A/N: So, I'm doing literally what I don't need to do right now, and starting another story, despite the fact that I have another 3 waiting to be updated. This was begging to be written though, and what can I say? If I have to do it, I have to do it.
It's M for language and themes at the moment. I can't say whether that will change in the future to include sex scenes; we'll see.

Another day, another chance at nothing. That's what it felt like for Puck, sitting in the bleachers, looking out across the football field he and Finn used to dominate, before their foray into the world of singing and dancing. He hadn't set foot on the field in a red Titans jersey for far too long. The prong shaped posts called to him, but he'd given that up. The choice between Glee and football hadn't been easy, but he knew what he was doing when he made it; neither was going to get him out of that shit-hole town with its drunks and junkies and layabouts who worked in run down excuses for convenience stores, only to blow their money that same night on gambling or booze or their next hit. Highs were an expensive habit. So Puck chose the thing which gave him his high, and it sure as hell wasn't football, where their pathetic team struggled to win even one game a season. They were usually out of the competition before it had really started, the field abandoned to the cheerleaders, the grass yellowing in the Ohio sun. At least Glee had some consistency. And he didn't have to worry about his head being torn off by some asshole rival on the field.

Somewhere, the call of California burned in his ears. Thousands of pools shimmered with muck, waiting for him to clean them out. But that was miles and miles and miles away, over a horizon he couldn't even see. Scratching at the cuticle of his thumb with the index finger of his opposite hand, he growled. Two years ago, he'd been so sure; his confidence lit even the dimmest rat-hole of McKinley and people scampered out of his way, or followed with a hope of gleaning even just a little bit of his light from him. Now the school was worse than a prison. He would know, he'd been to prison. Well, juvenile detention, but it was the same shit. He used to think he was tough before he landed in there, with guys trying to defend their territory by ripping out his nipple piercing with their teeth, rabid and foaming at the mouth. Others, driven insane by their hormones, tried to fuck him against the wall, ripping at his clothes, oblivious to the fist he kept pummeling into the side of their heads. For the first time, he'd met a bunch of people who were less scared of his threats than they were of mice. Not that any of them had managed to do what they were trying, with the guards dragging them away to solitary confinement even as their screams echoed down the chilled corridors of the detention centre, but Puck was never going to forget the fierce, insane look in their eyes, or the feel of unwanted hands on his body. With the heel of his boot, he kicked the silver bench in front of him. It rang out with a dull, metallic groan, irritating him further.

He didn't want to end up like all those people. He didn't want to end up like his dad, drunk all the time and running from place to place in search of the next big break, the next lucky hand, then crawling back home to Lima, covered in bruises and filth, begging the family he abandoned for money so he could run off on his next stint. Puck's dad did things by halves. He started and raised half a family, he ran half a business, he made half a fortune, then he went and screwed it all in rooms light with bare light bulbs, over a green felt poker table. The only thing he didn't do halfway was getting himself drunk. He even made sure he only half fucked himself over; he always had more money in his pocket than he pretended when he came knocking on his family's door. In his mind, he could never hit rock bottom if he had at least some cash in his pocket, ignoring the fact that rock bottom had a lot less to do with money than it had to do with lifestyle.

But Puck, Puck had dreams. They weren't big dreams - he couldn't afford those - but they were dreams nonetheless. He wanted out of Lima. He was sick of his mother's nagging, his little sister's whining, the angry mutterings of his stepfather, who was turning out to be just as bad as his real father. Where Puck's dad abused alcohol and his wife and kids, Puck's stepdad abused his male authority to mentally and emotionally destabilise Puck. His mother had only married him two months ago, but already Puck was avoiding his house as much as possible. Out there, beyond the confines of Lima lay a brighter world, where the cougars whose pools he cleaned didn't treat him like a piece of shit, and even let him get in some extracurricular activities.

Moving his hand up, he began picking lightly at the crook of his elbow, an unconscious habit he'd picked up from watching the ice addicts scratch at their own skin as they stared with eyes as hollow and shiny as the glass they took into their blood. The unbearable agitation living in his chest picked its head up at the action and growled, sending a surge of irritated anger through Puck. He had the urge to punch the living daylights out of something. Maybe he was looking for something in a fight, maybe he was looking for something in Glee, maybe he was looking for something beyond the stretches of his imagination. The truth was, however hard he strained, it always felt like he was walking around with his eyes closed; if whatever he was looking for was out there, he just couldn't see it.

For a long time, he thought it was sex. Sex was the answer to everything; he enjoyed it, it made him feel good, it made the woman he was with feel good too, and when he was done, he felt accomplished, which was more than what he got after a day at school. He went after it the way a poor person runs after any glimmer of gold, thinking it's going to be the solution to every problem. Eventually he found that it wasn't his magical fix to the whirlpool of shit that was his life, that even at his highest point, his cock buried inside some woman, grunting as he shook with his orgasm, he wasn't even close to touching whatever it was he sought. But still, he kept going after the sex, hoping that next time would be the time that he did. In that respect, he understood his father, even while it made him resent him all the more. In the mutual struggle of human existence, they were more alike than they were different, and both of them suffered from the irritability brought on by looking in the wrong place and having no idea where the right place was or how they could find it.

It hadn't taken Puck long to figure out that it wasn't about finding the right girl either. Since he'd started high school there'd been one girl that completely caught his attention, the one girl he fantasised about when he jacked off, the girl he imagined being a good man for. And then, in the ultimate shattering of his fantasy, he'd slept with her and found that he felt no different than he had before. And as for the girl, well, everyone's heard the story about knocked up Quinn Fabray, even if for a few moments the paternity of her child was in question. Then he was thrust into the limelight beside her, the father of a baby he wasn't ready for, not really, even though his mind struggled to overcome these insecurities, smoothing them over with lies that he was. Working harder, making more money, reigning in his bad behaviour, he attempted to woo her away from her boyfriend, insistent on standing up and being the man he knew he should be - the man who was not his own father. And he fell in love with her on the way, a genuine love for that poor girl who was unwillingly the mother of a child resulting from the worst mistake of her life. While other people's mistakes disappeared in the mists of history, hers was around to stay, visible to anyone who could see, and Puck knew she'd lost everything important to her as a result. She wasn't as drunk as she pretended to be that day, and he wasn't as ignorant of this as he pretended to be; they were on her bed, he wanted her, he'd wanted her for a long time, and while she was there and willing, god knows he wasn't going to give up his chance. He thought he was close to finding heaven, or hell, or whatever the fuck it was that he thought he was looking for, and with a superstition rooted in nothing but his imagination that a condom would stop him from finding it, he fucked her without one. If he'd known that he wouldn't reach that elusive nirvana that day, he would have been more careful. Instead, it led to a disaster which made their lives spiral out of control.

No girl before or since had led him that that higher existence either, which helped him work out that that's not what was going to get him there. Rachel Berry was cute when she wasn't talking, and even though she took care of him in a way no one else had before, she wasn't the girl. Santana Lopez was smoking hot, but it wasn't right for either of them. The same with Brittany Pierce. It actually didn't surprise him to find that the two of them were dating; when he was with Santana, he was fairly certain she'd uttered 'Britt' at least once. And Quinn, well Quinn had gotten progressively more fucked up, and was now proclaiming that she was done with the boys at McKinley High, and was eagerly awaiting her future education at Yale. With his track record, Puck had a niggling suspicion that she might not be as straight as she'd always seemed either. Who knew how close those three's Unholy Trinity actually got? For a little while, Lauren Zizes alleviated the ache in him, but he found that she wasn't the girl either; she was great while she was there, he conceded, but she wasn't the closest thing she was going to find to whatever he was looking for.

And what was it he was looking for? Nirvana, some would say, although he thought that was hippie bullshit, too full of rainbows and butterflies and sunshine to be relatable to him. A shiver shrieked down his spine, and his shoulders hunched without his consent. He was cold even though the sun beat down on his black t-shirt, leeching the colour from it the same way it sucked the green from the grass. No, he realised, he was looking for escape. He wanted a different life, where he didn't feel like and ordinary human being anymore. Ordinary was for bitches; Noah Puckerman wanted life and the paths people didn't dare to tread. He wanted to be Batman, Superman, Spiderman and Wolverine all rolled into one. He wanted to be special. He wanted everything.

Looking out again across the dying field of grass, where a couple of cheerleaders sprang in continuous cartwheels, he felt powerful, like something solid had settled into his chest - a reason, a goal, an aspiration. If he had wings, he would have spread them at that very moment, and taken flight over Lima. But then, if he had wings, he wouldn't have been sitting there ruminating. That's why he knew, that day in May, two weeks from a graduation that wouldn't be his, he would turn his back on the life that was slowly turning its back on him. Everyone else had their goals, they had their futures, so why the fuck shouldn't he? Why should he be the one to stay stifled in the shithole town of Lima when everyone else travelled across the country for college. If they were going, then there wasn't going to be anything left for him here either. Without so much as a final sigh, he stood and stalked from the bleachers, the heels of his boots clacking against the cement. The call of California was still echoing in his mind, but it was mixed with something else - the taste of anticipation. The hunger in his soul stirred from its dormancy and growled in approval.

A/N: I don't have a clear idea where this is going, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.