Notes: /sings the "Nobody Cares" song.
Warnings: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.
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October
"My dad wants to meet you."
Puck sat up on his bed, a frown on his face that the boy he was talking to couldn't see. He gripped his phone just a little tighter. "Say what, Princess?"
"My dad wants to meet you," Kurt repeated patiently over the phone. His end of the line was on speaker, so Puck could hear the small noises of the other boy rearranging things on his vanity and the soft sounds of some Broadway soundtrack playing in the background.
"Yeah, why?" Puck asked. He flopped back down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling like he had been before, wearing nothing but socks and boxers, TV on mute and playing an action movie he'd forgotten the title of. "How does he even know who I am?"
"He caught me coming back home after I snuck out to fix your little engine problem. I had to say something, so I told him I'd gone to see a friend. He asked me who and I was too tired to think of a sufficient lie, so I told him the truth." There was a small beat of silence and Puck imagined the way Kurt's lips would be quirked up into a sarcastic little smile. "Some of it anyway. I told him your car had broken down and you didn't have insurance, so I went to see if I could fix it for you. Now he thinks we're dating -"
"We're not dating," Puck stated, smirking because he knew how much it would annoy the other boy. "We're fucking."
"Now he thinks we're dating," Kurt repeated, pointedly ignoring the comment, "and he's invited you over to dinner on Wednesday. I tried to tell him that you had other plans, but I'm afraid if you don't' show up on Wednesday he might track you down and show up on your doorstep to interrogate you. It's Wednesday or bust, Noah. And I know your dirty little secret."
"Yeah? Well I know yours."
"Hm," Kurt hummed, unimpressed (Puck kind of loved the way he did that), "yes. I'm a kinky little bitch and I'm hot for your body."
"I've got plans on Wednesday," Puck said instead, turning his head to look at the list on his desk, hidden under a stack of half-finished homework and assignments whenever he left the room. Under three crossed-out scribbles was the name 'Azimio'. "Remember? I already bought the garbage bags. You're the one who told me not to fuck with my plans."
"I did say that," Kurt agreed reluctantly, "and it is short notice..."
"If I don't do it I'll have to wait until next Wednesday."
Kurt was silent, and for a few long seconds all Puck could hear was the sound of Liza Minnelli singing Don't Tell Mama. "If we make it a late dinner do you think you could be done by eight?"
Puck thought about it, idly playing with his nipple ring as he ran over what he'd have to do and by when. "Yeah," he said eventually, "if I can get him alone before six."
"Alright. Get Azimio alone before six, stab the greasy bastard to death and dispose of his corpse by eight, and then you'll need come straight to my house so we can have dinner at eight-thirty."
"What do I say if your dad asks what I was doing?"
"I don't know," Kurt said flatly. "Lie. You're good at that."
"So're you."
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Puck set his watch on a timer when Wednesday evening rolled around. The alarm would go off first at six o'clock, and again at quarter to eight to remind him to wrap things up. He'd thought the time limit would put extra pressure on him but all he felt was the same buzzing excitement as before. He felt hyperaware of the world around him, anger and excitement channelled into steely focus.
It was easier than he thought to get Azimio on his own. Puck caught him alone right outside the other boy's house at twenty to six. Just from casual observation Puck already knew that the other boy's parents worked late, rarely home before seven on weeknights. He slammed the other boy's head down against the concrete twice, then broke out the zip-ties.
Azimio was bundled into the back of his own car by five-to, the backpack full of gear Puck had brought with him sitting innocently on the passenger seat.
Puck's watch beeped as he backed out of the driveway. He glanced at the unconscious boy in the back seat and smirked. He fucking rocked at time management.
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Puck was still reeling from the thrill when he arrived on the Hummel's doorstep, dressed in new jeans and a black button-up shirt over a matching tank. It was five past eight and he was riding on a natural high, everything on his mental Clean-up Checklist already ticked and double checked. They'd know Azimio was missing pretty quickly, but God... it would take them days, maybe weeks, to find the body. If, by that time, there was anything left to find.
The door opened and Puck smiled, adding a touch of nervousness to make it convincing. "Mr. Hummel? I'm Noah Puckerman - Puck."
Kurt's father looked him up and down, raised an eyebrow, and then finally offered him a hand to shake. "Nice to finally meet you, Noah. Kurt has told me pretty much nothing about you."
"Dad!" Kurt's voice sailed through the open door. "Please, stop harassing my boyfriend and let him in."
Puck bit back the rude response and smiled winningly instead. If he could get through this and actually make a good impression then Kurt would owe him big. He sat through an awkward twenty minute chat with Kurt's dad while they waited for dinner to finish cooking, and complimented the chef generously when the grilled chicken was served. He answered questions about school (C average and better at working with his hands) and sports (full contact sports rocked, and golf was just boring) and glee (more fun than he'd had in years).
By the time dessert was finished Burt Hummel seemed to have decided that he was at least trusted enough for Kurt to drag him away to his bedroom as long as the door stayed open.
"Your dad is hella scary," Puck told Kurt as he sat down on the end of the pale boy's bed.
"He's a big teddy bear," Kurt said dismissively, walking straight past him to check his hair in the vanity mirror. He smoothed his bangs, then turned around to face Puck. "Is he deader than a doornail?"
For just a split second Puck actually thought Kurt was talking about Mr. Hummel, then it clicked. "Yeah, he's dead."
Kurt's lips pressed together into a smile. "How dead?"
Puck grinned at him, feeling an echo of the thrill that had thrummed through him as he stuck Azimio with his knife. "Really fucking dead." He watched Kurt saunter towards him, tipped his face up at the perfect angle and closed his eyes when Kurt's mouth touched his. The kiss was shorter than he'd have liked, but the door was still open and Burt Hummel was still upstairs. "You owe me something big for this, Hummel," Puck murmured, hazel eyes dark as he looked up at the other boy.
"I'll pay you back later. Not tonight. Tonight," Kurt informed Puck, sitting down primly beside him, "we only have until ten before dad comes to kick you out, so you'll have to settle for light petting or half an hour of a movie."
"You got some weird rule that says we can't do both?"
Five minutes later Hellboy was playing on the TV and Kurt was crushed up against Puck's side, pressed tight against him with a hand rubbing his thigh. "Where is he?" Kurt asked quietly, a murmur into Puck's ear.
"Where do you think?" Puck teased. He let his fingertips dance over the top of Kurt's fly before he moved his hand up to a more acceptable position on the other boy's waist. "Think, Princess. You're smart enough to figure it out."
"You," Kurt sighed, though he didn't sound particularly unhappy, "Noah Puckerman, are an unholy tease."
Puck just smirked and stole a strawberry-gloss flavoured kiss.
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September
It hurt to bend over and his right shoulder pulled uncomfortably when he tried to lift his arm to a certain height. To top it off, Puck's nose was still tender and there was a small, suspicious bruise right where the cartilage attached to bone. That wasn't what was pissing him off though. What was pissing him off was that, for the first time in his life he couldn't say 'you should see the other guy' without turning it into an ironic statement.
Irony could go fuck itself for all he cared. Karofsky and his gang of meathead friends had cheated, Puck had accomplished nothing but bruises.
He slouched through most of the school day, cut classes, and spent most of lunch alone with increasingly elaborate revenge fantasies. He was already frustrated and touchy by the time he got to the choir room and purposefully took a seat as close to the edge of the group as possible, hoping to avoid anyone commenting on his mood.
It worked. Sort of. At least, nobody commented on his mood.
"What happened to you?" Santana asked dryly. She sat in the seat in front of him and leaned back to look at him. "You look like crap."
"Does it hurt?" Brittany asked from the seat beside Santana. She gave Puck a sympathetic look. "Your nose looks like it hurts."
Puck tried glaring at her but it was impossible. "No," he settled for finally, "I'm fine."
"Ok," Santana rolled her eyes, "whatever you say."
Puck slumped further down in his chair, ignored the protest from his back, and crossed his arms. He glared sullenly at the front of the room, hoping to all that was holy that Mr. Schuester would not call on him to get up for any reason. Today was probably the only day in the entire school year that he wouldn't want to get up and sing. Lucky for him Mr. Schue seemed to have different plans, ones that didn't involve any solo singing.
Unlucky for him it didn't seem necessary for Mr. Schue to single anyone out for the rest of the club to notice Puck's bad mood and bruises.
"Dude, are you ok?" Finn asked as soon as he got through the door, "I haven't seen you all day."
Naturally that announcement made everyone already in the room look at him. Puck shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wincing when his shoulder gave a sharp stab of protest. "How about we not talk about this, ok?" he asked the room in general.
The room in general ignored him, and so did the rest of the glee kids.
"What happened?" Finn pressed, and instead of taking his usual seat next to Rachel he took one of the spare seats beside Puck.
Puck remembered not to shrug only because his shoulder was still aching in protest of his earlier shuffling. "I got in a fight," he said simply. "I didn't win."
"Fight club?" Finn asked.
"No," Puck grumbled.
"Come on, what happened?" Finn asked again, and Puck was aware that most of the other students in the club were listening in. They weren't even bothering to hide it, a few of them looking right at him with open concern or sympathy. Puck didn't like that. They weren't supposed to be looking at him like that. He was supposed to be tougher than this.
"Nothing."
"Is this because you keep stopping people from throwing slushies at us?" Tina asked from across the room, proving that yes, everyone was listening.
"No," Puck replied, when he really meant yes.
"Clearly," a cool, calm voice sailed through the air and Puck turned his head slightly to see Kurt Hummel examining his nails rather than looking at him, "he doesn't want to talk about it. And, as Rachel would say, we're wasting valuable singing time."
"I wouldn't say that!" Rachel protested. "I think Puck's current state of health after stepping up to help out the rest of us is very important, and I think we should show him some support."
"Forget it, Berry," Puck stated. "I don't need your support."
Will Schuester seemed to decide that was the perfect time to step in and direct everyone's attention towards actual practice instead of plain old gossip. Puck sank into the background this time, happy to let others carry the song and concentrate on just being part of the chorus. All of their concern and their comments just hit it home for him. He was doing a halfassed job here and he needed to do better. He was already an awesome badass out to protect his friends. What he needed was a way to actually make it stick. He needed an equaliser, a way to get through to the assholes who still kept up their harassment. He'd figure it out, and then he'd get them when they were alone - one by one until he'd really gotten his point across