Puck was five when his father first threatened to abandon their family. It was a simple, "Yeah, well let's see how y'all do without me," tossed over his shoulder, meant only to hurt his wife, but it was the most terrifying idea to ever enter the small boy's mind. Daddy might leave.
The next morning, Puck remembers begging his dad to stay with him that day, play with him, take him to the park, anything that would keep him around. The older man just ruffled his hair and told him to play with his toys before putting the front door between them.
Puck spent all day waiting by the door. If he was waiting for him, his daddy would know to come home.
His dad made it back for dinner.
It was another few months before the man made the threat again. It was behind their bedroom door, but Puck heard every word.
"You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to get tied down to the girl I knocked up? I sacrificed everything for you, and if you don't appreciate what I do for this family, I'll just go. Don't think I won't!"
There was more shouting and glass breaking before his dad stormed out of the room, headed for the front door.
Puck didn't think. His daddy was leaving and he had to act fast. He leapt forward and clung to his dad's leg with all the might his tiny limbs would provide. If he didn't let go, his daddy couldn't go away.
His dad shook his leg, but Puck refused to be loosened. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he couldn't speak.
"Bec, come get your kid!" the man called out for his wife.
His mother came out of their room, tear tracks still marring her face. She didn't remind her husband that Puck was his child, as well. She simply grabbed her child around his waist and tugged him away from his dad.
Puck's arms were still reaching out to him long after he'd walked out the door.
His dad didn't come home that night. Scared, the small boy couldn't sleep. He sat up on his bed and stared out his window, waiting for his dad's truck to pull into the driveway.
His dad didn't come home the next night. Puck fell asleep next to the front door, waiting.
Puck must have pushed him away. He shouldn't have grabbed his leg. His dad hated when he grabbed his legs. His dad hated when he cried like a girl.
He made his daddy leave.
His dad came home the next day. He was drunk, angry, and refused to talk, but he was home and that was all that mattered.
Puck promised himself he'd be better. He'd be an angel and his daddy wouldn't want to go anymore. He did everything his daddy asked, and didn't ask questions, and kept his room really really clean and brought his dishes to the sink and didn't talk back in daycare. He brushed his teeth every night and combed his hair every morning and made his bed and was really quiet and didn't watch cartoons because they gave his daddy a headache. He didn't get grass stains on his jeans and he didn't call other kids names and he didn't cry ever.
It wasn't enough.
"I can't do this with you anymore, Rebekah. The guys are starting the band back up, and we really have a shot. I'm not giving it up this time. I'll send money back or whatever, but I was never cut out for this whole domestic thing."
Puck had tried so hard.
He found his dad on the couch that night. The man hadn't stormed out. He hadn't needed to; he had a plan. He just packed his bags and got one last night's rest in the house before embarking on his adventure.
"Daddy?" Puck's voice was small and didn't do the trick. He put his hand on his dad's shoulder and tried again, "Daddy?"
Bloodshot eyes popped open and found the boy. He sighed, "You should be in bed."
"I can't sleep."
"Try."
Puck fell silent, and his dad's eyes closed again.
"Daddy?"
"What?" It's obvious he's annoyed now.
"Please don't go."
Another sigh. "I have to, Son. You'll understand when you're older."
"No, I won't." Despite his very best efforts, tears dripped down his cheeks.
"Hey, buck up. You're a man now."
He was six.
"I'll be really good, Daddy."
"You be good for your mom."
"I want to be good for you, too."
"Hey, how about I write a song for you. Huh? You'd like that. I'll call it 'Baby,' and when you hear it, you think of me."
Puck's lip trembled as he nodded.
"All right, now go back to bed."
Puck glanced at his bedroom door, then collapsed onto his father's chest. "I don't want you to go!" He threw his arms around his dad's neck and hugged and hugged and hugged. His dad didn't hug back.
When he woke up, Puck thought it had worked. He was still hugging. His daddy hadn't left. His daddy wanted to stay with him. He'd been good enough. But, when he opened his eyes, he saw it was just a pillow in his arms. He was alone on the couch. His dad's bags were gone and so was he.
Somehow, Puck knew not to torture himself with hope. He understood his dad would never return.
It's no wonder Puck has abandonment issues. It's no wonder he's clutching Kurt to his chest this tightly, unable to sleep, watching the smaller boy as if blinking will allow him to disappear.
Kurt's the best thing to happen to him, and the first person he's allowed in since his dad left. This leaves Puck vulnerable and terrified of the prospect that it might end, that Kurt might decide to leave him, too.
He tries to be the best boyfriend. He walks him to class and beats up guys who pick on him and buys him those fat free salads for lunch and lets him pick the movies and takes him to the mall and sits on those benches for hours as the fashionista shops.
He does everything in his power to make Kurt want to stay.
Kurt move in his sleep, pulling away, moving closer to the door.
Puck's heart stops. He clutches Kurt closer and the words slip from his mouth unchecked, "Please don't go."
Kurt's eyes open, clear blue-green, and lock onto his boyfriend. He spins in the tight hold, pressing their chests together as his arms wrap around Puck's neck. He snuggles in and sighs, "I'm not going anywhere, Baby."
Puck allows himself to hope.