Hey all!
So, a little different from my usual style of writing, I think, def. different tense (apologies if I messed it up, though I think it should be fine – for the most part lol)
However, I hope you enjoy it…

Title: End Credits
Disclaimer: still don't own anything - title from the Chase & Status song (feat. Plan B) of the same name
A/N: Thanks to Christie for providing the idea (sorry I warped it so lol) and Nicole for letting me run with it :D
Warning: 'cos Puck has a dirty mouth.
Summary: It started as a joke, a way for the girls to get back at the boys. They didn't think about the consequences until it was too late. And that was the problem.

"Because nobody goes through life without a scar."
Carol Burnett

It started as a joke.

.

They had made teams by sex: boys versus girls. They had issued dares to each other: had distributed forfeits if any member of either team failed to comply with the challenge, or adhere to the rules set out.

When the boys had cheated in the last round, the girls had issued them with them with a penalty.

It was supposed to be a joke.

.

The boys had to wear the skimpy outfits that were the usual attire for the female members of the Cheerios, and they had to wear them for Glee club's next 'rehearsal' performance. That had just so happened to be at the next school assembly.

Finn had protested first: telling them that the skirts were too short, that it was unfair, that neither Schue nor Figgins would ever sign off on it. He shot looks to the others: panicked, desperate urgings that would've spoken volumes if the girls had been able to interpret them correctly.

Mike had joined in, and so had Matt, all protesting for the same reason.

Kurt had said they'd regret it because he'd simply put them all to shame; while Artie had claimed inequality would be afoot.

Puck had sworn at them (Fuck that! I ain't wearing no chick's clothes! 'Specially not something that makes me look like one of you dancin' retards), told them the game was a waste of time, that it wasn't funny anymore; that it was lame, and he was out.

Mercedes had been the one to scoff at him: oh, please, white boy; you were the one who came up with it in the first place.

He had blown them off with a dismissive, yet somehow emphatic: whatever, I'm out, and walked out of the choir room without so much as a backward glance.

That should've been their first clue; but they ignored it, along with the objections, and insisted the boys' follow through on the fine they had set them. After all, it was the rules.

Finn told them that there was no way he'd be able to get Puck to agree with it, that they'd all heard him, he was out. Quinn narrowed her eyes at him and told him that the girls had all done their forfeits, exactly as the boys had delivered them, and that he had better find a way to make Puck comply or they'd simply add to it. That they would make it worse than the original they had masterminded.

They should've had their doubts when the boy had shaken his head and told them that they had better start thinking of some other ideas because there was no way in Hell Puck would ever follow through with it.

Quinn had told him not to swear and that was the end of the discussion. That quelled any worries that might've been aiming for a foothold within their minds.

It was only meant as a joke.

.

Puck had turned up after all, and while the girls had all looked mighty smug about it, the look on his face was nothing short of dread.

He'd growled at Quinn when she'd quipped something about Heaven having a greater pull than Hell as she'd haughtily handed over his outfit to him.

He'd snatched it from her grasp and had muttered a grouchy let's jus' get this shit over with.

He'd yanked the pleated skirt on over his basketball shorts, thrown the tiny scarlet lettered top on over his own too; the scowl etched fiercely into his features.

Ah-ah! Quinn had raised a hand and shaken her head at his actions. You know that wasn't in the rules, Puck.

Screw your rules, he'd seethed in return, glowering at them all as if they'd morphed into one. I'm here aren't I? I'm doing it like you said; but you ain't gonna get me to parade around like some little fairy in front of the whole school.

The blonde had rolled her eyes at him and heaved a sigh; her level of superiority rolling off her like waves in the sea they inhabited as barely plankton.

Fine, she had sounded seriously put out by this change in her – their – plans. You can keep the shorts, but the top has to go.

A battle of wills had ensued for the few moments that had followed; the rest watching on like spectators in a tense display of circling stag awaiting the first strike.

Puck had conceded first.

He had shaken his head at her, a low string of curses flying from his mouth as he had bent over and tugged both tops off together. Then he had replaced his original with the flaming red miniature vest that barely covered any of his lower torso, leaving a wide expanse of his midriff exposed.

Santana had looked him up and down appreciatively, and Mercedes had followed suit with a low whistle and a damn boy, you should really bring that out of the locker room more often.

Quinn had rolled her eyes at their display, and raised an eyebrow at Finn when his eyes shot open, wide like saucers. Kurt had coughed, and appeared to actually be attempting to avert his gaze from the fine male specimen before him, but failed; his gaze raking over the boy moments later. He had swung his head quickly to face the other direction not seconds later, his face flushed and his breathing irregular.

Whatever; had been Puck's gruff reply, his glare ever penetrating. And I'm standing in the back; you're not sticking me up front like some monkey on display.

So demanding, Quinn had blown out the words with a dramatic sigh, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Fine, you can stand in the back. But don't think that means you can get out of the routine. You'll be participating just like everyone else.

He had waited until they had started to move before he had followed, trudging behind them a short distance back, Finn taking up step next to him and attempting to communicate with him in hushed whispers. Puck had waved him off, throwing a hard look at his best friend, which stopped the boy short of saying anything further.

They'd barely reached the stage, had been standing by the doors to the gym, in fact, when it had happened.

Santana had acted so quickly, he hadn't had time to react. She had whipped his shorts down so they pooled around his ankles, and he had been left in the tiny red skirt that had fanned over his legs in a way that had resulted in most of his lower limbs being subjected to the gaze of the populous.

You didn't seriously think we were going to let you away with that, did you? Her voice had been teasing, her mouth held in a smug smile, eyes bright with mirth.

He had been frozen, and it had been the longest minute of her life as she had watched him blink slowly, before the air seemed to rush back into his lungs and recognition had flooded his features.

There had been a collective intake of breath at the sight.

He had grabbed hold of his shorts and yanked them back up into place; at the exact moment their eyes had all apparently converged as one on the section of skin that was exposed to their view. Except, it hadn't really been skin.

The area on the tops of his legs had been crisscrossed with thick pink lines; white borders around red welts. Mangled membrane and a distorted view of the expected had been the scene that had been presented to them.

He had spun on his heel and torn from their sight faster than they'd seen him move since he'd last been on the court or out on the football field. And they had seen the damage that his back possessed as well. The scars that had been spread like a ghastly attempt at geometry across the front and back of his thighs reached across the base of spine, marking their territory there as well.

Angry linear inscriptions had been torn across his flesh; their freshness had faded, but they had still been so raw as to be deeply engrained. Never to be forgotten.

The door had slammed against the wall and he hadn't even left a trail for them to track his movements. They had stood chalk-still; half stunned by what they had just witnessed, half scared witless by the implications of such a find.

She had broken into a run instantly; it had felt almost instinctual to follow him. She had blindly pursued him; tearing through the corridors of their high school as fast as her legs had been able to put one step in front of the other. It had been the first time she hadn't thought the show must go on and had instead abandoned it to go in search of one of their own.

It wasn't a joke anymore.

.

'The fuck you want, Berry? Had been the first thing that greeted her when she had appeared beside him on the bleachers. Come to throw me a pity-party? You best get started 'cos we both know you're the only one coming.

She had taken a seat on the bench, the metal sending a chill through her as she had shifted closer towards where he had been sitting.

I'm sorry. She had told him in return, because she had been sorry. And she could only apologize with words.

I bet, he had responded bitingly. I bet you're all feeling so sorry for Puck right now. What, don't tell me you didn't stick around long enough to get in there with the gossip?

She had winced at his tone, shrinking back slightly at the look in his eyes, the sound of his grinding teeth.

Well, shit, Berry; now everyone's gonna be talking 'bout how I'm sexing you up on account of you chasing after me an' my badass scars, he had continued in a mocking tone; his jaw had twitched, his mouth pulled into a tight line, as he had stared hard into her eyes.

They're not badass, she had countered, and she had reached over to place her hand on his leg; mesmerized, she had pushed the material of his shorts out of the way, her fingertips grazing over the puckered flesh beneath. She had taken a sharp intake of breath as he had shivered beneath her touch, fighting to control herself as well.

Berry, he had gritted out. Get your hand off me.

His own hand had appeared then, had clasped tight over hers, his fingers digging into hers when he had attempted to pry away her grasp.

They're not badass, she had repeated; her voice stronger, louder; a clearer ringing in their ears. They're features of survival. They're not –

Berry - his tone had held warning; but when she had looked up at him, he had swallowed and blinked his eyes and not uttered another word.

They're something to be proud of, Noah, she had told him, staring deep into his eyes. But not in the sense you are trying to press upon me.

He had opened his mouth, and she had thought he would say something in reply, but he had simply taken a deep breath; his eyes hadn't moved from hers.

You survived a great hardship, she had continued.

He had scoffed at that. Had thrown his gaze to the wind in the opposite direction as he spat the words: My dad was a deadbeat, Berry. That's not a hardship, that's a fact of life.

Silence had ensued for the moments that had followed, and it had taken her all that time to realize that he was still gripping tightly to her hand.

How did it happen? She had asked him then, turning to face him.

He had swallowed thickly, his gaze still fixed on the expanse of green and blue before them.

His belt, he had eventually divulged; had uttered it so softly that if there had been anyone sharing the moment with them, she'd have had to strain to decipher the words.

A wry smile had tweaked one corner of his lips upwards then, as he had continued, His favorite had this… bottle opener on the back of it. And the edges were all jagged, and there was an eagle on the front.

He had turned to her then, the corners of his eyes straining against the light; mouth still quirked crookedly at one side.

They're really stupid birds, you know. Eagles. Bet the dumb fucker didn't know that, but I do. He had sounded almost like a child when he had said that, and his eyes had flickered down to look at their joined hands.

She had followed his gaze, had taken a breath and held it for as long as had been able to. She hadn't dared to move lest she disturb the moment.

I'm not like him, people think I am 'cos I think school is dumb an' I hang around the 7/11, but – He had choked on the words that he was presenting to her then. I wouldn't do what he did. I might not be the best at it, but I wouldn't be him; I wouldn't do that. Not to my kid. Not to my family.

She had squeezed his hand, and he had turned his head to meet her eyes. I know you wouldn't, Noah.

And then she had reached over and threaded her fingers through his, lifting his hand from where it was pressed palm-down against the cool bench to tug his arm up and loop it over her shoulders. Their other hands had remained entwined over the jagged network of scars on his leg, and she had burrowed her small frame in close to him.

You deserve more credit than you're given, she had told him, her tone resolute, and she had craned her neck to meet his eyes. You have a wonderful heart, and you possess an exceptionally caring attitude when the mood takes you. I have no doubt that you will be a wonderful father.

Now it's a freakin' pity-party, he had told her at that, and a short, mirthless laugh had escaped his lips; his head shaking against hers as his cheek pressed close against her temple.

No, it's not, she had refuted, her superior voice finding its standing once again as she had swiveled round, pulling out of his embrace somewhat in the process.

He had raised an eyebrow at her in skepticism and she had smiled confidently back at him.

It's an unburdening of one soul onto another, she had told him brightly. And the reciprocation of untold feelings and opinions that need to be expressed at this time.

Oh my God, Berry, he had spluttered then, and laughter bubbled over his words. That's gotta be some of the funniest shit I've heard all year.

It wasn't supposed to be funny, she had told him indignantly; though she had felt a surge of pride within at the thought of having helped ease some of his suffering and boosted his spirits once more.

Whatever, jus' get back over here. Your boobs press against me when you lean in all close like that, an' I'm not totally against how that feels. He had revealed to her then, a playful smirk tilting his mouth, as he had nudged her shoulder with his hand a few times to reinforce his point.

She had scowled at him, but had done as he'd requested anyway.

I was being serious, she had told him then as she had settled back against his chest.

I know, he had replied, and the slight pressure that had been applied to her hand then had told her his words held no lies.

It wasn't supposed to be funny, she had said, the slight pout of her lips translating across her tone.

I know, he had repeated, as steady as he had assured her before.

And then almost as quietly as he had opened up to her before, he had provided their closure.

Thanks.

She had meant it. Every bit of it: the apology, the earnestness behind her words, the words themselves.

It wasn't a joke at all.

.

The End.

A/N: this may seem unlikely, but I say to you doubters: Puck wore his towel *insanely* high after the shower scene, plus I implied pretty heavily that the guys did know – which seems logical given shower time and sports and such. Also, it's not really all that implausible since I'm saying the scars were on his upper thighs/lower back – I'm sure he could cover them quite easily if he wanted, both with clothes and actions. Anyway, yeah, it's just a story.

Thanks so much for reading, please let me know what you think – it really means a lot!
Steph
xxx