Author's note: Sorry for the wait. I hope it's worth it. I would really love if you could review. It makes my day.

LETTERMAN JACKET
Waiting

Week one without Hummel around was weird. Knowing exactly who was missing and why made his absence far more prominent. Puck had never quite grasped how accustomed he was to seeing him strut the hallways of McKinley... and how empty it all seemed when he was not able to. Yet again, it appeared as if he was the only one who noticed. Everything carried on as if Hummel had never been there. The only ones who appeared to be affected were the ones who had felt that singing about it might be a good option. Puck did not return to those people during week one.

When week two hit, word got out. Surely, some people must have known before, but the story spread all across school with the speed of light after Jewfro posted some shit on his retarded blog. He had the nerve to question the authenticity of it; was it really a hate crime, or just an excuse for leaving school for fat camp? Apparently, "everyone" knew that Coach Sylvester was on his case about his pear hips. Merely 24 minutes after posting, Figgins was notified by the fact that the resident gossipmonger was hanging from his underwear at the top of the flag pole. His head had been shaved.

Puck was cornered by Goth Chick and Wheels while he was setting some unmistakable orange hair on fire behind the gym. They gave him odd glances before realization hit them. The somewhat pleased smile tugging at Goth Chick's lips confirmed that she approved. Though, her eyes were still sad when she asked him to come back to Glee Club. Wheels nodded in approval of her question. They were the first to ask. He politely declined their offer.

"Fuck off."

When Santana came to wheel him back in, she had Brittany for back-up. Hip jutted out to the right, manicured claws clutching her sides as she whipped her pony-tail his way. There was a crease between her eyebrows which had not been there before, something twitching in the tired muscles.

"You better come back before I seriously snap Man-Hands neck...!"

Brittany was constantly nodding, vacant eyes bloodshot after hours of crying. It was distracting. Or, it would have been, if Puck cared at all of what was leaving Santana's mouth. Her lips moved too fast, the words just kept gushing out and he wanted it to stop.

"No."

He turned on his heel and walked away before the usually rough Latina linked pinkies with her girlfriend, before he could notice how she caressed Brittany's wrist in an act of comfort.

Week three and the cops came around to talk. One was burly and the other slim. The burly one had an impressive mustache and the small one kept adjusting his pants, as if he had lost a lot of weight during a short amount of time. They did not look like much. Lima's finest, huh? One of them stifled a yawn. Puck wanted to kick his face in for not paying enough attention. They asked a lot of questions. They told him to describe the scene, the events, every word exchanged between him and Hummel.

"I'm cold."

Puck slept in his mother's bed for the first time in eleven years.

The metal bleachers were cold. Like his skin beneath my fingers. Even though it was April, the wind was still chilly. The football field laid deserted before him, but that was how he preferred it nowadays. He just wanted to eat his lunch in peace, far away from all the noises and voices and people who didn't give a shit. It had become a habit to wander away, to find somewhere secluded to just be. He had not heard from the cops again. They said that they would keep in touch, tell him if they had found something new. Puck dropped the second half of his sandwich to the metal beneath him, the half he did not muster to eat. If he heard the footsteps approaching, he did not acknowledge them. Not even when someone slumped down next to him did he give some form of recognition.

"Hey, dude."

For a second, he considered ignoring Finn completely. Then he thought better of it. Finn was still his boy.

"Hey, man."

He thought he caught a glimpse of a brief smile upon that dopey face and he understood that he had done the right thing. Still, Finn did not speak. Just sat there, much like Puck himself, staring out on the empty field. Had he come out there to do nothing but stare, to keep him company? The way he was constantly shifting in his seat told him differently.

"Spill it."

Puck's voice was hoarse from being unused.

"Huh?"

He tried really hard not to get mad at him. True story. And he tried not to snap. He really did. It just did not work out that well.

"I said; spill it."

Finn flinched. As if the tone he used actually hurt. Maybe it did. Puck did not feel remorse.

"Uhm... I just wanted to... talk a bit", Finn tried hesitantly. When he received no reply from his best friend, he simply continued. "About Rachel." Still no reply. "She's sorry, you know?" A snort. "She really is. She just... That's how she handles everything, you know? She sings. That's what she does when she needs venting. Just like you and your dweeb tossing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She wants you to come back. We all want you to come back."

"So?"

"So, why don't you?"

Because he is not there. Puck did not reply.

"Puck, man... I know this shit is fucked up, but you can't hide out here forever..."

"Why not?"

The words had escaped him before he could stop them and it sounded childish even to him. He promptly ignored the pitying look Finn gave him. He hated it. Puckzilla never hid from anything. His fingers clenched the edges of the bleachers beneath him harder, his stubborn gaze set upon a browner patch of grass upon the field. Finn moved around beside him, leaning forwards with his hands holding onto each other.

"Just come back."

The bleachers creaked ever so slightly when Finn sighed and got up. His hand hovered in the air above his shoulder, large and warm and comforting. Finn let it land and squeezed gently. Puck shrugged it off. He was not the one in need of comfort. He knew without looking at him that Finn was pulling that kicked puppy face again.

"You know that he's back, right?"

He literally froze, his eyes immediately darting to his best friend who still stood looming over him. His neck hurt from tilting it in such an odd angle. Finn had shoved his hands down his pockets and smiled weakly.

"He's back home. He got discharged from the hospital last week. Mom's been over there to, you know... support Burt and everything."

Puck simply stared. Finn's already weak smile faltered and he looked at his shoes.

"I hear it's pretty bad."

"Yeah?"

Was that his voice? That croak?

"Yeah." Finn shuffled a few step backwards. "I need to go. Rachel's waiting. I'll see you in Glee."

It was not a question, just a statement. Puck did not even bother with correcting him before he had descended the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

Week four. The twenty ninth. A month. He was still not there. His seat in US History was as vacant as it has been every single day for an entire month. Puck was not even bothered by how his eyes helplessly always returned to that empty chair every five minutes. He had tried to resist during the first days (the few days he actually attended any of his lessons), but he knew by now that there was no use. He felt impatient – the wait made him jittery. He could feel his limbs ache with the need to do something, his mind throbbing with vibrant memories he would rather just forget.

It happened before he even realized what he was doing. Lunch break and he sat suddenly in his beat-up old truck, heading towards one of the garages in town. He told himself it was not solely because of a certain someone, but because The Studmobile truly needed a check-up. The engine sounded funny, it had done so for a couple of weeks now. So what if he drove all across town, past two perfectly fine garages to finally end up at Hummel's Tires & Lube?

It was a decent looking place. They probably charged more than Puck could afford. The sign upon the roof was old and slightly battered from the Lima weather. Someone had tried to scrub off graffiti from one of the grey walls. The black letters was runny and disfigured by the water, but not completely gone. Those words was what finally got Puck to turn the engine off and get out of the car.

Fucking faggot had it coming!

Mellencamp was playing on the stereo. Pink Houses blasted out across the entire lot. Kurt's lesbian days flashed by his inner cinematic picture so quickly he almost had to stop to prevent the worst dizziness. He shoved his hands down his pockets and hesitantly moved towards the grey building, nervousness and excitement building equally fast within his abdomen. He felt close, somehow. Closer than he had been in a month. It felt better.

"Puckerman?"

He flipped around swiftly when his name was called by a familiar voice; gruff, but yet surprised. Burt Hummel stood next to an old Toyota, cleaning his hands off with an already greasy towel. He doubted that it did any difference. Burt watched him with those eyes. Those eyes that were so similar to his. Puck was soon painfully reminded about the fact that he was no good with dads. They simply did not like him. He licked his lips in a nervous gesture and desperately tried to find the right words. He settled on a simple;

"Hi."

Burt pulled some sort of grimace which he thought was supposed to be a smile.

"Hi, kid. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Hummel Senior looked older than he had at the hospital. More... hollow. The bags beneath his eyes were more prominent, the lines and scars deeper. The eyes sadder. Puck could not lie to him.

"Yeah."

The towel was shoved down into the pocket of his coverall and Puck was ready for the berating, for the order to get the hell back to school. It never came.

"Having car troubles?"

"Yeah", he repeated, feeling stupid.

"Want me to take a look at it?"

"Yeah... please."

The word was awkward and uncomfortable upon his tongue. He could not remember the last time he had used it.

"It's been making noises for a while", he explained quietly while he popped open the hood and Mr Hummel only nodded, grunted some sort of confirmation.

He worked mostly in silence; looking and touching, plucking and turning. Sometimes he would look up at Puck and explain what he was doing, show him where the cause to the weird sound was and tell him what do to if it ever happened again. Puck, no matter how studly he was, did not understand cars at all. The driving he could do and he remembered what the most basic parts were called, but standing next to Mr Hummel and listening to his explanations made the thoughts come back. Those which made his head throb. So, when another silence commenced, he could do nothing to stop the words from leaving his lips.

"How... how is he?"

Hummel Senior froze in mid-movement, staring at his hands. Puck watched him carefully, how he seemed to catch himself and wake up to life again, automatically reaching for that greasy towel. He did not look at Puck when he spoke.

"Not so good."

Something cold settled deep within his stomach. So Finn had been right? Mr Hummel reached up for his hairline, tilting his baseball cap back to scratch at his scalp. The mention of his son made him look even more out of shape than he had been before.

"The wound has healed and all, you can barely see a thing, but... Yeah, it's not that scar I'm worrying about."

Puck thought that he got it. Mr Hummel threw a short glance at him. The graffiti upon the wall stood out even more now. He felt sick.

"He's... he's not really himself anymore."

Silence fell again. It was stifled and strained this time around, something eerie in the air between them. Puck wanted to ask more, but his lips would not move, his vocal cords would not do his bidding. Mr Hummel closed the hood with a light snap.

"Start the engine, kid", he murmured and Puck hurried towards the driver's seat.

It was clear that the subject of Kurt was dropped.

The engine purred when it came to life. Mr Hummel pulled that grimace that was supposed to be a smile again. It looked as if it pained him. Puck bowed his head in shame – the same shame that colored his cheeks when he spoke.

"About the payment... I'll get the money, but it might take some time."

He had been running low on cash since Schue's psycho wife fired him for making that pedophile Sandy Ryerson cry because he could not get him the right color of green to his retarded bath rug.

"Don't even bother. This is the least I could do."

When Mr Hummel reached out to squeeze his shoulder, just like Finn had done, he did not shrug it off. Instead he felt this unexplainable need to return the favor, because he sure looked like he could use it. Deciding that it would just be weird, he simply opened the car door and got in.

"Thank you, Mr Hummel."

"See you around, Puckerman."