Summary: Like many young men, Noah Puckerman has spent his entire life looking up at the stars, waiting for his life to begin. But he never imagined that the stars were staring back, waiting to live. Loosely based on the movie "Stardust". Written for the Glee Goes to the Movies Big Bang over on LJ.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I do not own the movie, nor the book, titled "Stardust".
Spoilers: Canon elements taken from up to Season 3, so 3x14 just to be safe.
Warning: Supernatural themes with character death and animal cruelty, language
Beta: Special thanks to dreamlesssleep (LJ) and joyasaurus-rex (LJ) for being awesome betas!
.-.
"She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars." — Neil Gaiman (Stardust)
.-.
The crowd was roaring, the air pulsing around him. He could feel the heat from the bright stage lights bearing down on him, its intensity causing sweat to drip down his face.
And Puck loved every moment of it.
This was his calling; performing a sold-out rock concert to thousands of screaming fans, with him just killing it on his guitar. The excitement. The energy. The crowd chanting his name. Nothing else could even compare.
And the endless line of willing pussy didn't hurt either. He sent a lascivious wink towards a group of squealing fan girls jumping up and down in the front row, pursing his lips to blow them a kiss. He was just in the middle of ripping a monumentally epic solo, when a voice in his ear broke his concentration.
"Truman... Truman... TRUMAN!"
Noah Puckerman snapped out of his reverie, opening his eyes to meet the disapproving frown of the store manager at Sheet'N'Things, his hands held awkwardly in front of him. He swallowed nervously and quickly lowered his hands. This wasn't the first time his manager had caught him playing air guitar while he was supposed to be working.
"Er...Yes, Ms. Del Monico?" He asked sheepishly, smoothing out his shit-brown apron.
Beady eyes glared down her nose at him. "Truman, what are you doing back here?" Terri Del Monico, his manager, demanded. "The bell has been chiming non-stop and you're back here playing around."
"Sorry, Ms. Del Monico." Puck replied monotonously, yet again ignoring as she proceeded to call him by the wrong name. He'd had the same incorrect name tag for months now, ever since he'd started working here part-time after school as a way to pay off damages for a prank he pulled. They never bothered to make him a new one after the old guy who it used to belong to kicked the bucket. And after the first two months, Puck had simply stopped asking for a replacement. "I was just... um... restocking the fitted sheets," he lied.
Ms. Del Monico rolled her eyes at him. "Well, never mind that now." She said impatiently, ushering him along. "There's a man in aisle four who needs assistance."
Puck groaned inwardly as he shuffled towards aisle four. He always dreaded dealing with the customers, especially...
"Oh, apron boy!" A sing-songy voice called out to him. Puck closed his eyes and forced himself not to run and hide. He recognized that voice. He took a deep calming breath, opened his eyes and continued down the aisle.
"Hi, Mr. Ryerson." He answered with a forced smile. "What can I do for you today?"
Mr. Ryerson was one of Sheets'N'Things more… difficult customers. He came in at least once a week for a new purchase or with some new complaint. And he always seemed to come in when Puck was working. He usually liked to ask Puck to get something down from one of the higher shelves, all just so he could stare at his ass for a couple of minutes.
Puck absolutely hated it. He would love nothing more than to chuck the ugly brown apron in Mr. Ryerson's face and storm out of there. But in the loser town of Lima, Ohio, there just weren't many jobs available for high school students.
Though, technically, Puck wasn't a high school student anymore. He'd recently finished his senior year at William McKinley High School, his grades just barely scraping by in order to graduate. Now he was two days into summer, two days into working at Sheets'N'Things full-time, nd he was already bored out of his mind.
But what else could he do? While his friends were enjoying their last summer of freedom and preparing to go off to college, he just... wasn't. He hadn't been accepted anywhere; not that he had tried particularly hard, because even if he had, he couldn't afford to go. He was stuck in this loser town with no future and no prospects. He was destined to be just another dead-beat stuck in a dead-beat town.
He guessed working at Sheets'N'Things was better than being in jail. Or dead. Or both. He supposed he should be grateful that he was in neither. But still, Sheets'N'Things was only a slight notch higher. Very slight.
"Apron boy, I need you to get the selection of cherry blossom towels down for me." Mr. Ryerson broke into his thoughts, pointing to the top stack.
"Huh?" Puck asked, clearly confused. He had no fucking idea what Mr. Ryerson was talking about.
"Pink! You fool!" Mr. Ryerson screeched, waving his arms exasperatedly. "Honestly, didn't they teach you anything in school?"
"Oh..." Puck replied, still dumbfounded. He looked up and searched the wall of pink high above his head. "Okay, Mr. Ryerson," he continued, hiding a scowl. He'd already been told off twice this month for disrespectful behavior towards customers. One more strike and he was out. "Just give me one moment."
Puck quickly retrieved a ladder and began climbing. He reached out for the first pink towels he came across, but before he could start heading back down again, Puck heard Mr. Ryerson's shrill voice from down below.
"No, no, no! Not that one! To your left! No! Your other left!"
Puck suppressed a sigh as Mr. Ryerson dictated his movements. Is this really what his life has been reduced to?
.-.
Puck took a deep breath as he stepped out of Sheets'N'Things, taking in the warm summer night. It had been just over a month since school had ended and he started working full-time; a slow, torturous month where the days seemed to plod on by like a sick elephant.
And as bad as that was, today had been an even longer day, much longer than usual. His shift had technically ended over three hours ago, but Ms. Del Monico had cornered him into completing some inventory for her. Apparently, her Old Maids Club had switched their semiweekly meeting to tonight. Whatever. He guessed he could use the overtime. Plus, it's not like he had anywhere else to be.
He pulled out a cigarette, lighting up before inhaling deeply, savoring the taste as it filled his lungs. As he released the smoke into the night air, his co-worker, Ken Tanaka, stepped out behind him, turning to lock the door.
"Thanks for your help tonight, Truman." Ken said tiredly, wiping his brow and turning to face Puck.
Puck shrugged. "No problem."
"Look," Ken began, sensing Puck's indifference and placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. "I know today was tough, and you might think that this isn't really the job for you. But just think, if you work hard and stick to it, in five years, you could be where I am now." Ken lifted his free hand and pointed to the shit-brown badge sitting on his chest. It looked so ugly as it blended in with his apron. "Junior Assistant to the Manager. Wouldn't that be something?" Ken smiled encouragingly.
Puck stared blankly at Ken for a moment, unable to tell if the older man was being serious. When Ken's smile didn't falter and it became apparent that he was, indeed, being serious, Puck's face contorted into an unconvincing smile.
"Yeah," Puck deadpanned, although he did try to inject as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "That'd be really… something…"
Ken's smile widened, completely missing the sarcasm, as he patted Puck's shoulder. "Well, see you tomorrow, Truman." He said before walking to his car.
"Yeah, tomorrow…" Puck echoed with another false smile. He tried to quash the resounding voice in his head repeating: And the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that…
Puck released a deep sigh and headed for his truck, kicking an empty soda can along his way. Once inside, Puck looked out through the windshield and stared dully at the empty parking lot. He didn't really have anywhere else to be. His mom was working the grave-yard shift at the hospital, which wasn't unusual. Actually, it normally meant he'd be at home babysitting his sister, but Gabby had left for some genius camp for the summer. Now it was just him.
Ever since she'd left, he'd felt strange. It had always been just the three of them ever since his dad split when Puck was nine. But even though they were as close as any regular family, they all lived very separate lives. Puck just never figured he'd be the one, you know, without a life.
Puck briefly considered calling some of his friends from the football team, but dismissed the idea easily. After the dismal day he'd just had, Puck didn't really feel like listening to his friends talk excitedly about their college plans or rave about summer. Compared to that, solitude would be a godsend.
There was probably a Cheerio or two he could hit up for a good roll in the sack, but as weird as it was (for him, at least), Puck was getting tired of the same desperate girls yearning for his approval. He also had the numbers of a few divorced cougars logged in his phone, women who didn't care about what he did or who he was going to be. It was just sex. Hot sex. But right now, he couldn't think of anything more pathetic.
So instead, Puck kicked his truck into gear and left the empty parking lot, driving blindly past the rows of suburban Lima, past the frighteningly picturesque welcome sign, and leaving it all behind. He'd been doing this every night after work for the past few weeks, and every night he thought about what would happen if he just kept on driving, just saw where the road would take him.
However, each night, he only ever got as far as the old Callahan farm, about an hour out of Lima. It was lucky, he guessed, as he recalled the jarring image of its charred remains. Almost a decade ago, a freak accident had seen the house go up in flames, the family of five perishing inside, and it was the thought of his mom and sister that always stopped him from leaving.
It always caused him to stop and think about what leaving would mean to his family. To his mom. His mom would never forgive him for just leaving, never going home to say one last goodbye. Just like his dad. You could say what you want about Puck, that he might be a loser with no future, but he wasn't his father. He would never be his father. He just didn't roll that way. So instead, he would turn up the old gravel driveway of the Callahan farm, driving all the way up to the decrepit house and around the back.
Now it was a habit. He was just simply going through the motions.
Puck parked his truck and got out. He could see the well-worn path of his tire marks as he walked round the back and lowered the tailgate, easily hoisting himself up to sit on the bed. He looked out at the large overgrown field behind the house, its grass almost as tall as he was, before lighting a cigarette, the first of many.
Puck settled himself on his back, both of his hands tucked beneath his head and his legs dangling off the edge while he stared upwards toward the stars. Although he tried hard not to, he still found himself dwelling on all of the problems plaguing his mind. He thought about his dead-end job, with the annoying customers and those fugly brown aprons. He thought about his wasted youth and his directionless future. He thought about the inevitable disappointment in his mother's eyes in five years when he would be promoted to "Junior Assistant to the Manager" and no doubt wishing he could be anywhere but Lima-fucking-Ohio.
He sighed deeply, gradually letting out all the oxygen in his lungs. He wished he knew what to do. He wished he had it all figured out, had a life that meant something more. His mind wandered back to the stolen moments where he imagined a life bigger than this, and in that black hole of self-pity, Puck found himself wishing for that fantasy to be true. He wished he was a rock star. Or a sports star. Hell, any star would do.
He just wanted to be one.
Puck sighed again and continued to stare up at the sky, knowing his wish would never come true. Wishes and dreams never came true. Not in a small town like Lima. And not for losers like him.
Not in this universe.
Or any universe.
It was impossible.
.-.
The bright lights bore down on him, the cheers deafening, and yet Puck ran on; faster and faster, dodging left and right, sweat dripping down his face and back, and the pig-skin football tucked tightly under his left arm. Most ordinary people found the cumbersome football uniform awkward and heavy to wear, the helmet slightly obscuring their vision, but not Puck. He loved his uniform. Out of the uniform he was just an ordinary guy from Lima, Ohio walking the streets, but in his uniform… in his uniform he was a god; untouchable.
The end zone was in sight, getting closer and closer, and with each step, so was victory. This was what life was all about; all the blood, sweat and tears were so he could reach this point, to achieve victory.
But then all of a sudden the ground became uneven under his feet, the shaking reverberating throughout the stadium, and Puck stumbled as the ground fell away. In an instant, the world was quiet, the crowd gone, and all that was left was a loud rumbling, and the feeling of falling, air rushing past him, so fast and far as an unstoppable force as streaks of light rushed past him…
Puck's eyes snapped open, his body tense and the memory of his dream still fresh in his mind. Blearily, he sat up stretching his arms above his head. He didn't know how long he'd been there, or when he'd fallen asleep, but judging by the cool summer breeze and the silent void of darkness, it was definitely in the early hours of the morning.
He stretched wearily, wondering what had awoken him from such a deep sleep. It wasn't unusual for Puck to wake up on the edge of the Callahan's old farm. He often dozed off and woke up as the sun was rising, rushing back to town to get ready for a new day at Sheets'N'Things, reaching there just as the clock struck nine.
But today was different.
The air hung strangely around him, almost crackling with electricity. Puck was certain something had awoken him, but looking around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Puck yawned widely and hopped down from his truck, heading to the driver's seat. He figured he might as well head home. There was no way he'd fall back asleep now.
It started just as he opened the door, a low rumbling noise that sounded so familiar. His eyes widened with shock as the ground shook, stray stones and pebbles vibrating against the dirt.
His head whipped around frantically, searching for the source of the tremor, but he saw nothing. In fact, other than the slight reverberation of the ground, the surrounding night seemed as peaceful as ever.
"What the fuck…?" He asked himself, his eyes slowly lifting to the sky. Puck blinked, wondering if he was still asleep, because never in a million years could he ever believe his eyes.
A large streak filled the sky, a ball of fire the size of a marble, growing larger and larger as it approached, seemingly heading straight for him. A loud whistling sound began, low at first but quickly becoming louder and louder until it echoed around him, deafening as he watched the sky, stunned.
Puck stood frozen, stock still, staring upwards as the fireball approached. Logic told him he was dreaming, locked in a nightmare, but something inside him argued otherwise. Either way he didn't care. His survival instincts were kicking in, and he had to get out of there. He wasn't going to stick around to find out.
Immediately, Puck jumped into his truck and started the engine. The ground shook violently beneath him and one hand absently fumbled for his seat belt, while the other held the steering wheel tightly, trying to swing his truck around before gunning towards the dirt driveway. However, just as he rounded the old house, Puck foolishly glanced in his rearview mirror, the scene scaring the shit out of him.
"Fuck!" he shouted, almost hysterically, as he stepped harder on the gas pedal.
But it was already too late.
He watched in horror as the giant flaming ball hit the earth, smack dab in the middle of the Callahan's abandoned field; the resultant crash resounded around him, sure to be heard for miles. Dirt flew up from the point of impact, radiating outwards, and coming closer and closer to him as his truck tried to speed away.
And suddenly Puck was flying through the air, his truck flipping over as his panicked shouting joined the cacophony around him. It felt like days, months, years, before the car finally hit the ground. In fact, the car felt like it was moving in slow motion as the ensuing force bounced him around the tiny cab of his truck. Even as the jarring pain in his shoulder screamed out to him, he had never been more thankful to have taken those extra few seconds to use his seatbelt.
Puck sputtered as he hung upside down, the heavy tinge of dirt and dust settling around him. Dirt filled his mouth and nose, and he gasped, seeking clean air. He had no idea what the fuck was happening, but even as the bile rose at the back of his throat threatening to overcome him, he forced himself to remain as calm as possible.
Slowly, Puck disengaged himself from the seat of his truck, bracing himself as he removed his seatbelt and gravity pulled him downwards. His shoulder screamed out in pain as he tried to maneuver himself rightwards to climb out of the truck's cabin.
He took another deep breath as he stood hunched over beside his truck before attempting to spit out the taste of dirt in his mouth and yelling in frustration and shock.
What the hell had just happened? He wondered as he coughed violently. He felt like he was on the verge of passing out as he stared at the ground, waiting for his blurred vision to return to normal.
He stumbled away from his overturned truck, before turning his head to stare back at the Callahan's abandoned field. Gone were the long stalks of grass, gently wafting in the wind. Instead, stood a large crater at least a mile wide. He stared out at the crater. There was dirt everywhere, but there in the center, where the giant fireball had landed, emanated a luminescent ball of white light, shining unnaturally bright.
As fucked up as it was, Puck found himself limping towards the light, his right arm clutching his left shoulder as he moved. As he advanced towards the crater, the light inexplicably began to fade, getting smaller and smaller until he stood over the center, staring down with a bewildered look on his face. For within the crater lay an unconscious girl, her flowing silver dress sparkling under the moonlight and her long brunette hair fanned out around her.
He was at a complete loss for words, staring down at the girl. When he finally managed to find his voice, all he managed to croak out was a shaky, "What the fuck?"
.-.
Meanwhile, on top of a faraway mountain in the highest tower of a forgotten castle, there sat a frail old woman, her spindly fingers grasping tightly at the armrests of her stately lounge chair. Her pale, almost opaque skin stretched tautly across her face, her cheeks hollow, while her short lifeless hair, or rather was left of it, clung to her scalp like thick clumps of pearly white cobwebs.
She wore a mean, terrorizing frown as she sat gazing out at the sky, her piercing blue eyes unblinking and unwavering. Though to the untrained eye, the sky seemed empty and endless, a sudden and unexpected wide toothless grin extended across the old woman's face. Then it started low, and soft, a menacing cackle that rose to a loud, evil laugh, which reverberated throughout the otherwise silent night. It was enough to make even the trees far below quake with fear.
She clapped her hands together loudly and stood, her movements surprisingly nimble despite her feeble appearance. She moved swiftly and purposefully, her dark robes billowing behind her as she walked to a staircase, spiraling downwards.
Down, down, down she went, stalking through the desolate castle, smiling with delight on her good fortune. She continued until she reached one of the castle's many dungeons. The dark and gloomy room had remained mostly empty over the long, long years save for three stone tombs standing resolute and untouched, each forming the corners of a triangle.
The woman clapped her hands again loudly, and magically, torches lining the walls sprang to life, their fires dancing merrily and shedding light on the otherwise dark room. She strode over to the closest tomb causing the thick layer of dust that had lain across the floor to swirl upwards behind her as she passed.
"Wake up!" she croaked loudly, banging her fist against the front of each tomb. "Wake up, I say!"
Slowly, as if an invisible force was acting upon them, the tomb covers shifted to the side, a whoosh of air gushing inwards, causing more dust to fly about. But the old woman didn't seem to care. She didn't even bother waiting for the cloud of dust to settle before she turned and stalked out of the dungeon once again.
This time as she moved, the torches lining the walls lit on their own accord, lighting her path without so much as raising a finger. The old woman then hurried upwards, exiting out into a large room filled with centuries of dust and unused junk. She began bustling about the room, collecting seemingly arbitrary items before approaching a wall of cages. Each cage housed a squirming animal and her beady eyes stared down at them with a maniacal pleasure.
Behind her, three young women stepped out from the dungeons, their footsteps muffled by the dust. They each wore matching long black dresses, their faces pinched and haughty, their long tresses pulled back severely into high pony tails. To the old woman, they each looked the same, their faces unimportant. All that mattered were the distinctive gold bands around their left wrists gleaming in the candlelight, binding them to her.
They strode over to the now hunched old woman and kneeled down, their heads bowed.
"What is it, my Queen?" A blonde girl asked, displaying her leadership over the other two; another blonde and the other with hair as black as night. Unlike the other blonde, the leader wore a mean, determined expression, her features hardened by time. Her pale green eyes seemed cold and calculating as she looked at her queen with obvious distaste.
The old woman didn't even bother to turn around and look at her disciples. They weren't important. She needed to act quickly; she didn't have time to waste, nor did she have the patience to deal with them.
The same ominous grin stretched across her withering face. "It has finally happened," she announced, her voice hoarse yet firm. Before she reached forward into one of the many cages, a brief flash of red light overcame her, a loud bang ringing through the large hall. Suddenly, her long billowing cloak had disappeared and instead she was clad in an average, run-of-the-mill track suit, bright red with large white bands running up her side.
Much better, she thought to herself, relishing the feel of the less cumbersome and more comfortable polyester material as she retrieved a whimpering muskrat, which struggled fruitlessly in her arms. The modern world had sure brought along some excellent changes.
And she couldn't wait to crush it. She smiled wickedly at the animal squealing in her arms, her hand covering its head. In one swift movement she snapped its neck, letting the pathetic creature hang limply from her pinched fingertips.
The three girls looked up at their master, stunned, and the blonde leader exchanged a meaningful look with the dark haired beauty as the third tilted her head in confusion.
"My Queen?" The leader questioned, eyes wide, clearly surprised.
"Yes, yes," the old woman cackled as she placed the dead animal flat on a nearby table and lifted a large crooked dagger high in the air. "A star has fallen," she proclaimed gleefully, before plunging the dagger straight into its still heart.
.-.