8
Warbler
Sam walked out of the bus terminal and immediately spotted the familiar forest-green truck. He vaguely wondered if that was why Rachel decided on the forest green beanie she gave him for Christmas—because of his and Puck's disastrous attempt at car detailing that resulted in Puck's truck going from dark blue to purple to lavender and finally to forest green.
Okay, okay, fine. It was his disastrous attempt. In his defense, he was trying to do it for Puck's birthday, but it was the thought that counted.
He really liked that Rachel put so much thought into her gifts. She even sewed in gold thread on the inside of the beanie in question: Belongs to Samuel "Sam" Evans. Return or be swallowed whole. He remembered that it was a reference to the famous Rachel Berry House Party where they played spin-the-bottle, and when his spin landed on her, she'd asked,
"Promise not to swallow me whole?"
In his defense (again), he'd been drunk, so Puck couldn't get mad at him for a little shameless flirting. "Well, you are small enough, and I'm pretty sure you would taste pretty awesome."
And then he kissed her and knew exactly why Blaine rethought his gay-ness and why the resident sex shark was finally hooked.
Girl kissed better than Brittany and Santana put together.
But then he shook his head, waved at Puck, tossed his duffel into the back, and hopped into the passenger seat.
"Hey, dude! How was your—whoa! You're wearing a hat! I don't think I ever seen you wear a hat in all the time I've known you," Sam said, grinning at the black beanie. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wait, wait."
He brushed a hand over his own beanie and then snatched off the one sitting on Puck's head. He took note of the 'hawk trim before holding the hat out of Puck's reach and flipping it to see the gold embroidery.
"Rachel gave you a hat too? Chick is awesome. She gave me this and two encyclopedias for Marvel and DC too." Sam tossed the hat back at Puck, but then frowned when he realized his normally obscenity-spewing best friend was dangerously quiet.
Knowing that a point-blank question would just get him some caveman-grunt, he decided to try and piss off Puck to try and get a response.
In retrospect, pissing off a former juvenile delinquent with pyromaniac tendencies and a slight issue with anger management probably wasn't one of Sam's better ideas, but in this case, he didn't need to worry.
"Um, Stevie and Stacy got you something for Christmas," Sam said in an attempt to make Puck stop glowering straight ahead. "The present's wrapped in Elmo paper, but the contents are pretty badass even by your standards. And while I think they're geniuses for learning how to operate a Mac so quickly, I really don't like that they managed to order this. I think it's kind of cute and scary at the same time—like baby geniuses. The fact that they're babies gives them the cute factor, but the genius is scary. Like, if they're this smart now, imagine how they are later. They could be evil masterminds who'll enslave the world for their own twisted purposes. And you're so busy worrying about that and being all paranoid that you barely even consider that they could also grow up to be the scientists who come up with a way for you to transfer your consciousness into an alien clone so you can better learn and understand an alien culture. And then it brings you back to worrying because they could also be the ones who want to learn more about the aliens just to exploit them and take the rich mineral deposits under their land. And then you just wish you could lock your kids up in a tower and hope to God that they will never find out enough about the world to make either of those possibilities a reality because you feel like the risk you're taking of having them turn out to be evil is pretty much equal to the hope that they'll be the ones saving the world. And then you just feel drained because you've thought way too much in a small amount of time."
And when Puck didn't screech to a stop to strangle him for talking so much, Sam immediately knew something seriously bad happened while he was gone.
Jeez. Leave for a week and everything just spirals out of control.
What would the gleeks do without him? Man, if his parents had decided to move to Tennessee during the summer like they'd been planning to, who knows what would've happened? Half the club would've jumped the glee-ship as soon as the first signs of dissent sprouted up, Puck would've started some grimace-inducing secret relationship with Shelby, and Finn would've developed some weird complex where he thinks everything is being ripped from his hands—Rachel, glee, and his football career.
Sam was like the friggin' linchpin of this group, and they didn't even know it. He mentally patted himself on the back for realizing his own hidden importance and then smacked himself upside the head for forgetting his initial train of thought: What the heck happened to Puck?
"Dude, are you okay?" he asked.
Puck still didn't say a word. He just shrugged.
"Um, how was the Hanukkah dinner with the Berries?" Sam persisted.
If it wasn't for the almost-imperceptible tick in Puck's jaw, Sam would've continued playing twenty (or forty or sixty) questions.
Something happened with Rachel. Again.
But how bad could it have been? Puck was wearing her present, for crying out loud. If he was genuinely pissed, that hat would either be in the bottom of his closet, under his bed, or still in its wrappings.
He obviously still had a thing for her simply because he was wearing the hat, but something happened at the Berries' to make something change. But what changed?
"We still going to Finn's for New Years?" Sam asked, after carefully thinking out his question.
The left corner of Puck's mouth turned up into a sneer for less than a second, but Sam caught it. Apparently, something involving Finn happened. But that was still pretty vague—anything involving Rachel somehow always involved Finn anyway.
So nothing had changed Puck's stance on his approval of the Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson relationship. Didn't wanna be around them, therefore he'd minimize exposure.
(Dyslexia, you are being bitchslapped into the Jurassic Period! Yeah! Sam Evans is a genius!)
Okay, so he still didn't like Finchel, but a problem arose involving Rachel. But WHAT?! Dang.
(No, no, no! Dyslexia, stop! Go back to the dinosaurs. Stop it! No, don't cross into the Dark Ages! You stop right there!)
"Um, who's your next glee-victim for Operation TBJP?" Sam blurted out desperately.
It was small. Almost inaudible. But there it was. The motion that answered it all.
(Dyslexia, go crawl into your prehistoric hole, because you have just been slapped, bitch!)
Puck sighed.
But it wasn't the normal sigh he'd give when Sam was getting on his nerves. It was the sigh he'd make when Bekah was working so damn hard to beat him at Mario Kart that he just had to let her win because Puck was just a marshmallow underneath all the spikes.
Puck was giving up on Operation Thundering Blitzkrieg of Jewish Puckleberry.
Crap.
He didn't still like Finchel and he still had feelings for Rachel, but he was giving up. He wasn't gonna fight for her anymore. Well, not that he did much fighting technically, but this whole operation was his form of fighting for her. He was being nice—for her. And Sam knew he was using Beth as his cover, that he was being nice to prove he could be a good father, but Sam knew better than that. Puck getting into his secret school (which he still refuses to tell anyone, that party-pooper) was how he proved himself to Beth. Being nice to the gleeks was to build up team spirit so they could get to nationals and win and prove that he could be a worthwhile member of the club to the one person who needed the club the most.
Sam should be a psychiatrist or a therapist or something. He was a genius.
YEAH, BITCH! Not just an oblivious idiot anymore!
Sam turned to see Puck staring at him with a mixture of disgust and worry.
Oh. He said that out loud. Complete with fist pump.
"Just...ignore me," Sam muttered. "Just thinking about something."
And so Puck obliged and ignored him for the rest of the ride home to the Puckerman house.
Not good. Not good at all.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and immediately started typing out a group text which now included Artie after he, Santana, Brittany, Blaine, Kurt, and Mike cornered him in the AV room to demand to see what Puck and Rachel hadn't wanted them to see—which was eight minutes of sheer brilliance.
Sent to: Brit, Santana, Kurt, Blaine, Chang, Artie
911! OPERATION THUNDERING BLITZKRIEG OF JEWISH PUCKLEBERRY IN JEOPARDY—Puck giving up on Berry!
He needed to convene with the rest of his fellow operatives. Their point man had just defected.
Mercedes had apparently been extended an invitation since she was seated next to Kurt when the TBJP operatives convened in Santana's living room.
"What?!" Mercedes demanded when she saw that Santana was giving her a dirty, skeptical look. "I heard about what Puck's doing, and I'd prefer Rachel with him than Finn. The entire dynamic of the club would change."
"Yeah, Rachel would be too busy getting all sexed up by Puck so she'd be more willing to give up some solos," Artie agreed.
"And that is why you're my boy," Mercedes said, giving Artie a high-five. "You totally get me. And if she still acts like she's got a stick up her ass, then Puck can knock her down a few levels. You see how easily he can shut her down."
"It is pretty epic," Sam said. "His strategy is foolproof—cut her off before she can get started. But somehow, he's the only one who can do it. She can just barrel through everyone else."
"I know this is hella weird for me to say, but I cannot wait for that girl to get laid. She needs to relax," Mercedes said.
"And give you all the solos," Blaine added with a smirk.
Mercedes nodded. "Goes without saying, baby."
"Well, the deed's been done," Santana announced suddenly, making everyone turn and stare. "The hairy veils have been parted. The Martian probe has landed on Venus. The fabled Berry-Cherry has been popped."
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
"Rachel cheated?!"
"Bitch, you be lyin'!"
"What are hairy veils? Oh! Satan! Jeez!"
"Oh, God, I hope they didn't do it on any of the couches at home. Or my bed."
"Wait, wait, Santana, how do you know?" Blaine asked, frowning.
"She called me as soon as she got home afterwards," Santana answered with a grimace.
"Her and Puck?" Sam muttered. "No wonder he was so upset. He's guilty."
"What?" Santana demanded. "Trouty-Mouth, you're an idiot! She lost it to Sasquatch! I'd much rather classify it as bestiality, but whatevs."
"That must be why Puck gave up," Kurt mused. "Rachel is the type of girl to stick to her fairy tales. If she thinks she's found her Prince Charming, then she'll believe it 'til the day she dies. And because they've solidified it by sleeping together, she's never going to let him go now."
"And Puck knows Rachel almost as good as you do, Kurt. He must have realized that what hope of Finchel dying out by college is snuffed out because she lost her virginity to Finn," Blaine expounded.
"So what do we do now?" Sam asked, running his hands through his hair.
"I guess it's done?" Mercedes asked uncertainly.
"No, no, no!" Brittany cried. "We can't just give up! Scooby may be in the Scooby Snacks van now, but it means we're gonna have to work twice as hard to get him out because he doesn't know that those Scooby Snacks are poisonous!"
"Are you comparing Rachel to a slobbery Great Dane?" Kurt asked, with one eyebrow raised.
"And calling Finn a van of poisonous Scooby Snacks?" Blaine added, chuckling. He was still just a teensy-bit bitter about Finn flipping out on him about being the captain of glee.
"I love you, Brit-Brit," Santana murmured.
"It was Puck's metaphor," Brittany explained.
"We don't give that boy enough credit," Mercedes said.
"So what are we supposed to do?" Sam asked, rephrasing his initial question. "Puck gave up, Rachel's burned a bridge, and we're up a creek with no boat or paddle."
Mike sighed, reading Brittany's calculating expression correctly. "We're gonna have to work double time. We gotta convince both Puck and Rachel that they belong together."
"And how we gonna go about doing that?" Santana demanded, still not believing she was part of this.
Berry was her kind-of friend—OH, ALL RIGHT, BITCHES! Berry was her friend! But this?! This was just going above and beyond the call of duty, and it wasn't even Santana's duty to begin with.
Okay, okay, fine, it may or may not have been her secret and unofficial duty to keep Berry from being de-virginized by the missing link between humans and giraffes, but that entire experience was an epic fail on so many different levels.
Berry had called her up in a mini-panic, and Santana may or may not have driven all the way to the Berry household at four in the fucking morning because that first time was a fucking disaster. Just like Santana had anticipated, Berry had to fake her own orgasm because that idiot had a systems overload and his primary valves released too soon.
Good God. No girl—okay, maybe that Nazario chick could deserve it—should ever have a first time like that.
"Okay, okay, escuchar, mis siervos. Listen up, bitches," Santana said decisively.
Everyone turned and stared at the glint in the she-devil's eyes and knew this plan—whatever it's gonna be—was gonna be it.
"I'm only doing this 'cause Berry and I could take over this school with the bat of our eyes, and the only reason we're not is 'cause of that idiot she calls a boyfriend. So as my first step to gets my foot in the doorway of world domination, I'm redirecting my bitch-laser on this bullshit excuse of a relationship. Puck is my boy and he deserves the other half of my unholy vessel. Hudson is a douche that has been kick-ball-steppin' on my last nerve, and ever since he called Brit an idiot for thinking Rory was a leprechaun, I have been waiting to gets my revenge on. So this is what we're gonna do, bitches."
"Puck!"
Puck turned around to see Blaine waving at him from across the street. He would've just nodded a greeting and walked off, but the ex-Warbler was jogging across the street to join him, and it wasn't like he was just gonna walk off. Anderson was cool, and even though he hadn't been in glee for over a year, he was pretty much part of the gang ever since Kurt transferred to Dalton.
Blaine jogged right up to him and clapped him on the shoulder with this huge grin.
Puck frowned. He suddenly felt the urge to make this guy just as miserable as he was because he was always way too damn chipper. Brittany was like a dumb, completely-oblivious kind of chipper that wasn't really that annoying. Berry had a crazy psycho kind of chipper that just got on people's nerves 'cause you never know whether or not she's actually like that or if she's just hiding something. Blaine, on the other hand, was the most annoying type of chipper because he was a genuinely happy kind of guy.
And Puck would much rather deal with stupid or fake chipper. He kind of hated the real thing right now.
"How was your break?" Blaine asked.
Puck shrugged and kept walking. He sighed when Blaine fell into step with him.
"Kurt told me about all the presents you gave Rachel," Blaine continued. Either he was oblivious to Puck's mood or he just didn't give a shit. Knowing Blaine, it was most likely the second one. "That was really nice, Puck. I can't believe none of us ever thought of that before. Rachel's always walking around in the craziest outfits, and we all just sort of gave up on nudging her away from her sexy-grandma image that we just completely disregarded her winter attire."
The both of them stopped and turned to each other.
Puck's face clearly said, Ninety-eight percent of what you just said passed right over my head because I don't give a flying fuck about what you're talking about. So go away.
Blaine's face said, I don't care if you think I'm annoying. I will talk to you purely because you're not talking back, and I won't stop until you finally respond.
Puck cocked an eyebrow: You really wanna do this? I'm, like, the king of nonverbal communication.
Blaine's smile widened to show a little teeth: Two can play that game.
Puck glared at him and continued walking, his boots crunching against the snow of the sidewalk. Warbler was relentless.
Blaine blew on his hands to warm them before shoving them into his pockets, almost mirroring Puck. "So, I always wanted to ask you about 'Pretending.' Was Rachel really the object of that song, or was it completely unintentional?"
Puck glanced down as Blaine stepped right up to him. He'd intended on going right to the bakery to get one of those bear claws—delicious bastards—but this little curly-haired...person would not move, so he turned in the opposite direction, turned the corner, and started heading for the 7-11.
"I'm going to take your silence as assent that it was unintentional, but your subconscious knew exactly where the words were being aimed," Blaine continued.
Him and Sam. Those two could carry on conversations with fucking walls; they cannot shut the fuck up.
"Have you written any other songs? I'm sure Schue would definitely let you perform them during regionals. We kicked ass at sectionals, but we really do need to switch things up. Sure, Rory and I are good additions, but we need a lot more variety. What I liked about sectionals last year was that we heard from these completely out-of-nowhere singers like Santana. It was amazing. Rachel and Finn are...overplayed, and I'm not saying that out of bias. There are so many combinations of singers that we could use. We'd totally blow the competition out of the water. Schue keeps saying fresh and new, but notice that we still keep coming back to the same people."
Dude sounds like he'd been with the club since the very beginning. Damn.
"Rachel is a major driving force of this club, and I do admit that we need her. She's a wall of sound, in and of herself, but she needs the right partner."
Oh, Christ. Here we go with this spiel.
He didn't need to hear it. He didn't want to hear it. He was not going to hear it. He didn't even want his thoughts infected by it.
Puck pushed into the store before Blaine could even open his mouth again and just started grabbing shit off the shelves, barely even registering that he got a bag of cotton candy—and he hated cotton candy. Every time he heard a snippet of Blaine's voice, he rumpled and ruffled the packages to drown him out.
Until he smacked into one of the hockey players, knocking the guy back onto the freezer doors.
Puck was about to open his mouth to apologize or something, but then the hockey player—whose name his brain refuses to remember—shoved him backward into a rack.
"Watch it, asswipe!" the guy growled.
Three other hockey players came out from the aisles, followed by their idiot ringleader—whose name once again completely escaped Puck (probably because grimacing at that ugly-ass mullet took precedence over remembering anything else about that guy.)
"Hey, Puckerman," Ugly-Ass Mullet said, sneering. "What are you doing starting fights? I thought you were still on probation."
"Hey, let's all just relax," Blaine said calmly, trying to step in between Puck and the Hockey Idiots. "It was just an accident."
"Your conniption was an accident, fag!" Hockey Idiot #1, the one Puck smacked into, barked angrily.
Puck scoffed. "It's conception, dumbass. You shouldn't insult people with big words you don't have the brain capacity to use."
"You think you can hide behind a couple of big words, Puckerman?" Ugly-Ass Mullet asked tauntingly. "You can hide behind your dictionary, but you're always gonna be a Lima Loser inside and out."
Puck was already pissed. He barely needed a reason to start fucking some people up. He set all the bags on the shelf behind him haphazardly as he took a step toward all five Hockey Idiots with an expression that made them take a nervous step back.
"Don't start nothing," he growled menacingly. "Won't be nothing."
"Just walk away, guys," Blaine said warningly, grabbing a fistful of the back of Puck's jacket.
"Walk away?" Hockey Idiot #2 laughed. "There are five of us and two of you."
"Glad you could count, fuck-up," Puck hissed, taking another step forward.
"Puck—"
Puck wrenched himself away from the Warbler's grip. "No, shut up, Anderson. I've been keeping a low profile long enough."
"Tired of being caged, puss—"
Puck didn't let Ugly-Mullet get to the last syllable.
Berry wasn't the only one with ninja skills.
He grabbed Mullet by the front of his sweater, dragged him out through the entrance, and threw him into the dark alley next to the store so fast none of the other Hockey Idiots had time to react.
"You're gonna pay for this, Fuckerman!" Mullet shrieked—legit shrieked like a little girl.
He jumped to his feet, but before his fist could collide with Puck's face, another fist came out of nowhere and slammed into Mullet's face, sending the moron careening into the wall of the store and collapsing onto the sidewalk, whimpering like a baby.
"Clay Aiken's looking for a fight!" Hockey Idiot #4 crowed.
Puck stared down at the ninja-Warbler who was sporting a cut on his right knuckles. Blaine didn't look back at Puck as the Idiots formed a small circle around the two of them. Props to the little dude because Warbler looked like he was out for blood.
"Looks like a quarter of the homo freakshow's been holding out on us, boys," Hockey Idiot #1 said.
Quarter?
Oh.
Brittana and Klaine.
Son of a bitch.
Puck's upper lip curled into a sneer as he glared at these motherfuckers. He was itching to start tearing them apart, but one of them had to throw the first punch—like Mullet.
And when Blaine opened his mouth again, he solidified his standing as a fellow badass. "I haven't been the only one holding out. I've seen the way you check out my ass when I walk down the hallway. Come and get it, fucker."
Hockey Idiot #1 turned beet-red and lunged.
Then all hell broke loose.
Truthfully, Puck couldn't tell you what the hell happened. It was all this one massive blur, but he could tell you one thing with 100% certainty: Blaine Fucking Anderson had been hiding this kickass, legendary beast mode that was like Mario getting a power star.
He legit threw a hockey player over his shoulder and simultaneously kicked another in the chest. How the hell he managed to do that, Puck would never know. He blamed it on adrenaline and a lot of misplaced aggression, but whatever the hell it was, it was fucking awesome.
But they were still two against five (once Mullet finally managed to man the fuck up and get in on the fight). Blaine was backed into the alley by Idiots #2, 3, and 4 while Mullet punched Puck in the face and Idiot #1 threw him backwards into some dude who had the misfortune of walking past.
"Karofsky!" Idiot #1 yelled gleefully.
Puck turned to the guy he landed on and then watched Karofsky glance back and forth between him and the hockey players. After the Zombie Halftime Show and the shit with the Bully Whips, he and the gleeks had come to a stable relationship—which meant there wasn't a relationship at all.
But, you know, there was hope of some maturity, so Puck wasn't all that naïve in thinking that maybe—just maybe—Karofsky would walk away. But Noah Puckerman also wasn't a dumbass. He was familiar with Karofsky's current predicament (hell, yeah, just got the wind knocked outta him, and he still knew big words!), and if he was faced with helping two losers or helping four idiots, Puck would've chosen the force with the bigger number too.
With a heavy sigh, Puck watched as Karofsky pinned him to the sidewalk and pulled back a fist to punch him in the face. Puck, of course, dodged and let Karofsky punch the sidewalk. There was an audible crack too, and that definitely wasn't the sidewalk cracking.
Puck shoved his teammate off with a muttered "numbnuts" and turned his fury onto Mullet and Idiot #1. Okay, no more dicking around. He punched Mullet right in the middle of the face, and then kicked #1 in the balls. And then kicked Mullet too, just for good measure. Blaine strolled out of the alley with a cut above his eye and a split lip, but he was intact.
Then Puck turned to Karofsky who was clutching his broken hand to his chest. Puck bent and hauled him to his feet before slamming him up against the brick wall.
"Give me one good reason to not waste my energy in giving you a concussion," Puck said, deathly calm.
"Come on, dude!" Karofsky cried. "They would never let me walk away, and they'd kick my ass if I sided with you!"
"Are you a fucking idiot?!" Puck demanded. "Do you not see who is lying on the ground right now?!"
"You gotta understand—"
And then Puck voiced what he'd been thinking for a long time. "You're gay, aren't you?"
"WHAT?!" Karofsky yelled. He turned and glared at Blaine. "You told?!"
"I'm not an idiot, motherfucker!" Puck bared, slamming Karofsky against the wall again. "You check out Sam's ass every time you think no one's looking! Christ!"
"I-I—"
"Yeah, exactly," Puck growled. "Look, I know you got your issues, but don't fucking side with those bitches. Why don't you fucking stick with the people who'd back you up instead of fuck you up?!"
"It's not that easy!" Karofsky shot back.
"No one said it was," Blaine pointed out coldly. "But at least you wouldn't be alone."
"Forget it!" the dumbass spat. "I made my peace with Kurt, but this is my problem!"
Puck let him go and backed off. He wasn't gonna waste any energy being semi-nice to this douchetard.
Karofsky glared at Puck for a second before dropping his eyes and glaring at the snowy cement. Puck turned and was about to walk off with Blaine, but he caught a movement from the corner of his eye and then heard a sickening crack.
"That's for turning against us," Blaine hissed as Karofsky held his uninjured hand up to his newly-broken nose. "So much for those Bully Whips, asshole."
Puck smirked at the Warbler as they walked off. "Why do stupid shit happen to us at seven-eleven?"
Blaine shrugged. "It's a sign from God saying we shouldn't go to that store together anymore."
"NOAH?!"
Oh, fucking hell.
He and Blaine slowly turned to see Berry, her arm linked with Satan's, frozen on the other side of the street. He vaguely took note of the fact that she was wearing his jeans, his hat, and his boots, but he was mostly too distracted by the smug smirk on Satan's face.
He turned to Blaine and glared at the too-innocent expression on his face.
Goddamn.
"Noah! You're bleeding!" Berry screeched as she sprinted across the street and got right up in his space to examine his bloody nose, his bloody forehead, and the black eye that was probably turning a nice shade of purple now.
"I'm fine," he insisted as Satan sauntered over and briefly linked pinkies with Warbler.
Fucktards.
Blaine blocking him on the street, almost herding him toward 7-11. Blaine jumping the gun and punching Mullet in the face (what the fuck is that kid's name anyway?). Blaine pulling these kickass skillz out of fucking nowhere.
Fucking Santana. He should've known.
So they ended up at Satan's house (since it was closest and oh-so-fucking convenient), and Berry was practically straddling his lap as she tried to bandage the huge fucking gash on Puck's forehead that he could not, for the life of him, remember getting.
"You're fortunate the clerk at seven-eleven didn't call the cops, Noah," she said, her face way too close to his.
"Trey's always stoned out of his mind," Puck mumbled. "The fucking Apocalypse could be happening, and he'd still be sitting there."
"Noah, language."
"Come on, Berry. Quit bitching."
She stopped and glared at him. "Why are you so mad at me?"
He glared at her, which was kind of hard considering their position—which had been Satan's suggestion, of course. ("Berry, you can't bandage him like that. Christ, there's like a mile between you. Just get in there, damn it!")
"I'm not mad at you," he said tonelessly.
She shot him a longsuffering look. "Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Ye—"
"No."
"I can te—"
"No, you can't."
"Stop int—"
"Then stop accusing me of being mad."
"But you—"
"I'm not."
"Noah, you can't fool—"
"Yes, I can."
"NOAH—"
"BERRY!"
"Look, I'm sorry for—"
"You don't need to be apologizing for fucking anything."
"Yes, I—"
"For fuck's sake, Berry, no you don't. You've got a fucking boyfriend. My name's off the waiting list. You can chill the fuck out."
"Wait, what—"
"Puck! Hey, dude, are you—"
OH, FUCKING HELL.
Berry jumped off his lap so fucking fast that for a second, he thought she teleported. It was just in time, though, because Finn walked into the living room and grimaced.
"You look like crap. What happened?" Finn asked.
"M'fine," Puck grumbled. "What are you doing here?"
"Santana called me and said you and Blaine got in a fight," Finn answered. "Kurt made me drive at a hundred miles per hour."
Satan. That fucking shit disturber.
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" Puck, Berry, and Finn heard Kurt's shriek from upstairs where Satan was treating Blaine. "YOU COULD HAVE DIED!"
"Well, as much fun as that's gonna be to listen to, I gotta go," Puck said, pushing himself off the chair. "I meant to get something to eat five fucking hours ago, and now I'm, like, eight times hungrier than I was before."
Berry handed him the ice pack, and he nodded at her once before punching Finn's shoulder and hauling ass. If he hadn't jogged out of the house so fast, he would've seen that Finn turned to Berry and then said, "I saw where you were sitting."
After their fucking painful attempt to put Operation Thundering Blitzkrieg of Jewish Puckleberry back on track, Puck managed to completely avoid Satan, Warbler, and Hummel, but Pierce wouldn't stop showing up at his house to harass him and bring him package after package of Sour Patch Kids. And he couldn't really avoid Evans since the dimwit lived with him, so he was still getting his daily dose of "So how are you and Rachel?" But it wasn't so bad because Puck could threaten sprinkling the guest bed with itching powder, so he could deal with Sam. There were only a couple more days left of winter break, though, and as soon as school started up again, the gleeks who were in on Brittany's plan would renew their harassment, so Puck was trying to make the most of it with Sam, Bekah, and a Justice League marathon.
But they'd only gotten through a grand total of four episodes within five hours because they would keep pausing the DVD to have these massive debates over the dumbest things, but the issue they were currently all bitching about hit closer to home than Puck would like admitting. He could tell Sam knew what was going on too, but Puck refused to acknowledge it.
"No, Bekah! Superman has Lois Lane!" Sam argued.
"Well, Batman has Rachel Dawes!" Bekah shot back, running her hands through her hair in frustration much like Puck did.
Puck himself threw his hands up. "Rachel Dawes is dead!"
"So…Catwoman, then!" Bekah cried desperately, totally outnumbered by her official and unofficial brothers.
"Catwoman's too high maintenance! And she's a ho!" Sam retorted.
"But Wonder Woman is, like, all light and pretty and awesome!" Bekah listed, intent on keeping her hero from a creeper who associated himself with bats. "She wouldn't go for someone all dark and moody like Batman."
Sam watched something shift in Puck's expression as the big brother set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward with a dark, serious expression, almost mirroring Bruce Wayne's face which was frozen on the TV screen.
He was bringing out the big guns.
"Kid, Batman is badass."
All three of them stared each other down for a few seconds before Bekah nodded solemnly. "Batman and Wonder Woman for the win."
Sam whooped victoriously and threw his arms up in the air while Puck grinned evilly and grabbed Bekah, hauling her over his shoulder and standing up to spin her around.
"NOAH!" she squealed, pounding her brother's back.
"Who's the genius of the family?!" Puck roared, spinning around. "Who's the genius?!"
"YOU! YOU ARE! NOW PUT ME DOWN!" she shrieked. "I'M GONNA THROW UP ON YOUR BUTT! SAM, HELP ME! YOU TWO ARE NINCOMPOOPS!"
Sam just grinned and sat on the armchair, letting the two Puckermans fight amongst themselves. Puck spun her around one more time and then tossed her onto the couch. She learned that word from Berry. Puck was sure of it.
The doorbell suddenly rang as Bekah chucked a pillow at his face. "Go get the door, genius! Let me watch my Justice League in peace!"
Puck threw the pillow back at his sister, whacking her solidly in the face and making her shriek again. He sprinted out of the living room just as she made a grab for the random-ass giant atlas on the coffee table in front of her.
Still chuckling, he pulled open the door, and then his smile vanished.
Oh, God, he'd already been in a fight three fucking days ago. Once a week was more than enough.
"Hey, dude. What's up?" Puck asked calmly, mentally bracing himself to deal with either a broken nose or a concussion.
Finn stared back at him with this barely-contained furious expression, and Puck knew this could only end in blood. He saw the tick in Finn's jaw, the hunched shoulders, the clenched fists—he was totally gonna get in another fight. He wished he could call to Sam and make a bet, but…yeah. Not gonna happen.
"Are you and Rachel going behind my back?"
A shorter chapter and a cliffhanger?!
Hello, sadist. Haven't seen you in a while.
}:)
So a new Glee episode is tonight.
But I'm not watching it.
Not 'til Sam comes back.
Don't call me a traitor or whatever. I used to really like Glee, okay? But then these kids started getting super bitchy and way too dramatic, and even my school's resident drama queen wasn't nearly this bad. It's getting ridiculous, and until they come up with some legit story arcs, I'm just gonna go watch some Supernatural or Once Upon a Time.
Besides.
My blood pressure can't take any more Shelby/Puck action. I'm gonna end up weeping in a corner over Puck's idiocy…and his damned Mohawk which I still cannot get over.
