Chapter 10 – Puck

Puck was ticked.

All because of that stupid murderer, there was no Glee club anymore. And he was actually starting to like that stupid club.

Don't get him wrong, though. He's totally depressed and shiz about all the murders (Everything's been a lot quieter without that Berry chick running her mouth), but, dude, Puck is a stud. He can't let people see him cry. It shows weakness, and don't murderers target the weak? (They do in the movies.)

That is why Puck is here, in the gym, punching and kicking the stuffing out of a punching bag. There was no way in heck that that 'Gleeful Murderer' could get to him if his guns were in top shape.

Even though he was getting pretty sore, Puck still continued to whack the bag with everything he had, drowning out all sounds except for the steady thud of his punches until he heard a buzz.

He looked down at his phone, checking the new message he had received…

…from… Quinn?

From: Quinn

Noah? Srry ive been avoiding u. Meet me in 5 so we can talk :)

Man, Sep 27 5:43 PM

"Heck yes!" Puck thought. He quickly typed a response.

From: Puck

Sure, babe. Where do u wanna meet? (Dosnt matter, tho. Id meet u nywhere ;).)

Mon, Sep 27 5:44 PM

From: Quinn

In frnt of the school. By the dumpster, u no, the 1 the nerds r thrown in2?

Mon, Sep 27 5:44 PM

From: Puck

K, babe. CU in 5

Mon, Sep 27, 5:45 PM

Puck jogged up to the dumpster.

"Quinn?" he called, scanning the lot for the pretty blonde.

"Quinn!" he said louder. He started to walk away from the dumpster, craning his neck to see where she might be hiding, when suddenly he felt a cloth sack being pulled over his head.

He cursed, thrashing around as his arms were grabbed and twisted painfully behind his back.

"Seriously, Puckzilla?" He heard as he felt two pairs of hands lift him into the air, "You can't fight off two girls? That's sad."

Puck stopped struggling when he recognized the voice.

"San… Santana?" he whispered.

Girlish giggles erupted from behind him as the hands let go of him. He cried out as he hit metal, and then heard his cry echo as he heard the sharp clang of the lid of a dumpster being shut.

Puck sat up, pulling the cloth off his head. Letting out a string of explicit words, he crawled around the metal box, pounding on the lid and sides, trying to find a way to escape.

"Santana!" he yelled.

A small hole appeared in the side of the dumpster, letting in a stream of light.

"Yes?"

"Santana, what -"

"Just shut up, Puck," Santana said, "It'll all make sense in a few minutes. Now, are you, by any chance, thirsty?"

"What? N-no…" Puck stuttered, confused by the out-of-place question.

"Yes, you are!" Santana sang, "And I'll fix that for you!"

The eye moved away, soon to be replaced by a hose. Puck heard a mild buzzing sound coming from outside. Disregarding it, he crawled to the opposite side of the dumpster, punching at the wall with all his might.

"Come on, Santana! This isn't funny! Let me out of here!"

He pushed up against the top of the metal box he was in, trying in vain to open the seemingly weighed-down lid until he felt something touch his foot. Reaching down, he blindly swept his hand around until he hit something wet and cold. Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he tentatively licked off…

Grape slushie?

Feeling around, he noticed that almost the entire floor was covered in the frozen drink.

"That's what that buzzing is!" he thought, "The slushie machine! Well, somebody's gotta find me soon."

Nobody found him.

It was half-an-hour later. (He thinks?) The slushie was about up to his shoulders, and Puck was freezing. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate (Why did he go there in the first place? He was going to meet someone? Finn, was it?), and he couldn't even lift his hand to hit he sides of the dumpster anymore.

"Help," he slurred, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, "Lemme… lemme outta here…"

Puck could feel his heart start to hesitate between beats, and he was starting to become sleepy.

"Santana?" He called one last time before letting he closed his eyes and slid deeper into the slushie, "Quinn…"

The lid of the dumpster opened.

"Pucky?" Brittany called, studying the blue-tinged face of the boy submerged up to his neck in grape slushie.

"Oh. I think he went to meet Quinnie," the blonde said to the small stuffed bear she was holding. She dipped a finger in the icy, purple beverage, bringing it up to her lips.

"Mmmm," she said, "That's really good. Do you know what else is really good? The fact that we are nine down."