Credit to 96% of whatever Sue Sylvester says goes to none other than the most epic writer of Sue Sylvester this site has ever seen, yomomma222. I could spend 4 days trying to come up with half of her snark, and would only manage about a feeble 2%. Read her stories.
They are amazing.
But on a more serious note, some of Sue's remarks really toe the line, so don't take offense, don't take me seriously, these are not my views, and SERIOUSLY, peoples. Do I really need to explicitly point out that this is fucking Sue Sylvester whose mere existence is offensive to three-fifths of the world's population? Don't take it seriously. And if you're not even bothered by the God-knows-how-many cuss words I've thrown in here, you shouldn't really be bothered by the other shit.
12
Brad
He swore to himself last night—legit, swore—that he would only step back onto McKinley High property if it was either for a reunion or if he and Berry had plans to defile the football field. He even told Chang and Evans that if he ever crossed the threshold for any reason aside from those two, bad things would happen. As if there was some serious hoodoo on his head, like the spirit of the building cursed him for all the vandalism or something.
So obviously the cosmos decided to bitch-slap him 'cause he forgot his capo in the choir room.
Of course.
So he had to break out the keys he lifted from the janitor first day of freshman year even though he stashed them in a shoebox at the bottom of his closet for nostalgia's sake, drive his ass to school at the unholy hour of 12 PM, and trudge through the godforsaken halls he vowed to never walk through again not seven hours ago.
It's your own fault for leaving it in the first place, Noah.
Ya, but its urs 4 mkn me 'volunteer' 4 this. Which mnt me needing guitar & capo.
This is for a good cause, and you know the kids love it when we come over!
But rite aftr graduation? We only slept 6hrs, bby.
Well, it is entirely our faults for parading through town in Santana's limo only to end up in the football field and then proceeding to dance around like fools at said football field when we already made prior arrangements.
M doin this 4 the kids now, Berry. Ur mean.
Well, you are an absolute child, Noah. Man up! You've survived on much less, and you know how I hate not having a good night's sleep. I'm suffering more than you.
Drama queen.
If you would stop texting me to bemoan your current situation, you would've found your capo and picked me up by now.
Ur mean, Berry. U bad, bad girl.
Noah, stop it.
So naughty.
Noah, I demand you cease this nonsense.
U need 2 b punished.
I will show these texts to your mother, so help me God!
She'll just praise the Lord, Berry. No use. U cn't escape ur punishment.
Noah Elijah Puckerman, STOP.
U know u dsrve it. Cn't u feel the guilt? U wnt 2 b punished. U wnt justice 2 b served.
His phone rang, and he laughed as he answered the call.
"You will stop these shenanigans, Noah!" she shrieked. He could almost see the shade of red on her face. "And to be honest, they're not your best either."
Puck smirked. "You mean to tell me you actually keep track of my dirty jokes?"
"Well, I can't help it!" she cried defensively. "I can't exactly do anything else with them, and you just keep throwing them at me, so I just started taking into account your more creative and clever ones..."
"Oh, really? And which one's your favorite then?"
"I'm not answering that."
Puck grinned as he turned down the corner. He was about to say something else when he heard music coming from down the hall—from the...gym...?
"…infect me with your lovin', fill me with your poison. Take me, ta-ta-ta-take me, wanna be a victim, ready for abduction. Boy, you're an alien. Your touch so foreign. It's supernatural, extraterrestrial…"
"Uh, Berry? Baby, I gotta...go..."
"Noah? Just hurry up, okay? The orphanage is expecting us in an hour and a half."
"Yeah, babe," Puck answered distractedly, trying to peer through the gym doors. "Be there in a couple of minutes. Bye."
"Noah—"
She was gonna lecture his hot ass off for hanging up on her, but it had to be done. Why? 'Cause when he cracked open the door to the gym and poked his head inside, he saw the one thing that he both didn't ever want to see but would kill to catch on camera. And the opportunity just presented itself.
"...kiss is cosmic, every move is magic. You're from a whole 'nother world, a different dimension. You opened my eyes, and I'm ready to go..."
The bitch could move, he'd give her that. But those were moves that he never really wanted to see. There was something just sick and wrong and epic about the whole thing. So because he was the Puckzilla, badass bastard extraordinaire, he ducked into the gym doors like a ninja, crouched behind the section of folded-up bleachers, and broke out the camcorder on his phone 'cause this shit belonged on YouTube.
Sue Sylvester doing the Sam Evans body rolls and the Brittany Pierce hip swings in the middle of the gym floor? Yeah, this would easily go up to a million hits.
She was right in the middle of the second chorus when she actually ran one hand up her thigh and ass while the other went down her chest and 'round her boob, and Puck could no longer hold back the gagging noise. Sylvester immediately froze, and those beady eyes zeroed in on the camera, the hand it was attached it to, and the face that was right behind it. Only two words sprang to mind as he could've sworn that the woman's eyes went totally and completely pitch-black. "Oh, fuck."
"PUCKERMAN! I WILL RIP OUT YOUR MARIJUANA-LACED VEINS AND REPLACE THEM WITH SPLINTERED TOOTHPICKS SOAKED IN GORILLA URINE IF YOU DO NOT GIVE ME THAT PHONE RIGHT NOW!"
One second he was staring at a face so fucking red it matched the shade of that godforsaken tracksuit, and the next he was out in the hall sprinting for his life.
He didn't know how he pulled it off, but he actually managed to avoid this woman the entire school year. If they were ever in the same room, there was a solid ten feet and a couple bodies separating them. It was kind of a mutual avoidance in that they would make each other's lives a living hell if lines were crossed. It was unspoken, unacknowledged, and undeniable. Puck was fucking annoying, and not all of Sylvester's threats were inconceivable.
The shit that would go down between them would immediately shoot back up into the fan.
Exhibit A:
Puck roared with laughter as he skidded around the corner, glancing back at the raging psychopath who was currently right on his ass, waving around a Louisville Slugger like he was a fucking flesh-eating zombie.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU SQUIRREL-TAIL-HEADED LEECH, SO I CAN SMASH YOUR NOSE INTO YOUR SPLEEN!"
Having mastered the art of hauling ass and multitasking, Puck unlocked his phone and hit "Send to YouTube."
"Title?" he said out loud between breaths. "Alien Coach Porn!"
"I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, DREIDL BOY, AND I WILL LIGHT UP YOUR ASS LIKE A MENORAH ON THE EIGHTH DAY OF HANUKKAH!"
He hardly even acknowledged the racism, and instead broke out the big vocabulary guns he suppressed after writing his kickass application essays. "Summary? National title-winning coach, Sue Sylvester of Ohio's McKinley High Cheerios, indulges in self-pleasure—"
"I WILL REARRANGE YOUR BONE STRUCTURE WITHOUT EVER BREAKING SKIN, AND THEN I WILL BAKE YOU! BAKE YOU UNTIL YOU RESEMBLE A GINGERBREAD CREATURE WITH HIS HEAD IN HIS ARMPIT!"
"—set to the nerve-tingling rhythms of Katy Perry's hit song, 'E. T.' After the recent departure of her bitter rival, New Directions Choir Director William Schuester, Coach Sylvester has come to terms with the unrequited love for her coworker that she has since masked with violent, offensive, and frequently racist and derogatory threats, comments, and complaints. This—"
"YOU WILL DANGLE FROM A HELICOPTER HOVERING ABOVE THE JUNGLES OF THE PHILIPPINES OCCUPIED BY YOUNG BURT REYNOLDS'S RAVENOUSLY HUNGRY CANNIBAL ANCESTORS!"
"—one's for you, Mr. Schue!" he cackled, bursting into the lab room, vaulting over desks and chairs, and then hurtling out through the other door. "HD? God, yes! Tags: sick, wrong, KatyPerry, traumatizing, and funny! Make it a public video? Hell, yes! Publish? Oh, ye—"
His finger was, legit, a millimeter from the touch screen when a chair smashed against the floor inches from his right foot.
Then it hit him.
No, you little shits, not the baseball bat—the realization that this woman was demon-possessed and therefore had the superhuman strength that meant she probably could rip his innards apart.
"PUBLISH THAT VIDEO, YOU DEGENERATE CHIMPANZEE, AND I WILL RAIN DOWN ALL THE COLLECTIVE FURY OF HELL AND MY BOWELS TO ENSURE THAT YOU WILL SUFFER FOR THE NEXT SEVENTY-TWO MILLENNIA YOUR RELIGION PROMISES YOU!"
Puck was pretty sure her rage had totally fucked up her facts about religions, but he had to focus on other things. Like the way he narrowly dodged the beaker that shattered against the wall inches from his head. He barreled into the choir room, darting behind the piano. Sue skidded to a stop on the opposite side, and he finally got a full view of the sight that would give him fucking nightmares for the rest of his life.
She wasn't even bleeding or disheveled. Sue Sylvester was just a horrifying terror in and of herself that a person's subconscious involuntary response to the sight of her would be to induce nightmares.
"You don't show up for an actual class, but you're here while all of your other delinquent friends are kicking off their summers with smoking the reefer and having showtune-themed orgies. Good God, Puckerman! No wonder your career aspirations don't stretch farther than the line for barely life-like crash test dummies."
Then she took full advantage of the fact that she'd finally cornered him to give him one hell of a long-winded diatribe.
"If you post that video, I will ensure that your life is full of disappointment, rejection, and sex with nothing but fat, wrinkly, ugly women who only sleep with you because they pity you. Disbelieve all you want, but all you have going for you is your face, that ridiculous Mohawk, and your charm. Take those away and you're nothing, and this is how I plan on doing as such. First, I will scalp you. That's right, Tonto. Down to the skull to ensure there will be no future re-growth. Then, when you have shed enough tears to fill a mason jar over the loss of a hairstyle that peaked in popularity while we still lived in colonies, I will drink those tears and proceed to scrape your face off with a dull, rusty butter knife and then spread it on my morning toast. I will be the last woman to enjoy your face, and it will be with an egg over medium and a glass of orange juice. Finally, just when you think you can still pull off a Beauty and the Beast with a nice girl who doesn't care what you look like because you're beautiful on the inside, I'll cut out your tongue so the only thing left in your repertoire is mumbles, uncontrollable drooling, and your rock hard abs. Yeah, I've noticed. Those I respect and will allow you to keep. You will walk this Earth as a deformed creature that will cause small children and even grown men to shoot up out of bed, shrieking and sobbing in terror multiple times throughout the night for the rest of their lives. At a ripe old age, just before you take your last, miserable, dying breath in an empty room because no one will ever love you, I will enter said room and whisper in your ear, 'You shouldn't have posted that video.'"
Puck just gawked at her. And y'all wonder why he thought it was a major accomplishment to have avoided this woman for an entire year.
"Jesus Christ! Can't you just threaten to shoot my balls off or something?"
"I didn't want to spare you from the emotional and physical trauma of having them shrivel up into raisins during that horrifying transition from degenerate human being to inorganic abomination. It's the best part in my opinion."
He grabbed the stack of loose sheet music on top of the piano and chucked the whole bunch at her, making her disappear in a flurry of white paper. She shrieked in fury, and Puck seized the opportunity to grab at a music stand—anything to try and counter the blow of a fucking bat coming at his head.
It sounds so fucking cliché, but in retrospect, the phrase is actually true: everything seemed to slow down as soon as Puck's hand wrapped around the stand.
Instead of stepping toward the stand like a normal person, Puck had stayed as close to the piano as possible and had lunged for the stand because he honestly thought that close proximity to the piano meant there was a solid 600lbs of mass keeping them apart. And instead of waiting for the papers to drop or at least slap them out of the way, Sue decided to raise the bat over her head and smash it downward, cutting through the flurry.
That meant she smashed the bat right into the piano. That meant the force of the blow cracked one of the already-cracked legs of the piano. That meant one end of the piano came crashing to the floor. That meant Puck's foot was in the right position to be the landing spot of the aforementioned descending end of the piano.
In all the years of McKinley High, no sound like such had ever been heard: a bloodcurdling scream mixed in with the disjointed, musical crash of a broken piano.
"Get it off! Get it off! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" Puck roared, and for the first time, Sue obeyed without her signature snark.
She dropped the bat and rushed over to try and haul the section of the piano off while Puck just collapsed onto the ground to use his other foot to push.
"FUCKITY FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK! GET IT OFF! HOLY SHIT! GET IT OFF!" he screeched.
As soon as Sue managed to heave the bulk of the piano off his foot, Puck clambered up onto his one good leg and tried to hobble over to the chairs, hunched over as he feebly gripped the knee off his injured foot. Unfortunately, his bent stature meant that his head was right in line with the door when it flew open.
A solid crack echoed through the empty school followed by two simultaneous yells:
"WHAT HAPPENED?!"
"TINKLES, YOU USELESS BUSH OF A MAN! IF THIS GROTESQUE BABOON'S MOTHER CHARGES ME FOR ASSAULT, I'M FILING YOU AS MY BUMBLING FOOL OF AN ACCOMPLICE!"
"...and I know you'd hate me, but I could never be able to succeed in New York unless I knew that you were all right. You'd say that I was giving up my dreams for you much like I was giving them up for Finn, but the truth is that there is a difference between you and Finn. An obvious one, of course, but the one that stands out to me the most is that while I would've given up everything for Finn, he would've let me. Whereas you would've screamed at me and called me stupid while simultaneously making me feel like a princess. Finn is just...just words, and you...you say it and then give me physical proof of it—like w-with the Barbravention. You told me you hated it when Jewish girls get nose jobs on their sixteenth birthdays, and Finn told me I was the beautiful the way I was. While I thought that at the time, I preferred Finn's wording, now I quite like yours much better. He's all talk; you show me you mean it. And for someone who likes talking, I understand the value of action. It makes or breaks an actor's career. One cannot just say the lines with the mouth, the body must also project the message as well. So, Noah, you have to get better because you really are lacking in the speech category, but your actions make the difference."
Puck had been awake for the last fifteen minutes—woke up right about when Berry started rambling—but he was honestly in too much pain and too tired to really try and make an effort to open his eyes.
But he couldn't stop himself anymore.
"You just want my hot body," he rasped, cracking open an eye and smirking at her. "You like how I use my mouth and not what comes out of it."
She'd been crying, that much was pretty obvious. But apparently thinking she was at his deathbed didn't stop her from smacking him on the stomach.
"Ow! Berry, come on. Lighten up," he gasped, grabbing both her little hands in one of his.
"You were unconscious for six hours, Noah," she choked out. "You scared me. Apparently there's been serious damage to your foot—"
"But it's still attached, right?!" he demanded, eyes wide.
The heart monitor next to him started beeping erratically, and she pushed him back down onto the bed.
"Yes, if you want to make sure, take a look down the bed. Your foot is right there. But dropping about six hundred pounds on it is a fairly bad idea, so you're going to be off it for a while. You're lucky you were wearing those thick leather boots of yours and that you and that demon-possessed creature managed to pull off the piano almost immediately," Berry explained, clenching her teeth together.
Puck scowled. "Where is that psychopath anyway? I wanna put out a restraining order."
"She's outside, getting an earful from Mr. Schue."
"I thought Schue was on his way to New York."
Berry sat down on the hospital bed and he set his hand on her hip to keep her there, making sure to run his hand over her bare thigh and hike up her skirt before he got there. What? Just 'cause he was in the hospital doesn't mean he wasn't Puck anymore. "He'd just crossed the border when we called him. He and that-that—"
"Bitch, Berry. Say it. Bitch."
"—that thing are now having a shouting match in an empty room on Finn's cell phone."
"Everyone's here?" Puck asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Well, of course," she scoffed. "We're your friends, Noah. You should have seen Brittany when she got here. She was inconsolable for a solid two hours, and when Sam bought her a packet of candy, she was reduced to hysterics."
Puck grimaced. "What candy was it?"
"Sour Patch Kids. Why is that relevant?"
Puck flinched. "Don't worry about it, honey."
"Noah, don't brush this off, okay? You have a concussion. You were swimming in and out of consciousness earlier, mumbling about Jewish gingerbread men, raisins, and cannibals," she said seriously, her bottom lip trembling.
Puck sighed and pulled her closer to his side. "I'm fine now, Berry. Promise. Head hurts like shit and my foot aches like a mother but at least I'm not in a coma or something, right?"
Apparently, something was wrong with whatever he said 'cause she burst into tears again.
"Oh, Christ, Rach, come on. Come on, honey, stop it. You know I don't like weepy. Stop. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay. Stop it, woman. You're okay. Ber—Rachel, sweetie, come on." He pushed her hair back from her face and used his thumbs as windshield wipers on her cheeks. "Stop crying, baby. Please? For God's sake, you know how I hate tears—especially Berry tears. They're the fucking worst."
"I-I have my own brand of tears?"
Out of everything else he said, that would be what she would focus on.
"Yeah," he said, smirking and bringing her face close to his so he could kiss her cheeks and her nose. "They're special 'cause they taste like strawberries."
"Strawberries are not salty, Noah," she corrected him, sniffling.
He ignored her. "You know what tastes better than Berry tears, though? Berry Lips."
"Let me guess," she sighed wearily but with a small smile, bracing both her hands on either side of his shoulders, "they taste like raspberries?"
He shook his head and tangled his fingers in her hair, dragging her closer. "No. They taste like sugar cookies."
He felt her smile against his lips as he got reacquainted with Berry's mad kissing skills. Like seriously...the girl went from beginner to master that first time they made out on her bed, and she only got better even if she'd been only making out with Doughboy's deformed big brother. She was legit the best kisser ever purely 'cause of the enthusiasm, and he was seriously enjoying himself.
Sadly, everyone could know exactly how much he was enjoying it 'cause the heart monitor was beeping so fast, it sounded like it was gonna explode. The door suddenly burst open, and Berry practically leaped off the bed 'cause of course the nurse on duty would be—
"Oh, praise the Lord!"
"Ma!"
"Oh, please, continue—no! Wait, let me hug you, honey! Oh, Rachel, have I said how happy I am that you're here? Because I am! I'm over the moon!"
"Oh, yeah! Forget about your concussed son!"
"Noah, you're fine," she said dismissively before turning back to Berry and squeezing her cheeks together. "Rachel here will take care of you."
"But you're the nurse!"
Aviva let go of her (hopefully) future daughter-in-law to drop a kiss on Puck's forehead. "Please, Noah? Don't antagonize that psychotic woman, okay?"
He scowled a little but nodded anyway. She patted his cheek affectionately and opened her mouth to say something else when a new voice boomed somewhere out in the hall.
"I'm on to your little Gay and Lesbian Early Enlistment club, Schuester!"
A beat skipped before Puck heard Schue's tinny voice on speakerphone. "Glee is not an acronym, Sue!"
"Say what you will, but you're four-for-four in un-closeting the homosexual population of this school. Once word of that gets out, your little club will finally see its end."
"I'm not even working there anymore! God, Sue, could you please get a grip?!"
"The only grip I need, William, is—"
"Coach! Can you just stop? Puck is awake now!" Quinn barked.
"Give me the phone before you smash it against the wall," Santana said. "God knows you've broken enough shit for today. Now can you just walk in there and apologize for nearly killing the guy?"
"I'm sorry. I haven't heard a single thing you've said since the simple act of watching your mouth form around words invokes in me the overwhelming urge to think of how many ways I can kill myself to put an end to it. All would be preferable to any conversation your watermelons might try to suck me into."
Not two seconds later, Santana stomped in with Brittany, Sam, and Blaine right behind her.
"Couldn't you have just grabbed that bat and whacked her in the face with it?!" Santana demanded, glaring at Puck.
"Why do you have to be so mean?" suddenly boomed from outside.
"Oh, Rory, no," Brittany muttered, horrified.
"I swear to God, he needs to stop hanging with Finnocence. Dumbassness is infectious," Santana sighed.
"Oh, look! Fresh meat. Got tired of eating potatoes and decided to finally get a taste of the sweet freedom that I fought for in jungles, deserts, and Taylor Swift concerts to secure for actual citizens of these United States? Let me see your papers, greenie."
"Oh, good God, Finn, he's turning red!" Kurt cried. "Do something!"
"What's the matter, Shamrock O'Houligan? Lost your pot of gold? I could give you a list of places to go look for it, but all suggestions I make would unquestionably lead to my immediate termination."
"JESUS CHRIST, SYLVESTER, WOULD YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP?!" Puck finally roared impatiently, making Berry and his ma glare at him reproachfully.
The bitch herself poked her head into the room and smiled—but it was a creepy, oh-look-there-are-zombies-for-me-to-channel-my-misplaced-aggression-on kind of smile. "Look who decided not to go into the light! Tell me, did your life flashing before your eyes show your past self to be a loudly-trilling tomahawk-thrower or a bearded, top-hat-wearing violinist with a penchant for dancing on rooftops?"
"We could totally press charges, you know," Bekah said acidly, brushing past Sue and coming to stand on the other side of Puck's bed.
"Assault is a pretty serious issue especially after your little rampage down the school that one time," Sam pointed out.
Sue rolled her eyes and walked in, arms crossed over her chest. "I could also decide not to continue my completely legal nuclear-arming operation in my underground bunker because it's detrimental to the disarming peace process, but my conscience won't let me stop preparations for saving the world. You can't have me arrested unless you want the Apocalypse to come a-knockin' in the morrow, and where would you and your cattle be then?"
What the fuck?
"Make up your mind—am I an American Indian, a Jew, a cowboy, or a monkey? 'Cause I don't know what the hell kind of racist message you're trying to send me now," Puck grumbled. Then he held up a hand, "You know what? Forget it. I don't care. Why are you even here?"
She sneered down at him, and his ma actually growled from where she stood next to Berry. "It's certainly not because I care about the well-being of you zoo animals. I've had venereal diseases—and, yes, the pluralizing was intentional—that were less irritating, repulsive, and pus-filled than your hideous pre-pubescent face. I'm here to make sure that my hard-earned insurance payments are being used for proper medical care and not drug-enabling procedures."
"Wait—what?" Puck hissed.
Sue shrugged innocently. "I would've offered to let my tax dollars pay your medical bills but, thankfully, Ohio rejected Obama Care. So this is all voluntary. Your minions have coerced me into paying your medical bills as reparations. For what, though—I have no idea."
"You chased him around school with a Louisville Slugger and smashed my piano onto his foot!" Brad cried incredulously from the doorway.
"That piano was probably made in China where their hands are too small to build anything worth a damn. If you didn't want it to break, then you should've bought American, John Tesh," she scoffed before turning back to Puck. "And you! You were clear across the room when that thing fell. How is it my fault that your freakishly enormous feet still managed to be under it? You don't need a doctor, you need a red nose and a flower that squirts water, Jangles the Clown."
"I don't understand why you have to mask your guilt with offensive insults, Coach. Why can't you just apologize and be done with it?" Berry asked tiredly.
Even Blaine scoffed at that.
"Guilt? I don't know of this guilt of which you speak. Need I remind you that all weak human traits have been surgically removed from my system? This? This was me picking my battles, and I deemed a battle against you Ritalin-laced orangutans as not worth the effort. But if any of you tell anyone of this, I will cut out your uvula and replace it with bull testicles. Think you can still sing with large, dangling testicles in your mouth? I've tried it before. Doesn't work."
"Okay, enough!" Aviva finally announced, nudging Bekah and Sam out and shooing away everyone else who'd poked their heads into the door. "You all need to get out of here right now. Noah needs rest, and mental images of you with testicles in your mouth has scarred all of us, I'm sure. Everyone out!"
"Don't go to sleep, Puck!" Finn called out from the hallway.
"Dude, he's in the hospital," Puck heard Mike say reassuringly. "He'll be fine."
"You sure you can't be a dancer and a doctor, Mike?" Brittany asked. "You sound like my pediatrician. Actually...you kinda look like him too."
"Is that considered a racist comment?" Rory asked.
"Not when it's Brit-Brit," Santana answered.
When Berry turned to leave, though, Aviva pushed her back toward Puck's bed, making Blaine and Sam laugh. Once everyone was finally out, Berry perched herself on the bed again and smiled.
"That was some funny-ass shit," Puck admitted, smirking.
Berry grimaced. "Noah, I've never heard so many offensive things jam-packed into one conversation."
"Really? Because that's why I avoid that choir room like Dachau—every sound coming out of it is offensive and a severe bowel-trigger," Sue said, marching right back into the room.
"Oh, Christ, I thought Ma told you to leave!" Puck signed exasperatedly. "Seriously, I really don't want to be breathing the same air as you right now, psycho."
"Stifle your prejudices against my bodily functions, Puckerman. I'm just back here to tell you that this is as close as I'm gonna get to apologizing."
"Okay, lady, at this point, I really couldn't give a shit about an apology. I just want you far, far away from me."
"Don't be so melodramatic. Leave that to yenta right here."
"You threw a chair, a beaker, and a bat at me! All 'cause of a harmless prank!"
"It's not that I care you recorded it, there's plenty of footage of my sexual escapades already on the internet. There is an entire website dedicated exclusively to paying homage to yours truly in the buff. If you have a credit card and an open mind, you should check it out," she said and then held out her hand for his iPhone. Despite him being thoroughly disgusted, he reached over to grab it from the bedside table and handed it over. Shit'd already been uploaded. "See, the lighting is terrible, you've got the angle all wrong, and you didn't get my skinny side. If Brad would be willing and, let's be honest, why wouldn't he? I would be more than happy to perform a re-shoot."
And as Berry and Puck just stared at her in equal parts disgust and fear, Brad himself poked his head into the room.
"Sue, come on," he called, his tone soaked in frustration and impatience. "Figgins is at the school with the new piano."
"New piano?" Berry echoed.
Brad turned to her and shrugged. "I was at the school to arrange for repairs since there had already been a hairline fracture in the leg of the old piano. That's why it came down so easily. I had to leave for a couple of minutes though."
"Why?" Puck asked, wishing that Brad had been there to stop it all from escalating as badly as it did.
"The thing weighs almost seven-hundred pounds. I couldn't move it to the school entrance by myself," Brad explained.
Sue had to put in her two cents, of course. "If we all let minor setbacks like that hold us up, we'd have British accents, there wouldn't be nudity on prime time television, and I wouldn't have lost my virginity to David Copperfield."
Brad just ignored her. "So I'd just called up Coach Beiste when I came back. She's still at the school now, cleaning up the remnants of the last piano. I guess the only good thing that came out of this is that instead of repairs we get a brand new baby grand."
All eyes swiveled to Sue.
"Well, I had to be the one to buy it," she growled. "You incompetent gorillas wouldn't have bought American like I told you to!"
"Just hurry up!" Brad barked.
She was already out the door, rambling things like, "You know what a mustache really is? It's when your hairline gets so embarrassed by your face that it finally sends a group of troops down to cover a portion of it up. I'd say it's just a matter of time before a beard and a uni-brow show up to assist with the effort."
Brad glanced over his shoulder before jogging inside with a huge smile and holding out a fist for Puck to bump. "You really did it, huh? You got Sue to buy me a new piano."
Puck shrugged. "I was actually just gonna blackmail her, but no pain, no gain, I guess."
"Feel better, kid. Sorry about smacking you in the head."
"I've had worse. Don't worry about it."
"Still, though. I owe you one."
"Nah, think of it as a goodbye present from all us gleeks."
Brad waved goodbye and jogged back out of the room. Berry's head snapped toward Puck, and she crossed her arms over her chest, clearly about to demand an explanation.
"Baby—"
"If you tell me this was all staged, Noah Puckerman—"
"Chill out, Berry, it wasn't! I was the one to make that hairline fracture on the piano for accidentally tripping over the leg. Tinkles nearly cried on the spot, so I promised him that I'd find a way to get him a new one—even if I had to get Sue Sylvester herself to do it. I was actually just pooling money together or blackmailing Sue with the video I uploaded, but I guess it all worked out well enough."
"Well enough?! You had to pay the cost of a-a broken foot, a concussion, and the severe mental and emotional trauma of having to deal with that woman!"
Puck just shrugged. "I'll be outta this is a month or two—"
"Or three!"
"—and it'll all be good, Berry. Chills. I'm okay." He pulled her closer against his side again and played with the hem of her little skirt. "Promise."
"You won't be able to go into the lake at Santana's party next week," she muttered, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You'll be relegated to dry ground, and you were the one who insisted—in grammatically incorrect terminology, might I add—that being in the water was what made summer summer."
"Girls in water is what makes summer summer, Berry. Get it right."
"GET YOUR CUTE ASS IN THIS WATER, MAN-HANDS, BEFORE I TACKLE YOU IN, RIP OFF YOUR TOP, AND FORCE YOU TO STAY IN UNTIL YOU'RE PRUNY AS FUCK!"
Puck roared with laughter as Berry turned bright red, hands on her hips as she glared down at Santana. The bitch was treading water and running her hands through her hair, simultaneously seducing Brittany, Finn, Rory, and even Artie.
"You wouldn't dare!" Berry snapped back.
Santana smirked, and Puck, even though he wanted to see Berry topless, didn't want everyone else to see it too, so he poked her left cheek with the headstock of his guitar. He'd been checking out every inch of her as soon as she got into his truck, and he nearly lost it when she stripped out of her shirt and shorts to reveal miles of tanned, golden skin. If he laid a finger on her, the Lopezes were gonna have a full-on soft porn show right in their backyard.
"Just get in the water, baby. Santana's like a fucking mermaid. She'll drag you all the way down to the bottom, rape you, and then let you go."
"Fuckerman!"
"Santana! Act and speak like a lady!"
"Well, then act like a teenager and get your ass in the lake, B!"
"Ra-chel! Ra-chel! Ra-chel!" the gleeks started chanting.
"No, no, no, shut up!" Puck suddenly called out. "You're doing it wrong."
He reached up from where he sat on the edge of the dock and rubbed his thumb across Berry's soft knuckles. Her big brown eyes were wide when she looked back down at him.
"Rach, honey, please get in the water."
He swore to God he saw gold stars in this girl's eyes when she grinned down at him. Well, in her eyes and on the tiny, black, gold-star-studded bikini he got her three days ago. Then she patted his head and walked back up the dock.
"Hey! RACHEL! The fuck do you think you're going?!" Santana shrieked furiously.
Berry flipped her hair over her shoulder, walked off the dock, skirted around the edge of the lake, and headed toward the huge tree overhanging the water. Puck threw his head back and laughed when he realized what she was about to do.
"Noah, educate our friends!" she commanded as she stepped right up to the tree.
"Rachel Berry is nothing if not dedicated," he recited. "If she does something, it sure as hell isn't going to be half-assed."
"Noah! What did we say about ad-libbing?!" Berry demanded, pausing in between reaching for branches.
"Come on, baby! I had to put my own spin on it! At least my grammar was correct! And I thought you liked originality!"
She pursed her lips to keep from smiling as she continued making her way up to the thickest branch.
"Please, for the love of God, be careful," Puck called.
"Look! The badass cares!" Kurt called from where he was supporting Brittany on his shoulders she play-fought with Tina, who was on Mike's shoulders.
"'Course I care, jackass!" Puck almost screeched. "She has two fathers plus my mom who'd crucify me if I let anything happen to her."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Berry sighed as she walked out to the edge of the bough. "I have the agility of a cat."
"Didn't stop you from doing a face-plant on the floor that one time in glee," Puck reminded her, chuckling
"You buttered the floor, you uncouth delinquent!" she shrieked.
"Baby, save the dirty talk for the bedroom!"
She actually bent down, broke off a branch, and tried to throw it at him.
"FAIL, BERRY!" Puck bellowed, grinning. "Would you just jump now?!"
She glared at him one last time before, spreading her arms out to her sides and executing some Olympic-style dive that had Puck desperate to jump into the lake to cool off even with the cast, 'cause that shit?
Hot.
"WOO! YEAH, RACH!" Sam cheered from where he and Finn were racing.
"Why didn't you ever tell me you knew how to dive?!" Finn cried in disbelief.
"You never asked!" Berry called back as Santana threw her arms around her shoulders.
Santana planted a kiss on Berry's cheek and rested her head on her shoulder. "Tow me to shore? I wants me some musica."
Berry smiled and started swimming toward the dock ladder. Once Santana was out, she whistled to her brothers who were lounging on the patio.
"Hey! Hermanos perezosos, ven aquí!" she called out, waving them over to the sound system her dad had hooked up, completely bypassing the caution about electrical wiring and water and putting the shit together as close to the lake as the extension cord would let him.
Apparently, he did it as soon as she told him the gleeks were coming over. He pretty much assumed that since it was a club about singing, that's pretty much what they would be doing. And...he was right.
"Hey! Puckerman!" Santana's older brother fist-bumped him as ten year-old Angel smiled shyly at Quinn.
"Guillermo! Nice to be blinded by that bald head of yours again," Puck greeted. "What's goin' on?"
Guillermo laughed 'cause that actually wasn't his name. Puck just called him whatever random-ass Hispanic-sounding name that popped into his head 'cause he could never actually remember the guy's name since he hardly ever visited.
"Life's been good, kid. The hell happened to you?" Guillermo asked, jerking his chin toward Puck's cast as he started hooking up Puck's electric to the amp.
"Dropped a piano on it," Puck answered simply.
Guillermo gave him a look over his aviators and chuckled. "The shit you get caught up in... Swear to God, Puckerman."
"Shut it, Raphael."
Raphael laughed again as Santana shoved the guitar a Puck and took the acoustic away. "Come on, useless lump. You and Wheels are gonna be our entertainment."
"Bitch, entertain yourself!" Puck shot back even though he was already positioning the guitar and waving over Sam and Finn.
"Oh! Oh! Request! I have a request!" Brittany shouted as Sam and Finn dried off.
"You take requests?" Raphael asked skeptically.
"No," Puck answered firmly.
"The song that was playing when you took me and Lord Tubbington to the vet! The one by Keith Urban!"
"Brit, I don't play country songs!" Puck protested.
"You did 'Need You Now' with Rae!"
"That was an exception!"
"SING IT!"
Puck scowled as he played, letting Sam take the lead since the guy was from fucking Tennessee anyway. But he definitely took up the "We should be together with your feet up on the dashboard now, singin' along with the radio, it's such a beautiful sound, and when you say my name in the middle of the day, I swear, I see the stars come out" line, winking directly at Berry. If Pierce was gonna force him to sing another country song, there would only be one person he'd sing to.
As soon as it was over though, Puck signaled to Artie, and he and Sam switched over to the keyboards.
"Oh, yeah!" Raphael crowed, clapping his hands. "This party's finally pickin' up!"
Puck beat out a chord on the keyboard as Artie laughed. Santana clapped, and she and the rest of the girls went straight for it.
"Don't care what they say or what games they play, nothing is enough 'til I have your love. I want you tonight, I want you to stay. I want you tonight—"
"Grab somebody sexy tell 'em 'hey!'" Blaine picked up, heaving himself out of the water, Finn and Sam harmonizing with him. "Give me everything tonight. Give me everything tonight."
"Alejandro!" Puck called, signaling for Santana's brother.
Alejandro/Raphael/Guillermo was more than happy to start rapping along with Artie.
It was lame and fun and stupid and hysterical and Puck was barely paying attention to the music 'cause Berry took her job seriously as a personal aid and was literally dancing up against him while simultaneously making sure his good leg wasn't gonna give out and make him crash into the instruments. Angel was practically break-dancing right there on the dock, nearly falling into the water four times. Kurt almost drowned 'cause Brittany wouldn't stop bouncing on his shoulders. Finn managed to poke himself in the eye with his drumstick when Santana's mom burst out of the house and starting singing "She Bangs" with her daughter. Rory's eyes nearly popped out when all the girls lined up and started doing coordinated body rolls to Usher. Artie totally forgot about his bitterness over not being able to get in the water when the girls constantly used him and his chair as a prop. Finn poked his other eye when that happened. Mercedes got a sexy samba dance lesson from Alejandro/Raphael/Guillermo when Santana's mom requested yet another Ricky Martin song. Kurt requested Enrique Iglesias, but Puck drew the line there until Santana's mom kissed his cheek, said "please," and promised to let them party at the house whenever they wanted (which the gleeks totally took advantage of throughout the summer). Berry totally made it worth his while with an impromptu make-session in Santana's kitchen under the guise of needing to pee. She made it even better when he tried to stop her and she nibbled on his ear and whispered, "Forget about Finn. He can get the hell over it. I want you."
All in all? Fucking great summer. Even if his foot was broken.
And when Schue's parents sent them all tickets to see an actual Broadway show—complete with first-class plane tickets 'cause they were over the fucking moon that their son was ON BROADWAY—Puck surprised Schue with the whole you-weren't-actually-fired-so-you-need-to-come-back-to-New-Directions bomb which led to a midnight crank-call to Sue Sylvester whose screams of agony could actually be heard all the way in New York. The rave reviews and Tony nomination was just the cherry on top.
Okay, y'all. I only have one thing I want to weep about right now.
I'm sure most of you have seen it, but I only just recently (less than three minutes ago) saw the picture from the deleted scene from the S1 finale. The one where Schue is holding Puck and the gleeks are around them?
Yeah.
Saying that I'm upset beyond all reason is the understatement of the millennium. That's one of the scenes you don't delete. This is not okay. I just went from severely disliking Ryan Murphy to downright hating the motherfucker. Or whoever the hell edited that episode.
Y'all might think that Puck is just some flat character only useful as eye candy and the occasional laugh. Or a scapegoat for when something stupid happens.
Okay, no.
He's a real person. Even if he's not named Puck or has a Mohawk or brags about his guns. These are actual boys who feel remorse over what they've done, who want a chance with the son or daughter they gave away, who are fucking HUMAN.
This is a show for teens about teens. Or at least it was.
