Every loud, shuddering breath Santana drew in, every sob she released out was like a knife in Puck's heart, twisting in more deeply with each time. As he stood turned away from her, every muscle tightly drawn, he wanted than more than anything he had ever wanted in his life to hurt every single one of the men who had in any way been involved in causing Santana the pain he was having to witness and hear in her now. He felt in that moment that drunk and dehydrated or not, smaller and less muscular or not, he would be able simply through the force of his adrenaline and rage to beat every single one of them on his own, no weapons necessary.
But even more than he wanted to hurt them, he wanted to hurt himself. It seemed only fair to find a way to hurt as she was hurting, only right somehow to release out in himself a physical pain to give some sort of vent to the emotional pain filling every bit of his being. No matter that he had already been injured; this seemed nothing, incomparable, considering its source. In his drunken lack of reasoning in that moment, it seemed to Puck that the only thing he could do then was to strike out at himself in some way, to hurt himself further in some pitiful retaliation of Santana's hurt.
He was facing a wall, his breathing rasping in and out faster and faster, and before he had quite even had the thought to do so, he found his fists shooting forward, beginning to repeatedly pound into the wall in a semi frenzied manner. His feet soon joined his fists, until Puck was both hitting and kicking the wall with only occasional grunts to punctuate the blows.
He had no concept of the amount of time he might have been lashing out at the grey stony material of the wall, no estimation of how many times his fists or feet flew forward to strike its surface. He didn't hear Santana calling his name until she was nearly screaming, her voice verging on the edge of hysteria, and even then he had to hit the wall a few more times before he could bring himself to a stop. Bending forward slightly, bracing himself against the wall with a hand shaking so badly his entire arm quivered with the strain of the attempted support, Puck struggled to catch his breath even as his heart beat wildly out of rhythm in his chest. As Santana's sobbed voicing of his name continued, he began to realize that his toes ached nearly to the point of being unable to stand, that his knuckles were scraped raw and bleeding fairly profusely. When he finally turned his head, he saw that Santana was huddled on the bed, eyes bright with genuine fear that he could not interpret as being of him, or for him, as tears streamed unchecked down her face, her chest heaving with gasping sobs that left her almost unable to catch her breath.
She looked so small and frightened then, so completely hopeless, even as she half shouted to him again, one hand partly covering her mouth as though not wanting him to hear her crying even as the evidence of it streaked undeniably over her face. "S-stop it…Puck, stop, stop….stop, just stop, stop…"
Puck looked at her, slumped and bruised and weeping, small and alone and in every kind of pain he could imagine in the middle of the bed, and everything about her then hit him so hard he could no longer even attempt to keep it back. He doubled over as though he had been hit, bringing both bleeding knuckles to his eyes, and he pressed the heels of his hands in hard, but nothing he did could keep tears from exploding out of his eyes, nothing could hold back the ugly, grinding noise of the sobs that came…nothing could prevent her from seeing, even as he tried to instruct her to look away.
"Fuck…oh….fuck…don't look at me, don't…stop, stop looking at me. Stop…"
Puck's voice cracked again, and he dug the heels of his hands more firmly against his eyes, trying desperately to push back the tears that were entirely impervious to his efforts. He could hear Santana crying too, still several feet away from him on the bed, and he knew that she was probably staring at him, if she could bring herself to look at him at all. For a few moments the two of them cried without words, far apart from each other, no one looking anyone in the eye, somehow both connected and remote in their pain.
"I'm sorry," Puck started to chant under his breath after almost a minute had gone by, his words rough and slurred together, running into each other almost as a single phrase as he remained hunched over, his back heaving with choked breaths. "I'm sorry sorrysorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, fuck sorry I'm sorry…"
When his voice cut off, overtaken by a fresh wave of tears, Santana's voice could finally, faintly be heard. He couldn't have known whether she too had been speaking and he had simply not heard her, or whether she was waiting until there was a break in his words to talk as well. Her voice was softer, broken in tone, and Puck could not have brought himself to turn to look at her then, even had she asked.
"They…they raped me," she managed, the words sounding different now than all the times she had said them before, entirely lacking the anger and aggression with which she had thrown them at him. "Puck…they…they hurt me, they…they…"
Her voice broke, and for another minute or two neither spoke, caught up in their separate crying, together in the room, semi joined in pain, but nowhere close to being joined with each other physically. It seemed an eternity to Puck, but in reality it was likely no more than another minute or so before Santana took in several deep breaths, gulping back any further threatening sobs as she bowed her head, regaining control of herself. She wiped her eyes, and then sniffling, rubbed her runny nose with the back of her hand, wiping it off on the hem of her shirt, still slumped, seeming too exhausted in demeanor to care at all about hygiene or even more fully dressing herself yet. Then she hugged herself, her elbows cupped, arms crossed tightly over her chest, taking several more breaths in before raising her eyes to look up at Puck.
As Santana took this time to try to calm down, Puck continued to face away from her, his crying easing, but not entirely stopping. He remained hunched over, heedless of the pain this caused his reinjured ribs, barely even feeling his raw knuckles anymore as his head throbbed steadily in rhythm with his dwindling sobs. It wasn't until Santana called his name several times, slightly louder each time, before he finally lifted bloodshot eyes and turned partway to face her, shuddering slightly as he took in the sight of her wounded face again.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered, swallowing visibly. "Just…just don't. Please don't."
Puck wasn't sure of how he was looking at her, exactly, and he had neither the control nor the logical mindset currently to be able to change it. Instead he simply dropped his eyes, swallowing as well and again scrubbing his fists into his eyes as he too tried to reign himself in. He could hear an occasional rasping breath escape despite his efforts as Santana continued to struggle on, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Please…please let's not talk about it anymore. Let's just…please, don't look at me…don't touch me…please. Just…I just…I just want to go to sleep. I just want to go to sleep, please…"
She sniffed hard, rubbing her hand over her face again and taking in another slow breath before finishing. "Puck, I don't…I don't care anymore why you're drunk or what you were doing or…I don't care about that, I don't care about anything. Please, just…I just want to sleep. Just…can you just…watch me? Can you…just while I'm asleep. Can you just…try to protect me while I sleep? Please…"
Puck knew what she was asking. He couldn't say he blamed her for being tired, for wanting to just let unconsciousness come over her for a while so she could at least for a few hours forget everything that had happened, everything that had been done to her. It wasn't a lot to ask of him, to stand or sit near her while she slept and just try to make her feel a little bit safer, to make her feel like if someone came in and tried to get in bed with her, he would stop them or at least warn them. But even that small request of him was too much, more than he thought he could handle or provide, more than he could promise. How could he promise her anything now after failing so spectacularly with his previous promises?
"I can't protect you, Santana." The words are low at first, aimed more towards the floor than at the girl in front of him, but when he repeats himself, he speaks more loudly,with increasing heat and intensity to their tone, and then he is lifting his face, his eyes boring directly into hers, almost shouting. "I can't protect you! Isn't that fucking obvious? There's nothing I can fucking do to help you! I tried, I fucking tried and all they have to do is send in those fucking steroidedfuckhead giants and pin me down and stick shit in my neck and beat the living shit out of me and I can't do shit about it! Did you not see that, do you not get it, THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO TO HELP YOU! I can't keep them from doing ANYTHING to you! They can take you whenever they want, however they want, any fucking time, any fucking place and I CAN'T DO SHIT TO STOP IT!"
By then Puck was outright hollering. He's not angry with Santana, of course, but she is the only person there, and so she is now receiving the brunt of his emotion.
He couldn't' keep looking at her. He couldn't continue to face her and see the shocked expression on her face, couldn't see the fear and emotion welling in her eyes. He couldn't face her with his own self-loathing, his own guilt, and so, unable to contain himself any longer, he jumps up, coming towards her so that Santana gasps and presses herself further against the mattress, as though expecting Puck to hit her or hurt her in some way.
That as much as anything got to him. Now Santana's expectations for him had sunk that much lower; she would equate him now with one of them, he was sure of it, or why else would she react like that? She had questioned him before when he had said he wasn't like them, and unconsciously she was still questioning him now, even when he tried to take a stand to prove that he was not. At least, that was what it seemed like to Puck, and as he took her by the upper arms, pulling her to her feet and setting her apart from the bed, not forcefully, but nevertheless still physically removing her from her previous position, he could feel her shaking even in the brief time that he was making physical contact with her. He wouldn't have thought he could hate himself much more, but he was finding just how possible it was to keep finding new levels to his self-disgust.
Still driven strictly by adrenaline, Puck took the mattress, ripping it off the bed, and then lifted one end of the bed up and slamming it up and down into the ground. Still not finished, he overturned the bed, lifted it back, and shoved it hard against the wall, picking up the mattress again and slamming it back down onto the bed before punching it repeatedly. With one final kick against the bedframe, he only then realized that somewhere in the midst of this he had begun to cry again without restraint, harsh sobs shaking through him, making him sound as though he were choking on his own breaths. His shoulders slumped, Puck leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, half hiding his face behind one hand as all adrenaline began to fade rapidly. Beginning to sag down to the floor, still leaned against the wall, he sobbed roughly into one hand, not looking at Santana.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't protect you, I couldn't…I'm so fucking sorry…I can't fucking protect you, I never could. I tried and I never could…I can't. I'm so sorry…"
Somewhere in the midst of his outburst, Santana had continued to back away from Puck until her back hit a wall, and she had let herself slide down it until she was sitting, knees drawn up, on the floor. He didn't turn to look at her, but he could hear her crying even through his own tears, softly at first, then with increasing volume and intensity. It wasn't until Puck's own words had trailed off again that she spoke, her voice ripped apart with her own tears, soft at first, then rising almost to a wail.
"Stop…please, stop, PLEASE! Stop, stop, stop…"
She sobbed aloud several times, almost choking, and then there was anger taking over her tone, her near begging tone strengthening with new strident rage until she was almost yelling at him, her tears lessened considerably as she refocused her feelings in a new direction. Puck could hear her hitting her own leg with her fist for emphasis and wanted to tell her to stop, that she was hurting herself, but he would not have been heard over her own words.
"You promised me, Puck…you promised you'd protect me. You promised you wouldn't give up, you promised…now after all this, you're giving up. You're fucking GIVING UP! Fuck you for giving up! Fuck you for not protecting me! Fuck you…no! No, don't you dare…don't you DARE give up, no! I…I need you, Puck, I fucking need you…I can't do this. I can't do this by myself. Don't you dare fucking give up."
There were tears dripping down her chin again, but she doesn't bother to wipe them away, her voice dropping, the anger gone again as she lays out her final blow. "If you're giving up…if you give up now, just kill me. Just go ahead and fucking kill me because I can't do this by myself. I won't."
She meant it. Puck knew that she meant it, could hear the conviction in her tone. If he would not at least try for her, she wanted to die, and he couldn't say that he blamed her. If it wasn't for her, and any tiny chance remaining that he could help her, that he could do anything at all to make things even a little bit better for her, he would want to die too.
But she was here. She was here, and as much as he doubted he could do anything at all to benefit her, anything but hurt her more, he wanted…no, he needed to try to believe otherwise. He needed to try, so Puck dragged his hand away from his face, sucking in his breath, and slowly turned to face her, even as tears continued to drop steadily onto his collar bone from his slightly hanging head.
He looks at her for a few more minutes, her last words echoing dimly in his thoughts. He can't ever hurt her, not again, not anymore, let alone kill her. It wasn't an option, so with another shuddering sob escaping him, he slowly begins to scoot towards her. His hand on her shoulder is very light at first, tentative, but then, ignoring any protests, not currently caring whether or not she wants it, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight to his chest. "I'm sorry. Santana, I'm sorry…I'm…I'm gonna try…I could never hurt you. You can't fucking die on me, you can't do that shit…I'm sorry." He tried to rock her with unrhythmic awkwardness, lowering his face into her hair. "Fuck..."
He realized his mistake when Santana stiffened against him, a sharp, near panicked gasp escaping her, and she elbowed his side, not hard or with intent to hurt him, but simply trying to get him to let go of her. She was shaking again, her hands pushing at him even as Puck, confused, squinted at her, reluctant to let go or scoot away.
"D-don't touch me…" she pulled her knees again to her chest, hugging them tightly to herself as though to further prevent him, as much as possible, from hugging her. Tears were again running down her cheeks as she shook her head at him, sniffing hard, taking a shaking breath in that didn't quite release out. "Please…not now…I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just…I can…I can still feel him…on me, and…"
She cut herself off, her head bowing down to her knees, and for several moments she shook, seeming to be trying desperately to hold herself together even as the soft noise of her breaking breaths nearly assaulted Puck's ears. He clinched his fists, barely feeling the pull of his torn skin, until she finally lifted her head, her eyes red and still seeping occasional tears, her face flushed, but nevertheless somewhat more controlled as she addressed him hoarsely.
"I'm sorry. I just…I just want to sleep. Please just…I just want to sleep."
Fighting his continued instinct to go to her, to try to comfort her with the touch she had made so clear she did not want, Puck clamped his hands down onto his legs as though to stop them from reaching out towards her of their own accord, trying and failing to pull himself fully together again as he sniffed hard. Every word she was saying is absolutely killing him to hear, to picture in his head as taking place, especially now that he's seen the corresponding marks on her body. And she was still crying, the only thing he could possibly think of to do was to try to physically comfort her, and if she wouldn't let him do that…what the hell could he possibly do for her? Nothing. There was nothing he could do.
"I…Santana, I…I won't hurt you," he said hoarsely, swallowing thickly and managing then to choke back the rest of his tears, though it still hurt to swallow around the emotions he is still fighting down. "I promise you, I'll never hurt you. I'll…you can kill me first, you hear me? You kill me before you let me hurt you."
"You can have the bed," he said after swallowing again, slowly getting to his feet and moving to piece it back together. "I'm sorry…you can have it. I'm not gonna sleep…I'll…I'll protect you." He knew damn well if the men really wanted to keep him from it, he wouldn't be able to, but he has to try.
After a few minutes, once Puck had put the mattress and sheets back on the bed the best that he could manage, Santana got up slowly, her movements pained. He made sure to keep back a distance from her as she got into bed, lying down and curling up in a ball, tugging the sheet over herself and closing her eyes. When Puck sat down at the foot of the bed, drawing his knees to his chest and leaning his head back, he told himself with resolve, even through the continued pounding of his head and his remaining somewhat intoxicated state, that he would indeed remain watchful throughout the night, whatever he had to do to insure it.
For maybe an hour or so he listened to Santana's breathing even out, then her faint snoring begin, and he found comfort in it, hoping she was getting the rest she needed. But it wasn't long after that he found his own head drooping forward, his eyes drifting shut as he too gave in to sleep.
He couldn't have said how much time had passed before he felt gentle hands shaking him, a murmured voice calling out his name. As Puck's eyes cracked open, Santana whispered to him again, tugging at his upper arms.
"Puck…you can sleep, it's okay. Just get in bed."
His movements slow, heavy with his groggy state, Puck got up obediently, lying down beside her. When Santana lay back down, there was slight distance between them, and as he drifted back off, he had taken no time to register that she had not sounded angry or disappointed, not anymore, despite his previous vows to stay awake to protect her.
