Burt was stirring a pot of some sloppy pasta in his kitchen when the phone rang. Kurt always told him to never stop stirring the pot, or else it would burn on the bottom. So Burt moved fast as he could to get the cordless phone. He hit talk and wedged the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, "Howdy?"

He heard a rushed voice drowning panic, "Wait, o.k. calm down, what's wrong!" Burt tried to push past he own panic to get an explanation.

And Merdes' words cut through him like glass he watched coming at him in slow motion, "It's Kurt! He's hurt."

The phone plopped into the pot of tomato sauce.

Burt was frozen, his face slack. It was the screaming coming out of the receiving end of the phone that snapped him back.

The density of the sauce caused the phone only to slowly ooze into the pot. Burt had plenty of time to fish it out, and with saucy hands and a saucy phone he pressed it into his ear.

"What?"

"Oh God, Mr Hummel! Kurt, he's in the hospital. St. James hospital, please you have to come."

Burt could only stand there his whole body shaking. Fearing he was going to lose his son, just like he had lost his wife.

"How is Kurt? Is he breathing? What happened to him?"

Burt's hand braced himself on the stove, steaming bellowing in his eyes. Burt was crying, Mercedes' could hear it in his voice.

"He's been put under. He'll survive. "Mercedes' closed her eyes as if protect herself from what she was about to say. " Mr. Hummel, Kurt was raped."

Burt could only stand there while the pasta sauce burned.

*

Puck poured himself a second cup of scolding coffee before being it to his lips. He was going to chug it just like he did the last. It burned his lips, blistered them. It branded the taste buds off his tongue. And it feed the fire in his belly.

The buzz of the caffeine clouded Puck's thoughts and he liked that. Feeling jittery Puck had no idea what to do. He didn't what to go back, he didn't what to think. Because He was royally screwed.

With a stomach full of cheap coffee.

So Puck wandered, just wandered, just anywhere, trying to focus on anything what was in front of him. But he couldn't.

Kurt was on his mind. Was he ok? Was he awake? Did he need him? The questions were firing out of his mind at lightning speed.

But he stopped dead in his track once he passed a vending machine. And he smiled remembering a stoned teenager's rant.

*

Puck pulled back the ugly ass yellow curtain and his eyebrows knitted together at the sight before him.

"Do you know a Noah Eli Puckermen?" This middle aged man dressed in a suit addressed Rachael, Will and Artie. The man had two police officers behind him. "We have a few questions, for him"

"I'm Noah." Puck wasn't use to saying his name.

The middle age man, turned towards him, "I'm Detective Paulsen"

Puck walked into the room, past the Paulsen and straight towards Kurt.

Kurt was still under; his face was quiet and oddly peaceful. Puck smiled and slipped the Caramilk Bar into Kurt's limp hand.

Puck turned and faced the Detective, with his arms crossed. He didn't like cops in anyway. Puck's been running from them his whole life, for one reason or another.

"How can I help you?"

Paulsen reached him and pulled out a pair of handcuffs," You're under arrest for the assault and battery of Nick Gibson."

Artie shouted, "What? He was protecting our friend. He's right there in the hospital bed. RIGHT BESIDE YOU!"

"This NICK guy was raping-"Puck didn't even finish his sentence. He couldn't. Because he was interrupted.

The detective took a step towards the teen, "You have a record with these sort of things don't ya?"

"That was in self defence! I wasn't changed with anything!" Puck took an angry step towards the older man, his nostrils flaring. He was defending his past. Even if he was acting pissed, furious he was breaking on the inside. He was trying so hard to hold it all together.

The cops snapped to attention, about apprehend Puck, but Paulsen waved him off. And in the most clear unfazed voice ever, "Doesn't change the fact that you killed your own Father."

Detective Paulsen enjoyed saying that way too much.

Puck could feel everything. The horrified eyes of his fellow Gleeks, The smirk of the detective.

He felt his world crumple, his past resurface. It bubbled up like thick tar.

He felt everything tighten, all his muscle, his throat, his heart. And he it went loose. It was gone. And Puck was empty. Gone.

He didn't fight or struggle as the police handcuffed him. He just walked by a crowd of extremely confused Gleeks with his head bowed.

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