The Original Badass

AN: Thank you to ficwriterjet who convinced me this would work. Stay awesome my friend!

Warnings: Spanking, of course, because this is me and that's my niche. Language, because this is Puck we are talking about. Allusions to sexual assault but nothing graphic and no actual assault. Some morally questionable yiddish.

Please, please, please review! It's the only way I know what people think and if you like my stories tell me so I'm motivated to create more! And if you hate them tell me so I can lament that public schools apparently don't teach reading comprehension nowadays (for the people who don't like spanking stories but still read them and tell me that they don't like spanking stories.)

The thing about Puck was, he wanted to make people happy. He was sure that some people (like most of his teachers, for example) would disagree with that statement, but deep inside of himself he knew it was true.

Like Quinn for example. Yeah, he'd slept with her 'cause she was the head cheerleader and he was a sex shark, but that honestly hadn't been the plan. She had just looked so sad as she picked the label off of her wine cooler and asked him for the fifth time if she looked fat. And she hadn't looked fat, because she was Quinn Fabray, and he really wanted her to believe him. So he'd slept with her. And she had stopped asking if she looked fat. Problem solved. Except for the whole "Beth" thing, but his daughter was beautiful and he wasn't sorry she existed. And Shelby loved her so much that he couldn't help but smile to see them together.

Or Finn. When Finn had found out about Quinn (and Beth, although she had been called Drizzle then) he had been super pissed. Pretty much as mad as Puck had ever seen him. As mad as he'd been when that weird grass-painter boyfriend of his mom's had left. Puck had known that Finn was going to hit him way before he actually had. But he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, Finn would hit him and then he'd feel better and they could go back to being bros. It hadn't quite worked out that way, but it wasn't the worst plan he'd ever had by far.

No, the worst plan he'd had by far was crashing his moms car into that convenience store and stealing the ATM. Those two weeks in juvie had honestly been the most frightening of his entire life. When they had let him out on his own recognizance (after he'd been injured by those bastards who'd ripped out his nipple ring and threatened him with much worse) he had been much more relieved than he had let himself show. When his mom came to pick him up she had had Sarah with her, and looked like she had aged about 20 years. It was more than just disappointment on her face: it was fear. Fear that she had raised a Lima Loser. Fear that this was more than just a stage. And also, fear that her son had been hurt.

She'd grabbed his face in both hands and stared deeply into his eyes. "Are you hurt, my Noah?" she asked. Her tone didn't match her words; she sounded pissed. Mutely, Puck shook his head. She searched his face for a moment, then released him and turned back to the car, dragging Sarah by her wrist and leaving him to follow behind.

She didn't say much to him that first week he was back. Every time he passed her in the hall or into the kitchen, she would just look at him, her eyes completely unreadable. Not for the first time in his life, Puck was glad he couldn't read minds. Yeah it would be a kick-ass superpower, but with great power comes great responsibility and all that, and he didn't want to have to feel responsible for whatever was going on in Ma's head. Even if he pretty much was.

They might have stayed at that stand off forever, communicating mostly via notes on the fridge or conversations held with Sarah while the other was in the room, if the true understanding of what his community service entailed hadn't come up. His outburst at his social worker was apparently his mother's last straw. "I'm not going back there!" He shouted, surging desperately to his feet.

It wasn't Schue, or Figgins, or even the social worker who stopped him, but his mother. Her grip on his ear stopped him dead in his tracks, because Ma might only be a little taller than Rachel Berry and frailer to boot but her bony fingers were made of steel and he was pretty sure if he hadn't stopped she would have literally pierced a hole through the top of his ear. He only kept himself from yelping out of sheerest willpower.

Her eyes locked on his. "Apologize. Now.". Yeah, Ma had a backbone of steel.

He felt his face flush, but managed to mumble out a semi-sincere apology to the social worker and a rather shocked-looking Schue. Then his mother said," Noah and I will discuss what constitutes an appropriate form of community service and get back to you, Ms. Lincoln, " and led him out of the principal's office, her grip on his ear never faltering. Puck could only pray that Jacob Ben Israel and his video camera were in class for once, rather than catching the absolute death of his bad-assery on camera.

Out in the parking lot, she finally released his ear.

"Ma, I-"

"Save it, Noah," she said curtly. He rubbed his ear as she unlocked the car, which still had a missing fender and a cracked windshield from his attempt at grand theft.

When they stopped at Goldstein's Kosher Foods, Puck groaned. If Ma was making matzoh ball soup, he really was in trouble. She only did that when she was really upset. Last time had been when Zaide died.

"Can I trust you to stay in the car, or will you steal it again?" Puck winced at that.

"I'll behave," he mumbled, slouching down low in his seat. His ma made a derisive noise and took the keys with her. Puck couldn't find it in himself to blame her.

She came back minutes later, with exactly one bag. Yep. Ingredients for matzoh ball soup. He was so screwed.

He followed her into the house, and his mother went straight into the kitchen, pulling out a giant pot and starting the stock chicken to boiling. He stood there, watching helplessly as she nearly threw the bird into the pot. "I'm pretty sure it's already dead, Ma," he said. Her eyes snapped to his and he flinched back. She looked almost crazy.

"I can't deal with you right now, Noah. Go to your room.". She wasn't shouting but that was almost worse. If she'd screamed at him, he could have shrugged that off. This intense, low fury actually made him think that maybe he'd pushed his mother past the edge. He nearly tripped over his own feet fleeing the kitchen There was being a badass, and there was being a straight up idiot. Despite what his friends thought, he did know the difference

He thought about texting Finn, but their friendship had never quite returned to how it had been and if the dude gloated at him for this, he was pretty sure he would have to beat his ass next time he saw him. So that was out.

He ended up texting Artie instead. Dude ma pissed, he sent. Guess u dont count as a crip.

What? Artie wrote back right away. Must have study hall. Or maybe AV club.

Social wrkr says u dont count as comm srvc, Puck explained. Ma gonna kill me. She makin matzo ball soup.

I'm not sure why soup is so alarming but if she didn't murder you for ending up in juvie she isn't going to do it for this. Just pick up trash for community service like everyone else. Puck could almost hear Artie's calm voice in those words.

U dont get it ma only duz soup when some1 dies. Puck hit send.

There was a pause this time before Artie answered. Good luck brother. I'll pray for you.

Somehow that didn't make Puck feel better. He tossed his phone down on his bed and flopped down next to it with a sigh.

The thing about Ma was, she didn't get really mad very often. Oh, she could kick up a fuss, and she did on a regular basis, but that was just how she was. She tended towards being a little bit dramatic, a little put-upon (kind of like Rachel Berry, now that Puck thought about it, and boy didn't that kill pretty much any feelings he'd ever had for her) but she didn't actually lose her temper all that often. But when Ma actually lost her temper? She really, truly lost it. That was when the wailing and gnashing of teeth shit stopped, and the real chaos started.

He tried to remember when he'd last seen her this angry. Immediately, he thought of his hearing, but she actually hadn't been all that angry with him then. She had been nearly hysterical, but he knew his mother. That meant worry.

Then he realized, and it made him gulp. The last time his Ma had been this quietly pissed had been when his father left. She'd only had Sarah a month or so before his dad just up and split like the bastard he was, and Puck had been eight years old. Of course, he'd gone by Noah then. But he and Sarah both had been bundled off to Nana and Zaide's house for what seemed like forever. (It had probably been about a week, but to an eight year old, it had seemed much longer.) Nana had tried to tell him that his mother needed some time alone after the baby was born, but his grandfather had told it like it was.

"Your mama's one pissed off woman, Noah," he said. "And she's got the right to be, considering how your no-good old man left her high and dry with you and Sarah. Without a word!"

"Zaide, does Dad hate us?" Noah had asked.

Zaide had ruffled his hair. "No, Noah. Your dad hates himself. As he should, the rat bastard!"

And then Nana had heard what Zaide was saying and whacked him upside the head with the hand that wasn't holding Sarah. "Watch your mouth, David!"

He'd never forgotten that conversation with his grandfather. He remembered how his ma had looked when she picked Sarah and him up from the house, and how Zaide had told her that if Eli Puckerman showed his face again, Zaide was gonna chop off his balls. His mom had sighed and said, "Dad, you're going to have to stand in line," as she buckled Sarah into her car seat. Nana had sent home a large pot of soup, and that had been what he'd eaten for the next week. His mother's soup lasted for three more, until Noah was heartily sick of matzoh ball soup. But then, Ma's anger had finally simmered down enough for life to go back to normal. Well, their new normal anyway.

He could smell the chicken broth simmering as it wafted up from the kitchen. He knew his mother would take her rage out chopping up defenseless carrots, onions, and celery. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach though that this planet didn't hold enough vegetables to keep her anger at bay.

How's it going? His phone beeped at him with a friendly text message from his favorite cripple.

Still nada, Noah texted back. U still prayin? Cuz u shud talk 2 Moses 2 just in case.

Damn son. I take it you won't be at Glee today?

Probly no. In fact, that would be a straight up miracle at this point.

"NOAH AARON!" his mother yelled up the stairs.

Oh shit ma callin text u latr. Puck dropped his phone on his bed without waiting for Artie's reply.

His walk down the stairs and into the kitchen seemed to take a million years and no time at all at the same time. He couldn't help but swallow hard, seeing his mother untie her apron and throw it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He'd never admit this to any of his friends, but on certain occasions, his five foot three, hundred and fifteen pound mother could strike the fear of G_d into him. This...was one of those occasions.

He looked at her, standing over the pot of simmering soup as she stared at him. Her eyes seemed to take in everything, and a little curl of her lip told him that she wasn't at all impressed.

Her first words made him flinch. They were quiet, but it made them no less powerful. "For the first time in eight years, I wish your father was here."

There were no words that he had been expecting less. His ma never talked about his dad. She'd occasionally whine, or moan, or wax hysterical, but plain words about him? Never. "Ma?" he said quietly, sure she could read the confusion he felt cross his face.

His mother continued to stare at him in that way that made him feel about eight years old once again. "You know, I thought it was a phase. I didn't like the mohawk, but I told myself it was only hair. I could see your grades weren't the greatest, but they also weren't so terrible that I worried about your future. After all, I didn't do so well in high school but I'm a nurse now. Maybe you'd surprise me." His mother swallowed, and Puck found himself slouching, his hands jammed in his pockets. Then her eyes latched to his, and it was like she was staring into his soul.

"You got that girl pregnant. And not even a nice Jewish girl, but a shiksa." Puck winced, but his mother continued. "All I got was a picture of you holding my first granddaughter. Never even held her in my arms. But I told myself it was for the best, that little Beth would have a mother who was settled, who would love her, and it didn't hurt that her mother is Jewish."

Ma turned away from him, giving the soup a stir. He watched her thin hands as the soup swirled around the pot, onions and carrots and bits of chicken floating to the surface. She put the ladle on the spoon rest and turned back to him.

"And then you stole my car. And you tried to steal an ATM. An ATM, Noah. That is not something that a kid just does, in a phase. That is beyond crazy. And I thought, you know what, going to Juvie might be just the kick in the tuchus that boy needs to straighten up." His mother's eyes were glittering now, and Puck couldn't tell if it was from tears held back or pure fury, but either way, it scared him. He swallowed hard and stepped backwards a bit.

Ma stepped forward. "And then, today. I go in for a meeting with your social worker, and your teacher, and the principal of your school." Ma's voice was even quieter, and though she was nearly a foot shorter than him, it felt as though she was looming tall above him. "And instead of putting your best foot forward, you screamed at her. You nearly walked out on her. You," and here Ma's bony finger jabbed into his sternum hard enough that he stepped back again, running into their kitchen table, "made a damn fool of yourself. You almost landed yourself back in Juvie, and may I remind you that I was the one who had to get that call from the guard who found you bleeding in the showers, and although you were scared and hurt, you forget that I am your mother, and I was too."

Ma was breathing hard, which made up for the fact that Puck could barely breathe at all. He had to admit, he hadn't really thought about how his mom had reacted to that news. Those dudes had scared him; he could admit it to himself. He'd been pretty sure that something beyond horrible, the kind of thing that happens in prison movies and shit like that, was gonna happen in those showers, and as awful as what had actually happened had been, he knew it could have been a hell of a lot worse if the guards hadn't been right there within seconds of his screams. Looking at his mother, he could see all those fears in her eyes too.

"Something has to get through to you, Noah," she said. Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear her. "If your father was here..."

Their eyes met again, and Puck couldn't look away. He took a little gulping breath.

"But he's not. He hasn't been for years, and maybe that's the problem. But I am not going to let you go on like this. I won't!" His mother grabbed his arm hard and shook him. "Do you understand me?"

Puck swallowed again. "Yeah," he said, barely a whisper.

Ma nodded. "Good. Turn around."

Puck felt his brow furrow. "What?"

"Turn. Around." His mother's hands were on her hips now, and he was reminded of those documentaries on Animal Planet about the kinds of animals that used posture and stuff to seem bigger when they were about to fight. He had to admit that, at least if it was your mother using them, the damn idea worked.

Still confused, he turned his back to her with the feeling that he was turning his back to a very dangerous animal. His brain was going fast, but it was going fast and going nowhere, like a hamster on a wheel.

"Bend over the table."

Well shit. That got the hamster off the wheel. He turned back around only to find that his mom was digging in the drawer. Puck swallowed hard when she pulled out The Spoon, a rather large, semi-flat, slotted bamboo spoon that as far as Puck knew, had never been used for food.

"Ma, c'mon. I'm too old for that," he said, although a little bit more weakly than he would have liked. Truth be told, it was a little hard to feel like a badass at that particular moment.

Noah had been well acquainted with The Spoon when he was younger, especially right after his dad left. What could he say, he'd been an angry little punk, and he'd tended towards destruction when angry. But as he'd gotten older, his ma had relied on it less and less, preferring to ground him (free babysitting for Sarah, after all) or later still, hide the keys to his truck and then ground him. He was pretty sure the last time he'd seen The Spoon in this capacity had been some time before his bar mitzvah. Hell, he hadn't realized she still had the damn thing-Sarah tended not to get into much trouble. Not because she was good, necessarily, but because she was cute and could usually talk her way out of it before Ma ever got involved.

He suddenly realized that the damn hamster had run away as he came back to reality with his mother brandishing The Spoon in his face.

"Turn around and bend over or so help me, Noah, I swear to you-" He could see her hand shaking.

Very quickly, he weighed the embarrassment of being spanked by his mother (pretty bad) with his legitimate worry that his ma had reached the end of her rope and only G-d knew what she'd do if he refused. He found himself more worried about her than about himself. After all, he was sixteen, almost seventeen. Ma was small. It wasn't like she could actually hurt him.

He raised his hands in the air in surrender. "Okay, okay!" he said, cutting her off. If it would make her feel better to beat his ass, he'd let her. She deserved that from him, after all of this. He turned back towards the table, and feeling more than a little stupid, bent forward and rested his elbows and hands on the table top. He let his head rest on his forearms and closed his eyes. He could feel his face start to warm with humiliation. Shit. This was more embarrassing than he'd thought, and she hadn't even hit him yet.

The first smack came without warning and Puck jumped, nearly surging to his feet with a muffled "Fuck!" Holy shit, she was not playing around.

He felt her hand on the back of his neck. "Watch your mouth, Noah," she said, and it took a lot of willpower for him to let her push him back down into that bent-over position. Her hand moved, pressing firmly between his shoulder blades.

The second smack wasn't quite as hard, which he assumed was because she kept her hand on him. He was grateful for that if it meant she couldn't wind up quite so far. Even so, he gritted his teeth because that damn spoon still hurt, worse than he remembered actually.

He wasn't a pansy. Puck could take the pain. He played football and was involved in a certain club that could not be talked about, first rule. But Puck wasn't very good at dealing with embarrassment. And embarrassment plus pain, he decided, was pretty much the worst combination ever.

Ma continued laying into him quick and hard, each smack igniting another blaze across his ass. At first, he was very aware when she would hit one ass cheek over the other, but after about thirty seconds of this fast, intense smacking it all blended into a blur of fire.

Puck wasn't sure what to do. The part of him that still wanted to claim the title of badass told him to stand up and walk out. And considering that his ass was in freaking agony, that part seemed to have the right idea.

But there was still that other part of him, the part people didn't see so much, that wanted to make people happy. Not that his ma was happy, considering she was apparently doing her level best to beat the skin off of his ass, but he did want her to forgive him. He wanted her to see that he was sorry. That at least might make her happy, right?

She took her hand off his back and Puck let out a gasping sigh, glad this was over. And then the damn Spoon fell again as hard as that first swat and this time on blazing sore skin. He let out a wordless bellow, jerking away from mindless instinct. Mother fuck that hurt!

"Stay still!" Ma snapped at him, snapping The Spoon down again. To Puck's horror, his eyes started to water. Holy shit, she was going to make him cry. That was too much. He reared up again, fully intending to run for it.

Her hand clenched around the back of his neck. "Don't even think about it, Noah Aaron.". Her steely fingertips dug painfully into his jawline right behind his ear and only by pressing himself back down against the table could he get away from it. Damn, he hadn't realized that his mom knew how to do a fucking Vulcan nerve pinch or whatever the hell that was. " You earned this spanking young man and you don't get to decide when it's done. "

Her hand moved from that evil, painful spot in his jaw back to his neck, and then she returned to beating his ass.

By now, it just plain fucking hurt, enough that he couldn't keep from squirming and struggling each time The Spoon landed. "Ma," he managed to say, near breathless from trying not to curse or cry, "Ma, honestly. I'm sorry.". His voice was shaky.

She landed another ruthless smack right at the crease where ass turned into legs. His legs kicked out involuntarily.

" Ow! Ma! " Puck decided right then and there that dignity be damned, he was ready to beg. "Please! Ow! Maaa!"

OK, he was going to pretend that high-pitched whine hadn't really happened. His eyes blurred and he screwed them shut, but it was too late and the tears were already escaping. "Mama, p-please!" He cried. Fuck. Apparently The Spoon had the power to make him feel like he was nine years old again. "I'm sorry! Fuck! Ow! Sorry!"

"You could have been hurt in there!" SMACK! He yelled again. "They could have-if you had been-". SMACK! " Damnit Noah why can't you just-"

And then, Ma burst into tears. Not the quiet, angry tears-the hysterical ones. The ones that came from fear.

He hesitated for a bare second, not wanting to risk another Vulcan nerve pinch, but her tears weren't stopping and the hitting had. So he stood and wiped his face on his arm, then risked a glance at his mother. She was hiding her face in one hand, trying to stop her own tears and failing miserably.

"Ma," he said softly, taking a painful step towards her. His ass felt practically crunchy with each step. "Ma, it's OK."

"It's not OK!" she yelled, throwing The Spoon at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest and hit the floor with a loud clatter.

"Yeah, it is," Puck said, and before he could think better of it, he wrapped his arms around her. She smacked him feebly in the chest, which he ignored. "Ma, it's OK. I'm OK. OK?"

"You stupid boy!" She sobbed. "What could have happened to you-it haunts my dreams!"

"Ma..." His voice was soft, still a little shaky. "I'm right here. Nothing happened. They pulled out my nipple ring. You never liked the damn thing anyway."

"They could have raped you! And you're willing to risk going back over a stupid lie to your social worker-"

"Ma, I'm OK." His voice shook again. Hearing her say it out loud when he'd been denying the very real assault that had almost taken place... It made it seem real, and a hell of a lot more terrifying.

"My Noah, if you'd been hurt-". And then she looked at him, really looked. He knew he was shaky, still a little teary-eyed, but whatever she saw, her hand came up and gently rested on the side of his face. And that simply, motherly gesture was too much.

He felt the tears spill over his cheeks, and shut his eyes, not wanting Ma to see him crying. But she wrapped her arms around him, and the two of them clung to each other

" You're OK, my Noah," she said quietly. "We'll get this figured out."

It wasn't badass, to hug your mom like this and cry on her shoulder. But then again, his mom was crying on his and her arms around him didn't falter for a second.

And she was the biggest badass he knew. So maybe it was OK.

"I'm sorry Ma. I'll do better." He swallowed hard, sniffing so he didn't leak snot on her hair.

"Yes, you will," she said, and it was half a threat and half reassurance. Her small, thin hands rubbed his back for a moment, then squeezed him tightly before letting him go. Puck released her too and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Go wash your face," she ordered him briskly, wiping her own eyes, "and then you can help me roll matzoh balls."

Puck left the kitchen and took the stairs carefully, rubbing at his ass which was still stinging brutally. For such a little woman, Ma had some serious guns.

He ducked into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, then after a moment of contemplation dropped his jeans to check out the damage. His ass was bright red, like a frickin' cherry tomato. He felt his face heat up again nearly to match. Shit. He'd had his ass handed to him.

He rebuttoned his jeans and wandered into his room, still rubbing. His eyes landed on his phone, which was blinking.

A quick check saw that Artie had texted again, about five minutes earlier. You OK?

He sighed. Was he OK? He felt wrung out, like an old dishrag. But after all that, Ma was firmly in his corner

Yeah dude im good, he wrote back.

"Noah these balls aren't going to roll themselves!" Ma called from downstairs.

He snorted. "That's what he said," he muttered, dropping the phone again. He'd talk to Artie tomorrow.

Right now, this particular badass had matzoh balls to roll.

He went back down the stairs and into the kitchen and quickly rinsed his hands in cold water before joining his mother in turning the cold matzoh meal into small dumplings and dropping them into the boiling soup. They worked in silence, but it wasn't the same silence as before. It was a peaceful silence, Puck thought philosophically. Kinda nice, really.

With two pairs of hands, it didn't take long to finish. He dropped the last mushy ball into the soup and watched his mom wash her hands.

"You OK, Ma?" Puck asked quietly.

His mother gave a sigh. "Don't be ridiculous Noah," she said dismissively. She didn't look at him as she dried her hands on the towel folded over the handle on the oven door.

He couldn't help the little smile that came to his face at that. Yeah, Ma was the original badass.

"OK. Just making sure."