New story! I'm obsessed with Kurt/ Puck and Kurt/ Sebastian, so I'll pretty much ship only those two. But please PM me or review with a pair you'd like me to write about! I'm all for switching it up!
Faster
Chapter 1: Save MeIf you ever hear, "Please, help me," coming from a dark alleyway, I'd advise you not to go in and look. There were a couple times when I had went in and gotten beaten up, or at least people tried to, but couldn't cause I'm just that much of a stud.
But there was one time, one tiny moment, when I heard the pitiful call, that I thought, "Not gonna happen." And yet, the voice was very familiar to me, so I decided to ignore the voices in my head, saying, "Idiot. Again? Will you ever learn?" And it turns out, they were very wrong. An innocent life was spared because of me.
Not to be a big bragging asshole. But it's true. Oh, and in case you're thinking, "oh, it's just some dumb story about how I became the town hero for saving a chick's life, we fell in love, blah, blah, friggin' blah, it wasn't like that. Not exactly anyway. Yeah, I guess I became the town hero, at least for a week or so, until something more interesting came up, but that's not the important thing. I fell in love. Me, Noah Man-Whore Puckerman, fell in love with my best friend's step-brother. The most flamboyant, fashion-obsessed, and, well, gay, kid of them all, I fell in love with him. Before you think it was some dumbass prank, I'll tell you my side of the story…
I had been walking to Santana Lopez's house, my current booty-call, fling, whatever you call it, that's what it was, except it wasn't love. Never. Anyway, walking to her house I heard a noise, something between a sob and a cough, and a bunch of familiar voices. I recognized Dave Karofsky's, and Azimio Adams', and a lot of other guys from the football team.
"What do we do?" came Karofsky's panicked voice, though I couldn't hear siren's which usually made someone panic like crazy. I figured they'd just beat up some random freshman, but I was completely wrong.
"I dunno," Azimio said quietly, and I could hear his pacing, loud and anxious on the cement.
"We can't just leave him here! What if he dies?"
Oh fuck. They just murdered someone, or so they thought. I heard pleading cries and a bunch of relieved sighs, coming from Karofsky and Azimio mostly.
"He's alive," one football player said, though I couldn't remember his name. He was our kicker I think, but he wasn't very good.
"Only just," Azimio said tensely, kicking at the wall and yelling angrily. "Fuck! How will we explain this? He could die on us at any moment!"
"Why don't we just bring him to the hospital and tell them we found him?" Karofsky suggested nervously.
"Are you retarded?!" Azimio cried. "They'd see us and immediately know we did it! We don't look as pretty princess innocent as Hudson!"
"How about we run? It'll look like suicide if we leave a knife and a gun," someone asked.
"Better, I like that thinking!" Azimio said, and I could practically see the stressed, shaky grin.
In the end, they decided to drop the weapons and run. I waited a minute until they had left for good and walked into the alleyway cautiously. I bit my lip as I saw blood in small pools and smeared across the ground. This was worse than I thought.
Then, I saw him, just lying there, his body twisted in odd angles, blood flooding the ground around him, and his mouth open and bleeding as well. He made a gurgling noise and coughed, blood spattering the ground as he shakily tried to lift his body up slightly.
Kurt Hummel. The innocent little angel-boy, queer as a three-dollar bill, and stylish as all get out, lying there in his own gore and pleading quietly for someone to help him.
"Please," he whispered, almost to himself as he squinted his eyes shut in pain. "Please, help me."
"Kurt," I breathed, rushing over to him and slipping on the mess of crimson bricks, dark and slick.
He looked up at me pitifully. "No-"
He coughed violently and I saw some of the horrible stomach wounds as he turned his body in on himself.
"N-Noah," he whimpered. "I'm scared. I don't wanna die! They said I would die! Please help me!"
I petted the damp, scraggily hair out of his beautiful blue-grey eyes, which were wet with desperate tears.
"It's okay; we'll go to Santana's house and use her car. Mine's far away, so let's go. I'll carry you," I said, calming him a little and I picked him up bridal style, careful not to touch any injuries.
"It h-hurts, Noah," Kurt huffed, breathing hard and gasping at the sudden shift of the world, as he lay in my arms. I ran, as fast as I could with a dying teenage boy in my arms, to Santana's apartment building. I got in the elevator and pressed the button to go to the eighth floor, where Santana lived.
I waited, softly petting Kurt and whispering soothing nonsense to him, wishing I could believe he'd be fine, but I couldn't promise him anything.
I knocked on the apartment door and waited, shaking still from the cold October evening.
Santana opened the door wide, her mouth set in a snarl until she saw the scarlet mass in my arms, heard the whimpered cries, and realized who it was.
"Noah, what—"
"I found him in that alleyway near your building. It was Azimio and Karofsky, and the rest of football team. We need your car to get him to the hospital," I blurted, trying to get her door closed and usher her out of the apartment.
"Oh my god," she murmured, her hand over her mouth in shock as I dragged her to her sports car in the parking lot of the apartment complex.
"I know, but we have to hurry. Get his bag that I saw in the alleyway and I'll start the car, okay? His cell phone is probably in it, and we can call his dad to tell him," I ordered and she split off from us, going to get the bag.
I got Kurt in the car by ducking under the roof of the car and sliding him in slowly, trying not to let his head get bumped or let him get jostled in any way.
Santana came back with Kurt's leather satchel and gave it to me as we climbed in the front seats.
"Did you find a cell phone?" I asked. She nodded and pulled it out of the front pocket. "Dial Mr. Hummel. You know their home phone, right?" She nodded again, and started to dial.
"Mr. Hummel?" she inquired as the man answered. "This is Santana Lopez, a friend of Kurt's from glee club. There's been an attack on your son."
I heard nothing an as I drove I waited anxiously for his reply. Eventually I heard a gruff, "Where should I go?"
"We are headed to the Lima Hospital."
"'We' who?" Burt asked.
"Noah Puckerman, who found him, and me," Santana answered.
"I would've thought he'd have been part of it," Burt stated. My jaw clenched and my grip on the steering wheel was harder.
Gee thanks, Mr. Hummel. I'm so delighted to be given your absolute hatred when I just saved your son, I thought, but what I said was, "I'd never do that Mr. Hummel."
"Alright," he mumbled. "Thank you Santana, we're on our way."
The dial-tone rang as he hung up and Santana looked at me sympathetically, patting my arm softly.
I sighed and drove even faster to the hospital. We arrived there in no time, due to my race-car-driver skills, and I parked.
We need to get him a wheelchair or something. See if you can find one at the front while I get Kurt."
San nodded and hurried off to get a chair. I looked down at an even-more-pale-than-usual Kurt, who was biting his lip softly and crying, before picking him up silently, and locking the door to the car.
The Latina girl returned with a wheelchair and looked at the fragile boy in my arms.
"Hi Kurt, remember me?" she asked.
He muttered something like, "Well, duh," but I couldn't really tell. I just looked into his oceanic eyes and smiled reassuringly.
We hustled to the emergency wing and went up to the desk.
Santana walked back to us from the desk. "Our friend got attacked. It's really bad and he could bleed to death, and all she says is, 'Wait till I get a doctor and fill out these bull-shit forms while I'm at it'. Bitch."
Normally I would've laughed aloud, but looking at the boy staring into my eyes, I couldn't. Nothing could make me laugh now. I don't think I could ever laugh again if Kurt died.
He will not die, I thought. Please don't let him die.
Finally, a doctor came and wheeled Kurt to a room, telling us not to come unless we wanted to see a lot of blood.
"Noah!" Kurt wailed. "D-Don't leave me!"
"Sir, I have to come," I told the elderly man.
He sighed and shrugged. "Be prepared."
"I am the one who found him, and he was worse off then," I muttered, reminding myself of the scarlet river surrounding him.
We walked (well, Kurt was wheeled), down a long, seemingly endless hallway, until we got to a door that said 'Room 208' on a plaque.
We entered and already there were a bunch of other doctors, maybe three or four more than the one wheeling Kurt.
"What blood type are you?" a nurse asked me quietly. "He'll need a blood transplant."
"Um, I dunno, but you can test me if you need to," I said bravely, even though I secretly was a scared little puppy when it came to needles.
"Thank you," she said, sitting me down in a plastic chair away from where Kurt was lying in a bed, the sheets already turning pink from his gaping wounds.
I bit my lip and looked away as the nurse stuck a needle in my arm and took a bit of blood. She quickly tested it and found Kurt's blood type as well. She smiled.
"Good, you two match perfectly," she grinned, sticking the needle in my arm again, after sterilizing it thoroughly. I yelped but quickly shut up. This was nothing compared to what Kurt's probably feeling, I reminded myself.
She took a pint of blood and I felt dizzy. "Go to the cafeteria and get a cookie and apple juice to keep you from passing out. Taking blood is gross and makes you dizzy, so get your booty to the café," the nurse said and I hobbled out of Kurt's room and down the long, spinning hallway. I saw San with a tall, burly figure and I collapsed in one of the chairs.
"Took your blood?" San asked.
I nodded, but that hurt my head and I moaned, covering my aching eyes with my bloody hands. "I feel like poop."
The figure next to San smiled briefly and then returned to frowning deeply.
"San, will you get me a cookie and apple juice from the cafeteria?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure," Santana said, gladly willing to escape the tortuous silence a man who could lose his son at any moment made.
I sighed as she left and leaned back against the back of the chair.
"You saved him?" Burt said quietly, almost unbearably softly, almost too soft so as I couldn't hear.
But I did, and I nodded slowly, not wanting a migraine to add to the already crappy day. "Yeah, I did."
"Who did it?"
"The football team, minus Mike, Sam, Finn and me, obviously. But, yeah, Karofsky, Azimio, and a bunch of others were there."
"He's the only thing I have left to live for," Burt sobbed. "He reminds me so much of Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth. She was your wife, am I correct?" I wondered.
"Yes, she was. K-Kurt, he looks so much like his mother, sometimes I can't stand it. I love him so much, and yet I never know what to say exactly. But it just kills me when he comes home from school, broken and devastated from the kids who pick on him. He doesn't think I can see through his 'I'm perfectly fine' mask, but I don't know what to say, so I don't mention it. I tried so hard to find what I should say when he would finally come out, and when he did, I just completely forgot, and I know that it's better than what some other parents would say, but I just get tongue-tied. And I can't… I just can't let him die. I love him so much."
This brought tears to my eyes, but I held them back. I sniffled and silently mourned for the sad, grieving father next to me. "I know, sir," I said, because I couldn't let him die either.
When Santana came back, we had both gotten it together, but she smiled sadly, giving me the food and drink, and told me she was leaving, and to pick up my truck from her house the next day.
"Or, you know, whenever you feel like it," she said, leaving me alone again with Mr. Hummel.
I heard my best friend's voice coming down the hallway and I looked up, finding Finn in my sight.
We just looked at each other until I saw that tears were in his deep brown eyes, threatening to leak out.
I stood up and hugged him tightly, not a manly, bro-mance hug, but one of actual comfort to us both, and Finn began to cry on my shoulder.
"H-He's like a brother! I just can't lose him after being such an ass to him," Finn mumbled into my shoulder. "I j-just can't. I feel so guilty knowing he could just… be gone. In an instant, he could stop breathing, and he wouldn't know that I think he's perfect. He's so brave, and fun, and strong, he doesn't deserve to die!"
"I know, I agree," I said, pressing my face into Finn's chest to hide my tears.
"He's gone through so much pain physically and verbally, and I hate that I was a part of that once, but it doesn't change anything."
We were silent after that, just waiting in one big, mournful circle, and if I were feeling at all humorous I would make jokes about how the atmosphere made me want to write emo poetry, but all I felt was guilty. Guilty, and scared.