Title: Take No Prisoners

Author: Peanutbutter

Disclaimer: Not mine. :(

Author's Note: It took forever, but here it is. There isn't really much here, but back story. I hope you like anyway.

Her Dad, Micheal Berry, didn't believe in tattoos. She had come to him to talk about her graduation present. She wasn't going to pretend that she didn't know they were getting her one. She wasn't going to pretend that she wasn't expecting one. They knew her, had raised her, and they definitely knew she expected presents when appropriate. Graduation was a big moment. She knew that in the long run it would just be a foot note, but now, this moment, when Finn was her's and New York was about to be her life she couldn't imagine it getting much better. She was heading done a new wonderful path. She didn't want to ever forget the high she was currently feeling. She wanted to mark it. Mark it with more than her virginity, yes she was going to do it, given to Finn at the big end of the year party and an undeniably bright future. She was thinking of a tattoo. She wanted a small one, on her shoulder, tiny music notes. She just needed permission.

Her Dad was the reasonable one. She knew that it wasn't really a kosher idea but last year they starting putting bacon on their shopping list and no one really complained about it, well she didn't eat meat anyway, but the tattoo was her bacon. She explained it to him, even had a chart and a picture of her tattoo and manipulated picture of herself with her new tattoo. He watched it all in silence. He didn't even crack a smile which was a little disconcerting. When she was done he'd shut her down effectively and completely. It was something he wasn't compromising on.

Her Dad hated tattoos. He hated the permanence. He hated everything about them, even a small music note was enough to invoke his disgust. The said he would never change his stance, but on that long fingered hand she knew so well, the one that was hanging at his suit covered side, there was a tattoo etched into the back of his hand. The skin was angry and red. The tattoo was new. It was a crooked star. She'd always been attracted to stars, but the sight of it burned into her Dad's hand was too much.

Rachel swallowed her mouth suddenly dry but her throat was wet and threatening as spit rushed over her tongue in an angry film. Her legs were supporting her weight, but her knees were shaking. She couldn't move. Her eyes were fixed on that tattoo and out of her peripheral her Daddy, Hiram, was still unmoving right arm stretched toward her, left backward toward his husband, the man with the tattoo. This couldn't be real.

"Rachel, Bunny, come here."

The request was ridiculous and Rachel's eyes snapped from the tattoo to her Dad's face. He couldn't be alive. He shouldn't be. He couldn't be. Tears, too hot, and long alive, pricked her burning eyes. His voice was the same and the reverberating baritone sent a moment of calm rushing over her with it's familiarity, but she looked at his eyes those burning black bowls of empty light and the warmth that his voice coiled in her stomach was pushed away. He smiled lips rushing back over sharp incisors and filed molars. That tattooed hand reached for her, not quite touching the threshold of the door but fingers grasping and beckoning.

"I...I...," She couldn't speak. Her hands were shaking. Her throat was full. Her stomach was a solid block of ice and as he nodded, waving her closer, a pit formed pulling the ice inward. Her mouth filled with spit and her throat closed. There was red on his lips, on the tongue that flick out.

"Bunny, baby," he knelled. His knees didn't pop. They always popped when he knelled. "It's me, your Dad. I've got to tell you something important." He reached for her Daddy his fingers closing over the toe of Hiram Berry's shoe and pulled. His feet were already sticking out the door and inch by inch the rest of him followed.

She scrambled, her bare feet slipping on the hardwood floor as she tried to grab his hand. That outstretched, reaching hand. He was reaching for her. He didn't want to go.

"No," she gasped the bile she'd felt building in her throat was squashed down by adrenaline. She wrapped her fingers around his hand and yanked. "No, what are you doing?" She slid, feet unable to gain traction as he pulled. His eyes darkened further and Rachel wailed pulling with all her might, but her 105 lbs frame was nothing to Micheal Berry.

"I'm sorry Bunny, but I'm so hungry. Not for you, baby. You're too special, but him..." he stopped pulling to press his hand to Hiram's back, that had just cleared the doorway. "I've always been hungry for him."

"No, no, no," Rachel pleaded. "What are you doing? Let him go!" She pulled harder her fingers fisted in the cloth of her Daddy's shirt.

Micheal stopped pulling for only a moment and he looked at Rachel, eyes wide, mouth closed. "Bunny," he cocked his head to the side. His eyes flickered, amber, black, "I'm sorry." His hand fisted Hiram's shirt and he yanked. Rachel didn't have time to let go, didn't realize her Dad was so strong. Her feet lifted off the floor and before she could do anything she was flying toward her Dad. Her Daddy fell from her grasp and she watched his body roll around Micheal's grasping hand as he let his husband fly to the wayside and he caught her before she could tumble off the porch and down the stairs.

"Dad," she whimpered watching his lifeless form fall down the wooden stairs, smashing his glasses, his face. His neck twisted around his head flopping oddly off the second step.

"He's dead," her Daddy whispered. "I didn't want to kill him, but they wouldn't let me eat. They wouldn't let me have anyone but him. I had to." It was like a plea and Rachel let her gaze fall on her Daddy. His grip was too strong to pull. He squeezed her arm and yanked her against his chest. "I loved him. I loved you both. I just..." His eyes darkened and he leaned in. Rachel shuddered. Her Dad's breathe puffed across her skin and she felt his teeth on her throat. "I'm sorry Bunny."

She was going to die. Her Dad was going to kill her. Her Dad was a monster. Her eyes shut, it was more deliberate than reactionary. Was it possible for her to be resigned to it, to accept it when just weeks before she'd been thinking about her boyfriend and her life of stardom? There were teeth, piercing, painful. Rachel wanted to push her father away but her hands were slack even when she called on them to fight.

She didn't expect the push, the shove backward that immediately inflamed her ribs and made her gasp for breath that was just out of reach. She flew from her father's arms, his teeth scraping a trail of red along her neck and into the house. Her head smacked the thick oak door and when she opened her eyes things were blurring and spinning. She could barely make out her Dad, fighting with someone. He wasn't as tall as her father, and his skin was paler. He blurred as he moved and she shut her eyes trying to catch him, to catch her father's swinging arms. In college he'd been a boxer.

"Dad?" She whispered confused, relieved, alarmed? She didn't know what she was feeling.

The other figure ducked. He wasn't as skilled as her father, his punches were sloppy, but there was a brutality to the way he swung. He put everything into each punch despite the fact that her father ducked most of them. Shakily, she rose to her hands and knees eyes focused on her Daddy, still unmoving on the porch steps. Just last year he had talked about redoing them. He didn't like the wood. He wanted brick. He had this thing for exposed brick. There was an entire exposed wall in their kitchen where he'd pulled the sheet rock down.

A crash pulled her gaze from her Daddy to the fight. The stranger was pressed against the outside wall and the crash had been his head hitting the light fixture on the right side of the porch. There was glass and blood and she could see that he was blinking away unconsciousness. Her Dad was leaning in. His teeth were so sharp. Micheal was so focused on the blood running down the back of the stranger's head and onto the collar of his white shirt that he didn't see the stranger rooting though his pocket. Before she could scream a warning. She really didn't know who she was screaming it to. The stranger pulled something out and threw it at her Dad. Glass broke, smoke rose from the side of his face where the glass broke. Her Dad screamed and let the stranger go.

Micheal stumbled backward swatting at his own face and the stranger pulled himself upright, shaking his head. There was a growl building in her Dad's throat, inhuman and it echoed through the night.

"There you mother fucker," the stranger mumbled and stepped around the door, over her prone body and into the house. "Give me two seconds and I'm kicking your ass."

He wasn't a man, not really he was young. She couldn't really call him a boy when in infuriated her when her father's called her 'just a girl', but he was no older than her. She could picture him tossing a football with Finn or singing on a stage. Even with his head shaved into a mo hawk that barely rose off the top of his head he would have fit in at her school.

"Are you okay?" He didn't take his eyes away from the doorway. He was watching her Dad. Micheal was still screaming.

She watched the stranger with the mo hawk, jaw slack and unsure of what to say. She swallowed. There were tears, but she was too tired, too confused to cry. She just wanted to lay down, close her eyes and pretend that none of this was real. She started to do just that, eyes sliding shut when the stranger was in front of her, hands gripping her shoulder's and shaking.

"No, stay awake. I think you hit your head." He was so close she could see the stubble on his chin and cheeks. It wasn't much. He was still too young to grow a full beard, though something told her he might have tried. The thought made her smile, so she did. Finn had been trying for ages to grow a beard, but his facial hair was red nearly blond in some spots and it looked ridiculous. She giggled and touched the line of his jaw. At least the stranger's hair was darker.

"Fuck, yeah you hit your head, shock maybe. That fucker almost killed you."

He's talking more to himself than her. She can tell because he doesn't look at her. He pulls off his jacket, black and simple he puts it around her shoulders and pulls the lapels close after he forces her arms through the sleeves. It's so hard to do. Everything is so hard to do. His eyes are trained out her door. She follows his gaze.

It rushes at her when she sees him slumped over the wood porch steps and the sound of agonized screams reach her ears again. Her Dad...her Daddy. She lurches against the stranger's hold. God, her parents. He holds her and she's caught by his grip on the jacket he forced on her and those tears she forgot about blossomed to life and spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks.

"Daddy," she whispered. "Daddy!" The next was louder. He held her tighter and she pulled, tried to pry his hands off her arms. 'Daddy!" He didn't move.

"Calm the fuck down," the stranger bellowed and she slapped at him, finding flesh, rubbing her palm across his cheek, but he held tight.

"Daddy!" She tried to get up but her feet weren't working and he was holding her too tight anyway. She choked. "Dad." The last was a whisper but she still fought. "Dad please."

He was there, in an instant, standing in the doorway, a few feet from her. She could reach for him. She could touch him if the stranger would just let her go. He didn't. Her Dad was still watching her with a blank expression. The right side of his face streamed, bubbling blisters of red marred his perfect brown skin. His eyes were black as coals. When he opened his mouth to speak his teeth were filed points and the sight made her stop her struggle.

"I'm sorry Bunny," he whispered but the grin that followed said he wasn't really. Before her eyes he narrowed his gaze at the stranger and walked to the edge of the porch. He picked up the lifeless body of his former lover, Hiram Berry. With a quick wrenching motion he turned the head and bit into the body. Red pooled and ran down his neck. Black rushed over her as she watched and then there was nothing.

0o0o0o0

She was having a nightmare. She could tell because every time she turned around and tried to go back the way she'd come she was back in the same place. Not to mention she had this dream a lot. She didn't bother calling for Puck, he was never there, or if he did show up he disappeared when she turned toward his welcoming voice. It was always the same and she was always alone.

She wasn't in a room, not just one lone room but a warehouse lined with doors. It didn't make sense because above every door was another and they reached to the ceiling where they wooden doors continued to multiply until they covered the ceiling. The doors were all the same and every one that she could reach led to the same place, back where she stared, to the warehouse with all the rooms. There was no escape.

Every time she tried she became frantic and panicked, but this time she stood amidst the doors, waiting. In a moment one of them would open. She closed her eyes trying to push the panic away when she heard the creak. Unconsciously she opened her eyes and turned toward the noise. He was stepping out, still dressed in that suit, his tattooed hand clutching the frame. His foot clanked as if he'd hit solid ground, but he floated above her. She couldn't help the tears. He smiled, pointed teeth and black eyes. Rachel screamed.

"Wake up, wake up."

Rachel sat upright, Puck's soft voice barely recognizable over her own screams. She hated dreaming, hated waking up like this, with a scream on her lips that she couldn't silence. She wailed for a moment longer while he reached for her fingers pulling her close rubbing her hair, ghosting touches that did little to calm the panic. The panic didn't fade, but her voice did. She ran out of air and she clamped her mouth shut. The panic was bad, but screaming was worse. She closed her eyes her body stiffening even as Puck pulled her closer, pressing her to his chest.

Her fingers curled against him seeking the warmed skin she felt through his shirt. Her other hand became slack falling to his lap. The coarse fabric of his jeans greeted her fingers. He always slept in his clothes after a hunt, like he was afraid they had missed someone and would be attacked during the night. The only thing he took off was his shoes. She still couldn't breath afraid that opening her mouth would let loose another scream. Her heart pounded in her chest and her lungs burned but she couldn't let it go. She couldn't just breathe.

"Rach, baby, you have to breathe."

His voice was soft, softer than he ever was when she was awake or even when they were just talking. He pressed her closer his free hand pressing on her chest near her heart. He breathed deeply letting her feel his breaths. Her eyes watered, things were blacking.

"With me, this time. Rach, you gotta..." He shifted her, or tried, she was clenched so tight she didn't think he'd be able to. Her fingers were locked on his shirt on the leg of his pants, but he twisted her fingers loose and pressed them to his chest a few inches above her previous hold.

She was slumping, blacking out. She was getting sick. She hated getting sick. Her fingers curled, over his heart. She could feel the steady beat in her palm.

"You feel that. I know you can. You can feel it beating, feel me breathing." He took a deep breath letting it blow out against her cheek. It was warm and it still smelled like the mint toothpaste he'd brushed with.

She lifted with him and just when she thought it was hopeless, useless her mouth opened in a whimpered sob. She didn't scream, but she wailed, slumping and pulling in gulps of air as tears rolled down her cheeks. He held her tighter his hand pressing over her shaking fingers and holding it to his chest.

"It's fine now, you'll be fine."

"Noah," she moaned and curled into herself, but he didn't let go.

0o0o0o0

"I bought you breakfast!"

Puck's eyes shot open widening as a paper bag smacked him in the chest. It was more her voice than the bag that woken him. He didn't sleep much the night before. He never did when Rachel had one of those dreams. Blinking, he sat up running a hand over his shaved head and feeling the length of his mo hawk run through his fingers. He really needed to trim that up it was starting to fall sideways instead of up and the back was curling. He hated his curly hair.

"I'm vegan, as you know," she started and Puck tuned her out as he reached into the bag and pulled out a egg Mcmuffin. The chick seriously knew just what he needed. Now if she had a bottle of Jack in that huge ass purse she carried around he was going to marry her, legit. He bit into it, moaned and fell backward while he chewed and tuned back into her running commentary.

"I finally found a butter substitute at this little store like four blocks from here. It was pushed to the very back. I think it even had dust on the lid, but the expiration date was fine so I just brought it up to the counter and..."

Puck watched her, not really listening, but that wasn't so unusual. He didn't listen to half the shit she said. She looked alright, pacing in front of him, made up as perfectly as always, hair curled and pushed back with a brightly colored head band and rocking a short ass skirt that he'd be able to look up if he angled his head just right. He took another bite and dug into the bag for his hash brown. He would, look, if it wasn't for the fact that she was twisting her fingers as she talked. Usually she was flinging her arms around, animated and a complete hand talker. He'd wondered on several occasions whether or not she'd actually be able to talk if she lost the use of her hands.

"They refused to give me a discount even though it was clear that the attendant..."

She rambled like she was fine. She dressed like she was ready to go skipping through the park, but those twisting turning hands and the red flush to the skin of her arms told him otherwise. Sometimes when the dreams were too much or the clearing was too brutal she'd get in the shower and turn the water too hot for anyone to stand and let the spray wash over her. Her skin was scalded by time she got out and the red blister of heat stayed on her for the rest of the day.

She wasn't fine. He knew that without asking, but he wasn't either. As if to remind him his hand started to shake as he shoved the lost of his hash brown into his mouth. Rachel turned to face him hands on hips like she was waiting for something. She might have turned the conversation to actually include him while he was stuffing his face and thinking. He couldn't tell her he had been wondering if she was alright. She didn't like to talk about it and even though he'd like to tease her about secretly wanting all up on him there really wasn't anything funny about those dreams and the desperate hold she always had on him afterward.

She tapped her foot, lip worrying between her teeth and even though it was a struggle her fingers pulled away from each other and each hand rested on a hip, though the dug in more firmly then they should have.

"Well," she questioned.

Puck opened his mouth belching loudly and grinned as her eyes rolled back. "Fuck, that skirt does make you look fat. You should change."

"I, I didn't even," Rachel's hands smoothed down the front of her skirt and she growled as she turned around, totally flashing panties, but her hands were waving when she looked at him again and even though he didn't get half the shit flying out of her mouth he was happy to see those hands talking again.

0o0o0o0

This chick, legit, was driving him fucking nuts. He'd already gone above and beyond for her. A chick fucking passing out his lap wasn't all that fucking unusual, but the fact that his lap was all she had was. He only knew that because the fucker that had turned the chick's Dad was the bastard he'd been tracking for months, and he would have had him if it wasn't for Rachel Barbra Berry.

He'd been ready to follow the trail the asshole was always leaving when the town exploded with vampires. It was like the asshole set off a bomb that threw a bunch of blood sucking mother fuckers into the air. It was a distraction and if he was more of the heartless asshole his father had tried to mold him into he would have told the town to fuck it self.

He couldn't. He stayed. The vampires were everywhere, guide-less and hungry. People were dying in the streets every night, sometimes during the day masked in shadowed alleys. In-direct sunlight was as bad as night. He lost three weeks of tracking cleaning up that mess and all he got out of it was a lead that left him with Rachel Berry.

Her father was attacked and tagged, a crooked star on the back of his hand to match the mark seared in his maker's neck. He was never put in the ground. Puck knew that for a fact because he spent one horrible night digging six feet down to reach the guy's coffin. It was empty, probably always had been. It was interesting the things people just let slip. Whatever was planned for Micheal Berry was different. Makers didn't tag nobodies and the hoard he'd let loose on Lima, Ohio was full of nobodies expect for the Berry guy.

Other than the fact that Micheal Berry liked to fuck dudes there wasn't really all that much to to him. He was married. He didn't cheat. He owned a Prius and him and his husband could be described in one word, boring. A boring as hell lawyer and an even more boring English Professor at the local college. The only thing they'd managed to do was produce a hot, but shallow daughter. Not that he judged too much. Shallow was okay. He was kinda shallow himself. He did like watching her hot little ass on stake out, but all the perving he could have done was screwed up by her constant crying. Yeah, mourning, heart broken, sad chicks weren't really spank bank material.

So when Micheal Berry showed back up at the Berry household he'd been taking a break to get a sandwich. He had been watching her house for two days and he was hungry. He just drove away for like an hour and when he got back there was a horror movie playing out on her porch. Her other Dad was dead and Micheal was trying to eat his daughter. It was sick.

The fight wasn't all that epic. The dude hit like a professional and there might have been a moment where he had to pull out the holy water, which was a last chance 'i'm about to die' move, but it didn't really make sense. Well vampires eating their family made sense, but the tag didn't. The guy who tagged Micheal Berry didn't do that shit for no reason and all the guy had done was go home and try to kill his family.

So he felt sorry for her because he'd fucked up and went to get a sandwich when he was supposed to be watching her house, protecting her. He didn't sign up to protect people, not really, but he was sick of seeing people die He'd kinda dropped the ball with her. He took care of her. Helped her a bit, explained the whole vampire thing and what did he get for his good deed?

Puck looked out his rear view mirror and cursed. She was there three cars back in her dead father's Prius, following. He ditched in her every town, but she kept at it insisting that she could help him, that she would help him. He didn't need a side kick. He didn't want one, but the further he got from Ohio and the faster he drove the closer she got. He had no idea how she was finding him and he sure as hell wasn't going to believe her own explanation that she was 'a little psychic'. That was bull shit. Vampires, demons, sure, but the psychic network being real he couldn't wrap his head around that.

He swerved into the exit lane at the last minute cutting off cars and making a few honk their horns and swerve. He grinned when she swept past the exit. All he needed to do was hide out for a bit and he'd get back on the interstate, bam, crazy girl gone forever. He didn't smile for long when he heard crunching metal and more honking horns. He looked over his shoulder to see that little Prius u-turning on the interstate and nearly getting run into by a semi. Someone had swerved and crashed into the guard rail and Rachel Berry was speeding back down the interstate going the wrong way. She whipped in behind him just as he made a left and pulled into a waffle house.

He let his head fall onto his steering wheel and he let out a long breath. She pulled in beside him and waved, smiling like everything was fine. They were going to have to ditch the Prius. There was no way someone hadn't called the cops on her not to mention Prius's were for pussies and there was no way he was ever driving one. He didn't care how good they were for the environment.

He didn't lift his head but waved her over She opened his door and tossed her bag over the back of his seat. She slammed her door. He still couldn't believe this was happening.

"You won't regret this," she told him merrily. "I'm very useful and a fast learner. I've can't wait to get to the slaying."

Puck groaned. "You're not Buffy," he deadpanned. "You aren't slaying anything."

"I suppose you're right. You are more like Buffy in this situation, the male Slayer. The chosen one." She laughed.

"Oh god," Puck groaned. "I fucking change my mind, get out."

She reached across the seat and swatted him on the arm. He looked up sharply when her hand didn't immediately retreat. He didn't like to be touched, you know unless you were a hot chick pulling his pants off and promising to fuck him stupid. He glared at her hand but she didn't withdraw it, oblivious to his discomfort.

"Oh stop," she responded but, thankfully, pulled her hand back. Leaning back in her seat she reached into her enormous purse and pulled out a notebook, it was pink with sparkles, and flipped it open. "Now is not time for joking." She produced a pen and titled the page 'Vampires: Fact and Fiction' "I need to know everything you do if I'm going to help you find the vamp that," she seemed to loose steam for a moment but she swallowed and crossed her legs, "that murdered my father and your..."

Puck cut her off by cranking the car. He had a feeling that this had been a very, very bad idea.

Rachel cleared her throat and sniffed. "You should really put on your seat belt."

Yeah, he was sure now. This was a big fucking mistake.

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