Dead end

Monday.

Worst day of the week.

Really.

It ruins your weekend, because it always looms right around the corner on Sundays, letting you know that another day of school is about to come up. And, of course, Monday being the first day of the week, it always meant that there were five days standing in the way of another weekend.

But this particular Monday was even worse.

It started with Danny taking away his keys and thus forcing Puck to walk to school for the first time since he'd saved enough money to buy the truck. He barely made in time for first period. Not that he would've minded missing it, but he really didn't need to add detention to the long list of his problems.

Then there was that moment somewhere between first and last period, when Rachel stopped him in the hallway, almost yelling at him for what seemed like hours… and although he didn't really listen to a word she said, he was pretty sure that it had something to do with him having missed Glee practice on Saturday, and something about serious trouble if he would miss practice tomorrow.

And Finn and Kurt just behaved very strangely the whole day, always looking at him in a weird way. Though he wasn't really sure if it was concern or disappointment. And trying to avoid Finn so he wouldn't ask him about all those phone calls, was a lot harder than he'd thought.

But the really, really bad thing waited for him when he got home.

He didn't even notice it, until he got into the house. But something had been missing. Outside.

The truck.

Puck opened the door again, and stared at the street, at the spot where he'd left his truck on Saturday, where it had been this morning when he'd gotten out of the house. But it wasn't there.

His truck was gone.

"Looking for something?"

Puck jerked around, startled by the voice behind him. "Where is it?", he asked, although he already knew that he probably wouldn't like the answer to that question.

"I brought it to the junkyard.", Danny said, smiling.

Puck really didn't like that answer.

"But… but why?", was all he got out.

"Because it's a piece of junk. It's the perfect place for it."

Okay… Danny might even be right about that part, but that piece of junk was still driving and it was his… he'd worked hard for it.

"You can't do that!" It wasn't much of a defense, and it wasn't going to change anything. But Puck was still shocked by the fact, that his ride was going to get crushed into a metallic cube.

"I think I just did." Danny closed the door, stopping Puck from staring at the empty spot on the street any longer. "And besides… walking is supposed to be healthy."

"Yeah… right. Because you've always been so concerned about my health." The anger was back, slowly rising up inside him. The knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do about this, made it even worse.

"You've got something to say?" Puck almost missed the hint of malice in Danny's voice. He knew, that, if he'd pushed any further, Danny would change into that raging monster once again… and Puck just didn't have the strength to fight him today.

"No."

Defeated. Once again.

"Good… and you probably want these back." Danny said and took out Puck's keys. "Don't loose them!" And with that, he threw them on the floor and walked away.

Puck picked up the keys and walked up the stairs, still trying to wrap his head around the fact, that his truck was gone. He slammed the door when he got to his room. Didn't matter that it wasn't going to stay closed, Puck just needed something to stop that sickening feeling of weakness from taking over.

It wasn't working.

He threw his bag on the floor and closed the door, putting the chair in front of it. Danny had taken everything away from him. His family. His home. His music. And now, the only thing left that had given him at least a little bit of freedom.

Puck just wanted to scream, to let it all out, to tell the world about the hell he'd been living in. He wanted to hurt that man, to beat the crap out of him. But he knew, that, by the time he would be standing face to face with that guy again, all the hatred would be torn away by that paralyzing fear.

Puck would never - never - admit it to anyone, but whenever Danny was about to explode, he got scared. He would never show it, would cover it up with his mouth, and by that making Danny even more angry. But it was better than letting that guy know that he was terrified.

Every time he left school, he was afraid to get home. Every time he got up in the morning, he was afraid to go downstairs. Every time he went to bed he was afraid to fall asleep. He'd been afraid for over two years. And it made him sick. It made him sick, to know that he couldn't face up to the guy doing this to him, to be this helpless and weak.

Puck hadn't even noticed that he'd slammed his fist into the wall. That he was still slamming his fist into the wall. Again. And again. And again... until his knuckles split open, leaving red trails running down the wall. But he didn't care. He couldn't feel the pain, couldn't see the blood running over his hand. He just kept hitting the wall until there was nothing left to feel…

His knees started quivering, giving out under his weight. He slumped to the floor, exhaustion taking over his body, leaving him sitting on the ground, waiting for something to happen, something - anything - to proof, that time was still going forward… that the world hadn't stopped.

His hand started throbbing, and, very slowly, the pain started to draw attention to itself until it was all he could feel.

Puck was staring down at the bloody mess the wall had left him with. If it hadn't been for the pain he wouldn't even know that it belonged to him. It felt weird to even look at it. He tried to move his fingers and was glad that they still seemed to work, but it hurt… a lot… and he knew that he couldn't leave it untreated.

He crawled over to his bed, trying to reach the first-aid-kit he had stashed under there. Well, it wasn't really a first-aid-kit, but he got a few bandages, disinfectant - he had learnt his lesson on that after his encounter with the coffee table - and a few other things that would help with most of the minor injuries. He had even put that little jar in the box, the one Kurt had given him for the bruises.

Puck reached under the bed again, to get the bowl, the bottle of water and the towel he'd put there a few weeks ago. He didn't want to go to the bathroom right now, didn't want to risk walking into Danny… didn't want to show that man how much this was getting to him.

He opened the bottle and took a deep breath, before he held the hand over the bowl and started washing the blood away. His hand didn't look much better afterwards, though. He dried it off, and pressed the towel to the damaged knuckles for a few minutes, hoping, that it would stop them from bleeding. The red stains would probably never get out, but that really wasn't a problem right now… or at all.

After a few more minutes, he took the towel away, and stared at the damage he'd done. This wasn't good. Really. Not. Good. The skin over the knuckles had split in several places, blood still oozing out of a few cuts. And there seemed to be some swelling, too. Moving his fingers was already a lot harder than it had been ten minutes ago, and he knew, that he should probably have a doctor take a look at it. But he couldn't risk that, could he? This hand had "fist fight" written all over it. But, would they really ask him about that? What if he'd just tell the doc what happened, that he'd punched a wall… would he believe it?

Didn't matter. Puck already knew that he wouldn't try. Not, if he could help it. And even if he'd wanted to, he had no way of getting to the hospital. It was on the other end of town, and he really wasn't up for that kind of walk right now - he probably wouldn't even get out of the house in one piece.

No… Puck just had to hope, that it looked worse than it was, that nothing was actually broken.

He took the disinfectant and held his breath for a moment. This was gonna hurt for sure. He really hated that burning pain this stuff created on his skin, but he knew that there was no way around it, and another few minutes later, his hand was all bandaged up. That left only the problem of how he was going to write anything down for the next few days, since there was no way that he could hold a pen - or anything else for that matter. Not that he took a lot of notes during classes, but still…

And - once again - he had to think of another lie… another reason.

Puck took a deep breath and lay down on his bed. Maybe, just maybe, the sleep would take his pain away... for now.

But he didn't sleep, at least, not very well, and when he got up early the next morning, his hand hurt more than he would've thought possible. He could barely move his fingers, and the sight awaiting him when he took off the bandage, wasn't pretty. He couldn't even look at it for more than a minute…

He should really go to the hospital.

Puck took a new bandage and wrapped his hand up again.

Maybe he would go… later…

The morning passed by in a blur, and when he got to Glee practice that afternoon, he couldn't even remember the last class he'd been sitting in. His hand had been throbbing, hurting, robbing him of any other thought. He had tried to hide the bandage under the long sleeves of his shirt, but they weren't long enough to reach over his knuckles, and the white fabric was still visible. Almost everyone he'd walked into this morning, had asked him about it… well, at least the Glee kids had, and he'd answered their question with a shrug, mumbling something that no one could hear, saying things like "none of your business" and "what's it to you", and they'd left him alone. But he knew, that they were probably talking about it behind his back, and that they would most certainly try to get a real answer as soon as he got to the choir room. The thought of skipping practice crossed his mind, but he knew, that he couldn't do that again. The cold wouldn't work a second time. No, they would all know why he wasn't there, and he really didn't like the idea of them starting to discuss all kinds of horrific scenarios that might have led to this.

He had to face them.

So he showed up a few minutes late, and became slightly suspicious, when he saw Mr. Schue talking to Finn and Kurt. Even more so, as they stopped talking the moment they got sight of him. Good thing that he'd already decided to leave the second that practice was over, before they would even have time to think about cornering him. He wasn't even able to face one of them alone, anymore, and having all three of them talking at him, demanding the truth? He couldn't let that happen… he had to get out of here as soon as possible.

But they didn't get to the end of the rehearsal. Didn't even make it to halftime.

Puck didn't really know how it even happened - or what actually happened - but during the first dance number, someone bumped into him, or he stumbled, or… something… that led to him falling to the floor. Someone cried out in pain, and it wasn't until Mr. Schuester was squatting right in front of him, that Puck realized that he himself had been the one crying out - and that the others were all staring at him, shocked expressions on their faces.

"You're alright?"

"What happened?"

"Is he ok?"

He couldn't see who was talking, their voices mixing into one giant cloud of noise, while all he could think of was that blinding pain in his right hand.

"Let me take a look at that…"

No… no way…

But Puck didn't have the strength to resist. He just wished that someone would make it stop. He closed his eyes, trying to fight another wave of pain, when Mr. Schue started to unwrap the bandage, that was already starting to soak in fresh blood. Puck could hear the others gasping and someone crying out.

This was bad… really, really bad…

"What happened?", the teacher asked, the shock clearly audible in his voice.

"Nothing." He could at least try, couldn't he? "It's nothing… really." He opened his eyes again, trying to smile… but really? Who would have been able to make that work being in this kind of situation?

"That's not nothing!" Mr. Schue seemed a little bit overwhelmed by the situation. "Okay… ehm…" He took a few moments to think. "I'll take you to the hospital. The rest of you: go home! Rehearsal's over for today."

The fact that no one, not even Rachel, tried to argue over that, made this whole thing seem even worse.

Puck hadn't noticed them leaving, but when Mr. Schue helped him off the floor, they were all gone. The teacher had already gotten Puck's bag and jacket and a few minutes later, they were in the car, driving.

This was just so surreal.

It all happened pretty fast after that - except for the part in the hospital waiting area… that had probably taken hours - but apart from that, it all went over rather quickly.

Puck had been lucky: he hadn't broken any bones, but the wall had left him with a few serious contusions. They bandaged it up pretty good, until he couldn't even move the tips of his fingers anymore, and told him to come back, soon. They gave him some minor painkillers and told him how and when to take them. But he didn't really listen. He just nodded along, and was finally allowed to leave.

When they had asked him how it had happened, he'd told them about the wall, and he was really glad that they hadn't asked him to take off his shirt when they had looked at his hand, because the bruises on his forearms would've raised a whole new kind of questions. But no one had seen them, and they hadn't asked anything else, which had really surprised him for a second or two, before that assistant doctor guy or whoever he was, had grabbed his hand not-so-gently, and the pain had once again been the only thing on his mind. And now, that he had gotten through the hospital part, and was back in Mr. Schue's car, he almost wished that they'd asked more questions, or held him for the night or something… anything to stop his teacher from driving him home, because there was no way that Mr. Schue would just let him get out of the car and into the house this time. Puck had barely been able to stop him from calling his mom when they had gotten to the hospital, but he wouldn't be able to stop him from knocking at the door.

The car stopped in front of the house before Puck even had the chance to think of a way to get out of this. And before he even realized, what was going on, they were both walking up to the stairs. But it wasn't his mom who opened the door. It was Danny. And he was smiling. But not that sick, vicious smile Puck had seen on him so many times… the nice and welcoming kind of smile, and it faded as soon as he got sight of Mr. Schuester's concerned face.

"Noah? What's going on?", he asked, probably not sure which face to wear, the worried or the disappointed one.

"Hello, Mr…?"

"Simmons. Sorry… and you are?"

"I'm Will Schuester, Puck's teacher. Is Mrs. Puckerman home?"

This was awkward. In the worst possible way.

"No… no, she's not here right now."

Of course she wasn't. How convenient. Lying bastard.

"So… what's going on?", Danny asked again.

"There has been a minor incident during Glee rehearsal today and I had to take Puck… Noah, to the hospital."

The shocked expression on Danny's face would have fooled anyone…

"It's not as serious as I first thought, but I wanted to make sure that he got home alright."

"I- I don't know what to say… thank you… Mr. Schuester, was it?"

The teacher nodded, not sure if there was anything else he should say or do, but he really couldn't think of anything. He was just glad that Puck would be okay, and it was really getting late.

"Goodnight.", was all he said in the end, before he went back to the car. But when he drove away, leaving the house behind, he just couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something…