They corner him in the parking lot. Everyone else has gone home already. They pin him down and gag him, strip him of everything except his boxers, tie his legs together and his arms behind his back and they blindfold him before they chuck him in the dumpster and slam the lid closed. He can hear them laughing and jeering as they walk away, their voices fading.
Puck doesn't panic at first. They left his phone and his car keys. He thinks he can just wriggle a bit until he can get his hands free and then he'll be able to escape.
Except he can't get his hands free. He's rubbing his wrists raw and they feel slippery with what he assumes is blood, but he can't give up because he has to get free. It's Friday. No one's going to find him. No one's even going to know he's missing. He can't be trapped in here for the whole weekend.
Panic kicks in hard. He's choking and panting, hyperventilating. He thinks of Kurt Hummel, all the fucking times Puck was responsible for a dumpster dive. They never took it this far with Kurt. They never trapped Kurt and abandoned him.
Fuck. This isn't funny. This really... He can't breathe. He can't breathe and he's cold and it stinks in here and it's making his stomach roll ominously.
But he can't throw up, because they gagged him, and he could choke and holy fucking shit he really could die in here and no one would know. Oh god, oh god, oh god. This is not the way Noah Puckerman wants to go.
He sings songs in his head, tries to keep himself as calm as he can. He has no way of knowing how much time has passed, how long he's been in here and how much longer he has to stay. He doesn't know what's going to happen on Monday morning, but he really fucking hopes and prays that someone finds him, that he's still alive by then.
He tries to convince himself that he's being ridiculous. He can go without food fine. He feels nauseous enough in here with the smell so he doesn't want to think about food. Hopefully it'll mean he doesn't have anything to throw up, and he can cross that Death by Vomit worry off his list. Maybe he'll be a little dehydrated by Monday morning, but it's not a big deal. He'll just drink a lot of water and he'll be absolutely fine. This is not a big deal.
He holds it until he thinks his bladder's going to burst. The smell of piss is nothing compared to the sense of shame.
He thinks he manages to sleep a little. It feels like he's in there forever. Time is passing ridiculously slowly. He's constantly on the verge of a panic attack. He hates how fucking vulnerable he feels, how trapped he is. The space is too small and he needs to get the fuck out now.
Eventually, he hears cars outside, other kids. He thrashes in the dumpster, kicks and slams at the metal sides as best as he can and tries to holler but his throat is dry and he's muffled by the gag anyway. He's flailing frantically when he hears the creak of the lid being lifted. He's pretty sure he's crying and he wants to be ashamed but he really doesn't have any energy to spare for that right now. He'll work on his dignity later.
"Puck?" A small voice says, sounding shocked and almost frightened. It's Kurt. "Hey!" He shouts, his voice fainter, farther away.
No no no no no no no! He can't leave! He can't just leave him here! Puck knows he's been an asshole to the kid, but please, please don't let him leave me here!
"Puck, I'm back. Finn's here. He's going to lift you out, okay? I knew I couldn't do it myself so I had to get help but I'm back now." Kurt sounds concerned.
Puck's shivering and his teeth are chattering, maybe from cold, and his chest's heaving. He feels hands on his shoulders and he flinches.
"Just me." Finn says. "I have to get you out of here. Just...hang on a minute, dude."
He's lifted out, gently, then carried and lowered somewhere soft. It's warm.
Finn keeps a hand on his shoulder. The touch feels like it's grounding him. His heart is still pounding hard. The fucking endless freak out still isn't over then. They take off the gag first and then the blindfold and he stares up at them with wild eyes. The world is ridiculously bright.
"You're in my car." Kurt tells him. "We're going to go to my house. We need to untie you and then we'll go. Do you understand?"
He nods slowly. His head feels heavy. He has pins and needles in his feet. Kurt's being careful with his wrists but they still hurt, a lot. Kurt keeps saying sorry. Puck thinks he might be crying too.
Kurt moves to the driver's seat and starts the car. Finn drapes his jacket around Puck and pretty much cuddles him the whole way there. Puck thinks he should mind but he doesn't. He wants to be able to catch his breath and stop shaking and have his heart stop pounding so fucking fast.
Finn carries Puck to the house, lays him down on the couch. He looks helpless.
Kurt brings him a bottle of water, cool from the fridge. He holds it for Puck to drink, tells him to go slow and he does. The tight feeling eases from his chest. When he's done drinking, Kurt reaches out to take his hands and he does it tentatively, telegraphing his intentions clearly, like Puck's a wild animal he's trying not to startle.
"Oh Puck." He says softly, sadly. His wrists are a raw, bloody mess. The blood is mostly dried. Kurt cleans them up almost tenderly. He frowns over at Finn, who blinks dumbly and then sits down the other side of Puck on the couch.
"Man, I'm so sorry Puck. I didn't know. I should've known." Finn's supposed to be angry with him still but he just sounds sad. His puppy dog eyes look big and watery. It's a slight improvement on the hurt betrayal he's been carrying around, the confused glaring Puck's quickly become used to.
Puck drinks more water and Kurt wraps him in blankets and makes peanut butter sandwiches. Kurt and Finn have to coax Puck into eating. They're really, really worried. Kurt sits too close to him, practically nestled into his side, but Puck doesn't complain, doesn't even seem to notice.
Finn squeezes Puck's shoulder, gives him a slight shake. "Talk to me. Please."
He has nothing to say. Most of it he can't explain. Most of it they can't understand. Kurt knows the smell and the way it makes you feel sick, and he knows the humiliation in some ways. But Puck is used to being big and powerful and intimidating, and they made him feel small.
"I'd offer you clothes except I don't think I have anything to fit you, and besides it's all a little too fabulous for your tastes. Although I don't suppose my dad would mind if I borrowed something of his..." Kurt's tone sounds too forced to be cheerful. "So would you like to shower?"
Puck nods, relieved. The silence had been getting tense, awkward.
Kurt smiles brightly at him in response. "Follow me." He leads the way to the bathroom, points out the fluffy guest towels, sets out a carefully folded shirt and a pair of jeans he doesn't think he's ever seen his dad wear, then tells Puck to use whatever products he wants and to take as long as he needs.
Except Finn ends up barging down the bathroom door. Apparently, Puck needs longer than they're comfortable with giving him and their worry spikes because they're picturing scenarios in their heads, none of which are good. And so Finn breaks down the door to find Puck scrubbing himself with a nailbrush. The water is practically scalding, the air thick with steam. Puck's made himself bleed in places. His skin looks red and sore.
"Puck, stop now. Stop it. Enough, okay?" Finn walks into the shower with him and knocks the nailbrush out of his hands before wrapping him in the fluffy guest towel and leading him out of the shower. He turns the water off then waits with his back turned while Puck puts on the borrowed clothes.
They go to Kurt's room. Puck gets guided to the bed. He sits down and then he gets resistant, because if he lies down he'll fall asleep and he really doesn't want to sleep right now. He thinks probably there'll be nightmares, but mostly he's felt too weak for too long and he can't bear to make himself vulnerable again by sleeping in front of people, even the people who are taking care of him.
Kurt starts singing what Puck strongly suspects is a lullaby.
"Don't." He begs, his voice hoarse and pitiful.
"Tell me." Kurt says, simply, like it's that easy.
He shakes his head quickly.
"We're not gonna leave you here, dude. Don't worry." Finn reassures him.
"It's not that, is it? Do you think you'll have bad dreams?"
Puck feels pathetic admitting it, like a fucking child, so he shuts his eyes when he nods, so he doesn't have to see the way they're looking at him, judging him. There's some shuffling and he hears the door open and close, then the bed shifts like someone's sat down with him.
"You're my best friend, man." Finn tells him, earnestly. It makes him want to cry.
"No." He whispers. "Not anymore."
"Oh." Finn says, surprised and kinda hurt. "Really? But... I forgive you, Puck. I don't want to be mad anymore. Can we be friends again? Please."
He opens his eyes to see Finn's faltering smile. He holds his arms out and Puck nods, leans into the hug. Finn holds on tightly when he tries to pull away, starts rubbing his back and rocking him. Puck's breath hitches on a sob he chokes down.
The door opens again and Kurt clears his throat, polite and nervous. "I called my dad."
Puck and Finn separate to stare at him, alarmed.
"No, no, I didn't actually tell him anything. I just said that Puck wasn't feeling well and I brought him here. He said you could stay, for as long as you want . And he called in sick for me." Then he hesitates. "I think maybe... I think we should call the police."
"No." Puck says, firmly. "And don't fucking tell anyone." Except he was carried out of the dumpster and into Kurt's car, on a Monday morning. There's bound to have been witnesses. It will be gossip. He can crush those rumours. He just needs to be big and intimidating enough. He feels fucking angry.
"But Puck, what they did to you... that goes beyond high school high jinks."
"It won't happen again." Puck snarls.
Finn holds his hand out in a calming gesture. "Dude..."
Kurt tilts his head, curious. "Why did it happen this time?"
"None of your fucking business!" Puck yells, leaping to his feet and bolting for the door.