Hi, I'm heartorbrain. I've just recently gotten into Glee and this just really wouldn't leave me alone. It's based off of the son "Who Knew" by P!nk. I absolutely adore this song and when I heard it on the radio again the other day, this idea just hit me like a ton of bricks.
I am currently in love with Mark Salling, and I think Finn and Puck are meant to be together, but on the side I defiantely don't mind Kurt and Puck. But this story is better suited for the FUCK or Finnerman pairing ;) sexy.
It might be confusing at first. The fic takes place over the course of about 4 years, so the time jumps around and until then end you won't really understand everything. But that's what makes reading fiction fun right? However, I will say in this story...
Puck never knocked Quinn up, it was Sam. Puck had been a transfer from another state (I won't elaborate where, because that will run everything.) Finn and Puck didn't become friends until junior year, and Sam had been Finn's friend forever. Rachel still had her school girl obsess me deal about Finn, but now she's with Matt. (Weird, sure but I didn't really see her with Mike *shrugs*). Finn is in a band with Matt, Artie, Mike, Rachel, Puck, and Sam. They are very successful, Puck writes all the songs (to Finn but Finn doesn't know that *shhh*), and Finn and Quinn have an on again off again affair that pretty much stretches the whole fic.
Phew! Okay, that's all you get. LOL. I really hope you like this, I'm kinda proud of it myself.
Warnings: Well it's rated M, so I'll let you guess why *eye brow*. My major one is that for the purpose of this fic, we are going to pretend Puck has written songs that actually belong to music people. If that made sense. IDk. Anyway, for each song "borrowed," in the chapter I will be sure to credit the people who actually own it. Since no one is singing here at first no need to disclaim it. Also, this is a sad fic. Prepare to be sad, happy, turned on, sad, etc. etc.
However, just so everyone is clear...I don't own glee. Because if I did, I would lock mark salling in my bedroom and never let him out.
Now without further adue...
Who Knew?
Chapter 1
Present
It's as if he's in a dream. White noised chatter and film crews, sirens, flashing lights, crying women hugging children, nosy pedestrians pointing him out gawking at the travesty, police barricading the scene, smoke rafting up into the sky around a seemingly destroyed car – but he just stands oblivious. Covered in a sticky, crimson liquid literally from head to toe. Staring after an ambulance as it drivse off into the smog – adding to the blaring of the sirens. He can't believe what just transpired in the last twenty-four hours…
*Passionate night, hearing "I love you," for the first time from the one he's wished would say it for so long, pushing past the border of anything they've ever had before, falling asleep with his love laying on his chest.*
"It's just a dream. It will all be over soon." His mind says soothingly to him.
He looks down at his blood covered hands as another EMT comes over, gingerly touching his shoulder trying to get his attention. He shakes his head, droplets of red falling onto the pavement beneath his feet from the motion; he doesn't want to get cleaned up, because this is the last piece of him he may ever have. But the EMT doesn't seem to understand his reasoning, because he's pushing him along and all he can do is unsteadily go with him.
But as soon as he sits on the back of the truck to be examined, and the police come over to ask their questions, all he can see in front of his wide, unblinking eyes replaying over and over again is…
*Morning, waking up alone to the sound of a door closing, worry, fear, jumping out of bed, seeing an envelope and what briefly appears to be sheet music on his coffee table, running out the door, seeing a shocking mohawk slowly turn at the sound of his name, a sad smile, and then…*
"It's only a dream…." He says over and over again slightly rocking from a strong feeling of vertigo. The police investigator decides he needs to be hospitalized until he comes out his shock before they can talk to him. He shakes his head in defiance to words aware of them speaking about him as if he weren't even there. He tries to steady himself. To stand. To run. To do something.
But he can't.
Just the same as he couldn't stop the drunk driver from taking his future away from him right before his eyes. Just as he can't stop the noise ringing in his ears from all of chaos around him. Just as he can't stop the tears streaming down his face, or the paramedics grabbing his arm to make him sit back down, or the fact that he can't help but wish for a panic button to push and reverse time right before his eyes again.
He messed up, on the vicious cycle called life; he lost it all because of his selfishness.
'You were never supposed to be happy, Finn. You were only supposed to survive.' The voice says in his mind.
He looks once again at the carnage, before looking back at his apartment. The world is getting dark, because he's so tired. The EMT from before yells for a gurney, his eyes continue to slip closed, as he whispers…
"…only a dream. It's only a dream."
~FP~FP~FP~
1 year later
He's spaced out like he always is, on his private jet - thinking about their last trip New York. It had been unnaturally warm that day, and the absolute only thing he had wanted to do was visit the Statue of Liberty. But they had never gone. Because he'd argued that it was too risky that fans might cause a riot and complained about the paparazzi and said scheduling wouldn't allow it anyway because they had interviews and photo shoots and so on and so forth. He had not said a word about it, just had gotten really quiet and nodded his understanding.
"Finn," a disembodied voice called.
The truth was he had just not wanted to climb all the stairs like he had been so excited about. He had been tired, their rehearsals had been grueling, and all he had wanted to do was sit in his hotel and rest. Now his only wish is that he had swallowed his damn selfishness and climbed the fucking stairs.
"Finn," the voice tries again.
They were just stairs after all. Why did he have to be such a prick about it? Why didn't he just go along with it? Why didn't he just say fuck off to everything else? That's what he would have done, once upon a time. But for some reason unknown, he had stopped in their last two months together. He never argued with him at all, in fact, he had agreed with everything that was decided without comment. And at the time he never once thought about it, or at least not to any great length, or even hinted a query about the depressive mood. He just reveled in the peace that had seemed to settle between the two of them.
"Finn!" this time the voice was punctuated by a shaking of the shoulder. Finn startled and looked up to see his band mate looking at him with worried blue eyes. Sam Evans. Enemy, turned best friend and back up vocalist/guitarist. "Dude, are you okay?" Sam asks in a very worried tone of voice.
"Yeah," Finn chokes out, blinking, having not realized he was on the verge of tears. He sits up straighter in his chair, and quickly takes inventory of the plane. Matt is passed out across two chairs, head in Rachel's lap who in turn is snoring up a storm big enough to cover the fucking Atlantic Ocean. Ryan, with his long black hair and dark skin, seems tuned out to all that was going on around him, totally focused on his movie and the bottle jack in his hand. And after a quick glance at the TV, Finn's glad Ryan – at least – has the decency to put headphones on. Artie is in the back corner playing a game of Scrabble with Mike and asking the attendant for more refreshments; who nods politely and turns to roll her eyes without caution as to who was watching her, at Ryan.
He has to give her her due for having the balls to do it. And Sam, as usual, was Finn's psychological nurse aid. If that even made sense.
"I'm fine." He finishes with a weak smile, while clearing his throat. "Perfectly peachy."
Sam huffs and sits across from him, not at all impressed. "Perfectly peachy, dude?" He looks at Finn through his eyelashes with disbelief. "That's way gay, even for you."
"Really," Finn continues choosing to ignore his slight, "I'm okay. Just…" he trails off with a slight shake of his hand before letting it drop, useless.
"Depressed. Introspective. Lonely. Scared half to death about the possibility of having to accept an award without…without him" Sam stops awkwardly, not meaning to have said that much, for fear of upsetting his friend.
Finn doesn't flinch; it's taken him an entire year for that to happen. He just goes back to staring out the window with his arms on his knees, watching as the New York City lights slowly come into view. After a prolonged silence, just letting the feeling of the plane's decent and the sounds of his friends readjusting themselves drench him, Finn softly says, "Yeah." Then looks at Sam, not bothering to hide the tears in his eyes. "Yeah, definitely that last one."
Sam nods as he buckles his seat belt, per the captain's request. "I'm not so fond of the idea myself, man." He rubs his hands together nervously, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting. "Puck, he…"
Finn fixes him with an intense glare. "Don't say that name." he growls. Sam's head shoots up, but shuts his mouth with a snap at Finn's sudden aggressiveness. Finn sees this and softens, sorry for scaring his friend.
Softer he continues, "His name wasn't Puck." He looks out the window again. "It wasn't even really Noah. To me his name was…" He bites his lip in order to keep his emotions in check. "Love." He whispers finally. "To me, his name was Love. And if I didn't call him that, I'd use Noah. Never Puck. I used Noah around the stage hands and interview people and whatnot."
Sam nods eyes getting distant as he begins walking down memory lane with Finn. "But it started out as a joke at rehearsals, you know, just to try and get a rise out of him…but then one day it just changed, I guess." He pauses as he lets the memories swell. "If I didn't say 'Love, how about writing it like this,' or 'Love, stop being such a dick,' he would get this-this attitude." Finn chuckles with pain evident in his voice and a tear threatening to fall.
He sniffs and faces Sam again, knowing full well the almost twenty-nine year old knew all of this already. "I called him Puck once, you know, when we were getting our coffees one day." He sniffs and rubs his nose, sounding choked. "God, I had never seen him become so unstitched before over something so stupid. And it wasn't like he would just come out and tell me what was bothering him, or why he wouldn't look at me for the rest of the day or answer my texts in full sentences and not just letters. I had to figure it out through Rachel." Finn looks at Sam. "Rachel! I mean, Rachel was his best friend, sure; but Noah, he was-was…mine." He finishes lamely, eyes pinching together in typical Finn style.
"I remember that argument." Sam says wistfully, "You bought him a grand piano in apology for," he does air quotes, "'disregarding his feelings', and he punched you." Sam chuckles.
Finn shakes his head with a laugh as well. "He threatened castrate me for treating him like a girl."
"Well, Finn, come on, man. Did you really have to, like spell the whole thing out in front everyone and start singing to him like a pansy? I mean…duuude." Sam begins laughing.
Finn waves him off. "Point is he could read me like a book. He wrote songs like no one else, that could perfectly convey what I was feeling…but I couldn't even pick up on the fact that he actually liked me calling him Love. And, you know what? He even told me once, about six months before…" He stops, Sam nods his understanding, "and I laughed at him. I fucking laughed at him. Not with him, at him. I told him that it was ridiculously stupid." Finn stares at his hands, sniffling and amends in a dead tone, "No to me it was stupid, to Noah…it was like-like I had given him something incredibly special."
"He used to call you, Baby, every now and again." Sam interjected with a firm nod.
Finn agreed with a sniff and looked back out the window. "I was so blind, you know? I thought that he was just being his normal hormonal, bipolar self…but he was telling me something, and I just was too oblivious to see it." Tears did begin to fall, and Finn was too drained to care. "Why did I have to be so oblivious, Sam?"
There was no response, and as the plane was landing, Finn was honestly glad. He didn't think his heart could handle any more truth to feel guilty about.
Thank you for reading my first chapter. Please review.
