along.
“It was an emo chick song,” Puck grumbles, crossing his arms. “Can’t believe you talked me into it.”
“Well,” Mr. Schuster says. “Puck, wow.”
Puck ignores him, trying not to admit, even to himself, that he feels better. Who gives a fuck what his mom thinks? Micah left, and that’s on nobody but Micah. And none of it was ever Puck’s fault. He was a kid.
He’ll never be the son his mom wanted. But he can become a man he’s proud of, a man who will one day be a good father.
He’s getting the fuck out of this town, and he’ll come back for Sarah, and for Finn. He looks over at Finn while Tina sings another song about a father. Finn meets his eyes, smiling. Good job, Finn mouths.
Kurt elbows Puck gently and leans up to whisper, “I expect you to finish Jane Eyre by this weekend.”
“I hate that book,” he mutters back, smirking at Rachel’s glare and shushing motion.
Tina finishes to applause and an enthusiastic kiss from her boyfriend. Schue lets them go, so Puck heads for Lauren and links their arms. “’s’up, babe?” he asks.
She gives him a long, searching look. He stands still, letting her. He’s been a crappy boyfriend for a week now, and it is about time he told her why.
“You’re comin’ over tonight,” she says. “And we’re talking, Puckerman.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I think… I think I do wanna talk about it.”
He heard somewhere once – maybe a movie, or a magazine, or, hell, a fortune cookie – that the past determines the future. Maybe it’s true. He doesn’t want a life anything like either of his parents’. He’s getting out and going far away, and he’ll do his best to get Sarah out, too.
Lauren pulls him into a kiss; Puck tries to put everything he feels for her into it, because she is the awesomest chick he’s ever known. She can keep up with him, and she challenges him, and she never takes his crap.
Schue clears his throat. Lauren chuckles and leads Puck from the room.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-30 07:57 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 01:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-30 10:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 01:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 03:00 am (UTC)But it's so wonderfully written I can't be angry with you...
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 01:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 02:26 pm (UTC)So cute :D
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 02:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 03:49 am (UTC)beautiful :) off to rec to others :D hehe
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 01:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 09:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-31 01:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-15 08:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-16 03:24 am (UTC)Thank you so much!