(Author's note: This is mostly a chapter about Puck and Sarah, but there were some additional details to cover regarding Dave and Toby. Warning for discussion of consensual slavery. I feel a little bad for Burt in this chapter, but he seems to be dealing okay. Thanks to Flynn, as always, for consulting on cars. -amy)

Episode 1.19: Dream On - Kurt, Dave, Puck, Will

Kurt thumbed off his phone with a dissatisfied sigh. Finn carefully took it out of his hand and set it on the table beside the bed, then returned his hand to Puck's knee.

"They're still not talking?" Puck asked, modulating up to an E.

"Toby's lucky Mr. Schue doesn't know how to block calls on his cell," said Kurt. He leaned his head back against Finn's shoulder. "I don't think Toby knows when to quit."

"You don't think he should give up on Mr. Schue," Finn asked. "Do you really?"

"Not give up. Just wait."

Puck immediately switched to a few bars of "The Gambler." Judging by Finn's lack of response, Kurt guessed he wasn't aware of the lyrics. Kurt reached out and poked Puck in the ribs, making him snort and edge away, but he didn't stop playing.

"Wait for what?" Finn persisted.

Kurt paused. "I… don't know," he hedged. "I'm hesitant to make any assumptions out loud. Just that Mr. Schue might benefit from an extra couple weeks to think about things. You of all people should know what I'm talking about, Finn."

Finn didn't look upset, just thoughtful. Kurt thought that was an improvement from guilty or morose.

"I think if he's going to be pissed at him for cheating or whatever, he should figure out what he can live with and what he can't. I mean, didn't they kind of have an agreement? Toby had, like, a boyfriend in Denver before he moved out here."

"I don't know what their agreement was. Maybe they didn't have any agreement." Kurt looked up at Finn's pensive face. "Don't ask, don't tell."

Puck snorted. "That sucks. What's the fun in that? Fucking tell, even if nobody asks." He shifted over to the edge of the bed and set his guitar down on the rug before stretching out, full-length, on top of Finn. Kurt had to smile.

"Not everybody wants to know," Finn said. He looked a little overwhelmed to have Puck on top of him, but definitely pleased, and paused to kiss him.

"That's just bullshit. Everybody wants to know. Even if they say they don't. Even if they don't think it's hot." Puck made a face that reminded Kurt so much of Sarah that he laughed. "People are nosy fuckers. Plus, it is hot."

Finn grinned. "You never did try to hide what you thought."

"Is it okay, being away from Mercedes?" Kurt asked. "After last week, I thought we might be adding one more."

"It's fine," Puck said dismissively. "It was a game. You know that."

"It didn't seem much like a game while you were playing it."

"That's because I play it right," said Puck.

Puck rolled into the space between the two of them. It was a little tight, but Kurt put his arms around Puck and hauled him in close.

"This isn't a game," Kurt whispered, close to his ear. Puck immediately stilled, closing his eyes.

"No, sir," he whispered back.

Kurt looked over at Finn, who was watching them with a little smile. "No matter how many other people there are, it comes back to us. Mercedes… Rachel…"

"Britt?" Finn added curiously. Kurt laughed again, nuzzling Puck's neck and making him gasp.

"No — just no. Whatever curiosity I ever had about the fairer sex, they ended at Brittany's root beer-flavored lips. I don't think I ever plan to go any further than that. I'm going to stick to planting and dancing with her."

"I'm totally not surprised." Finn put his arms around the two of them, enclosing them both. "Not that any of us would ever hold you to that if you changed your mind."

"You guys look totally uncomfortable like that," Sarah said from the doorway.

She didn't appear to be angry, despite her crossed arms and bored tone, and when Kurt beckoned her into the room, she came right in. It hadn't even occurred to him to close the door. He wondered for a moment if he should have, but then he saw the way she moved immediately to clamber onto the bed beside Puck, leaning in close.

"I've already put 'king-sized bed' on my Christmas list," Kurt told her. "Until then, we're going to be crowded." He reached over Finn and patted her arm. "That doesn't mean you're not welcome."

"I didn't think it did," she said complacently. She rested her head on Puck's chest, just as Kurt was relaxing against Finn's, and when Finn interlaced his fingers with Kurt's and placed them on top of Puck, she let out a soft, contented sigh. "Crowded isn't always bad."

"I guess," Finn agreed. He didn't sound upset, either, and Kurt felt himself relaxing a little more. "I heard Mercedes quit the Cheerios. What was that about?"

Kurt felt Puck shrug. "She didn't think Sylvester was promoting a positive body image. Or something. She said she didn't like the kind of person she was when she was there."

Kurt tried not to feel affronted. "She didn't tell me that. She just said she didn't want to be forced into dieting."

"Still a good reason not to do it," Sarah said. "Mercedes is gorgeous. Can I be her when I grow up?"

"Not unless you learn a fuckton more about video games," Puck replied. "But you're right, she's totally gorgeous."

Nobody said anything for a little while, which Kurt was pleased to realize didn't feel awkward at all. He turned his head and kissed Finn on the neck, which made him hum a little.

"You guys can't make out in front of your sister," Sarah noted. "It's a rule."

"She's right. We'll wait until you go to bed, squirt."

Kurt sighed. "I think this is what Toby is missing."

"What, making out with his boyfriends?"

"No!" Kurt hit Puck on the thigh, hard enough to make him exclaim. "Being with people. Together, like this."

Finn nodded. "You mean family?"

The word was right, but thinking about Toby and family and the way he was alone in that big old house suddenly made Kurt tear up a little. "Yeah. Family. He needs that. Don't you think? His students were a little bit like family, and the men he dated were a little bit like family, but — yeah."

Even without looking, Finn seemed to understand what Kurt was feeling. He kissed the top of his head. "You want everybody else to be happy. I think you want that more than you want yourself to be happy."

They were all silent for another little while. Eventually, Sarah turned to Kurt, looking perplexed.

"How can you be happy if you're not getting what you need?"

"I need other people to be happy," Kurt tried to explain. "When Noah's happy, and my dad, and you, I'm — so happy."

She crinkled her forehead intently. "And Finn?" she asked. "And Tatenui, and Carole?"

"Yes. All of them. I don't really think much about what I need, as long as I'm not worrying about them."

Sarah shook her head. "That's messed up," she insisted. Finn and Puck both laughed.

"He just needs to be sure there's nothing else to do, before he can stop," Finn told her. He tipped Kurt's head up to kiss him more thoroughly, ignoring Sarah's sounds of mild annoyance. "Luckily, I know how to handle that."

"Really?" asked Sarah, sounding curious. "How?"

Finn smiled. "By taking away every other action. Making it impossible for him to do other things. Then he has no choice. He has to give up and relax."

Puck cackled, gazing over at Kurt's red face with shining eyes. "You're fucked."

"Pretty much," Kurt mumbled, but he was smiling too.

Dave turned around four times before he finally managed to walk up the front steps of Matt's house and knock on the door. He knocked, and waited, and knocked again, harder this time. When that elicited no response, he almost walked right back down the steps and went home. It was only three blocks away, but he should be able to -

"What are you doing?" asked a voice.

Dave spun around to see Matt's sister Danielle standing on the sidewalk, holding a soccer ball and watching him curiously.

"I — was looking for Matt," he said, letting out his breath. She shrugged.

"He's still at school."

Dave stepped back, encountering the vinyl siding with the heel of his sneaker. It made him inexplicably angry. "Why?"

"Practice with his football coach." Danielle edged around Dave to the door and opened it, giving him a strange look. "You could just come in."

Dave didn't think he could do that, but he couldn't explain why to Danielle. He could have gone through Xavier or Danny's or Rick's door without knocking, gone right into their kitchen and helped himself to something from their fridge, and it would have been fine. But he couldn't do that with Matt, because — because Matt and he were —

She was holding the door open for him, waiting. "Are you coming in, or what?" she asked impatiently.

"I —" He stumbled backwards down the steps, his heart pounding. "Just tell him — tell him I was here."

Then Dave fled, taking the long way around the block back to his house instead of cutting through the neighbors' backyards. Even if he couldn't have explained it to himself, he knew he would need the extra time to deal with Matt's absence.

Fucking fuck, he thought, taking each sidewalk square in one freakishly long stride. Fucking fucking fuck.

The worst part, he knew, was that Matt wouldn't even miss him. Matt wouldn't know he'd been waiting for him on the front porch, hoping Matt might be home instead. Hoping Matt might decide not to meet with Coach Tanaka at all, but home instead, just in case Dave would stop by before dinner.

"Fuck," he hissed, glaring at his enormous shoes as they covered the three blocks between Matt's house and his. He'd only just started swearing aloud this year, since he decided it didn't matter what his mom thought about his language — not that she was going to catch him swearing, ever — and it still felt ridiculously indulgent to him. He tried it again, louder this time: "Fuck!"

The air was quiet again moments later, and he slowed to a walk for the last half block, his head drooping. It didn't matter what he said. Nothing would change anything.

The garage was, Burt had told Puck, a good place to think on Sunday afternoons. Puck hadn't quite understood what he meant until he arrived and realized that aside from the occasional echo of metal against metal, the place was completely silent.

"This is weird," he called. Burt turned around and smiled, setting his wrench down.

"Give me a hand with this," he called back.

Puck approached Burt, where he was leaning over the chassis of a grey-green sedan. He gestured at it. "With what? What's this?"

Burt regarded the car with a satisfied expression, his arms crossed. "That, my friend, is a 1995 Chevy Impala SS."

"What's the SS for? Super sucky color?"

"Yeah, I have to agree that wasn't the best paint choice. But, no… it's a special souped-up model, with eight cylinders. Two hundred and sixty horsepower, column-shifted 4L60 transmission." Burt's smile faltered a moment when he saw the confusion on Puck's face. "Fast and powerful, but still solid."

"Cool," Puck said. He touched the chassis. "It's got a nice shape. Not as crazy-long as Kurt's 'Stang-and-a-half."

Burt snorted. "I never understood Kurt's love affair with that car. And I don't exactly know how I feel about Adam getting him one, but… I understand why he did it. A guy and his first car, there's something special there."

Puck didn't get it until he looked up from the Impala's hood to see Burt gazing at him with the same satisfaction that he'd bestowed on the car — and on Kurt, many times before, when Kurt hadn't been paying attention. Puck looked back at the car with a shiver of understanding. "This is — mine?"

"It will be," Burt said. "Once we've made it drivable again. The engine's not firing. It needs new spark plugs and wires. After that, we'll give it a good looking-over, and it should be good to go."

Puck took a slow walk around it, inspecting all the sides with a kind of awe. "I'm going to make a car drive?"

"You and me. And Kurt, probably, when I'm too busy to help. But it's mostly going to be your job. We'll tell you what you need to do, and why, but it's your baby."

"My baby," he murmured. Burt was smiling at him when he looked back up. "That's so cool."

"Yeah, well, consider it my effort to get you to ditch that old truck of your dad's before your kid's born." Burt paused, then amended, "I don't mean I'm any better than — I mean, he's still your dad. Always that."

"Relax, Burt." Puck could have given him more reassurance that, in a contest of awesomeness, Burt would win over his dad with one arm tied behind his back. But he left it at that, and Burt's quick, brief nod was enough to let Puck know it was okay. He ran his hand over the paint. "Can we… make it a different color?"

Burt laughed. "Yeah. We can do that, later. But now… pass me that torque wrench, would you?"

Puck wouldn't have been able to explain the complete process to Sarah afterward, but he learned that he should remove the spark plugs by pulling on the caps, so as not to break the wires, as the last owner had done. He learned how to determine the correct socket size and gap, and how to use a gapping gauge, and how to lube them afterward. It didn't give him the same sense of peace he got from doing routine oil changes and changing tires, but it was a hell of a lot more interesting.

"Now, I'm no paint expert," Burt told him as they washed their hands at the utility sink, "but you and Kurt could do a credible job for a couple hundred, as long as you're willing to take your time." He smirked at Puck. "Have you figured out what the SS stands for yet?"

Puck looked over the car. "Something sedan. I don't know, sporty?"

"Aw, come on." He clapped Puck on the back. "Even I've heard your nickname."

It took him half of the drive home to get it, at which point he turned around and drove all the way back to Kurt's house. Kurt was startled when he burst through the front door, pointing his finger at an equally startled Burt. Sarah, unpacking Kurt's groceries, didn't look surprised at all.

"Sex shark!" he shouted. Burt laughed.

"Is this non sequitur day?" Kurt asked dryly. "Let me play. French toast! Kangaroo!"

"Your dad bought me a car," he said.

Kurt turned and stared at his dad, who shrugged innocently, handing Sarah the cheese and yogurt.

"It was Mercedes' idea," Burt said.

Puck paused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, apparently she spent a bunch of time with you last week. And Friday, something happened that convinced her that she wasn't going to be able to give you what you needed. Which, she seemed to think, involves other people bossing you around?" Burt nodded at Kurt, who looked equally flummoxed. "We talked about this, Kurt. At Tessera. Puck moving back in, being okay with stuff. Remember?"

"Oh." Kurt flushed, but nodded. "Um. That was… insightful of her."

"Yeah, so she called me up, thinking if she wasn't going to be around, I might be able to help. I gotta tell you, Puck, I ain't thrilled about bossing people around. Kurt's always done his own thing, and that suits me fine. But I can tell you what to do about cars. You think that might be enough?"

Puck decided he was not going to be embarrassed, and he was also not going to cry. He nodded. "Maybe. I think so."

Kurt did not appear to be getting off so easily. He dug in the tissue box for the last one to blow his nose, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Then he hugged Burt, and Puck, looking at each of them in turn. "Thank you. Especially you, dad, for doing your best to make this work. Finn and I will take care of things at the house, I promise."

Burt turned back to the grocery unpacking. "Yeah, well, I'm going to try really hard not to worry about the impact this might have on certain impressionable eleven-year-olds."

Throughout this entire exchange, Sarah had been watching Puck in her I'm not really here mode that she referred to as "the silent fox." He turned to her directly. "What do you think, squirt? You think I'm corrupting your brain because I want my boyfriends to boss me around?"

She gazed back at him. "I think if you are, it happened a long time ago, and there's not much you can do about it now."

"Fair enough," Puck conceded. He glanced up at Burt. "We're both pretty corrupt."

Burt snorted. "I plead the fifth. Notice I never said I wasn't going to go along with this." He turned to Sarah. "And you, young lady —"

"Oh, shit," she muttered, making Kurt cover his mouth and splutter with the effort to maintain a straight face.

"— Principal Hartford called me, wanting to set up a meeting to talk about you." He raised an eyebrow, brandishing the peanut butter jar at her. "Any idea what that might be about?"

"Um," she hedged. "Maybe?"

He frowned. "You want to tell us all now what it is, so you don't have to repeat yourself more than once?"

"I could, but I'm not done yet. With the thing I'm probably going to get in trouble for doing. So I don't know if it's worth telling you now, or waiting until I'm done, and then telling you." She thought for a moment. "Do you think you could just punish me for it now, and get it over with?"

Burt hunkered down on one knee next to her chair, so he was shorter than her. "See, the problem is, I'm terrible at that kind of thing, because Kurt never did anything I had to punish him for. Puck? Any pointers?"

"She'll never stay in the house if you try to ground her," Puck advised. "I wouldn't bother with that. And she doesn't really have any stuff worth taking away, except her computer stuff?"

"It's all on the cloud," she shrugged. "I can get to it from the library. Ban me from the television?"

"You never watch it anyway." Burt heaved a big dramatic sigh. "You're punish-proof. Just tell me about the thing, and I'll stop nagging you about it."

"It's not done!" she protested. Puck grinned at Kurt as Burt reached out and gave Sarah a solemn poke in the ribs, making her giggle.

"Tell me," he warned.

"No!" She dodged the next poke, and glared at him, affronted. "You'll tell me I can't."

"Isn't this the point, that there's nothing you can't do?" He feinted at one rib cage, then got her on the other. "Tell me."

"You're worse than Noah! And I can't do this. Not without help." Sarah shot a pleading look at Puck, which he ignored. "This is — Tatenui! Would you stop?"

Burt obliged, putting his hands in his own lap. "Sorry. You've taken away my ordinary parenting tools of punishment. I have no other offensive strategy than being as annoying as possible. Tell me."

"Oh my god." She stomped toward the basement and disappeared. Kurt came over to Burt and rested his cheek on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure if I should revoke your Best Dad Ever status, or grant it to you for life," he murmured. Burt shrugged, grinning.

"You'll have to wait and see how this comes out. Consider I have no idea what I'm doing here."

"You're doing great," Puck said.

"Yeah, but she stormed out. I think that's a stand-off."

But Sarah reappeared minutes later, carrying a big roll of papers and a notebook, which she laid on the table. She resumed glaring at all of them.

"This is not finished," she said distinctly. "Which means I'm going to finish it. Which means I won't tell you what it is unless you promise to let me actually do that."

Burt crossed his arms and cocked his head at her. "Is any part of it illegal?"

"No," she said.

"Does it involve moving to another country?" Kurt added. She rolled her eyes.

"No."

"What about money? Does it cost anything?"

"Financing is part of the plan."

Puck shrugged when Burt looked at him. "Sounds okay to me. I say give it to her."

"Kurt?"

Kurt shook his head. "I don't think I can be responsible for that kind of decision without more information. I say hold off until she's done."

"I'm way too invested in finding out now." Burt got out his phone and fiddled with it. "Maybe I should talk to Carole first…"

Sarah was positively humming with repressed energy. She clutched the roll of paper in both hands. "Okay? I can do it?"

He threw the phone on the counter. "Conditional yes."

"Conditional on what?" she demanded. "Do, or do not."

"On your safety, and me being the head of this crazy household, getting to make decisions. Being older than everybody else. I don't know, other stuff." He made a grand gesture. "That's what I'm offering. Take it or leave it."

Sarah squinted at him for a good ten seconds before nodding decisively. "All right."

Puck wasn't going to tell Burt that she probably would have caved earlier if he'd just kept up the annoying shit. They gathered around the table while she unrolled the paper and weighed down the edges with coasters. It was almost as large as the entire dining surface, even with both leaves open.

"It's…" Burt looked at her. "It's a building?"

Kurt peered at it closely. "You told me it wasn't blueprints. This looks a lot like blueprints."

"Yeah, technically it's not. The actual blueprints are with the architect I've been consulting. This is just my floor plan." She took a deep breath. "You guys suck so bad. I was working up this whole speech about why we can't keep living here, and how I rode my bike all over Lima looking for the right place for us, but there's stuff we need that we can't have unless —"

"Hold it," Burt said, waving his hands. "We are not building a house."

She ignored him. "— unless we plan it the way we want it to be. All of us. So I interviewed each of you."

"You did?" Puck asked. "When? You never interviewed me."

Sarah opened her notebook and flipped to a page in the back. "Noah Puckerman, essential components to a home. Music studio. Kitchen, multiple points. Space for LDBs."

"LDBs?"

"Long distance brothers," she clarified. She pointed. "That's Adam's room. That one's for whoever comes after him. Also, space for your kid. Also —" Burt reached for the notebook and she snatched it out of his reach. "Long story short, I interviewed each of you."

"Sarah," Burt said, obviously attempting to sound patient and failing. "This isn't really going to —"

"Lauren did the CAD project with you," interrupted Kurt. She nodded. "When did you talk to an architect?"

"I might have maybe skipped a little school. But I took the bus," she added, before Burt could express his outrage. "I didn't hitchhike even once. Even to get to the contractor's, and she's way the hell over off Allentown." She flipped to another page. "So, looking for land took some time, considering the size of the floor plan, but I have some options. It can't be in a neighborhood. We'll need privacy, because of what you guys do, and enough land to preserve the value of the house after —"

"Wait, you didn't finish explaining the financing part!" Puck said. He decided ignoring Burt's outbursts was probably the best policy, but Burt seemed to have quieted down and was just standing there, rubbing his forehead and looking a little annoyed.

"Yeah, there was only so much I could actually pay for up front? But Mr. Preston's an architect, so Frances got his junior partners to do a ton of pro bono advance planning. I'm going to have to pay for the actual blueprints eventually. But, like, cost analysis, contractor bidding, I figured all that stuff out myself. Well, with the internet. Everything's there, if you know what to look for. And Lauren helped a ton." She grinned. "She's really freaking smart."

"And where are you getting the money for the materials?" Kurt asked politely.

She took a couple deep breaths. "Tatenui, don't freak out. I had Timmy help me with this part, since he's kind of an adult. We all got an inheritance when Ma died, Noah and me and Timmy? We don't get ours until we turn eighteen, but he got his now, and he agreed to invest in the house. When I turn eighteen, I'll pay it back, with interest." She wasn't flipping pages now, she was just looking into Burt's face with a pleading expression. "Don't freak out."

"You said that already," he said. "Am I freaking out?"

"I'm just waiting. Adults are so weird about money. So right now mortgage rates are pretty low, but they're supposed to go down again, so I think you should get a construction loan instead, and then refinance at the end? Timmy has enough for the down payment on a construction loan and a land contract. If you can sell your house, and Carole can sell hers, there'll be enough money to pay for most of it, and you can mortgage the rest. I priced it out, and Jenny — she's the contractor who had the best bid — has creative ideas about how we can do some of the construction ourselves. And maybe I asked Tess for a little help. We can afford this."

"Are you done now?" Burt asked.

"No, I haven't played the guilt card yet." Sarah looked from Puck to Kurt, then back to Burt. "You talked about taking things away from me? Well, consider that my brother went away. Noah, living at that apartment, has been the suckiest thing ever, way suckier than my Ma dying. The only reason I'm not camped out on his couch every night he's not here is because it would get you in trouble with the social work people. Who, by the way, are going to totally love this new house." She took Puck's hand in her own small one. "Now Finn's moving back in, and you're moving back in, and the baby and Carole. It's going to feel too small again really soon. I am not going to let you guys run away again." She set her notebook down. "Okay. I'm done."

Kurt was crying again, and Puck thought maybe Burt might start crying himself any second if anybody said anything more about a house, so he suggested, "How about Sarah and me make dinner, and you go call Carole or something?"

The first thing Puck did when Kurt and Burt were gone was hug Sarah until she was squirming to get away.

"That guilt card worked," he said. "Stand still and let me hug you. And you can camp on my couch any time you want."

"I can't really," she said, shaking her head. "He wasn't kidding about him getting in trouble, if social services found out. I can't do that to him. But maybe I can guilt-trip you into moving back sooner? I already tried blackmailing Carl into kicking you out of his apartment, but he said no." She shrugged. "Anyway. Oh, Tess said she can get us a deal on stone for the outside part of the house."

He sighed. "You really think you're going to get Burt to let you do this?"

"I know it's a lot," she insisted. "I know you guys are probably moving away someday. Probably we'll end up with this big house that'll be kind of hard to sell in Lima, although I'm already working on how to handle that. But you guys are not going to break up because of a stupid house, not when I can do something about it." She clutched at him. "Noah, I can fix this."

"We're not going to break up, squirt," he said, but she shook her head vigorously.

"You might. Finn moved out once already, and Kurt is awful when Finn and Adam aren't around, and you're going to have a kid… we need rooms… and don't say 'buy a house that's already built' because it won't be good enough, not for all the stuff we all need…."

She was clearly starting to run out of steam. Puck tugged her by her arm and sat down on the chair next to her, hugging her some more while she quieted.

"Okay," he said. She looked at him.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, I'll move back in," he said. "Burt's got his room ready for me. I can live in it. And I probably will freak out, but… you're right. We need to be together. It's not just about me."

She stayed in his arms for a while.

"Did you even like living alone?" she asked.

"Not really," he admitted. "There were some good parts. But the bad parts were worse." He rested his head on her, and she didn't complain. "You not being there was definitely a bad part."

"And Kurt."

"Yeah, that too. Finn was there kind of a lot, but that meant Kurt was unhappy, because he was with me instead of here. Another bad part." He hesitated. "You don't really think I corrupted you with my sex stuff, do you? That was a joke?"

"I have no fucking idea," she said, aggravated. "This is my life. I like it. I don't really care who thinks it's bad for me, because it's my life, and I like it."

"Okay," he said meekly. "Fuck, you're scary when you're doing research."

She brightened at that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We should make dinner now. And don't ask Burt anything else about the house until he brings it up."

Sarah clearly didn't like that idea, but she didn't argue with him either, and she made her corn pudding without being asked. They heard Carole and Finn coming in about the time Puck was pan-saucing the chicken, but Puck just looked at Sarah, and they both kept on working. The subdued conversations happening outside the kitchen didn't sound encouraging.

Finn paused in the doorway as they were getting the dishes out of the cupboards. He gave Sarah a sympathetic hug.

"So you think your principal called Burt because you were caught skipping school?" he asked.

"I guess," she said. "They didn't actually catch me, but… that's all I could think that it might be?"

Finn helped them set the table, staying close to Puck. Kurt was happiest of all of them, because he had all his people around except for Adam, but the rest of them were mostly quiet. Sarah said nothing, even when Burt complimented her corn pudding.

Finally he sighed and set down his fork, and glanced over at Carole.

She said, "Sarah…"

"Don't tell me we can't," she said fiercely. "I have a lot more underhanded shit I can pull, way worse than the guilt card." She took another bite of chicken and chewed angrily.

"I was going to say," Carole said, "that you shouldn't use your money to pay for a down payment on a house. That's your money for college. You should let us handle the down payment on the house."

Sarah slowed her chewing. She gave Carole an appraising look. "I'm not going to pay for college. I'll get a full scholarship."

Puck coughed. "She probably will."

Carole and Burt exchanged more completely impossible adult looks before Sarah spoke again. "It's an investment. Maybe a stupid one, but you can bet I'll find a way to make money on it, unless the housing market completely tanks between now and the time we sell. But this isn't about money. It's about us, having the kind of house we need for our totally weird family. You can count on it getting bigger. There is no fucking reason —"

"Sarah," Burt said, and she took a breath and went on.

"There is no reason I shouldn't put my money into something I believe in. Timmy's money, really, but I will pay him back, so it's my investment. And he's going to let me, because he knows I can make good on it."

Carole nodded. "Okay. We'll table that for now, but you're making sense. I want to talk to all the adults involved in this project, and your friend at school — Lauren? Would she come over for dinner?"

Sarah thought about it. "Maybe. She doesn't really like people very much."

"Okay. But your architects, your contractor… you'll have to introduce me to all of them. And walk me through the whole project, start to finish." Carole tried to give Sarah a stern look. She wasn't very good at it, and it came off mostly reproachful. "Timmy will have to let us cosign for anything he agrees to borrow from you."

"You don't need a cosigner," Sarah began, but she saw Puck's expression and subsided. "Okay, whatever. I can explain everything, and make appointments to talk to everybody one at a time. Maybe start with the architects, so you can see the blueprints. But I promise, everything's legitimate."

Carole looked at Burt again, who had managed to keep his mouth shut throughout this conversation by drinking his way through two beers. He set the second one down.

"I'm not saying yes," he said. "You tricked me into this, and I won't say yes until I'm sure it's really possible. And I'll say again, I don't like you using your money."

"But you'll let me do it?" Sarah said quickly.

He fixed her with a look. "I'm going to talk to your principal on Tuesday, and he's going to ask me why you've been cutting school. And what am I going to tell him? I can't keep control of my own foster daughter?"

"Tell him I'm bored," she moaned. "Tell him I'm a regular ordinary teenager. Tell him the truth. Tell him anything you want. Just, please, let me do this. This is going to work, I promise."

Burt clearly had no more words. When Sarah opened her mouth again, Puck said, "There's dessert," and she went back to being silent. They ate the pumpkin crumb cake, and it tasted fine, but nobody said anything about it.

Puck brought Sarah with him when he went downstairs. Kurt and Finn came with them. She sat on the green couch and played hearts with them, and lost every hand.

"He's going to say no," she said at one point. Kurt put a hand on her shoulder.

"He's going to think about it. And Carole's on your side."

"We all are," said Finn. "It's a great idea."

"We should probably stop redecorating your room," Kurt said. Sarah looked up from her hand and made a face.

"Fuck that. Your dad already told me I could."

"'Your dad'?" Kurt said softly.

Sarah covered her face and began to cry.

"I told you, I'm moving back in," Puck said. He moved in as close to her as he could get, wedging into the corner of the couch with her. She was sitting so far back that her feet didn't even reach the floor. "And so is Finn." He reached a hand out and whacked Finn on the arm.

"Yeah, I am," Finn said hurriedly. "As soon as possible."

"I'm right," she snapped through her tears. "This is the best thing for us. For our family."

"Sarah, you can't fix relationships with a house," Kurt said. "This is going to work because we love each other, and we want to stay together, even though it's hard. Even though it's really hard, sometimes, it's still worth it. The house would be wonderful, on top of that."

"No," she insisted, scrubbing her face. "No, a home is more than a house. It's all the things about living that you need, the things that make you happy and whole and satisfied. Sometimes a home is just the people, but that's not enough most of the time. Sometimes it's about the stuff, or the way it's arranged. Sometimes it's the rooms, or the layout of the rooms. Sometimes it's the smell or the way it sounds." She sighed. "We need to start with enough space. Eight people is a lot."

"Eight?" Finn said blankly.

Sarah counted on her fingers. "You, your mom. Kurt, his — Tatenui. Me and Puck. The baby. And whoever comes next."

"'Whoever comes next' isn't a person," he argued.

"Odds say there will be one," she shot back. "You'd better be ready for it. I am."

She disappeared into her room before the game was over, shut her door, and didn't come out again. Puck knocked as they were shutting out the lights downstairs before bed, but she didn't respond.

"It'll be okay," he told Finn, who seemed to be the most distraught. "She gets obsessive sometimes."

Finn had another question while they were brushing their teeth. "You think she's really serious about paying for her own college?"

"I think she has a damn good chance of getting a scholarship someday," he said. "But who the fuck knows? She's in sixth fucking grade."

Kurt smiled as they all converged on his bed, pulling back the covers. "I still love it when we all sleep here."

"Yeah." Finn climbed in first, opening his arms to Kurt, who was most willing to be in the middle. "I think I'd like it more if I didn't hang off the end of your bed."

"We could get a king-sized mattress," Kurt said. "I could put my dressing table in storage. I think we could make it fit if I did that."

"You're not going to convince me you really want to give up your dressing table." Finn kissed his cheek. "I can deal with this mattress a while longer."

Puck sat on the edge of the bed, shedding his t-shirt. "I kind of can't believe Mercedes called your dad to talk about me being a slave."

"She's amazing," Finn agreed. Kurt smiled.

"I know someone who's an expert on being a slave," Kurt said.

They all looked at Finn. He looked startled.

"I don't know how I would feel about Carl training you," he said slowly.

Kurt reached back and rested a gentle hand on Finn's face. "I was talking about Angela."

"Yeah?" said Puck. "You think she'd talk to me about it?"

"Definitely," Finn agreed, sounding relieved. "Yeah. I think she'd do that."

It took another ten minutes before the house was quiet enough for Puck to assume everyone was actually asleep, or at least not coming downstairs. He considered getting up to lock the door, but they hadn't ever done that before, and he decided he didn't want to set that precedent.

"I think," he said, "if I'm going to be here, I need to figure it out. The slave thing. I want to do it right, you know?"

"Sweetheart." Kurt clasped him tighter. Being held that way in Kurt's lap was enough to nudge Puck well on his way to getting turned on, but at the moment, his goal wasn't to get off.

"I know, I know, you like me the way I am, whatever. I'm talking about doing it right for all of us. Lady Tess told me I need to let go more. I think if I'm going to do that, I need to be… safe." He tried not to say it like he would if he were being Puck. "I think I need to wear the collar. My collar. I need you to put it on me when I'm here. And, um." He took a few more deep breaths. "I need you to call me Noah."

Kurt didn't say anything. He just hung on to him, continuing with the gentle kisses, until Puck felt calm again.

"You don't really like being called that," Finn said. "I mean, that's what you told me."

"I said that because I thought I needed to be an asshole to survive," Puck told him. "You know, how Rachel says she needs applause to live? I thought I needed fear. If people didn't fear me, I was worthless. So, yeah. Puck. The mohawk, too. Everything."

"So what do you need to live?" Finn asked quietly. He hadn't moved from being the biggest spoon, but his hands were wrapped securely around Kurt's arms, so that he was touching both of them, and his hands were providing Puck as much support as he could give from there.

"Air, water, shelter," Puck began. Finn's hand shifted south to swat his bottom once, and he grinned. "Oh, you mean what do I want?"

"I think Sarah's project kind of answered that for all of us," Kurt replied. "I have to admit, it looked amazing. Did you see that floor plan? I barely had a chance to look at all the detail, but… living in a place like that would be fantastic."

"We don't need anything that extravagant," Finn said. "And there's no way my mom and your dad could afford it, even if they did sell both houses. Even little houses are expensive." He touched Puck with one hand and Kurt with the other. "I have what I need."

Judging by his cooing, Kurt thought that was the most touching sentiment in the world, but it just made Puck shake his head.

"You're a fucking sap, Finn," he said. "Sarah was right about this place. We'll all move back in here, and it'll start feeling crowded again in a couple weeks. And we'll have to go through this shit all over again."

Finn sighed. "I think we should just get some sleep, all right? Noah?"

Puck wasn't sure he could describe what being called Noah, in that tone, did to him. Hearing it from Kurt, and even Finn, was enough to toss him right into submission most of the time. He felt Kurt's arms around him, Finn's hands on him, and he closed his eyes.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, he could remember only fragments of the dream that woke him. He knew it had included the boy from the bar, and his daughter, and it had been terrifying. He lay there, awake and alone, shivering, wondering if he should wake somebody or not. He reached for his phone and sent a text.

I'm sorry I didn't call much this week.

Adam's reply came about five minutes later. It's all right, honey. I know you were with your girl.

Yeah, that's over now. All new drama's taking its place. He sighed. Fuck, I miss you.

This time the reply took ten minutes. Puck thought he might have dozed a bit while he waited.

I talked to Nightline on Saturday about the music that inspired me, Adam said. I mentioned Gaga and Bowie. Wish I could have mentioned you and Kurt.

Puck dropped the phone and rolled over to huddle against Kurt's chest until he woke up.

"I miss you," Puck whispered. "I miss Sarah. I miss Finn. Fuck everything. I don't care if I have to sleep in a shoebox."

Then he moved down Kurt's body and gave him what sounded like the world's most intense blow job. Maybe it was due to nothing more than the fact that he had barely seen him at all that week, but it felt like something he had to do.

When Kurt was done, Puck felt arms taking him and rolling him onto his back, spreading him open. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of Finn's rough breathing as he knelt over him and fucked him with short, quick thrusts. Puck came twice before Finn was done. By then the bed was sweaty and sticky, but Puck didn't care one bit, and he guessed neither of the other two did either.

"I would have just gone to sleep and ignored you two," he said to Kurt and Finn in the morning. "Like, it didn't matter that two super-hot guys were in my bed? That is fucked. I can't ever take that for granted, no matter how much other stuff I'm dealing with."

He sent a quick text apology to Adam for ditching him in the middle of his conversation the night before, knowing he'd get it later. On his way into school, he took Kurt's hand and held it, glaring at anyone who walked by and looked askance at them.

"We are not going to take shit from anybody," he said. Kurt, wisely, said nothing.

In Glee, when Mr. Asshole Bryan Ryan came in and asked them what their dreams were, Puck confidently wrote threesome, because his boyfriends were exactly what he wanted, and the rest was just gravy. Watching Mr. Ryan throw them in the trash didn't bother him. His dreams were worth more than paper. But the way Mr. Ryan was intimidating Mr. Schue, that pissed him off more than a little.

"You think I can break the rules a little, Mr. Schue?" he called after Mr. Ryan left. "Maybe mess him up, kind of?"

"You're not going to throw him in the dumpster," Mercedes declared. That made Matt and Tina and Artie laugh, which wasn't Puck's goal, but at least it was something.

Mr. Schue shook his head, looking defeated. "I'm sorry," he said in a subdued voice. "I shouldn't have let him come and talk to you at all. I knew exactly what he was going to say, and the last thing I want to do is steer you away from your dreams. They're yours, no matter how improbable."

"Well, yeah," said Santana, "but isn't it a stupid idea for us to graduate from high school thinking we might get to be the next big thing? He was right, that most of us won't ever leave Lima." She tossed her ponytail. "Not me, of course. I'm out of here."

"Dreams aren't supposed to be likely," Kurt said loftily. "They're what you want if you could have anything."

"And then you work toward them, one step at a time," Rachel added. "Methodically. Intentionally."

Mr. Schue nodded. "And life is what happens when you're on your way there. Sometimes it's what you want, and sometimes it's unexpected. But it's still yours." His eyes hardened. "And you don't have to justify it to anybody."

Kurt was waiting for Puck after class, watching Mr. Schue sitting at his desk in his office with sad eyes. He took Puck's hand as soon as he offered it.

"I don't know what to do about that," Kurt told him in an undertone. "I think Mr. Ryan has something on Mr. Schue, and he's taking it out on Glee club, just to hurt him."

"I think you need to let him and Toby handle it." He held up Kurt's hand. "And come with me to the garage to look at my car. What color screams sex shark?"

Kurt smiled at him. "I have Cheerios practice. But you can tell me about it at home tonight." He looked hopefully at Puck, who nodded.

"Yeah, I'll go move a truckload of my shit back to your dad's. I think I'm gonna hang out with Sarah after she gets home. Try to get her out of her funk, you know?"

"You're a good brother," Kurt told him.

It wasn't quite the same as being told You're a good boy, but from Kurt, it felt almost as meaningful. He carried the warm feeling home with him. Even Shelby noticed on the phone.

"You're in a better mood than you were on Friday," she said. "Did things work out with Mercedes after all?"

"Not like that. Still friends, I think. I don't have too many friends who are girls, but she's awesome in a lot of ways."

"Hey, what am I?" Shelby didn't sound mad, though.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugged. "You're Shelby. You're… the only one I talk to on the phone, except Max. I don't even talk to Kurt on the phone."

"I'll gladly accept that honor. When are you and your friends going to make it back to Akron?"

"I have no idea. Tonight I'm moving out of the apartment and back into Kurt's dad's office. That's gonna take a while."

"Would it sound too much like a mom thing if I said I was glad you wouldn't be living on your own anymore?"

He grinned, thinking of Tess. "You're not the only one telling me that. I'm trying to do the responsible thing, even if it's hard. Trust me, it doesn't come naturally. But I don't want to let Kurt down."

"I think you're doing the right thing for yourself, too. Raising this kid on your own wouldn't be good for either of you."

There was a chiming noise, then he heard a car door slam. "Did you just get home?"

"I'm at the Cleveland airport, to pick up Jesse from his spring break trip."

Jesse St. James. Puck frowned. "You know I think he's kind of an asshole."

She laughed. "He is. And you know I am, too?"

"You think so?"

"Most definitely."

He thought about that while he was wrapping his dishes in t-shirts and carefully packing the contents of his spice cabinet. Packing the rest of the apartment wouldn't take much time at all, and he'd come back later to clean.

After everything was loaded into the truck, he called her back. "What do you mean, you're an asshole?"

"I'm in the car with Jesse," she said mildly.

"So what? You picked up the phone. I want you to tell me exactly how you think you're an asshole."

He heard her sigh. "You know the answer. You recognized that, long before you knew me. It's because I know what I want, and I'll do anything I have to to get it."

"No, see, that's the thing," he said. "That was before I knew you. That first time you had me over, I knew you were making dinner and talking to me so you could get information out of me and manipulate me into shutting up about you and Carl. But that's not what happened the next time, or the time after that. That's not what's happening now. As far as I can tell, now you're being nice to me just — because."

There was a silence. Puck leaned against the dented, rusty bed of the truck, fiddling with his keys, waiting.

"Sounds like you know me pretty well," she said. "Maybe you should listen to what you know. I'll talk to you later."

He stared at his phone for a while after she hung up. Then he looked up. Through the tinted glass of Carl and Davis' office, he could see the shadow of Angela at her desk, filing papers.

The bell dinged as he pushed open the front door, and she smiled pleasantly at him.

"You don't have an appointment today, do you?" she asked.

"No. I was thinking I should make one, though. Two, actually. One with Davis, and one with you."

Angela's smile didn't falter, but she tilted her head. "With me? What for?"

"About what you do for Carl. When you're not here. You know."

She made a few taps on her keyboard. "Puck, I do that for Dr. Howell all the time. It doesn't matter where we are. But I would be happy to arrange a time to talk with you about it. How's three-thirty after school tomorrow with Dr. Lawton?"

"Sounds good," he agreed. "And with you?"

"I'll have to check with Dr. Howell first," she said. After a moment, she glanced up, then back at her screen. "To get permission, to talk to you."

Puck felt a shiver go through him. Permission, he thought longingly. "You, uh. You have to ask for that a lot?"

"For most things, we have a prior arrangement. It's the only way I'm able to make decisions on his behalf." She smiled to herself. "Neither the house nor the businesses would run very smoothly if I didn't have some autonomy. But in this case, it's an unspecified duty. Asking is an important formality."

He thought about all the times he said he'd call Adam when he didn't, and the long list of things he'd decided to do on his own that turned out to be bad decisions. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Finn, uh, said he'd do that for me. That I should ask, and he would… tell me if I could do it. But I kind of stopped doing that after the shit went down about my daughter."

"You might consider trying it again," she said. "It can be a reminder that you respect them, even if they give you the freedom to make your own decisions."

Puck thought about it on the way back to the Hummel house. He stood on the porch, holding his box of most important kitchen implements and his collar, and rang the doorbell. Burt met him at the door, frowning.

"Did you forget your key?" he asked.

"No, uh." He tried not to squirm too much. "I'm… is Kurt here? He can handle this…"

"He's got Cheerios practice until four."

Puck sighed, straightening up. "Look, I just need… I'm wondering if it's okay if I come in."

"Of course it is." Burt watched him in obvious confusion as he stepped through the door. "Puck, what is this? You're not, like, turning into a vampire or something, are you?"

"No. I'm sorry, this is coming out way weirder than it was in my head. I'm gonna put this stuff in the kitchen."

Sarah came up from the basement as soon as she heard him, going straight out to the truck and bringing in an armload of Puck's things without asking. Burt followed them out to help. It only took them about a half hour to unload the whole thing. Burt set his electric guitar in the corner of the study and looked around at the bare room.

"You're gonna need some more furniture."

"No," he said quickly. "I mean, thanks, but… I'm already feeling weird about this. I'd rather not take any more stuff. Can I unpack in the kitchen?"

Burt was still staring at him. "Yeah. You can do anything you want, Puck. This is your —"

"Please," he said, a little too loudly. Burt stopped. Puck gritted his teeth. "Remember how I freaked out when you cleaned out this office? I'm gonna probably do that again, until Kurt gets home and — and fixes it."

Puck had most of the spices sorted back into the Hummel collection, trading out older containers for new ones, when Kurt walked through the door of the kitchen and saw him. He smiled, setting his bag down at the kitchen table. "Hi. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks," Puck said. He went over to Kurt, accepting his hug. He cleared his throat. "I'm — I think I need to ask you to — do that thing we were talking about last night."

Kurt glanced over his shoulder at his dad, sitting in front of the television, then back at Puck. "In front of my dad?" he whispered, looking aghast.

"I don't know. I think it would be kind of weird for him to see me wearing a collar." Clinging to Kurt wasn't really helping, so he went back to organizing spices. "But I'm coming out of my fucking skin here, Kurt. Angela said I should ask permission for things, so I'm trying to do that."

"Permission," Kurt murmured. He took Puck's hand and led him into the study, closing the door behind them. There was a faint scent of toner and lemon glass cleaner. It didn't smell much like home. But Kurt put the blinds down on the little window, then sat on the bed, facing him. "I don't know all the appropriate things to say, to make this right for you. But I think it worked for you pretty well last week, at Mercedes' house."

"Yeah, it did," Puck agreed. "But you're not going to have a contract with me, not like that. Are you?"

"I think that's exactly when we should have," Kurt said. "Carl and Davis can both help get the words right. You're going to be working for the house. We'll be depending on you for some things. I think it would be good to be clear about what those things are. If you still want that."

Just hearing Kurt say the words were making him relax. "Yeah, I definitely want that. Please."

"So until we can have something formal…" He reached over by Puck's pillow and picked up his collar, holding it in his hands. "Noah, would you kneel here while I do this?"

It was tempting, being on his knees in front of Kurt, but he kept his hands and mouth to himself. "Like this?"

"That's good." Kurt smiled, touching Puck's face. "You're my good boy, and I'm so glad you're going to be here with us again. This house needs you, and so do I."

It made Puck a little self-conscious, to know Sarah and Burt were on the other side of the door, but he nodded. "I want… to do a good job. For you, and everybody."

"You will," Kurt assured him. He thought for a moment. "Today, my only expectation is that you will arrange the kitchen to your satisfaction, and talk to Sarah about this week's meals. After that, I imagine you'll be in charge of them again, but that's up to the two of you."

It was a relief to have Kurt telling him. He nodded again. When Kurt held up the collar and tucked it back under his pillow, saying, "You can wear this tonight, after everyone else goes to bed," he was even more relieved.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered. Kurt leaned over and kissed him.

"Not too weird?" he asked Puck, sounding a little tentative.

"No," Puck said immediately. "Just good. Thank you."

"If you need to ask for anything else, I want you to feel free to do that."

Sarah was sitting at the dining room table with her notebook. She bounced up when they came out. "Kurt, can I use your phone? I need to call Jenny."

"Jenny?" Kurt said, handing her his phone. "I don't remember that friend."

"She's the contractor," Sarah corrected. "I had a question about the water and sewer requirements in Lima Heights. There's this one lot on the edge of town, I think it might be okay, but if we have to put in a septic field —" She paused, then into the phone, very respectfully, she said, "Hello, may I please speak to Mrs. Chapman?"

"Okay if I handle dinner tonight, squirt?" Puck said casually. She nodded. They retreated into the kitchen again, leaving Sarah to her call.

"Just when I think I understand her, she does something like this," Kurt marveled. Puck snorted.

"Don't get the wrong idea. She wasn't kidding about being bored at school, which I can understand. She's spent her whole fucking life being the good kid, taking care of bills when Ma was too drunk. She took care of all this shit, once she got old enough to read. Grown-ups trust her, which is… kind of hilarious, really." He took out pasta and felt the two tomatoes on the windowsill, making a face. He was going to have to go shopping.

"I won't offer to help." Kurt settled at the kitchen table, wearing a little smile. "I just want to be close to you, as close as you can stand. If you feel like I'm in the way, would you tell me?"

He shook his head, rummaging in the pantry. "You're not in the way, baby. This is your place."

"Is it… could it be kind of yours, too?" Kurt sounded tentative again. Puck brought the can of tomatoes and the can opener over to the table and sat down across from him.

"It's kind of mine." He touched the table. "I like your house, Kurt."

"My house." Kurt sighed. "That's all it is?"

"Maybe?" He shrugged, setting the open tomatoes on the table. "I don't know how to say what it is. I'm not so good with words."

"I just want you to be happy." Kurt reached out and clutched Puck's hands. "You're more than a… a thing to me, more than what you can do for me. Just having you here is enough for me. But I know it wouldn't be enough for you."

"I know you want the house to belong to me, but I think… I think to make it my home, what I really need is for me to belong to it." He felt the words with his tongue as he spoke them. It was close to the truth. "To all of you. To be responsible for… making it work, like I'm part of it."

"You want to be in charge of the house," Kurt said slowly, "and have us be in charge of you?"

That sounded pretty good, actually. He smiled. "I might still fuck things up. But I think I can handle dinner tonight, even if it's just pasta with tomato cream sauce."

Kurt smiled back. "I'll talk to my dad about setting up a household budget tomorrow."

"I think I can handle that, too," he said. He stood up, leaning over the table, and kissed Kurt. "And you really want to do this for me?"

"Yes," Kurt said emphatically. "I really, really do."

That made him quiver all over. "Fucking awesome," he murmured. "Dinner in an hour, sir?"

Will wouldn't have considered taking Bryan Ryan out for a drink at all if Brad hadn't brought a copy of the 1993 edition of the Thunderclap to work. He left it on Will's desk with the page marked.

Senior class Glee Club members commemorate Lillian Adler's life and leadership with a special performance of Aerosmith's "Dream On," featuring soloists Bryan Ryan and William Schuester.

"What's this for?" he asked Brad, loosening his tie. "I think I've heard enough about Bryan today."

"I'm just doubting his sincerity," Brad said, shrugging. "You're going to assume he's doing this for political reasons, or money, or because he's trying to get back at you for some perceived slight back in high school. I think he's mad at himself for letting the music go. Talk to him. Remind him what he did, what he was."

Will shook his head, running his fingers over the yellowed photo of himself and Bryan, facing off with microphones. "He's not going to like me bringing up the past."

"Then bring the past to him," Brad suggested. "Piano Man, Will."

"Oh my god." Will hid his face in his hand briefly. "I wanted that solo so bad."

"So did he. But you can be gracious this time." Brad patted him on the shoulder. "I think alcohol might not hurt either. Take him out to the Landing Strip after work. They've got it on the juke box there."

He let out a laugh. "You're full of good advice today."

Brad's voice softened. "Yeah, and while you're at it —"

"Don't," Will said, holding up a hand. Brad sighed.

"Whatever Toby did — whatever you did — it's fixable. You know this, William."

"You don't understand." Will looked up from the closed Thunderclap to the photo of himself with Brad, Andi and Laurie on his bulletin board. Toby had taken that picture. No matter how invisible their relationship was at work, their friendship was everywhere, permeating every aspect of his life. He couldn't bring himself to say He might be sick, and I'm scared to death of what that means for us.

"I don't have to understand to care about you guys," Brad insisted. "You're my family. For the first time, you were making some headway in this damn relationship. You can't let little things get in your way. Trust me."

"We're taking a break," Will said. "He understands. It's just… too hard right now."

That wasn't quite true. Every time Toby called him, Will considered answering. Sometimes he even picked up the phone and thought about dialing him. It turned out that two hours drive didn't feel all that closer than two hours flight, when he was alone in his bed.

He's probably not alone, he thought, taunting himself, when he was feeling particularly self-destructive. Toby's never spent very long alone. That made him feel even worse, because of course Toby had come to Ohio to be with him, and now Will was pushing him away. And if he was going to push Toby into anybody's bed, did it really have to be the kid who reminded him of Colin?

It didn't take much persuading to get Bryan to let Will buy him a beer. Sitting next to him at the bar, telling him how great he was, wasn't so different from talking up the kids when their self-esteems were ebbing. "You were one of those dudes where all the guys wanted to be you and all the girls wanted you."

Bryan gave a snort. "Not all of them."

"Okay, who was the one who got away?"

"Terri Del Monaco," Bryan said dreamily. Will almost spit out his beer. "You remember her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she was… she was cool. I married her."

Bryan gave him an incredulous look. "No way."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Didn't work out. I mean, it was great. I really loved her, and… we just grew apart."

"But what about…" Bryan paused, then shook his head. "I thought for sure I had heard…"

Will glanced at him nervously. "What?"

"Nothing," Bryan said. He took another sip of his beer. "Too bad about Terri."

Will faced Bryan. "You know what gave me the strength to finally get out of a terrible marriage? Music. Meeting those kids… coaching Glee club… I mean, you're right, I'm never going to be on Broadway. But Glee club is not just about expressing yourself to everyone else, it's about expressing yourself to yourself."

Bryan deflated, his head landing on the bar with a muffled thud. "I'm living a lie," he mumbled.

"What?"

He let out a little sob. "I miss it so much. I am miserable. Ever since I stopped performing, I cannot stand my life. Three times a year, I tell my wife I'm going off to a business trip, and I sneak off to New York and see a bunch of Broadway shows. I have a box of Playbills hidden away in my basement." He sniffed. "Like porn."

It was too good an opportunity to waste. Will started the jukebox playing "Piano Man," sang half of the first verse, and Bryan was hooked.

But Will could only think of Toby, and the way he'd done almost the same thing every year in Denver, sneaking away to see his performances without Terri or even Toby knowing about it. Like porn, indeed. He let himself cry a little along with Bryan, and stood very close to him while he threw out the final hook.

"Lima Theater Guild is doing a production of Les Mis," he said. "Auditions are tomorrow — and both of us are trying out."

Bryan nodded, his eyes full of tears, and hugged Will gratefully. "Thank you," he choked. "You have no idea what this means to me."

They stayed through the rest of Piano Man, and Kansas' "Carry On Wayward Son," .38 Special's "Hold On Loosely," Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love," and six or seven other forgettable rock anthems. The beers kept coming, and although Will wasn't sure who'd ordered the most recent round, he was pretty sure he shouldn't drive home. Bryan was clearly trashed, alternately shouting and crying about every other lyric.

"How about I call you two a cab," offered the bartender. Will nodded gratefully. Neither Brad nor Emma needed to see him like this. He paid their tab and helped Bryan make his way into the back seat of the waiting car.

"Don't make me go home, Will," Bryan begged. "That soulless, silent tomb… we don't even own a CD player."

He sighed, thinking about the disaster the last time he'd let someone crash on his couch. At least Bryan wasn't going to try to seduce him, like April had. "All right. You can stay at my place."

Bryan leaned on his shoulder, hiccuping and singing along under his breath to the song on the radio. "You're the only one who understands," he crooned, snuggling closer to Will.

Will stumbled a little as he paid the driver — this was getting to be a mighty pricy endeavor — and buzzed them into his apartment building. He unlocked the front door, then turned to face Bryan, prepared to explain where the bathroom was.

And Bryan was all over him, his hands fumbling for Will's hair and planting messy kisses across his jaw. "Hey," he yelped, trying to edge away, "I — I don't —"

"Face it, Will," Bryan slurred, "you're just like me. Stuck in an unhappy marriage… I knew the stories I heard were true."

"Stories?" It wasn't like Bryan was unattractive. Or, okay, maybe Will had had an angry crush on him once, but now — he put both hands on Bryan's chest. "Bryan… Bryan. Stop."

"C'mon." His fingers brushed over Will's lips, his own mouth parted in a challenging smile. "You can't tell me you don't want it. I know better."

"We can't do this," he insisted. "I'm — I'm in a relationship."

"So am I. Remember, the-love-of-my-life?" Bryan said it quickly, like it was a title. His hand tucked into the waistband of Will's jeans. "You are a very naughty boy, Will Schuester."

He couldn't deny his body's response, but he held Bryan off with firm hands. "I'm not going to make this mean anything more than what it is. Two guys who've had a little too much to drink. And now I'm going to call you a taxi home."

"Woo. Wull. Will." Bryan shook his head, now despondent. "Don't make me do that. I can't go home like this. Wilma'll kill me. I can't even sing her an apology ballad. Just — let me sleep on your couch. I won't mess with you."

Will thought he might be being kind of a pushover, because what was to keep Bryan from doing anything, really? He frowned at him. "Give the Glee Club back their funding."

"Yes!" Bryan gasped. "I'll do it. Just don't make me go home."

Will found Bryan passed out and snoring on the couch by the time he returned with a pillow and a blanket. As he covered him up, Will wondered what would have happened if Bryan had showed up a year ago, before Toby had moved to Ohio. Of course, the Glee Club wouldn't have had any funding to take away a year ago. He hoped, as he brushed his teeth and collapsed into unconsciousness, that Bryan would remember their conversation tomorrow.