Hey, everyone! Again with the angst, but what else do you guys really expect from me? As always, please review!
Warnings: Sucidal themes.
Disclaimer: Glee doesn't belong to me. I'm just borrowing the characters for my evil ways.
How To Save A Life
One-shot
It was supposed to be their first Thanksgiving as a family. His mom and Kurt (mostly Kurt) had spent all morning working on the dinner. The table was set to perfection, food placed out like it was out of one of his mom's Good Housekeeping magazines, and the turkey...Finn was half tempted to poke it and see if it was real.
Kurt had made sure they'd all dressed to the nines for it. Burt was in a suit, a simple black with a white button-up and a gray tie. The tie kept getting loosened (Burt insisted with a smile that it did it on its own), but Kurt fixed it every time. Carole was in a dark red dress that fell to her ankles, flowy sleeves pulled up to her elbows as she helped prepare dinner. Kurt was dressed in some suit that was probably worth more than three paychecks at the garage, all navy and pinstriped, bowtie perfect.
Finn had bit his tongue and let Kurt lay out a suit for him that he knew he didn't own a week ago. It was similar to Burt's except for the blue and silver stripped tie. He guessed he was lucky. It was only Men's Warehouse. At least Kurt didn't go to one of his designer places.
They all moved easily now, both he and Kurt in their senior years. They never did end up moving, but Burt had gotten that other room built for him, so things were working fine. Dinner was great and conversation was flowing easily.
Right up until his phone started ringing.
His mom and Burt both gave him a look that ranged from disapproving to amused while Kurt gave him a glare that promptly ended when Finn sent a pointed look at Kurt's iPhone that was set next to his plate.
"Finn?"
He shrugged. "It's Puck, Mom. I don't know," he said, pushing his plate away as he accepted the call. "Puck?"
"Finn?"
Something in Finn froze at that, that tiny sob-muffled voice. He'd only heard that voice twice before. The first time, back when Puck's dad walked out and left Puck with a broken arm and collar bone. The second, on Beth's birthday. Puck had shown up at two in the morning, an empty bottle of Captain's in his hand and a broken whisper of I miss her.
He pushed away from the table, frowning. "Puck? What's wrong?"
"She was right, ya know? Quinn. Called me a Lima Loser back when she firs' got pregn'nt. She was right. No better than my dad."
"Are you drinking? What the hell are you talking about?" he asked. His mom asked him in a whisper what was wrong. All he could do was shrug.
"Came back."
"Your dad?"
"Mmhmm. Came back. Gone again. Don' think he's comin' back this time, Finn. Not what he wanted. Never what he wanted. Not him, my ma, Quinn..." He sniffled, half of it swallowed by another sob and the slish-slosh and gulp of what Finn guessed was alcohol. "S'orange. Never got why they put them in orange bottles."
"Orange bottles? Puck, what the hell-"
"'Sciptions."
Finn froze. "Prescriptions? Puck, did you say prescriptions?" Please say no. Please say no. Please say-
"Never liked orange."
Oh, God...
He stood, chair slamming into the wall with a crack. His mom reached to the hutch behind her, grabbing the first pair of keys she felt, and handed them to him.
"Go," she whispered.
Finn was out the door in a second, dress shoes sliding against the ice from the storm that had swept through Lima a couple days before. He didn't stop to grab a jacket. His heart was hammering hard enough to keep him warm. And maybe a little dizzy.
He'd think about if driving was a good idea later.
"Puck, where are you? Talk to me, man. Come on!"
"Home."
"Where are your mom and Sarah? Are they there?" he asked, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he sped out of the driveway.
"Gone. All gone. Ma's gone. Dad took Sarah with him. Took the only one of us worth a damn."
He caught a patch of ice as he turned onto Oak too fast, biting his lip as he maneuvered the car out of a fishtail.
"Says to take one. Ma's got thirteen."
He flew through a red light, eyes darting to the rearview for a second to make sure a cop wasn't behind him. Nothing. "Did you take any?"
"Not yet."
"No! You're not taking any. Not one. Not two. Not thirteen. Okay, Puck? Promise me, man. Please," he begged, vision blurring and breath coming fast as he cut the wheel and peeled into Puck's driveway. He'd worry about the mailbox he'd hit later. "I'm here. I'm here." He snatched the hide-a-key from under the frozen mat, leaving the door half open as he dashed upstairs and to Puck's room.
"Didn' ask you to come," Puck murmured into the phone as Finn threw open the door. Bloodshot eyes stayed glued to the pills he'd spilled out on the floor in front of him.
"Didn't need to," Finn said, taking the phone from Puck's hand and laying it down beside them. "Hey, man. Look at me, okay? How much did you drink?"
Puck shrugged sluggishly, blinking slowly as Finn held his face in one hand. The other counted out the pills (Mrs. P's motherfucking Valium) and Finn sighed in relief when all thirteen were counted. "Bottle's all gone," he mourned. "Wanna sleep."
"I'll put you in bed then. Come on. I-"
"Nuh-uh." Puck shook his head. "Need the pills."
"No, you don't."
"Mmhmm. Don't wanna wake up."
Finn was pretty sure his heart broke right there. It did it all over again when Puck blinked up at him, unfocused and...
Dead.
A tear fell down his face, but he didn't bother to wipe it away as he pressed his forehead to Puck's.
"Beth's better off," Puck mumbled. "Woulda been a shit dad anyway."
"No," Finn whispered. "She would have been lucky. You would have been a great dad to her."
"Tossed her away. Walked away. Just like my dad."
"You're nothing like him!" Finn snapped, teary eyes ablaze. "And you didn't toss her away!"
"She's not here. Wish she was. Wish every fuckin' day. Just wanted a chance." Puck sagged now, curled lightly against Finn's chest. Finn held his best friend like he hadn't since the concussion in football freshman year. That time, Puck had been so out of it, he'd barely even been conscious as Finn cradled him, Coach Tanaka on the phone with 911 and the team all fallen to a knee.
Puck was asleep (or maybe passed out would be more accurate) minutes later. Finn lifted him onto the bed with a practiced ease, one hand lingering on a flushed and damp cheek before he gathered up the pills and remaining alcohol. Everything was flushed away, toilet still making silent noises in the background as he vomited into the sink.
His mom and Burt had wanted them to leave their phones in their rooms. If they had...
It took an effort to get Puck into the car. He carried him downstairs and to the couch before rushing out to his car to open the passenger side door. From that, it was putting his deadweight of a best friend inside, buckling him up, and locking up the house before he could start to drive back.
Puck's wrist stayed in his grip the entire ride with his index and middle fingers pressed securely to Puck's pulse point.
His mom was already at the door when he got back, face worried and one hand clutching at the heart necklace him and Puck had bought her for her birthday when they were kids. They'd had to pool two months of allowances to afford it.
Kurt lingered in the hallway with Burt as Finn carried Puck inside.
"Is he okay?" Kurt asked softly.
Finn shook his head.
His bedroom door stayed open that night, but he paid it no heed as he stripped Puck down, redressed him in a pair of pajamas, and got in beside him. He pulled Puck's back flush against his chest, spooning him and face buried in Puck's neck. He didn't think about the implications of the position for a second. This was his best friend.
His best friend that was going to kill himself tonight.
Looking gay be damned.
He wasn't letting Puck go.
The End
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