Yay look I have a chapter. Chapter Seven!

This chapter was inspired by the events of Missing Him by SilverTwenty, which after reading I just had to incorporate somehow because asdfghjkl I just loved it so much.

Anywho, I should explain that Puck's Dad won't have a name, just to avoid confusion. I have a small subplot as to why Puck doesn't like Noah and it has something to do with that.

But now I will thank my extra special sexy beta Andy for making my work readable everyone should remember to love him extra much.

I may not post again for a while because I think I have a plot for the Seven Deadly Sins Glee idea and I want to flesh it out somewhat.

I forgot to answer peoples review because I am a naughty boy

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that is a very good symptom of the fandom

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aw, thank you! I did like the song, and thanks for always reviewing! You're a blessing!

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Warning: Major Angst (probably should have put that in before)

Please read, comment, critique, and review. I will love you and give you marshmallows

Puck stayed cemented on Sam's porch for a while, trying to figure out what had just happened. Failing to make sense of the situation, he sighed and returned to the car.

"Why didn't he give you a little lip candy?" Yasmin asked, pulling away from the curb. "You took so long in the park we thought you were doing it."

"I don't know," Puck replied, unable to hide the sad confusion in his voice, "it was probably because of you two." Neither of his chauffeurs answered, instead giving tense nods. They knew this side of Puck well, and right now the best thing they could do was give him space.

He made eye contact with Laura in the rear-view mirror and gave her a weak smile to show his thanks.. She gave a compassionate smile in return, allowing Puck to dwell in his thoughts.

His main concern was for Sam. His only concern was for Sam. Did he not like date? With all the detailed planning, Puck was certain that he would have enjoyed it. And thinking back, Sam did enjoy it - either that or he was really good at faking happiness.

Yet something did seem amiss. Sam guiltily rejected all the advances that were thrown at him. Puck knew from their first time that Sam would need a push or three, but this time his body language slumped and was completely unresponsive. With his research in the field of persuading someone to take their pants off, he could class Sam as someone who was willing, but needed urging. Maybe he pushed too hard? The thought of that made him cringe with self-reproach.

It had taken Puck days of careful chasing to finally secure Sam. Maybe now he was regretting it? What if Sam had agreed to this date just to get Puck off his back? In retrospect, he was basically ambushed for an answer while regaining consciousness in a hospital bed. Was he being led on? He clamped his jaw. Things didn't add up, and it was frustrating. Who would lead the Puckerman on? And why? As much he'd hate to admit it, Puck was head over heels. He'd even exposed his sanctuary - and on the first date. His jaw tightened. He had broadcasted his soft side to someone who could be rejecting it. That would leave a serious dent in the badass that was a Puckerman. With the jolt of the car, Puck realized that he was home. Still fairly distant, he thanked Laura and Yasmin and exited.

"Call us if you need anything," Yasmin said earnestly. Puck nodded. They seemed to understand the implied boundaries, which he was grateful for. He waved as they drove off, waiting for the car to melt into the horizon before receding into the house. He slid through the front door quietly, when the sound of hushed voices were muted by a roar. A burly figure filled up the living room doorway, his hand gripping the wall before sliding to the light switch.

"My son!" He bellowed, with a demented grin. There was no alcohol on him, but his breath revealed that it was in him. He stepped forward, and Puck stood his ground, anticipating what was next. He didn't know his dad was home - if he had, then he wouldn't have returned. "My son! Where you have you been!" His words dripped with sarcasm, weighting him so he slouched.

"I've just been out," Puck said. He tried to maintain the distance between the two, matching his father step for step until he was against the door. His father was still advancing, until they were nose to nose.

"I know where you've been," he whispered, spitting saliva with every syllable. He grabbed Puck, lifting him by the throat. Puck closed his eyes, not daring to kick forward, trying to find something to grip on the wall.

"Daddy, stop it!" Sarah's small figure ghosted behind them, her white knuckles clenching a headless doll. Ruth appeared in front of her, guarding her with bloodshot eyes. They could have stayed silent for all the difference they made.

"You've been with your boyfriend." The last word was held, rasping in its length. Puck opened an eye to see a fist fill his vision, smashing against his jaw. The force knocked him to the floor. His dad hoisted him up, throwing him against the door.

"Stop! Stop!" Ruth screamed, but her words could only do so much from the doorway. She looked as if she wanted to pry the two apart, but a distinct cut on her cheek halted her. She was ignored.

"You have a boyfriend." The sentence was stated calmly, but the tightening fingers around Puck's throat revealed the vehemence behind it. "A boyfriend." The fingers clenched, becoming tighter. Puck choked, unable to breathe. He tried to kick, to flail - to anything. He grasped the door handle and twisted it, tumbling on the front porch. "Thank you for doing the honors," his father spat. "Go back to your boyfriend - I'm sure he wants to see you."

Puck had no time to register what happened - he was still trying to regain his breath. His life was surreal. The bang of the door slamming shut was sharpl, as were the fingers of his father that he could still feel clenched around the rag that was his neck. He wanted to stay put, try to and work out what the hell came to pass, but he had to move. So he walked.

The adrenaline slowly ebbed away, and Puck wiped blood away from his cheek, sourced from a cut he had just located. How did his dad know? There was only one answer - his mom. She told him - but why? And why did she let him bash the fuck out her son, right in front of her?

He held his head in his hands, trying to keep his skull from bursting open. Did anyone love him? Sam seemed distant on the date, and Ruth almost let her husband get away with murder. He frantically fetched his phone from his pocket - the light from it was duller now. He searched through his contacts - looking for someone who would care.

Sam? Doubt it.

Mom? Please.

Laura? Yasmin?

Sam again? He stopped, pondering, then clicking dial. What did he have to lose? Not much could get worse now. He waited with heavy breath. Where would he start? What would he tell him? He prepared his words for the end of the dial tone - which never came. He waited patiently for a minute, expecting a panting Sam answer, but none did.

Puck faced the fact: no one cared. He threw the phone down on the pavement, smashing it beyond repair. Angry tears leaked from his eyes, mixing with smeared blood. No one cares about Puck - he's tough, independent, he can handle himself. But not his time. He needed someone - someone to anchor his depression, to stop him from completely breaking down. But no one was there. It was the worst feeling in the world: needing someone - anyone - yet being utterly alone.

He walked through the park, and through the thick trees, to come to his secluded lake. He looked around. By now it was dark, and he could barely make out his surroundings, yet seeing no glimpse of anything beyond tree trunks was calming.

The picnic blanket, which was forgotten, became useful again as Puck rolled it into a sleeping bag. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the grass scratching his face and crickets chirping near his feet.

Saturday morning Sam awakened, early. An uncomfortable bed plus loud neighbours equals no sleep. God knows how Stevie and Stacey managed any shuteye, but Sam was grateful they could dream of a situation less degrading. He carefully maneuvered out of bed, trying not to nudge his siblings.

After changing he walked over to his mother, who was busy browsing the newspaper. She seemed indifferent about the move, which made it all the more obvious she was masked.

"Morning, honey." She didn't look up.

"Morning, Mom," he replied, with a smile she didn't see.

"I made you some breakfast." Her voice cracked as she passed him a bowl of tinned pears, swimming in juice.

"Thanks." Sam took a spoon from the sink and began to eat, noticing the lack of dirty dishes. "What did you have for breakfast?"

"Not that hungry," Mary shrugged. She looked up from her position, and the pain in her eyes silenced him. He could tell not being able to care for her children was tormenting her, but he remained silent, unable to find words, letting the scraping of his spoon fill the silence.

"You should walk somewhere," Mary said once he had finished. "I'll look after Steve and Stace. Being in this place makes you want to pull your hair out."

He stood, smiled, and walked to the door. He held his hand on the knob, contemplating whether or not to speak. "Mum?" he asked.

"What is it?"

"None of this... none of it's your fault."

"Okay, honey."

"Don't blame yourself for this, it-"

"Okay!" Mary locked her jaw in anger, not raising her voice. Her eyes widened slightly and she took a defeating breath, returning to her paper.

Sam sighed lowly, deciding not to push the subject any further. He slipped out the door, not seeing Mary shed a silent tear.

"But it is my fault."

Outside the perimeter of the motel presented a new light for thought for Sam - his brain cleared along with the air. But the possibility was excessive, considering he had nowhere to go. He would have called someone and asked if they would hang out, but he had to sell his phone. So even if anyone tried to call him, he wouldn't receive it. But then again, he doubted anyone would have called him.

He would have thought Puck ,might have sent him a text, but that chances of that were severely diminished thanks to his detachment the other night. It may have seemed justifiable at the time, but now it just seemed unfair. Puck had planned, organized, and executed the perfect date, and he just dismissed him without even a kiss. He wouldn't blame Puck if he resented him - he thought the idea of someone liking him in the first place was absurd anyway.

So he just walked, like he had been doing for a while now, just to exercise his brain. He walked, even paced until a crunch beneath his foot made him cringe. Bugs. Jumping at the sound, Sam looked back to find it was a phone.

Usually he would have kept walking, but one thing made him stop: it was Puck's phone. He crouched on the ground and gingerly touched what was left of the power button. With a gasp, Sam saw his face, distorted with the cracks of the screen. He could only make out the word 'calls', as all the rest were disguised by damage.

Sams pace quickened to a run. Puck had tried to call him - and now his phone was smashed on the sidewalk. Where was Puck? He dared to ask himself, remembering the position he was on that first Saturday. He halted as he ran past the park. He made a detour before he went to check Puck's house, a lingering utterance driving him.

"This is where I go when I want to be alone. Not many people know it's here, so it's kind of special."

Darting through a football game and into the trees, Sam hoped for his hunch to heed truth. Maybe Puck could have got away - from whatever he was running from - by fleeing somewhere that no one knew about. In hindsight it was plausible.

Thick branches scratched at his forearms and leaves clouded his vision, but he tore along until he broke into Puck's special place. And there, on his stomach, wrapped up snugly in a picnic blanket, was-

"Puck!"

Sam pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart revive. He ran over to Puck's sleeping figure, kneeling down to cup his cheek. He expected a response, but Puck only exhaled lightly. "Puck?" Sam tapped his shoulder, then again. He turned Puck on his side, then jumped back.

Blood. Crimson red, seeping through a cut in the blanket and glistening like morning dew on the grass. Puck's blood. He gargled, and Sam's hands shook slightly in fear.

"Puck?"

Ending with drama dundundun

Please read, comment, critique, and review. I will love you and give you marshmallows