(Authors' note: We've been wanting to write together again ever since finishing The Person Falling Here is Me. This story prompt has been sitting in my gdocs for months, but neither of us felt ready to tackle it until now. Puck angst aplenty. While this story does include discussion of Finn's death and vaguely suicidal thoughts from Puck, we want you to know the Puck/Finn relationship is still central to the plot. Also, while this is not a polyamorous story, consider that I am not capable of writing a simple relationship. There's a little Puck/OMC here, but you can guess if you know me that there's the chance of there being rather a lot of that in this story. Happy Pinn Week(end), and there is so much more to come. - amy and ca_babs)
Of course, Finn's death was the worst thing that could have happened. But it didn't really get bad for Puck until Coach Beiste resigned. That winter, Puck and Finn had gotten in the habit of coming over to her house to watch football, and after Finn died he just kept coming back, even though football season was over. Puck didn't exactly feel welcome at the Hudson-Hummel house anymore, and being home alone was worse than that, so he'd just show up at the Coach's house sometimes. She'd let him in, offer him a place on the couch and a bag of chips, and they'd toss harmless insults back and forth, not talking about what was heavy on their hearts.
Until one day, when he came over, and he could see a stack of boxes behind her in the hallway. The grim look on her face told him everything he needed to know. He just turned right around and retreated to his old rusty truck, ignoring the footsteps that followed him.
"Noah," she called. "It's - there's another job, in Houston. It's close to my sister."
"Fuck you," he muttered. He wasn't going to stand there in her doorway and explain why she couldn't leave, why he needed her there more than ever, because there was nobody left to believe in him anymore. He wasn't going to say anything like that, because she didn't need to hear that shit from a Lima loser like him. He climbed into the cab, slammed the door, and pulled out of her driveway fast enough to leave skid marks on the pavement.
He was pretty sure she wouldn't really judge him for reacting that way. Not the way everybody else had judged him. Kurt still looked at Puck like he was something disgusting on the bottom of his stylish shoe. Quinn wouldn't even answer his emails anymore, and Shelby was clearly uncomfortable with him visiting Beth. And Finn's mom... as nice as she still was whenever they ran into one another, she couldn't get him out of her sight fast enough.
She never said she blamed him, not in so many words, but Puck was pretty sure she did. He sure as fuck blamed himself for how Finn's college experience had gone down. Even after Puck had sworn to help him keep on task, to do well in his classes, they'd mostly partied and drank their way through winter semester, along with the rest of their fraternity. Puck had spent plenty of hours since then running alternate scenarios through his head, thinking how things could have been different if he'd insisted on Finn saving his money instead of buying more beer, if he'd cut him off after the second one, if he'd been there that night to wake him up when he -
Coach Beiste was calling him on his cell, but he wasn't going to answer it. He switched it off and tossed it on the floor of the passenger seat, turning his music up loud over the noise of the failing transmission. The truck wasn't going to last much longer, but he didn't have any money left over from last year's pool cleaning account to pay for repairs. It was too early in the season to start calling his clients or advertising for new ones. Puck wasn't sure he even wanted to stick around Lima this summer - not without Finn, and not when everything in this town reminded Puck of him. It wasn't like the weekly pay was that great anyway; the majority of his profits came at the end of the summer, preparing the pools for winter and receiving bonuses for his "other" services over the course of the summer. Fuck it if he was sticking around that long and doing that shit this year. He'd been thinking about that a lot, and he still hadn't come up with an option that felt satisfactory.
Puck realized he had steered his truck over to Schuester's place, which kind of made sense. Mr. Schue and Puck had never had that same quasi father-son relationship he and Finn had shared, but if Finn had trusted him so much, maybe Puck should try to talk to the guy about what he should do next. Puck still felt a little pissed at him, considering their last interaction had consisted of Schue insinuating that Puck had stolen Finn's jacket. Sure, Puck had been a bit of a screw up - maybe a lot of a screw up. But it was like no one noticed he wasn't that same asshole Puck from sophomore year anymore. Hell, he wasn't even the same guy he'd been at the beginning of junior year. There were so many things that had changed him, made him a better person. He'd thought being part of Glee club was one reason for that, even if it wasn't the biggest reason.
Mr. Schuester looked as surprised as Puck felt when he answered the door. "Puck, what are you doing here?" He shook his head. "I mean, what can I do for you?"
Puck looked down at his sneakers, feeling suddenly that this had been a huge mistake. "Um, Finn always talked about how you were a good person for him to talk to? And I know you and I never quite saw eye to eye like you and he did, but... I could use some advice."
Puck looked up in time to see Mr. Schue's face soften into a weak, sad smile. "Of course, Puck, I'm sorry. Why don't you come in?" Mr. Schue moved away from the entrance and allowed Puck to step inside. "Let me hang up your jacket. Why don't you go in and have a seat." He nodded towards the sofa in the living room.
Puck looked at the possible places to sit, and chose one of the chairs. He smiled a little at the perfectly arranged magazines on the coffee table and resisted the urge to mess them up just for the fun of it. The pictures were hung perfectly, too, the photos displayed on the mantle all in matching frames and spaced evenly apart.
Mr. Schue sat down on the sofa, on the end closest to Puck. "How are you doing?"
Puck gave him a how do you think I'm doing look. "I gotta say, I've been better."
"Yeah, I think we're all feeling a little bit of that."
Not like me, Puck wanted to say. I was his best friend. Nobody fucking feels like I do. But even he knew that wasn't the right thing to say when you were asking somebody for help, so he just nodded back, trying to be calm. "I guess I'm feeling a little stuck. Like, I don't know what I can do next that wouldn't - " He paused, feeling the catch in his throat that sometimes snuck up on him at the stupidest moments, and swallowed.
Mr. Schue nodded sympathetically. "I don't think anyone expects you to make a big decision right now. There's nothing wrong with just sticking around with your family and friends while you figure out where you want to go next."
"I'm not sure I can stick around here much longer, though," Puck admitted. "This place is crammed full of memories - thirteen years of memories. He's been there, like my right hand, for two-thirds of my life. It's still a little surreal to realize he's no longer here. Like, he isn't just going to pop up when I least expect it." He blinked his eyes a couple of times, feeling tears pricking at the edges.
But Puck apparently wasn't the only one struggling with his feelings. He watched Mr. Schue take a moment to compose himself before going on. "Yes, well... obviously everyone who knew Finn is on edge. It's easy to fall back on old habits."
Puck wondered if Mr. Schue was referring to the jacket being stolen. It wasn't exactly an apology, if he was. He tried not to glare at him. "I just feel like everybody's moving on, and I can't. It's like nobody cares about Finn anymore."
"Puck, that's not true. I think it's just that people have too many other things happening. Like it or not, they have to move on."
That was even more of a slap in the face. Like I don't have other things? he wanted to snap - but of course he didn't. He didn't have anything else, because he was nothing but a Lima loser hanging on to memories of his fucking best friend. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Did you, uh, hear about Coach Beiste?"
"Do you mean about her new job?" He nodded, sighing. "Yeah. She'll really be missed, but this is a good opportunity for her. I think she's had the hardest time of any of us, other than Rachel."
Puck gritted his teeth. He'd had about enough of this. "And me," he spat. "What about me?"
Schue looked stricken. "Well - uh, of course, you were his - but Rachel, I mean, they were -"
"You have no fucking idea what you're talking about," he shouted. Mr. Schue drew back, bracing himself on the couch with one trembling hand.
Ms. Pillsbury - Mrs. Schuester - appeared in the doorway, her face set.
"Noah," she said evenly. "You're getting a little worked up. I think you might want to show yourself out."
"Fine." Puck headed for the door. Clearly this had been a mistake. "Thanks for nothing!"
He opened the closet near the door to get his jacket. Never in a million years would he have been prepared for what he saw. Hanging in the hall closet, right next to his own leather bomber, was a McKinley letterman jacket. Not just anybody's jacket - but Finn's letterman jacket.
Puck yanked it off the hanger, clutching it tightly in his left hand. He caught a faint whiff of a scent he recognized as Finn's, and he paused a moment to inhale it, to take it in before it was gone - and then he was raging, abandoning himself to the emotion of what Mr. Schue had accused him of and what he had actually done.
"You fucking hypocrite!" Puck shoved himself back into the doorway. "You accused me of taking this and what, you had it all along?" He moved quickly across the room again and, before he really knew what was happening, his right fist was connecting with Mr. Schue's jaw, the jacket cradled protectively in his arm. Puck couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty, witnessing Mrs. Schuester's shocked expression. Mr. Schue, on the other hand, appeared anguished as he sat there rubbing at his jaw.
"You better believe I'm taking it." Puck held up the jacket. "Go ahead and accuse me all you want now." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.
The next day, Puck spent the majority of the day going through his things. He had three piles: a pile to keep, a pile to store somewhere, and a pile of stuff to trash. There wasn't much he needed to store. The pile consisted of his yearbooks, some photos, his electric guitar and amp, and his letterman jacket. Finn's letterman jacket, of course, was in the keep pile, despite how big and bulky it was; so was his acoustic guitar. Puck was hoping he might have some items of value kicking around, things he could sell or pawn to help get his truck back in working shape. The truck itself wasn't worth much, but Puck couldn't sell it anyway; it was his ticket out of this hellhole town.
Unless, Puck thought, I sell the truck for what little cash I can get and buy a one way bus ticket to anywhere else. Maybe Jake or Ryder would be willing to buy his truck. At least if it was one of the current New Direction kids, Mr Hummel might still be willing to work with them on keeping it running on the cheap. Puck grabbed the bag and box of items to trash, stopping by the dumpster behind his mom's apartment building to toss them, and then headed for his truck.
It was good, Puck thought, that he was stopping by to see Jake. He didn't want to completely abandon the guy, not when they'd only just found out about each other. But the truth was, even his own family wasn't enough of a draw to keep Puck in Lima. Not anymore.
When Puck pulled up in front of the small bungalow Jake lived in with his mom, Puck couldn't help but notice quite a few familiar cars on the street.
"Puck!" Jake exclaimed happily when he opened the door. "Come in, come in."
Puck allowed himself to be pulled into the house by his brother, smiling slightly at his enthusiasm. "Are you having a party or something?" Puck asked. He could hear voices somewhere else in the house.
"Nah, just a couple of the Glee guys are over," Jake said. "Sam, Blaine, and Ryder."
He nodded. "Gaming marathon?"
Jake shook his head at the same moment that Ryder came jogging out into the entryway.
"Dude, you have to see these ones," Ryder gasped. His face was red and he was laughing between breaths. "Oh, hey, Puck. You've got to see this too."
"What's going on?" Puck asked.
"Blaine and Sam showed up this morning with the 'Kurt approved' tuxes for the wedding," Jake explained. "Ryder and I have been giving them some 'constructive' feedback. I mean, did Kurt seriously think Sam would wear some of these? I thought they lived together last year."
Puck shook his head, exhaling loudly. "They're picking out tuxes?"
"What's the hold up?" Sam called.
"Doesn't anyone remember that his fucking brother just died?" Puck screamed. He grabbed Sam by the lapels and began to shake him. "Can't the Happy Dapper Rainbow wedding planning shit wait? I don't understand how Kurt could possibly want to think about the wedding at this point when his best man won't be there." He gave Sam a shove against the banister.
"Actually," Blaine said calmly, appearing from around the corner, "Kurt said he'll just use the girls as attendants now and we won't worry about having to balance things out."
"Kurt said." Puck shook his head. "Am I the only one that cares that Finn is dead? Because it's really starting to seem like it." Puck stared at the group of guys in front of him. "You know what, forget it. I'm out of here."
He slammed the door behind himself and hopped up into the cab of his truck. "My own brother," he muttered, "all caught up in that wedding nonsense instead of mourning a truly great guy. No, fuck it, Jakes's not my brother. Finn's the only brother I ever had. He's the only one I needed."
Never mind those thoughts that weren't so brotherly, his mind retorted.
He revved the engine, gritting his teeth. It wasn't worth thinking about that stuff. Now that Finn was gone, none of it mattered anyway.
At least Puck had enough luck that when the old beast of a truck stuttered to a halt this time, he was right in front of the garage. And not just any garage, but Hummel's.
Most of the interior lights were off, but Puck went up to the side entrance anyway, tucking his keys into the pocket of his leather bomber. Sometimes Mr. Hummel was there after hours. Puck just needed a chance to put it up on the lift and take a look underneath, and he could probably fix whatever was wrong himself.
He barely thought about what he was doing before he punched in the numbers onto the electronic keypad and let himself in. Hummel hadn't changed the code since the last time he and Finn were picking up a couple extra bucks, doing oil changes on weekends when Hummel's part time guy had moved out of town.
Puck hit the lights on the floor, then opened the front bay door, just high enough so he could push the silent truck inside. Once he had the hood up, it was easy enough to diagnose the busted distributor cap. He didn't even need to put it on the lift. The problem might be obvious, but the solution wasn't so clear.
On the chair next to the cash register was a set of coveralls. Puck considered pulling them on over his jeans and t-shirt before he realized what name was on the pocket. He fingered the stitching of the word Finn in script letters, trying to feel anything other than numb.
Burt had always kept parts in stock for Kurt's Navigator and Finn's mom's sedan, and his Chevy wasn't any different. Puck stood there next to the shelf where they kept the parts, looking them for longer than he needed to find the right piece. It was easy to pick it up the new cap and replace the broken one, easy to toss the damaged part in the trash, but not at all easy to consider the ramifications of his actions. So he didn't.
He started his truck up, backed it up through the bay door - and then got out again, shut the lights out and closed the door. Everything was exactly where it had been before he'd arrived, except for that one missing distributor cap.
Puck had only driven half a block before he came back a second time, letting himself back in through the side door, and took the rest of the parts Burt had set aside for his truck. What the fuck, he thought, steeling himself against the guilt. He won't miss them.
Puck thought he understood better what a slippery slope was, after that. It was just as easy to use the old garage codes to let himself in to former clients' sheds and houses as it had been to break into Hummel's garage. It was like it was impossible not to do it. It was almost as though he didn't have a choice, it felt so inevitable.
Once he started taking things from their houses - not anything big, nothing that would be easily noticed - he had to find ways to get rid of them. There wasn't anything major enough that he'd have to worry about it being hard to dispose of, but he tried not to visit the pawn shop in Wapakoneta more than once in a week. He wasn't collecting a lot of cash on his small items, but it was faster, easier than finding an actual job in a town he no longer gave two shits about. Some places, though, Puck was lucky enough to find extra cash just laying around, and that he pocketed without a thought.
He wouldn't have done any of this when he'd had them as clients, but now it felt practically justified. You thought I was just another Lima loser, and you know what? Maybe I am. Fuck you. Fuck you all.
It was the sign on the side of the road near exit 111 in Wapakoneta that got him thinking about trading in the truck for a bike. Spring's here, it said, why be inside? BMW k1200rs, $2k OBO, and a phone number. The motorcycle was a touring bike, with the kind of shiny chrome that Puck found obnoxious but looked awesome anyway. He didn't spend more than a few minutes looking it over, but it was enough to tell him it was sound - a damn sight better condition than his truck, that was for sure.
Once the bike was in place in his imagination, the other pieces started to settle in beside it. He could head south; fuck Ohio winter. He always got sick of the stupid Christmas season anyway. It had been Finn's favorite holiday. The last thing he wanted to do was live through another Christmas in Lima.
Puck thought it was pretty ironic, remembering all of the time he'd spent counting down the days until graduation and ditching classes - and yet, now, when things were at their worst, he was back on McKinley grounds.
He headed to the tree they had erected for Finn, the tree Puck had stolen at one point, before he'd been made to return it under Bieste's careful eye. That silly little tree, with the word QUARTERBACK engraved down the trunk and underneath, with the bronze plaque embedded in the dirt.
It wasn't the only marker bearing Finn's name in Lima, but it was the only one Puck could stomach looking at. The other one, the one in the cemetery, bore some platitude about how Finn was a devoted son, a beloved brother, a missed teammate, his life gone too soon. Puck wasn't about to risk running into anyone else in the cemetery. Or, worse, to see the dead flowers from the memorial and know no one had been there since then.
Puck sat down on the grass in front of the little plaque and let his fingers run over the letters of Finn's name. Suddenly, everything about it was too short: his name not long enough to really capture everything he embodied, the dates, that damn line, too brief for all the good he could have done, for all the good he had done.
Puck was so lost in his melancholy that he didn't hear the crunch of the gravel behind him. It wasn't until he found himself seated in a tall shadow that he realized he wasn't alone anymore.
"I could ask you what you're doing here, again," Sue Sylvester said with her usual sneer, "but frankly, I don't care. I don't know why all of you graduates think you can come waltzing back here like you own the place, any old time you want. This isn't some diner or coffee shop where you can come hang out."
"You know why I'm here." Puck rose to his feet. He walked over and leaned against the wire mesh around the field. "And I'm not hanging out in your precious school."
"That's the worst part of it!" Sue exclaimed. "At least if you were loitering in the school, I wouldn't have to deal with the concerned citizens of Lima calling about a possible predator on school grounds."
"I'm not a fucking predator," Puck snarled.
"Says the barely-a-man who knocked up my head cheerleader when he was all of what, sixteen years old?" Sue asked. "Besides, I also happen to have it on good authority, and by that I mean video surveillance, that you left this year's Sadie Hawkins dance with another one of my cheerleaders, Puckerman. And this time you might be legal, but she sure wasn't."
Images flooded Puck's brain of that Sadies Hawkins dance. Puck had only gone because Finn was chaperoning. When Finn returned to the dance with Sam and Blaine in tow, the three of them had looked like the fucking cat that got the cream. They'd instantly been swamped by a shrieking Tina and grateful Artie and Marley. Puck hadn't even bother to figure out why they were all so happy before ditching them. And then there was Kitty, who'd seemed hell bent on destroying his little brother's relationship. Kitty, who'd looked and acted so much like queen bee bitch Quinn. Leaving the dance with her, right under Finn's nose, had had Puck feeling like he had stepped back in time.
Puck blanched, looking up at the cheerleading coach turned principal-dictator. "Kitty said she was 16."
"Might want to start IDing your conquests then, Puckerman, before you really end up in some trouble." Sue regarded him coolly. "As it is, you leave me no choice. If I catch you on school property again, I'm calling the cops. And I'll turn over that video footage."
"My brother goes to school here," Puck yelled. "Some of my friends still go to school here."
"See your brother on your own time," Sue said. "You and I both know the only friend you had at McKinley is no longer here. There's no good reason for you to be either."
That stung a lot more than it should have. He didn't need Sue Sylvester's approval, no matter what, but he knew she was probably right. Nobody wanted him here. There was nothing left in Lima for him.
Even though Puck's plan when leaving Lima was to go south, there was one more detour he felt he needed to make. Quinn hadn't returned to Lima for the funeral, or even the Glee Club memorial for Finn, and she wasn't responding to his emails or returning his calls. That didn't stop him from sending her a text as he rode out of town towards New Haven, Connecticut.
left Lima, 2 much 2 take
on my way to u
u better be there
There was no reply text from Quinn at Puck's first stop in Youngstown, nor at the second in Lewisburg, but shortly before the third time Puck stopped, this time in Parsippany, Quinn finally replied with an address and a request for him to text her once he arrived on the Yale campus.
It was nearing midnight when Puck pulled up in front of the address Quinn had sent. He found her seated on the steps of the old brick building, her arms folded on her knees.
"When did you trade in your truck for a bike?" she called, not bothering with a greeting.
"Couple weeks ago. That truck was a piece of shit I was tired of constantly repairing." He hoisted his bag out of the storage bin and unclipped his guitar from the second seat. "The bike is cheaper, and it's bad ass. Plus I travel light anyway."
Quinn snaked an arm around Puck's waist as she led him inside the dorm. "Seems like you might be travelling just a little heavy."
He ignored her, craning his neck to look around in every direction. "Shit, Q. Look at this place. You've done good."
Quinn shrugged. "I like it here. I like that no one knows me. Come on, let's get you settled."
It wasn't until they were in her dorm, lying facing one another on her small bed, that Quinn spoke again.
"So how are you really doing?"
Puck closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to hide from her - and he'd known it would be that way. "How do you think I'm doing? I just sold or garbaged about everything I had and got rid of my truck for a bike, all so I could get out of Lima. I can't stay there anymore, Q. He's everywhere in that damn town."
"I feel bad for everyone who's still there," Quinn said softly. "The ones that don't have somewhere else to go, somewhere that isn't filled with memories."
He sighed. "I mean, I only came back to Lima anyway for Jake, to meet him, to help set him straight. I only ever stayed this long because of Finn."
"So are you heading back to California? If so, I'm sorry you came so far out of your way."
"I'm not going back to California." The yawn nearly split his face in two. "Sorry, Quinn. It's been a long day."
"Sure." She got up off the bed and went over to the closet and pulled out a couple of things. "I can sleep on the floor."
Puck shook his head. "I'm not going to kick you out of your bed."
"And I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor, after you spent all day on a motorcycle."
"I know the bed is small, but I'm ok with sharing if you are."
Quinn regarded him in silence from the doorway. Finally, she nodded. "Yeah, okay. We can share. I'm just going to go change in the bathroom."
By the time Quinn came back, in a Yale tee shirt and a pair of shorts, Puck had swapped out his own sweaty clothes for an undershirt and clean boxers. He scooted over to the edge, leaving as much room as possible for Quinn on the little bed. She sat down, her hands folded primly in her lap.
"We're just going to sleep," she told him.
"Yeah. Of course." He didn't bother to look offended at the suggestion that he would expect otherwise, and patted the bed next to himself. She crawled in under the covers, with no space between them. When she rested her head against his, he hugged her, maybe a little bit desperately.
"Oh, Puck," she sighed. Her soft hand rested on the back of his head.
"This really sucks," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."
"You're doing everything you can do."
Yeah, Puck thought. He closed his eyes. And it's not going to be enough.
The tiny diner wasn't far off campus. The waffles weren't homemade, but they weren't bad, and the coffee was even better than that. They both finished their coffee before paying the bill and leaving. Puck took her hand as they walked.
"I've got to know; why didn't you come back for the funeral or the memorial?" he asked.
"I don't know, Puck," Quinn said sadly. She closed her eyes against his harsh stare. "I guess in some ways, I said goodbye to Finn a long time ago."
"How can you even say that, Quinn?" Puck asked. "Sure, you guys haven't dated in years, but I thought you still considered him a friend. I know he still considered you one. And he'd be so proud, seeing you here, like this."
"Puck, don't," Quinn warned, holding up a weary hand. "Don't make me feel guilty about this."
"What? Don't make you feel guilty about not coming back to pay your respects to the guy you almost saddled with a baby in high school?"
She mirrored his glare. "Finn and I had already moved past that. My not coming back... it had nothing to do with what had happened between us."
He crossed his arms, feeling the rage flare up again. "How can everyone just move on like this? It's like no one even cared about him at all."
"Puck, that's not true."
"It is!" Puck exclaimed. "He loved everyone; he would have done anything for any of us. All we had to do was ask. And now it's like you guys don't even recognize he's gone. He's gone and he's never coming back. Why doesn't anyone care?"
"We care, Puck." Quinn stopped walking, placing a hand on his arm. He had no choice but to stop, too. "If it seems like we're moving on, it's because we're doing what we need to do, to take care of ourselves. You need to take care of yourself too, Puck."
He shook his head vigorously. "We've always taken care of each other. And obviously I didn't do my job, because - well, look who's not here now."
Quinn blinked at Puck a few times. "Do you really blame yourself for his death?"
Puck didn't reply, his eyes closed against the stinging tears that he refused to let fall. The lump in his throat felt like it was the size of a baseball.
She sighed. "I don't know the details, but I doubt it was your fault." The tone in her voice made Puck open his eyes. "I know he... I mean, it doesn't exactly take a genius to see... well, the two of you were just always so... so close. Not all of us are lucky enough to find that special kind of relationship like you and Finn had."
Puck nodded. "He was my best friend. Brothers from another mother."
"Wasn't it more than that, though?" Quinn pressed. "Right? I mean, I don't know when exactly I noticed it, but at some point it became obvious."
His eyes slid away uneasily. "What do you mean?"
"It wasn't just friendship, Puck. We were all friends in high school, but how close are we now? And it hasn't even been a year."
"So?" Puck shot back. "Finn and I were friends before high school. Before Glee."
"Exactly," Quinn said. "And even with everyone's plans and decisions at the end of senior year; I never had any doubt - I don't think any of us did - that no matter what, you and Finn would continue to be in each other's lives." When he started walking again, Quinn followed him. "When you thought about the future, Puck, did you think you'd ever settle down?"
"I dunno. I mean, it's not like I feel the need to have kids, as long as I get to be in Beth's life somehow. And it's not like I've ever done well with long-term relationships."
"Except Finn," Quinn said pointedly.
Puck snorted. "That's not a relationship. He's my bro."
"And the only person I could ever see you settling down with, in any way, was him," she went on. "I know how special he was to you, how important. You wouldn't have let him do anything that would have cost him his life."
"I - I don't know where you're going with this, Fabray," Puck warned, "but -"
"You loved him, Puck. And not just because he was your friend. You loved him more than I think you've ever loved anyone else."
"Fuck, yeah, I loved him!" he shouted. He turned angrily on her, but she stood her ground.
"That's kind of my point. No matter what, you guys got past everything. Because of how you felt for each other."
"No!" He jabbed a finger at her chest. "You don't get to talk about his feelings. You don't get to project those onto him. You didn't know him like I did. I know how he felt about me - or in this case, how he didn't feel about me. It's hard enough to get past him being gone, let alone trying to figure in some impossible dream." Puck pulled his sunglasses out of his coat pocket and jammed them over his eyes. "Fuck this. I'm out of here."
Puck spent the rest of the morning on I-95 heading southwest, the throttle choked up as high as he could get it, hunched over the handlebars like he was trying to outrun the conversation he'd left behind. How had Quinn known? Had Finn told her what had happened? He couldn't stop replaying the memory of the expression on Finn's face.
And what if Puck had pushed him? What if he'd said to Finn, what about that night on your couch? That seemed pretty fucking gay to me. But he hadn't. He hadn't, and the moment had been lost, and now... there would never be any more moments. All he had were memories, and questions.
By the time he made it to Long Island, he'd reached a decision. There was no way the memories would ever be anything more than what they were, but the questions... he could think of one way to get some possible answers.
He wound his way into the city, through Brooklyn and across the bridge into downtown, and found a place to park his bike, shouldering his guitar and his bag and depositing them on the floor next to the lunch counter at the Skylight Diner.
"I need to pick up a guy," he announced. "Where do I go in this town to do that?"
The startled waitress at the counter stammered out a useless response. Puck sighed. "Forget it. Just get me a reuben."
He found the guy next to him giving him a sideways glance while he drank the coffee the woman brought to him. Puck finally turned and glared at him.
"What?" he snapped.
"Nothing," the guy said easily. "I just heard what you asked Monica. She's not going to know where the gay bars are."
"And you do?"
The guy shrugged. "I know them as well as anybody. Depends on what you're looking for, I guess."
Puck fixed his stare on his coffee cup. "I don't even know. I guess I figure I'll know it when I see it."
"Makes sense." He sat back, straightening his cobalt blue tie. Now Puck was the one watching him out of the corner of his eye. "So... not me, then?"
Puck narrowed his gaze. "No. Not you." He was taller. Taller, and your hair's too soft, and your hands are too small. He hunched into his jacket.
"No problem. Well, I can give you directions to a couple places. The G Lounge on West 19th. It won't be open for a few hours, but..." He stood up, reaching into his jacket, and pulled out a pen. "You got a place to be until then?"
For a moment, Puck thought about calling Kurt and Rachel and Santana. He knew they'd kill him if they found out he'd been in New York and hadn't bothered to look them up. But the last thing he needed right now was a glimpse of their successful lives, the way they were moving on without Finn. He shrugged. "Not really."
"You can come with me back to my office. I don't work too far from the Village."
The invitation sounded innocuous, but Puck wasn't stupid. He knew what the guy meant, and even though Puck was pretty sure he could enforce a no-means-no if he had to, he figured he'd better get really fucking clear about what he was doing. He took a deep breath.
"I'm not into guys. But there was a guy. One guy. And we had - there was a thing. And I just have to know -"
"It's all right," the guy said softly. He put out a hand, not for Puck to take, but to steady him, as though Puck were about to lose his grip on the edge of the lunch counter and topple over. "Here. I'll be there working all afternoon."
His hand rested in Puck's for a moment. When he moved away, Puck was holding a receipt with an address written on it. The guy nodded at him, picking up his briefcase, and headed for the door.
There was a moment of what the fuck are you doing, Puckerman, but that didn't last very long, not in the wake of the memory of Finn's mouth on his, and the bitter taste of regret.
"Hey," he called. "Wait up."
Puck didn't have a second helmet, so he just let the guy find his own way home. He followed the directions the guy had given him, parked his bike around the corner, and waited in the alley next to his building for him to show up. He wondered if he should ask for the guy's name, or if it would be easier if he didn't know.
Standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching the guy unlock his door, felt remarkably familiar. He'd done this before, a dozen times a summer, with every goddam MILF with a pool in Lima. This guy was just another one of those: another distraction from his fucked-up life, from all the things he couldn't have. He felt a rush of self-hatred. What did he think he was going to learn that he didn't already know? Finn was dead, and what Puck had left wasn't worth the parts he'd stolen from Hummel's garage.
"I'm not gay," he said, maybe a little too loudly. But the guy just smiled at him, nodding, and opened the door, and Puck followed him inside.
"You can set down your guitar in there," he called from the hallway, taking off his tie.
It was small, and more like a studio apartment than an office, but Puck could tell the guy actually did work here. His desk was strewn with papers, and the laptop was open and running a spreadsheet application. Puck paused by the couch beside the desk, then took off his leather bomber and left it there.
The guy turned to him, holding out a tumbler half-full of amber liquid. Puck shook his head. He watched the guy drink, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, and resisted wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. The guy poured another half-glass and set it on the table next to the couch, then set the bottle next to the glass.
"I'm not going to make you do anything," the guy told him. "Just relax."
That anger he'd felt, talking with Quinn, it was still there, simmering. He resisted snapping at the guy. "Seriously, I didn't drive all the way here from Ohio to relax."
"Whatever you're thinking you are here for, it's not going to get any easier if you force it." The guy took a hanger from the hook on the back of the door and hung up his jacket, unbuttoning his cuffs. He came over to the couch and sat down. "You don't have to drink. I just thought it would help."
Puck slowly took a seat on the other side of the couch. He realized he was gripping his own hands hard enough to make them hurt, and he forced himself to let go. With a frustrated sigh, he reached for the glass and downed it, feeling the burn. The guy didn't object when he refilled his glass, and poured himself another.
They sat like that for a long while, holding their glasses, adding more when they got low. They sipped in silence until Puck started to feel the effects of the whiskey. When he leaned back on the couch, resting his head on the wall, the guy put a hand on his leg, and Puck didn't object.
"You want to tell me about this thing you had?"
Puck took another swallow before he answered, and let his knee relax against the guy's.
"It was one stupid night," he began. "Last Christmas. Finn... my friend." He glanced at the guy, who nodded. "His stepdad went to New York, and his mom took a bunch of extra shifts at the hospital." He couldn't help grin. "Finn made egg nog. Only he put in way too much fucking rum, and he was so excited about making it that I didn't want to make him feel bad, you know? So there was... a lot of rum."
"Yeah," the guy said. He was grinning too. "That sounds familiar."
"Yeah, so... by the time we made it to the third glass, it tasted pretty great. And then, um." He closed his eyes, letting out his breath in a short, rueful huff, nothing like a laugh. "I guess there was kissing."
"Mmmm. I bet that tasted pretty great too."
"Yeah. And there might have been some, you know, grinding. On the couch."
"I'm guessing he didn't stop you."
"No," he admitted. "It seemed like... well, he was into it. We both passed out before things could go very far, but in the morning, I remembered everything. All of it. I wasn't sure if he did."
"Did you talk to him about it?"
"Kind of. A couple months later, we went to a party at a frat house on campus. Their sound system had busted, and we offered to play. It was awesome." Puck hesitated, then added, "They said we could jump over the pledging and the hazing and join the frat, even though were were, um, 'obviously gay.'"
He watched the guy's lips tighten, but he nodded. "Nice."
"Well, that's the thing. We're not. Both of us, we've had lots of girls. Lots."
"Except for each other."
"I didn't know," Puck protested. "I didn't know what he thought. So I brought it up, when we got back to our room. Like, real casual, wondering what was up with that, thinking we were gay?"
The guy angled toward him, watching him curiously. "What did he say?"
The moment was etched into his memory. For the millionth time, he took it out and looked at it from all angles, the way Finn had snickered, then tilted his head, considering Puck. Puck had always been able to read Finn like an open book, but right then, Puck really couldn't figure out why Finn was looking at him like he was the prompt for the essay portion of the SAT.
Puck licked his lips. "He said, 'No way. They can think whatever they want. I know I'm not gay.'"
The guy sighed, nodding slowly. "Was it a relief to hear that?"
"I don't know. Maybe a little. It was just, it wasn't much of an answer? I never found out what he thought about what we did. Like, did he remember, and not want to, or did he not remember, or... was it something else?"
"And you think it's too late to ask him now?"
"Yeah." Puck hated saying the words, every time, but he made himself do it anyway. "He died a couple weeks ago." He paused. "I mean - a couple months." Shit, had it really been that long?
"Oh, jeez," the guy breathed.
"That night, it wasn't like I was looking for it, but it happened. It happened, and it was - fuck, I don't know. I can't stop thinking about what it meant. What it could have meant."
The guy shook his head. "Meant, to you."
"Yeah," he whispered. Admitting it felt almost worse than denying it. "It did mean something."
Because if he could love Finn the way he did, and he could feel like that when he kissed him, then why hadn't they been doing that? Why had he been looking for that in a hundred different girls when he already had it, one bunk below his? And now he didn't have it, and he never would. Puck wiped his eyes in frustration.
"You look like you could use a hug," the guy said solemnly.
It wasn't the most subtle of come-ons, but Puck didn't care. He really could use a fucking hug. And once inside the guy's arms, Puck let him sigh against Puck's neck, and put his hands on Puck's head, his leg sliding against his.
"I'm not him," the guy whispered into his ear, the whiskey strong on his breath, "and I'm really sorry you lost that, what you had. But you can... pretend, if you want to."
Pretend. The memory of Finn on the couch was stronger, while he sat this close to a stubbled cheek, a baritone voice. Puck let his eyes close, and he could see Finn in his mind, his surprised expression, the way his breath had caught when Puck had wedged up against his thigh and kissed him with more urgency. He turned his head blindly, finding the guy's lips, and choked on a moan.
"Yeah. That's good." The guy was encouraging. His voice was soft enough that Puck couldn't really hear the differences between Finn's voice in his memory and the guy's, here. He wasn't really listening, anyway. They resonated in his memory, Finn's gasped responses, the gentle curses, and Puck's name, said just once.
It was almost good. The guy's shoulders were strong under Puck's grip, and he was confident in the way he moved against Puck, deepening the kiss. Puck bucked into the guy's hand as it brushed his thigh, then again as it slid up to rest against his zipper.
"Did he touch you?" the guy murmured. "Did you let him jerk you off?"
That made him want to cry again. Things I'll never have. He shook his head.
"Did you want to blow him?"
He would have given anything to hear Finn's voice make that desperate-amazed noise. He nodded, kissing the guy harder, and shuddered as he slid his hands under the guy's shirt.
"You can call me his name, if you want."
It hurt, but he was too far into the memory to stop now. "Fuck," he muttered.
"Come on. It's okay."
He didn't really need the encouragement to unbutton the guy's shirt and pull off his own. He'd been the one encouraging Finn, after all, on the couch in the Hudson-Hummel family room, just as he'd always encouraged the girls he'd been with. The sensation of hands on skin, the heat of two bodies... it hadn't really been any different with Finn, and it wasn't all that different now.
When the guy tried to help him with his zipper, he did it himself. There wasn't a lot of ambiguity about what they were going for here. He was pretty sure the guy wasn't going to push him away coyly and say no, like some girls would have done. Was that something different, with guys? His head swam with the whiskey as he stumbled out of his jeans and knelt on the floor, tugging on the guy's slacks.
"You know what you want?" the guy asked.
Puck was pretty sure he did. It felt selfish to ask for it, in a different way than it did with girls. Maybe it was because he knew it could go either way, that somebody would give and somebody would take and it wasn't obvious who'd do which. But the guy was asking. Would Finn have asked? Or would he just have let Puck have what he wanted? He ran his hands up the guy's legs, feeling the outline of his cock beneath his tailored pants.
"I want to top," he said.
The guy nodded, fingers brushing Puck's temples and through his hair. "Tell him. Tell him you're going to fuck him."
"God. I'm... I'm going to fuck you." He'd never said that to anybody before, and it was heady, to be asked for that, to be told that was something he could want.
The guy was on his feet, unzipping his slacks and stepping out of them, reaching for something in his desk. When he came back, he handed Puck the bottle of lube and a condom, then kissed him again. "Say his name. Say I'm going to fuck you, Flynn."
"Finn," he corrected, his voice harsh as it spoke Finn's name. He gave the guy's hip a push, and the guy lost his balance and fell backwards onto the couch. "I'm going to fuck you, Finn."
Saying those words out loud in a stranger's house in New York City felt so absurdly, profoundly wrong that Puck stumbled back a step, dropping the lube on the floor. He held onto the blue foiled condom for a couple more seconds, staring at it. I never use these, he thought, his lip curling, and I never would have. Not with him. We wouldn't have needed them.
"I can't do this," he said, breathing heavily, and took another step back. "Not with you. This isn't right."
The guy was sitting back on the couch, looking up at him with wide eyes. Puck could almost have sworn he was smiling a little. He nodded without a word.
Puck grabbed his jeans, jamming his legs into them, and quickly stepped into his shoes before heaving his guitar and bag down the stairs.
He could tell he was too drunk to drive, but he was equally sure that staying there, holding on to guilt and shame and missed opportunities, would be just as bad. Gunning the engine felt like a challenge to the universe, and he snarled a little, shoving the helmet over his head. Come on, you want to fuck with me? You're going to have to come and get me. Do your worst.
He thought of how he'd felt that morning, waking up beside Quinn. He'd barely been able to breathe with the weight on his chest, the pressure of everything he was missing coming alive from his dreams. He'd made a hell of a lot of mistakes in his short life, but taking Finn for granted had been the worst of them all. If he and Finn could rebound after the shit they went through with Quinn, they could have handled anything. Anything except this.
Puck wove through traffic, dodging cars that were moving too slowly, and made his way back to I-95 heading out of the city. He wasn't going toward Lima, he was going away from - everything. He couldn't get there quick enough.
The road was a blur in front of his eyes, but he was hardly watching it. Once he got out of the city, he sped up to 85, letting his bike go full throttle on the open highway. Nobody was there to tell him not to, just like nobody was left to tell him to live his life. Nobody was there to believe in him anymore.
When the animal darted out of the brush beside the interstate, loping directly into his path, he didn't even have a moment to be surprised. If he'd had time, he could have wondered what a dog was doing on the highway, or if wolves really lived in this part of New York state, but the impact of the road cut all of that short, and his time for wondering was over.
Only it wasn't, quite.
He blinked into the brightness, shielding his eyes, trying to make out the features of the figure in front of him. He recognized her before he realized he wasn't hurt, that his jacket and his skin and his skull were all intact, which they definitely shouldn't have been after a wreck like that.
"Coach?" he said doubtfully.
It was definitely her, garbed in spectacular brown leather chaps, jacket and boots. She was sitting on a Harley Softail, chewing gum and grinning down at him with affectionate reproach.
"Puckerman." She shook her head, setting her helmet beside her, and began to pull her gloves off, one finger at a time. "You've got to tell me, what in God's name were you thinking, pulling that stunt? Driving after five shots? There are quicker and more reliable ways to off yourself, if that's what you were going for."
"I wasn't," he protested. "I swear, I was just trying to get out of town. I couldn't stay there." Then he stopped, staring at her. "Wait a second, how do you know about that? What are you doing here?"
"You might as well ask what you're doing here, Noah." She was still grinning. "Never would have expected you to make it here at the end."
He looked around at the indistinct surroundings. "Where are we?"
She shrugged. "Beats me."
"So I'm... dead?"
"Yep."
"And you're dead too?"
"Oh, no, I'm totally fine. You're just imagining me." Her eyes twinkled at him as she popped her gum. "You needed somebody to help you get your head out of your ass, and I guess I was the most convenient image."
"This is really fucked up," he said. But, somehow, he could tell she was right. He didn't feel scared or anything. He was just listening.
"You're telling me," she agreed. "I'll tell you what, Noah, not too many people get a chance like this."
He took a step forward, trying to get closer, but the light blazed up, and he had to shield his eyes. "A - a chance like what?"
"Your friendship with Finn. That was a once in a lifetime experience. I know you know that." She jerked her chin at him, somehow encompassing the entire world beyond them with that one gesture. "You don't have to let this go."
"Let what go?" He shook his head. "You're gonna have to tell it to me straight, Coach; I've had a hell of a month, and I never did so well with subtle."
Coach Beiste leaned forward, her elbow on her knee. "Here's what I see, Puckerman. You've got regrets, some of them unfounded. Some of them have genuine merit."
"Who doesn't have regrets?"
She shrugged again. "Hell if I know. But why don't you tell me what some of your regrets are, so I can make sure we're on the right page."
He reached for the first thing he could think of. "I regret that my dad was such an asshole and I'll never be any better than he is."
"Nope," she sighed. "Can't regret something that ain't your fault. And you're already better than he is."
"I can't regret Beth," Puck said softly. "I might regret what I did, to Quinn, to Finn, but we got past it, so it's not really a regret anymore. And even if we hadn't - I don't know if I could trade Beth off like that."
Beiste nodded. "Sure as shit, that little precious thing will never be regret, and she never would have been a real issue between you and Finn."
"Of course I regret Finn's death!" He glared at her. "It shouldn't have happened, not on my watch."
"You're on the right track," she said. "But Finn's death isn't on you. He made his own choices and I'm sorry if that hurts."
"But my regret has to do with Finn," Puck clarified.
Coach Bieste just nodded.
"Because I took him, his friendship, for granted?"
"You didn't, not really," she said, shaking her head. "You let your fear take over."
"Oh." Puck felt the shock of understanding like an impact to his chest. "I didn't really tell him how I feel; I didn't push him to give us a chance."
"Like I said, kiddo, your relationship was a once in a lifetime experience. Do you know how many people spend their whole lives looking for that and never, ever find it?"
There was nothing to sit on, but he wasn't sure he could stay standing, not with the weight of this judgment on his shoulders. He dropped to his knees.
"So..." He looked at her helplessly. "What do I do now?"
"You decide if this relationship is worth doing it over. Not the whole thing; you'd end up a different person if you started over from the beginning. But starting back where you could make a real difference for him. For the two of you, together."
Puck swallowed hard. "Even if I could do that... who's to say I wouldn't fuck things up just as much, the second time around?"
"Not a god damn thing."
"And what if I say no?"
She considered him. "Then you're done. Which is your right. You get to decide when you're done, and nobody would fault you for that."
"You mean... I could quit now, just because I'm scared to try again and fail?" He snorted. "Fuck that. I'd fault me for that."
Her smile was like a benediction. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Noah."
He nodded slowly, rising up, feeling his strength return under the support of her belief in him. As he watched, the light blazed brighter, but somehow his eyes could handle it now. He could see her nodding at him as she faded into the corona of the sun.
Puck blinked. The sky had resolved into a goal post against a cloudless sky. He could hear the distant sounds of the Coach, barking orders as she gestured for the team to take another lap.
"That was more pitiful than a hog in a swimming pool!" she cried.
"You going around again?"
Puck turned quickly to see - Finn, standing on the edge of the track, grinning at him.
"What?" Puck said.
"You doing another lap?" Finn asked. "She sounds like she's serious. Unless you want to get in trouble."
Puck forced himself to take one step, and then another. His mohawk felt bristly under his hand when he ran it over his head. He spotted Quinn, lurking under the bleachers, her hair pink. Senior year. He wasn't going to freak out.
"No, I..." Puck smiled back, and accelerated into a run. "I think I'm going to take her advice. I'm going around again."
watch?v=a5uXsFrmnOE&feature=kp
I set all my regrets on fire
Cause I know I'll never take the time
To unpack my missteps and call all of our friends
I figured they would take your side
I make the bed, just not that well
Your name comes up a lot
When I talk to my mom
Oh, I think she can tell
I was out on the town
So I came to your window last night
I tried not to throw stones
But I wanted to come inside
Now I'm causing a scene
Thinking you need a reason to smile
Oh no, what have I done?
There's no one to keep me warm
So maybe I should put up a fight
I'll call them back and borrow a box knife
So I can learn to live with all the stupid shit
I've been doing since '99
And I know I could be more clever
And I know I could be more strong
But I'm waiting for the day
You'll come back and say
"Hey, maybe I should change my mind"
I drink a lot
I'm not sure if that's new
But these days when I wake up
From a night I forgot
I just wish that it never came true
I knew there'd come a day
When all was said and done
(And I know I could be more clever)
Everything I was
Is everything but gone
(And I know I could be more strong)
All my big mistakes
Are bouncing off your wall
(And I know I could be more clever)
The bottles never break
The sun will never come
(And I know I could be more clever)
So come on let me in
I will be the sun
(And I know I could be more clever)
I will wake you up
I am who I was
(And I know I could be more strong)
So beat up your heart, oh beat up your heart, oh beat up your heart
(And I know I could be more clever
And I know I could be more)
- Fun., "Out on the Town"