A/N: XD you guys crack me up. You all vote for Purt/Puckurt (whichever you prefer to call it), but of course that's what you're going to vote for! I posted this in the Kurt/Puck section!

Sorry. I giggled.
I still don't know which way I'm going yet.
But I know it's not Klaine.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next day, Kurt had dressed down somewhat, but even having cancer was no reason to go out looking like a slob. So he'd worn a deep green button up shirt and a dark jacket with gold buttons, settling for a tight pair of distressed-style jeans for the day. He hadn't worn that particular pair of jeans in forever, they'd gone out of style long ago. But he highly doubted Puck would even notice, and he was the only person Kurt was planning on seeing that day.

A headache pounded in the back of his head, but he'd long given up on Tylenol and other over-the-counter medicine. He hoped Puck's drugs would do something about that as well.

Kurt had still crawled out of bed early in the morning and performed his moisturizing rituals, and still bid his parents goodbye at eight, exactly, just as he would if he'd have had school. But instead of heading to the school, he drove to the small Lima mall and purchased a low-fat smoothie in the food court. And waited.

Three and a half hours passes pretty fast when you only have twelve more months to live.

He watched the mall walkers, mostly. Mothers with young children not yet in school, old people power walking, other juvenile delinquents like himself skipping school. He smirked, when did I start grouping myself with juvenile delinquents? He sucked up the last bit of his smoothie and shook his head, I guess when I started setting up dates to skip school and smoke pot with Puck.

He thought maybe he should be doing something worthwhile. Maybe he should be making a bucket list, so he could mark off everything he had to do before he died. Kurt grabbed a pen out of his messenger bag and unfolded the napkin that had come with his smoothie.

Number one, he wrote slowly, as to not rip the delicate paper napkin. He paused. Did he have anything he wanted to do? He wanted to write "Sing on Broadway," but that was sort of out of the question at this point. That was on his bucket list before he found out he was going to die. Instead of writing what he wanted, he numbered down the napkin to number ten. He had to have ten things. There had to be at least ten things he wanted to do before he died.

Okay, he thought, determined, number one: skinny dipping. Yeah. But in a pool, not in a creek or somewhere unsanitary. He'd always wanted to do that, sort of. Number two... Kurt drew a small flower in that spot, then crumpled the napkin up and threw it across the table. He had nothing he wanted to do before he died. Not a single thing that would anchor him to the earth until he finished.

He checked his phone, it was only ten. He'd only been occupying himself for and hour and a half. There were a few texts on his phone, a few from Mercedes, one from Finn, and one from Rachel.

Finn, he thought, surprised, Finn noticed I'm gone? He opened that text, surprised at the contents, "blaine said ur not at schook, im not going to tell mom or Burt but r u ok? Have you told blaine yet?"

He texted back with a smile, "im alright Finn, im at the mall. Thx for not telling." Of course he hadn't told Blaine yet. He didn't know how. He didn't want to worry about that yet.

Kurt finally let out a sigh and shoved his phone back in his pocket, then grabbed his bag and stood. Puck would surely let him come over early.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Dude, you're like an hour and a half early."

"I've been at the mall since eight thirty."

Puck's small strip of hair was sticking up in the back, and his white t-shirt was stained down the front, "Right, uh, come in. It's not really clean or anything."

Kurt nodded and tried not to wrinkle his nose at the mess of Puck's home. There were piles of clothes beside the couch, and it was dark and smelled something like a basement. There was a basket of assorted toys, mostly barbies and other dolls belonging to Puck's sister, Kurt assumed.

Puck led him through the kitchen to a set of narrow stairs that led up to Puck's room, messier than the rest of the house combined. "I was, uh, going to clean. You're just early."

"Right," Kurt said shortly, and set his bag on the bed, "Um, thanks for this, by the way."

"Yeah, no problem. Just uh, call me if you need to again. When you start, you know... Chemo, and stuff. My grandma had to have chemo and uh... It helps."

"Yeah," Kurt replied quietly, "Yeah, I've heard it does. What about headaches?"

"Oh yeah! It's the best for headaches!" Puck's face brightened, "So, you wanna do this? Uh, go ahead and sit, I've got to get my stuff..."

Kurt did as he was told and Puck dug around under a pile of dirty clothes in his closet. Finally, Puck dragged out a small box and set it on the bed beside Kurt.

"I'll get it going, but, I guess I'll tell you how. It's going to burn, kind of, and you're going to cough, but try not to. And put it in your lungs, not your stomach. And just hold your breath, kind of. I mean, breathe eventually, but... you get it, right?"

"Yeah, I think." Kurt watched as Puck lit a twisted sort of cigarette, and he knew that it was called a joint, but it felt strange to call it that. Puck sucked in deeply and held his breath for a moment, finally releasing it with a short fit of coughs. Kurt's heart raced.

"Ready, dude?"

"Um... yeah." Kurt did as he had watched Puck do, sort of surprised at how much the smoke burned in his throat and tasted the way it smelled, something like burning plastic or garbage. It made his mouth water, and he felt it was really hard to hold down in his lungs. He thought he might throw up. Suddenly, he coughed violently, and Puck laughed.

"It'll get easier, dude. I have Cheetos. You'll want them later." Puck took another long drag and offered it back to Kurt, who complied once again.

For a few minutes, everything was normal, and Kurt was a little disappointed. He still had cancer, and was still in Puck's smelly room, and was still skipping school. And then he was in a dream. It wasn't like the movies, where everything was colorful and wonderful, but it was definitely something he hadn't ever experienced before.

He watched Puck slink down to the floor and grab the bag of Cheetos from his night stand.

He watched the tree out the window shake and sway with the light wind.

He watched his fingers move against the slick fabric of the sleeve of his jacket.

And then he laid back on the bed and watched the ceiling fan spin and spin and spin, and realized he could do this for hours.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next day was a little tougher. Kurt had gone to school, at least, avoiding Blaine the best he could. He avoided all his friends, really, just focusing on his school work. He'd even skipped practice with the Warblers, using the excuse that he didn't feel well, and just headed home.

And the therapist he'd spoken to briefly had told him that would be normal. People who were dying had a tendency to distance themselves from their loved ones. Not that he should do that, but it's a very common thing to do.

He'd decided therapy probably wasn't for him, anyway.

When he'd pulled into the driveway, his phone buzzed quietly against the cup holder he'd tossed it in, and once he'd thrown the Navigator into park, he pressed the side button.

Blaine...

He tossed the phone into his bag and walked into the house, I can't deal with that right now.

Inside, Finn was waiting on the couch, his foot tapping impatiently, "Dude, where have you been?"

"I had to drive home, Finn. I'm not that late."

Finn sighed, "Well, dude, I've been worried."

"Why?"

"Well, you know..."

Kurt frowned, "No, I don't. It's not like-"

"Yes it is!" Finn stood up, towering over Kurt, "It is! You're acting all strong and different, and it's- Dude, it's... I'm just worried about you."

Kurt pursed his lips together, but didn't speak a word.

"I just... I just try to take care of you. And I just, I know you don't like it, but—but this isn't like school! I can't just get mad and beat up some kid! It's like—it's like you're some ticking time bomb, and there's nothing I can do!" Finn's eyes were teary, but he quickly brushed his fingers across the lids to wipe them away.

"Finn." Kurt's eyes narrowed, "How do you think I feel?" He curled his fingers into fists, his nails digging into his palms, "How do you think I feel? You think I don't feel like a bomb? Like I'm some disaster that's going to destroy my family's life?"

"Kurt, you're-"

"No! No, don't even- don't even try," tears ran down his flushed cheeks, he was furious at himself for crying, but not nearly as furious as he was at Finn for bringing it up, "I don't want any apologies from you. I don't want anything from you." He turned quickly towards the basement door, but Finn grabbed his wrist.

"No. No, dude, don't leave. Please. I just...let me start over."

"Let me go."

"Puck told me."

"What?" Kurt ripped his arm away from Finn, his tears now freely flowing down his cheeks, "Why?"

"He's worried about you, and so am I. And I just- you were late coming home, and I was so worried. Kurt, he just thought I should know, since we're brothers-"

"We are not brothers, Finn." Kurt hissed, "Just leave me alone." He spun away and ran down the stairs, slamming the door behind him. He slid down against the back of the door and held his head in his hands. His head was pounding and his hands were shaking, and Kurt didn't know whether to blame his own brain, or the emotions tearing through it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Boo, sad Finny Finn. I just love him. I don't know where I'm taking him, but I know I love him.
And no Pucky Puck love in this one. I sorry. Other people seemed more important right now.