Author's notes: You were supposed to get this earlier and then life happened and it was kind of shitty. Plus, I got both Pre-MS and Post-MS. Post-MS totally exists. Promise.

Just to clarify – the numbered paragraphs are the number of times Puck has visited Kurt. I did not want to write "visit no. 03", because it just looked ugly. And YES, that part about Cosmopolitan is an actual article. I totally did my homework on that one.

LETTERMAN JACKET
No. 15

No. 03
"Dude, seriously... How can you not have Super SmashBros Brawl?"

Only silence met him from across the room.

"It's like... an Xbox without Super SmashBros Brawl is like... walking in the snow without shoes. Fucking stupid."

Not a sound. Not even a twitch of a muscle or the rustle of sheets. Nothing.

No. 08
"This makes no sense at all... Who the fuck cares about the French anyway?"

Puck looked up from his spot on the couch to let his eyes fall upon the very still lump hidden beneath the comforter. The half-assed, messily scribbled words across his notebook were supposed to be his essay for History class. Kurt made no move, no effort to answer him, even though Puck really could have used his help. He was one of those smart kids, was he not?

Puck ended up throwing the homework away. Who cared anyway?

No. 12
"Do you really read this shit?"

Puck had helped himself to some of Kurt's magazines, which had been neatly piled upon a small side table by the couch, which he had pretty much lived upon for the last couple of days. Not that he slept there or whatever, but he... came over at times. Like... a lot, or something. He was waving an issue of Cosmopolitan in Kurt's back's general direction.

"'Seven Signs He Wants To Have Sex'..." He read out loud. "Are they for real?"

No answer came from that little huddled up heap in the bed.

"Alright, number one... 'He gets an eye erection'... What the fuck is an eye erection? That's sick, dude. Sick."

He could have avoided her if he did not practically walk right into her. Mercedes dropped her Math book to the floor and yeah, he could be a good guy, so he picked it up for her. Not until she thanked him did he actually look at her.

She was the spitting image of Burt Hummel. Except that she was a girl and well, black. She had hair too. Whatever. They had the same tired lines around their eyes, the same sad tilt to the corners of their mouths, as if they would break out in tears at any second, but were to stubborn to give into their urges. Puck could not stand looking at her for too long. She was the only one who had not asked him to come back to Glee.

"Puck..." She started tentatively, her inner diva drained from her tired features. "Finn said that... that you've been visiting him."

No names needed to be used. They both knew who they were talking about. Puck only nodded in reply, a sudden irritation and anger flaring in the pit of his stomach. Stupid Finn and his yapping mouth. His visits to the Hummels place were none of his business.

"I was wondering if you could take me with you next time. Maybe... maybe if you're with me, he'd talk to me."

When she spoke, there was the tiniest of hope behind her eyes. Much like with Mr Hummel, Puck had not prepared any form of resistance to that little spark of hope.

He caved.

"Tomorrow. After school. Meet me in the parking lot."

She lit up like the sun, offered a thankful smile and left him alone in the corridor. Puck could not shake the feeling that he should have told her about how... non-verbal her best friend was.

No. 13
Surprise, surprise. Kurt laid, unmoved, between his silky sheets. Puck watched him quietly, sprawled out on the couch with his shoes discarded upon the floor. He did that sometimes. Watched him, just to see if he would turn around and ask him what his problem was. Did he not feel that he was staring? Did it not bug the hell out of him? It sure would have bugged the hell out of Puck.

"Aretha is coming with me tomorrow."

Kurt flinched. Puck hid his satisfied smile behind the latest issue of Cosmo. It was at least something.

His mother was almost half-way out the door by the time he got home. She rolled her eyes at the sight of him, ushering him inside as soon as he had stepped out of his car.

"About time!" She said, obviously in a rush considering her flushed cheeks.

"You said seven, didn't you?" Puck inquired while struggling with the laces of his worn Converse in the crowded hall.

"Yes, I did and now it's nearly seven thirty."

"Oh."

"Yes, Noah, oh."

She gave him a pointed look and he shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it upon the coat rack while she grabbed hers and pulled it on over her mandatory, gender-neutral uniform. Kurt would hate it.

"Dinner's on the stove, your sister is doing her homework so do not disturb her and I'll be back by four. Alright, darling?"

"Alright."

She stopped with her hand upon the door-handle, gave him one last look. The concern shone through the stress.

"How is he?"

Puck ran his hand over his shaved scalp before shoving his hands down the front pockets of his jeans.

"The same, I guess." He shrugged, feigning indifference, but she knew him better than that. She was not fooled and he knew it. Though, she did not press it. Probably did not have the time.

"Go eat something now, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. Bye, Ma."

"Bye, Noah."

She took a friend's night shift over at some sort of cleaning business from time to time, just so it would not be so tight by the end of the month. At those times, it was his job to be home on time and care for the little scamp. It was usually not so bad. He had somehow managed to force the hair-braiding to a minimum and filled its place with playing video games (Super Mario works for all ages, man). Plus, she always went down like a light around ten, so he could chill out and do cool stuff... like playing Super Smashbros Brawl. Though, this night was different.

"Noah?"

It happened sometimes on randomly chosen occasions. It was the nights she thought so much she could not sleep. At those times, she would stick her head of unruly, dark chocolate brown hair through his door and gently call out his name.

"'Sup, twerp?" He always greeted her, even though he already knew the answer.

"I can't sleep."

"Yeah? What am I supposed to do about that?"

The result was always the same. Two seconds later and she was buried beneath his sheets, closing her petite fists around his shirt and letting his calm heartbeat lull her to sleep. And yeah, Puck might stroke her hair until she was so far gone a bomb would not wake her, but he would never admit to it.

No. 14
Mercedes was already waiting by the Studmobile by the time he walked into the parking lot. She was holding a book bag close to her chest and the corners of her mouth twisted slightly upwards at the sight of him.

"You've got a car?"

Screw greetings. He had a bad feeling about this and wanted to get it over with. She nodded with determination, smile wiped off of her features.

"Cool. See you there."

He walked around her without a second glance, yanked open the door and did not look forward to the seventeen and a half minutes of thinking he had ahead of him. Something deep down told him that this was a fucked up idea and that he was stupid to agree to it. The same voice echoed in his head during the entire drive – not even blasting hardcore Jewish rock through his aged stereo could shut it out, not with Mercedes' car constantly in the rear view mirror.

He parked on his usual spot on the other side of the street and had barely made it out of the truck before she was by his side. She was still clutching her book bag hard to her chest. Puck thought he ought to tell her to be ready or something, but he did not want to freak her out more. It looked like if he even made the slightest effort to squeeze her shoulder in comfort or whatever, she'd slap him by sheer reflex. Unnecessary pain was not something he was very fond of.

The door was unlocked. Puck stepped right in, ignoring his company's curious eyes digging into the back of his neck. He caught a glimpse of Mr H in the kitchen, reading some sort of fishing magazine.

"Hi, Mr H."

"Puckerman," Mr H replied automatically, throwing a quick glance over his son's most common visitor. His eyes widened slightly by the sight of Mercedes. He had not seen her for a while. "Hi there, Mercedes."

"Hello, Mr Hummel," she answered him, making an effort to smile, but failing miserably. Had she paled too? She did look pretty pale.

Puck met Mr H's questioning glance with a shrug, because yeah, what was he supposed to say? They both knew that nothing good would come out of this, both Puck and Mr H, but it might be worth a try? Right? Right.

"You know where to find him", Mr H finally said and they were dismissed.

His eyes adjusted easily to the darkness in the basement by then. Mercedes squinted and hesitated on the last step. He kind of understood her. It was pretty creepy down there. He was used to it, though, so it was not that big of a deal anymore. Still, she stood very immovable and he sort of figured that they would get nowhere if they did not move. Even Finn got that. With an exaggerated head bob towards the heap in the bed, he tried to urge her forward. She shook her head slightly, adjusting her grip on the book bag. Chicken.

"Hummel! Mercedes is here."

That sure got her moving, because she really did not have any other choice. Puck watched her when she walked over to the bed, tentatively sitting down upon the mattress.

"I... I brought the latest issue of Vogue Italia..."

He figured that was his cue to pretend that he did not care about what they were doing. He sat down upon the couch, schooling his features into indifference, while his head was slightly more tilted towards them than completely necessary. What? He was curious. Not about the boots Mercedes was informing her best friend about, but if the guy would acknowledge her at all.

It was sort of painful to hear the awkward attempts of conversation. With every reply which never came, Puck found it more difficult to focus on the video game before him, because he really just wanted to tell him to get a grip and not upset her. Because she was getting upset, you had to be an idiot not to notice. And Kurt was not an idiot. Except for maybe now.

"Would you please leave?"

It was spoken so softly he barely caught it above the sound of his soldier getting mashed beneath a tank and the splatter of blood that came with it, but it was there. Puck just caught a glimpse of Mercedes' tear-filled eyes before she went up the stairs in a rush. The door to the basement was slammed shut, just as the front door a couple of seconds later. Kurt laid unmoved beneath his silky sheets. He had just kind of broken his girl's heart and showed absolutely nothing. What the fuck?

Puck had never quite realized that the little knot deep down in his abdomen had been pent up frustration until it was let loose. The anger bubbled up before he had any time to handle it.

"For fuck's sake, Hummel!"

He had at least the decency to flinch. Puck dropped the video game remote upon the couch cushion and got to his feet.

"Aren't you two supposed to be best friends or something?"

No reply. No fucking reply and yeah, he was pretty fired up by then, because there was being hurt and then there was just being really fucking rude. Kurt was the latter.

"You could at least talk to me, you know? You haven't forgotten that I'm the one who found you there, right? I had to watch you die, remember?"

Puck wished that he could forget Kurt's little half-smile the second before he died. He wished he could erase the feeling of his cold skin against his from his memory, but no such luck. He was pretty sure it would be forever imprinted in his mind and it was fucking Kurt Hummel's fault for not watching his own back. And yeah, Puck got it; getting murdered is not exactly on the Top 10 List of Fun Things To Do, but giving the silent treatment to anyone and everyone who cared shit about him was a really idiotic thing to do.

"You got fucking stabbed, Hummel, so stop being such an ice-cold bitch and show some damn emotion, will you?"

The last words were shouted out into the thick air of the basement. Mr H had probably heard him upstairs, but there was no heavy footsteps hurrying down the stairs, not even a concerned call out. The silence was almost as deafening as the loud pounding of his heart. Kurt stirred. Puck's chest heaved heavily with every ragged breath.

"You want to talk?"

Kurt's voice was hoarse and quiet – rusty from being unused for such a long time – when he spoke, but still managed to contain all the venom he wanted Puck to feel. And yeah, he felt it, like a heavy blow to the chest. The sheets rustled ever so slightly when Kurt sat up, turning towards Puck for the first time since the hospital. Sure, he had been in some sort of drug-induced haze then, but he had smiled and thanked him. He had been friendly and grateful. There was not a single trace of those emotions left in Kurt's stern face. There was only coldness and anger, all for Puck. He could not even laugh at his tousled hair or the ridiculous shirt he wore – all sense of joy and victory he could possibly have felt for making him talk drained from his body immediately, like a Dementor sucking out his soul. All that was left was the frustration.

"Fine. I'll talk." Kurt continued acidly, settling himself with his slender frame angled towards him and in that moment, he was every bit of the better-than-you ice queen Puck was used to. His back was straightened, his shoulders pushed backwards and his chin angled in a defiant tilt.

"I got stabbed. Some Neanderthal decided that I don't have the right to live, so he put a knife in me."

His fingers were clenching the flimsy fabric of his shirt, desperately keeping the hemline down. Puck was pretty sure he knew what he did not want him to see.

"A knife. I can't sleep, because if I close my eyes, it happens to me again. I can feel it go through my skin and I can feel him twist it."

Mr H had mentioned the nightmares. The dark bags beneath Kurt's eyes were the proof of their existence. Puck could only imagine how Mr H woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of his son screaming his lungs out.

"Is that what you want to hear? It's all I'm able to think about. I'm trying so hard to keep it inside, to keep those freakingemotions under control, because I fear that if I let go, if I cry, I will never be able to stop!"

Kurt's chest was heaving now, much like Puck's own. The last word seemed to echo between them – louder than the others, vibrating with all of those feelings he spoke of keeping bottled up. The thick silence between them strangled whatever retort Puck would be able to come up with.

"Is that enough talking for you? Do you feel better now?" Kurt said, his voice merely above a whisper now, but still managed to drip of so much disdain and disgust that Puck felt like he had been given a bitch slap. "Then get the hell out of here, because no one asked you to come."

They glared at each other for an unknown amount of time – both intent on not being the one backing down. Though, it did not matter. Kurt won either way, if it ever was a competition. He was the first one to turn his back on him, laying down beneath his comforter once again and Puck knew he was supposed to leave.

It was a storm off he was pretty sure Rachel Berry would be proud of – all down to the stomping up the stairs and the slamming of doors. He was mad. Why he was mad? Because Hummel was right. No one had asked him to be there. No one had forced him to go there, to spend every fucking afternoon with that stuck up little twat. He really had no right to complain and it was pissing him off! Almost every trashcan in the Hummels' neighborhood got to feel a piece of his wrath, because yeah, no way in hell he was getting into the Studmobile in this state. He was responsible like that.

Fucking Hummel and his reasonable head. Puck was not helping. Why the fuck had he even bothered? He should have taken the hint that first night he came to visit. Nothing had improved since that time, had it? He had just been a fucking pain in the ass for Kurt, and not even that kind of pain in the ass he probably enjoyed. He aimed a particularly hard kick towards a mailbox and yeah, someone had screwed that one tighter than he had thought.

"Fuck!"

Now his foot was throbbing too. Just great! Just fan-fucking-tastic! He slumped down in a defeated lump upon the curb, ignoring the weird looks he got from the occasional passers-by. One lady even grabbed her kid and walked over to the opposite sidewalk. Ignorant asshats. He was in pain, alright?

Pain. Yeah, it had been a lot of that lately. Admitting it did not make him a pussy. It didn't! It was just a fact. And Kurt felt it too. Like, a lot. More than he first would have thought. But this hurt pretty bad too, okay? This helpless feeling of being utterly useless. He could not help Kurt, no matter how bad Mr H wanted his visits to work. No matter how bad he wanted it to work. Puck had no clue of how to help with uncontrolled tear canals and nightmares, or...! He got up so fast he got dizzy, the first steps stumbling on weak knees. He knew what he had to do.

No. 15
It was late. Puck had never really noticed when it had darkened outside, but he was glad to find that the light was still on in the living room of the Hummel residence. The door was locked now and once it had been awkward to ring the doorbell, but not this time. He knew what he had to do and everything would be awesome after that. He was sure of it. If Mr H would let him in, that is, because when he opened the door he did not exactly look pleased. More like surprised and a bit suspicious.

"Puckerman? It's late."

"Can I see him?"

The look he received then told him very clearly that Mr H had heard the entire conversation earlier. It was not a good look.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Dads... seriously, it was as if they were allergic to him. He nodded impatiently, glancing over Mr H's shoulder in the general direction of the basement. The older man tilted his chin upwards in a jut which was identical with the one his son did when he was less than happy about something. Nevertheless, he took a step to the side and Puck noticed an in when he saw one.

"Thanks, Mr H."

"Don't make me regret it, Puckerman!" He called after him, but Puck was already down the stairs, door shut behind him, heart pounding in his ears.

Kurt laid where he always did, illuminated by that single lamp lit upon the nightstand. Puck struggled with his shoe laces, kicked his shoes off upon the white carpet and threw his jacket on the couch when he passed it. Kurt was staring into the wall, as if ignoring his existence would make him go away. Not this time. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out how exactly to turn the lights of, because very much like everything else in Kurt's life, that lamp was complicated, but he understood it eventually. The darkness was so thick he could barely make out the contours of the body beneath the sheets, though he did not really need to see him by then. The mattress creaked ever so slightly when he sat down upon the edge and he pretended not to notice how every single one of Kurt's muscles stiffened when he did so.

Kurt voiced no complaints.

Puck eased himself down upon the bed, above the comforter, his head hitting the pillow.

Not a word.

He rolled over on his side and if he had been able to see through the pitch black darkness, he would probably have been staring straight into a tousled mop of brown hair by then. He knew for a fact that his heavy breaths hit the back of Kurt's neck. He could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Not even a question sprang from the other boy's mouth. Nothing.

Puck wet his lips, reaching out a hesitant hand. The mere touch of his fingertips across his side were enough for Kurt to jolt into action.

"Don't..." He whimpered, voice light and vulnerable through the heavy silence, and Puck's heart broke.

He did not obey him. He let his palm lay flat against his stomach, fingers spread on top of his shirt. He could feel the unevenness upon his otherwise blemish free skin through the fabric, even though he was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Just sleep, okay?" He murmured to the back of his neck, to the tightly wound shoulders.

For a while, the only sound audible within the basement was Kurt's shuddering breathing – shallow and weak. He did not say a word, just laid very still. Puck was not sure of how much time actually had passed by the time he could feel his muscles let go of the tension. Kurt's shoulders slumped, meeting Puck's chest and his arm fell more easily around him. He fought a small smile.

Then it happened. An aching sob ripped through their bodies, the silence and the darkness. Kurt covered his mouth with his hand, desperately trying to stifle it, trying to blink away the oncoming tears, but it was too late. His entire being shook and shuddered in Puck's arms while he cried, pressing into the embrace, willingly seeking the comfort he offered. He cried until there were no tears left to cry and no other option than to close his eyes from exhaustion. Shy snores replaced the sobs when the early morning sun searched its way through the narrow windows near the ceiling. Puck smiled tiredly into his skin and fell asleep too.

A/N: Please tell me what you thought of this chapter! There was a whole lot of emotions there and I would love to hear what you thought of it.