I know I should be working on starting Look and After and Let Me Tell You a Story, but as Mia was driving, I had nothing to do but type, and this is how this monster came to be. Also, this takes place in the L-verse, so you're going to want to read Little Earthquakes, Love211, and Lucky Blurt before you read this.
If you don't want to read them, here are the developments in each of the stories: Kurt discovered that Blaine was sexually abused in a major way, Blaine's parents gave him up and an OC named Pearl adopted him. Pearl is a member of the BAU with Emily Prentiss, who adopted Lauren after her parents were killed. Lauren and Puck are together, as are Kurt and Blaine.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Glee" or the song, "Enterlude" by The Killers.
"We hope you enjoy your stay.
It's good to have you with us,
Even if it's just for the day."
Chapter I: Enterlude
Puck didn't look like the kind of person to feel bad about anything. He really didn't, which was why most people didn't pay him attention unless it was to fire back at an insult. He didn't look like the kind of person to hurt himself rather than someone nearby, which why people consciously started to walk in another direction the moment they saw him. And Puck didn't look like the kind of person you wanted to hug and comfort, which was why no one consciously approached him with outstretched arms.
What Puck did look like was a dangerous criminal whom you wanted to be armed against. Which was why, when he finally made enough noise to draw Blaine's mother, Pearl, downstairs, Puck was surprised to see that she didn't carry a weapon.
"Why are you here?" she asked in a whisper, just as surprised to see him creeping through the kitchen window. "And carrying a bubble gun?" she ran her nail the side of the toy and her finger to reveal a stripe of neon green underneath black spray paint.
"Um, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by," he lied.
"Through the smallest window in the house? You know, the backyard is a lot easier, if you can scale a six-foot wooden fence."
"I'm six-feet, four-inches," Puck was glad Pearl had whispered; it gave him the advantage to hide the shakiness in his voice.
"Then why on Earth didn't you sneak the back? You know sliding glass doors make a lot less noise than that, right?" Pearl walked over and shut the squeaking window for emphasis. She winced at the sound. "I wish I knew how fix that hinge. Blaine's arms are too short, I always do it wrong, and there's no way I'm going to let him on this small little windowsill," she sighed, looking so devastated that Puck moved forward to hug her. She actually took a step forward and hugged him back.
Well, that was unexpected. He faintly wondered what Lauren would say, but then he realized that, for once, someone was giving him affectionate physical contact without expecting anything erotic out of it. This was different, but strangely welcome.
"Are you sick or something?" he asked. Maybe she was still a little bit traumatized by everything Lauren had done. She might be having a psychotic break.
"No," she said truthfully. Her mouth said "I don't think so, but could you keep your voice down? Blaine has a test in History tomorrow, and I want him to get a good night's sleep before he has to take it." Her face said "If you're too loud, I will kill you with your fake gun."
Puck put his bubble gun on the windowsill and raised his hands in surrender. When Pearl's eyes fell on the gun, they turned sad. "Why did you come here with a fake gun to commit a robbery?"
"I was hoping you'd shoot me. Then my mom wouldn't have to clean up the mess," he said truthfully.
Pearl was silent for such a long time, Puck was genuinely worried she had stopped breathing. Then she looked up at him. "Puck, you didn't think this out very well."
Here we go, a list of all the reasons my life is "wonderful."
"My license was suspended after Kurt used my gun to shoot Ray Seetub Zizes. I have to wait six months before I can test again."
Okay, he wasn't expecting that either. "You don't have other guns or anything? Your son's gay; there are going to be people after him."
A corner of Pearl's lip turned up. "I don't need a weapon to defend my son," she said. Her voice was a little strange, but Puck nodded. If someone threatened Beth, he would beat them down into the dirt like nobody's business. But Pearl was much smaller than he was. Then again, she had had her organs cut out and survived. She was probably stronger than she looked.
She also had really, really freaky round eyes, almost perfect circles, and Puck felt like they could not only see directly into his soul, but burn it if she so wanted. "Puck, you can't go the suicide by cop route."
"Why?" Puck didn't realize how pained his voice sounded until he saw Pearl flinch. He felt awful, so he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground, feet already anticipating Pearl's demand to get out of her house and to never darken her doorstep again. He'd obey both; there must be a bridge somewhere.
Pearl sighed and put one hand on his shoulder, which was higher than the top of her head. "Come on, let's go to the backyard. I really don't want to wake Blaine."
"Um, you're only wearing a nightgown," and not a very substantial one. The flowing white gown was edged with lace, and the thickest it could've been was…however thick flower embroidery was. Puck had no idea. Kurt was the clothes-hound, not him.
"Oh," Pearl looked down like she really had forgotten and reached into what looked like a little broom closet to pull out a pair of fluffy pink slippers and a rose-pink kimono robe dotted with little white posies. She turned when she heard Puck snort at her girlish clothing choices. "I grew up with a schizophrenic mother who didn't…really see me. I told myself that one day, I would be able to wear the kinds of clothes I wanted. And so I do," she sounded proud of herself, and Puck supposed she should be. She had pulled herself out of the gutter, just like Puck so desperately wanted to.
"You can do it too," she said seriously, taking a step closer. Puck froze. Why was someone voluntarily being in his company? Lauren liked sex, and sex he understood. But now Lauren had love, she had a mother, and Puck was trying to please his. He couldn't, which was why he was here in the first place, being led outside by a woman a quarter his size but somehow so, so much stronger.
"I'm not any better or stronger than you," she said. Puck felt a chill go down his spine. Was she reading his mind or something? No, she was too stupid to be psychic.
"You live in this kind of house. You gave me a car," Puck said slowly, as if speaking to a slow child. "There's no way I could ever get to this point?"
"Why not?" there was no accusation in her voice, just simple curiosity and maybe something that could be genuine compassion. Puck thought he might know what that sounded like.
"Because I'm not good, like you," Puck said, frustrated. "You're famous for doing the right thing all the time."
Pearl giggled. She wasn't laughing at him, but she actually found him amusing. "Puck, I'm good at being in the right place at the right time with the right people. And sometimes I make the right decision. But I have so many more advantages that can tell me what the right place, the right time, the right people, and the right decision is. You? You do the same thing with considerably less than I do. And you're going to go further, because my luck can't hold forever, but your work ethic doesn't depend on luck."
"No, it just depends on sex-deprived old women," Puck said, so much self-hatred dripping out of his mouth he was surprised Pearl wasn't running for a raincoat.
She just shook her head. "Puck, I know things are hard right now, but there are resources out there if you'd just take the time to look."
"Who's going to take care of my little sister and my mother while I take my time, huh?" Puck glared.
Pearl shrugged. "I don't know, but you and Sarah are both more than welcome to stay here if you'd like. I know Blaine gets lonely here sometimes." Her words may or may not have brought a lump to Puck's throat. He had never felt this measure of acceptance before, and it made him feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
"Are you sure?" Puck asked suspiciously. He didn't think Pearl was the kind to do favors for someone else in exchange for sex, but he felt obligated to offer anyway. "I'll blow your mind, I swear."
Pearl laughed, got up and went back inside, putting her robe over Puck when she noticed him shivering.
Puck sat there for a long time, until Pearl came back out with a completely green bubble gun in her hand. She gave it to him and he took it. "Thanks, Miss Rush," he said, wondering if he had told her that neon green was his favorite color.
"Sure. Anyone I should call to tell them where you are?" she asked.
Puck shook his head. "They're all used to me not being there, so I figured if I weren't there for a long time, no one would care."
Pearl shook her head. "You can stay in my room tonight. I'm too tired to go upstairs right now. I can drive both you and Blaine to school tomorrow, but if you disturb Blaine before his test, you're walking," she said warningly.
Puck nodded and let her leave. She wasn't very happy with him, but then again, who was? He didn't realize she had followed him upstairs until he felt about a half-ton of something soft hit him like a pile of bricks.
"I want my robe back," she said simply. He gave it to her and realized that she had tossed him sheets that weren't pink and covered in hearts. He looked about the room. It was a six-year-old girl's fantasy.
"I don't have time to clean it up right now, so the only part of your dignity I can save is going to have to be saved through those blankets," she gestured to the beige blankets he held. Puck lied down on the bed and drew the covers up to his shoulders. To his surprise, Pearl sat down next to him and pulled the covers up higher.
"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.
"I'm tucking you in," she said, sounding sad. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby or read you a story?" she asked without a trace of sarcasm.
"No," Puck said truthfully. If she did any of that, he'd cry so hard, he'd never fall asleep, and neither would Blaine.
"Okay," she said. She kissed his forehead and turned out the lights before making her way to the door.
"Wait!" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Yes Puck?" she turned around expectantly, and try as he might, Puck couldn't find any impatience in her face.
"Um, can I open the curtains?" Puck wasn't afraid of the dark. He really wasn't; he just liked having at least a little light on.
"Sure," Pearl shrugged and let moonlight soak the room. Puck sank back into the bed, relaxed, and soon fell asleep.
His last thought was, hey, hadn't Pearl said she was too tired to climb up the stairs to her bedroom? But he was too relaxed to really think about it, and when he woke up the next morning, new thoughts replaced it. Like, Gee, I should at least make breakfast to make up for last night.
When he got downstairs, he noticed Pearl already up and cooking in the kitchen. "It smells good," he lied. It smelled burnt.
Pearl turned around and he saw the toast in her pan. Well, that explained the burning-food smell.
"Mother!" Blaine sounded exasperated and proud at the same time. "You're not allowed in the kitchen, remember?"
"Am I not allowed to make breakfast every now and again?" Pearl asked sullenly as Blaine scraped the toast off the pan. "Um, I don't know how to get the ones in the toaster out," she added sheepishly.
Blaine turned and saw Puck. He didn't seem surprised. "There's a reason her nickname is Kettleburn," he muttered.
"I don't get it," Puck said. He really didn't.
Blaine's mouth fell open. "Well, then," he said with frightening determination, "I am going to make us all toast, and then you are going to read Prisoner of Azkaban."
Puck threw Pearl a pleading look, which she studiously ignored.
I honestly don't know what I'm doing with this. Clearly, Puck's suicidal issues have to be addressed. I wrote this the day after going to my friend's funeral after he killed himself, and I'm just completely exhausted.
On the other hand, when we were supposed to blow out our candles and have a moment of silence, I blew too hard and got hot wax all over my face and hands, and I screamed.
During a moment of silence.
Everyone turned to look and a couple of people helped me, laughing. The other people laughed or shot me dirty looks. On the bright side, my hands smell like "Sinful Cinnamon," or whatever the candle smell was. It's a nice smell.
Wherever he is now, I think my friend's laughing his head off.
