DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee or any of the characters involved. This makes me slightly sad.

A/N: This is my first fanfic. If the language is too harsh for the T rating, I will up it. But, it is Puck. Please read and review! Thanks

I lay there in abject misery. Hot tears pool against my cheek. I haven't moved since I fell. I haven't moved since I yelled at Tina, my best friend. My lies still echo in my ears. I want so badly to believe them. I want so badly to blame her… to blame someone. I know deep down that I am lying, the same way that I suspect Brittany knows that Zelda is the princess, and not the green tight wearing guy… The truth is that I have never let myself think about walking. The accident had not only severed my spinal cord, it broke both of my femurs. I wasn't sure that my legs would even hold my weight, until I decided to try and failed.

The cracked tiles of the floor are cool against my hot breath. They almost feel good, ice cold and hard against my neck and chest. I am grounded, no longer set afloat in the deep, troubled sea of my emotions. I hear foot steps outside the choir room, the squeak of a sneaker on the floor. I know immediately that its not Tina. She favors combat boots, which have their own unique clomp sound on the linoleum. It must be one of the jocks or the Cheerios. If I'm lucky, its Mercedes. Really, if I'm lucky its anyone but …

"Fuck, Wheels." I hear Noah Puckerman as he stands over me. It must look ridiculous. My cheeks color. "What the hell happened to you?"

I want to lie. Even without his signature Mohawk, Puck is intimidating. He's an asshole at his best, a nasty son of a bitch at his worst. He was the head of the patriotic wedgie committee, and the one who cornered me for a little Port-a-Potty ride. I lost count of the number of slushie facials Puck had inflicted on me by the end of our first month at McKinley High. Why should I tell Noah Puckerman the truth? He'd just use it against me later.

"I fell." I tell him, not moving from the floor. I don't want him to see how red my face is, or the tear tracks down my cheeks. I hate crying.

"No Shit, Sherlock." Puck takes in my prone position, the crutches sprawled out on either side of me. He crouches down to my level. "But now's the time to get the fuck up again. That's what I tell myself every time I'm pinned on the wrestling mat," he admits. I didn't know that he wrestled. I figured football and his on-again-off-again relationship with Santana, not to mention the whole Quinn drama kept him busy most of the time. "Its what my mom used to tell me..." He stops short.

I push myself into a sitting position, and look down at my blue checkered sweater. My mom is going to notice the white dust on my clothes. Puck offers me a hand, but I shake my head. Slowly, I pull myself back up into my chair and dust myself off.

I look at Puck. "Thanks," my voice almost sounds normal. I pull the tap attachments off my wheels, and stow them in my backpack.

Puck shrugs, "No problem, Wheels." His phone buzzes, and he fishes it out of his pocket. "Shit, I have to go. Quinn says she needs something for Jackie – the baby."

I nod. "See you around, Puck. And, thanks." Puck grunts in response, already on his way out.