A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I do enjoy them:)
Part Six
The Cineplex's parking lot was always full on a weekend night. Half the city packed the movie theater. Lima's good citizens watched new releases and stuffed their faces with popcorn until salt seeped into their taste buds. Finding a parking spot was nearly impossible. Puck spent ten minutes searching for a space near the back. Wesley Kim's white oversized SUV sat beside a black truck he knew belonged to Sam Evans.
Puck pictured the blond haired boy holding hands with a slim, pretty cheerleader. They were the ideal, all American couple everyone cooed over. It sickened him. There was nothing he could do to stop Quinn from dating the bland football player. He didn't even really try to deter them. Quinn had ignored him through the summer and never acknowledged their baby girl. Fortunately, Shelby Corcoran was sympathetic and occasionally sent him pictures of Beth. He got to visit them twice before they moved out of state. It sucked to admit it, but he knew his little girl would have a better life with Shelby. She could provide a lot more than food, shelter, and love.
The only things he had to offer anyone were a mid-range baritone and a well-toned body. Puck had discovered that sex was an extremely lucrative business: he intended to milk the market for as long as he could. Wesley Kim wasn't actually paying him for sex like Scott Lee, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the slick Asian teen expected him to make a move on Kurt Hummel. The frequent texts were a clear reminder. Wes hounded Puck for details, insisted on at least two dates every weekend, and sent him Kurt's schedule on a weekly basis.
Puck worked on Kurt daily and did his best to woo the countertenor away from Blaine. It wasn't going so well. Kurt talked about the Warbler's lead singer the same way he used to talk about Finn. Puck simply lied to Wes so the cash would keep coming. We held hands. We kissed. We made out in my truck. I gave him a handjob. Kurt seemed to like his company well enough and they often went on fake dates. Everyone in New Directions had started to notice their budding relationship. Kurt never shut up about Blaine, so no one really believed they were doing anything more than hanging out.
The extra money was nice and went into a savings account in case his mom started drinking again. Puck hoped the new job would deter her from it for a few more months, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she turned towards alcohol. Sarah wanted to go to summer camp this year with her friends. Puck would pay for it himself if there was enough money and their mother didn't wind up in rehab for another three months.
They had barely survived last summer living on their own. He worked double shifts at Sheets 'N Things and cleaned pools seven days a week, but minimum wage didn't cover a mortgage payment, utility bills, and groceries. Puck scraped together every penny he had and even Sarah handed over her piggy bank each week while their mother recovered from her addiction (again) in Columbus.
Things were bad when you had to whore yourself out for a thousand bucks and thought you were finally catching a break. Sleeping with Scott didn't appeal to Puck, not at first, but their cupboards had been empty. He had reached a point where skipping meals was a must and the utility company promised to shut off their electricity in two days. Five thousand dollars a month sounded like a fortune compared to a measly eight hundred. When he had accepted Scott's offer, his hands shook from both apprehension and hunger.
Puck climbed out of his truck and frowned at the slim Asian teenager leaning against the Escalade. Did Kim shrink a few inches, or does he look smaller because he's hunched over and wearing a hoodie? He shook his head and stomped towards Wes. I bet he's gonna want me to sleep with Kurt tonight. Puck figured he could spend the night over at Hummel's house without too much persuasion and at least get them onto first base. If Kurt freaked out on him, then he could lie and tell Kim they went all the way.
"What's so important that you had to meet me all the way out here, Kim?"
Kim didn't answer and kept staring at the ground, completely ignoring him. It took Puck a moment to realize there were other footsteps behind his own. Without warning a hard, wooden baseball bat swung into his kneecap and sent him careening onto the freezing asphalt. All consuming, white-hot pain shot up his left leg and he screamed in agony.
"Hit him in the head," Wesley Kim ordered, "that will keep him from talking."
Puck's assailant lifted the bat over his head, but it never connected with his skull. Angry voices filled the air and shoes slapped against the pavement. Every nerve in his body burned as an engine revved nearby and tires squealed. The Escalade left long, thick skid marks and peeled out of the parking lot. A pretty, petite girl leaned over him and gasped.
"Oh my God," Quinn Fabray screamed and crouched beside him, "It's Puck! Sam-call an ambulance!"
A crowd had gathered outside the Cineplex by the time authorities arrived. They whispered and speculated about the beaten juvenile delinquent. Sam Evans watched them gawk behind yellow police tape and shook his head, disgusted at their stupidity. The theater's front office was small and cramped. A chubby manager had offered the space to Lima's finest so they could get eye witness statements.
Sam sat in a hideous blue chair and counted backwards from a hundred as he stared out the window, desperate for some real space. He didn't handle enclosed areas well. Counting helped, but it was merely a distraction. The room wasn't just small; it was tiny. Feels like a closet. He closed his eyes and counted in Spanish.
"Are you all right, dude?" Finn whispered as he leaned over in his chair. "You look a little green."
"Fine," Sam lied. "What time is it?"
Finn stared at him for several more seconds, clearly not believing Sam's lie-but he still pulled out his phone to check the clock. The flashing green light caught his eye, and he knew it signaled a new text message. Check your message, moron! The text had been there for a while. Sam glared at Finn and waited for him to find Kurt's urgent message. Hudson needed to freak out when they were with the police officers: everything would feel more organic that way.
"It's seven fourteen," Finn informed him, "Looks like I got a text."
The tall quarterback shoved the phone back into his pocket without checking the new message. Sam sighed with frustration. The room felt smaller than a closet now-it was more like a shoebox. He was practically sitting on top of the framed Scarface poster.
"Maybe you should check it," Sam suggested, "It might be something important."
"It might be Rachel," Finn realized, "maybe they got an update on Puck."
The cellphone reappeared and Finn's thick fingers traveled over several buttons. Sam breathed in relief when the other boy's face fell. Looks like he got Kurt's text-it doesn't matter that Scott is the one that sent it-Finn's dumb enough to believe anything I say.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked and hoped it sounded more sincere than he thought it did.
"It—it's Kurt," Finn stammered, "look at what he sent!"
Sam started as Finn threw the phone into his lap. An all caps text message appeared. The letters blended together and arranged themselves in an incoherent manner. He shook his head and handed the cellphone back to Finn.
"It will take me half an hour to decipher that, Finn." He confessed. "I have a hard time reading really small print like that."
"Oh," Finn answered and retrieved the phone, "Kurt said he needs help-that he feels strange and thinks he's at Dalton."
"That sounds serious," Officer Bailey interrupted, "Who's Kurt?"
"Finn's brother." Sam answered. "He's at home."
The bulky black cop asked them a series of questions. It wasn't long before David Karofsky came into their conversation and they were high tailing it out of the little room. Sam watched with grim satisfaction as Finn climbed into a police car. Their plan was working. Wesley Kim would be in police custody before midnight.
For the first time in months, Sam was happy. It was bitter and mean-but it was still happiness. Quinn and Rachel waited for him at the hospital. The other police officer agreed to let him leave without much thought and Sam jogged over to his truck. He climbed in and started the engine, smiling when his phone rang. The number showed up as private, but he knew it was Scott.
"How are things going on your end, Sam?" Scott merrily asked, "I hope Hudson is on his way."
"They'll be headed that way soon," he replied, "Puck's already at St. Rita's."
"You almost sound guilty," Scott sighed, "He'll be fine. Desmond didn't hit anything vital."
"I've been thinking," Sam began as he leaned on the steering wheel, "that hurting and kidnapping innocent bystanders so we can get revenge on a guy that wronged us doesn't exactly make us any better than our enemy-does it?"
"I think wronged is a bit inaccurate," Scott huffed, "He ruined our entire lives! It's his fault Wally's gone!"
Sam could hear the hatred in his friend's voice and grimaced. Maybe that was the point. Wally was dead. Wes was a manipulative bastard, but he certainly had never intended for three forced outings to end with a missing teenager and two expulsions. Sam remembered Kim's quiet apology the day he had been expelled from Dalton Academy. I'm sorry, Sam-I wish none of this happened. Wallace was a good kid. Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel and recalled his response. What did you think would happen? That Wally could survive in a place like Willows? You know how sensitive he was-what did you think a gay conversion camp would do to him? Do you know what it's like, knowing that my parents are sending me there-I wish you were the one being sent there. They found out I was still seeing Scott.
It was a cruel thing to say, but Sam had been furious and terrified at the time. Wes was just like them-forced to stay silent because his parents were traditional and old fashioned. Sam's parents kept him at Dalton longer than Wally's had, but he had still ended up in that horrible place where they locked him in closets, blindfolded him, and they told him he was sick when he wasn't. He wondered if Wes' parents would send him to a place like that. They're very traditional. Wes didn't deserve to be put in Camp Willows. No one did; no matter how wicked they were.
"Don't get cold feet now," Scott pleaded, "we've come this far already."
"I'm not getting cold feet," Sam softly promised, "I still hate him-but I don't think Puck or Kurt should have to suffer because of us."
"Consider them casualties of war." Scott sighed. "It's not like we're seriously hurting them. Desmond wasn't supposed to break anything, and Kurt will just be a little cold and confused when he wakes up. I know those assholes fucked with your head, Sam-but Wes deserves everything coming his way. You know he does."
"You're probably right," Sam agreed, "but does Blaine?"
"Fuck Blaine!" Scott sounded slightly hysterical. "Why are you suddenly so philosophical? You're the president of the I Hate Wesley Kim Club, remember?"
Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like spending day in and day out all alone in that big mansion with no company except a merciless tutor and a housekeeper. Scott's parents could care less about his sexuality, but they had high expectations. They had not handled his expulsion well and had forbidden him to see anyone outside of the help until he graduated.
Occasionally, the slender teen got around their rules when they weren't around. The only parent-approved friend Scott had seen for the last year was Wesley Kim. Sam knew they had legitimate reasons to hate Wes; but Blaine was a different story. The kid's boyfriend had been beating him for God-knows how long and he'd fall just as hard and fast as Wes would once the truth about their relationship got out.
"Blaine's going to be another casualty of our war against Wes." Sam finally broke their long, tense silence.
"You didn't get expelled for seeing me behind your parent's backs," Scott replied, "They wouldn't have even found out about us if you hadn't lost it and hit Wes in the face. Sure, the bastard framed you for rigging that stupid election-but you didn't even make it to your hearing 'cause you freaked out. Blaine will be just fine. You know better than anyone what will happen if anyone lays a finger on him."
"I hope you're right about that," Sam ran a shaking hand through his bleached hair. "Listen-I've got to get to the hospital. Quinn's expecting me."
"I'll call you later tonight," Scott informed him, "Once I'm sure they've pinned Kurt's kidnapping on Wes."
Sam said goodbye to his friend and ended the call. As he drove away from the movie theater, he concentrated on the road and tried to ignore his I hate Wesley Kim Club didn't listen to their doubts. All they wanted was revenge.
*yes, I blatanly stole the I hate Wesley Kim Club from Buffy*