Puck woke up at 1PM to the sound of his sister's voice. She was standing in his room, but stood just inside the door with a scared and confused look on her face.

"Noah… Noah!" She was scared at the way her brother looked, but wanted him to wake up. She just didn't want to get any closer to him yet.

"Huh… Sarah?" Puck replied, his voice harsh and raspy.

"Noah, what's wrong with you? Are you okay?" She slowly approached his bed, glad he was awake.

"Yeah baby," he cleared his throat and tried to speak lightly. "I'm going to be fine."

"But what happened?" She had tears in her eyes; her brother never looked like this.

"I'm fine. I was just fighting some monsters last night." He could see her reaction change slightly at his lie. "But they'll never get to you," he added, relieving her 8 year old worries about monsters.

"Thanks Noah. I know you keep them away." She smiled and lightly touched his face. "But I think they hurt you a lot."

"I'll live. Just don't tell momma okay?" He said as he slowly sat up in his bed, trying to hide his pain.

Sarah nodded and watched her big brother. "Do you need anything? I can help."

Noah gave a sad smile. "I just need some water. And I need you to maybe see if you could spend the night at your friend Jamie's tonight."

Sarah smiled. "Yeah! I'll be right back though."

She ran out of the room and came back quickly with water in her plastic Cinderella cup. He smiled and she watched him drink it all.

"I'll go ask momma. See you later Noah." Puck watched her skip out of his bedroom and he set the cup down on his nightstand.

He slowly got off the bed, knowing that he had to figure out how much of him was broken.

He inhaled sharply as he could feel one of his ribs was out of place. He hunched slightly; it hurt too much to stand up straight. He carefully pulled his shirt off with one hand and stood in front of his full length mirror. The damage to his body shocked him. He didn't understand how he could possibly be alive with how bad it looked. His entire stomach and chest was covered in deep purple and black bruises. He could see an odd outline of one of his ribs and he winced with every breath. He had a black eye and several cuts that left dried blood on his forehead and cheeks, probably from where the broken bottle shattered. His Mohawk was matted with the dried blood that came from a gash in the top of his head.

He finally understood why Sarah was so scared of him this morning. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He couldn't exactly tell anyone what happened, but he knew he needed to get his broken rib looked at and he didn't know how bad the cut on his head was. He carefully put a new shirt on before tentatively walking out of his room, making his way out to his car. He needed to avoid everyone in his house. All for different reasons, but all needed to be avoided. Luckily he made it to his car and drove himself to the hospital.

Although he got several odd stares as he entered the ER, he eventually got seen by a doctor.

"Ah, Mr. Puckerman," Dr. Prong began. "What happened son?" the doctor asked not looking up from the file in front of him.

"Uh, car accident," Puck lied casually. He knew Dr. Prong from some previous visits to the ER after some really bad fights at the school. He was also the first and last doctor to ever see the injuries his father had given him when he was 11. That was the last time his father was around. He'd beaten Puck so bad that he'd ended up in the ER and before Puck had even gotten out of the hospital, his father had taken off.

"Mmm, gotta be more careful on the roads." The doctor finally looked at Puck and gave a slight frown. "Alright. Let's take a real look. Where's the damage?"

Puck took off his shirt and let it fall to the side of the hospital bed. "I'm just worried about this rib and a cut on my head."

The doctor gently inspected the rib and the cut on his head. Nodding every so often and giving small grunts of understanding.

"Alright Mr. Puckerman, you definitely look horrible," he laughed. "But you'll be okay. The cut on your head isn't too deep, so that should heal. Your rib is going to heal slowly and painfully. I'm going to go ahead and prescribe you a strong painkiller. All you can do is rest and relax. Put some ice on it every so often and take deep breaths sometimes. It will hurt, but hopefully the painkiller will fix the pain part of it."

Puck nodded, glad that nothing was too serious, "Thanks doc."

The doctor picked up Puck's shirt off the ground and handed it to him. Puck put the shirt back on and accepted the prescription from the doctor, folding it into his wallet.

On his way home, Puck stopped at the pharmacy and filled the prescription. He took his first pill before reaching his house, pocketing the rest of the bottle. He'd try to rest, but he knew the pills would come in handy when his father stuck around to beat him some more.

He looked in the driveway and was glad no one else's car was home. He unlocked the door and went back to his room, fully intending on lying in bed and playing video games all night. Reaching his bedroom, there was a note taped to the door.

Noah, I'm taking Sarah to Jamie's house for a sleepover then your father and I are going out for dinner. I left $20 on the table, go ahead and order a pizza. We'll see you when we get home.

-Momma

Puck smiled and took the note off the door, tossing it in the trash. At the mention of food, he realized he hadn't eaten since last night.

After ordering and eating his pizza, Puck really did spend his Saturday night playing video games and thinking about what he was going to do now that his whole life was fucked up again.

It was about 11:45 that evening that Puck was woken up. Ever since he was 9, he'd had a reoccurring nightmare about once a month. Even though he'd been having it for years it still terrified him every night that it came up. He'd wake up sweating and crying, sometimes screaming if he didn't wake up in time. When he was younger, his father would beat him if Puck woke up screaming. After his father left, his mother would come to his room when he called out in his sleep and she would wake him and sing to him until he was calm.

Now he was 17 and having his nightmare that his father murdered his mother and sister and beat Puck half to death but he still blamed Noah and told the police it was Noah who'd killed everyone. The police believed Puck's father and as punishment forced Noah to bury his family's bodies.

Unfortunately for Puck, his father woke him out of the nightmare just as the police were handcuffing a 10 year old Puck.

"Wake up and stop crying, pussy," Puck's father said as he slapped Puck's face.

Puck's eyes shot open. "The fuck you want?" He asked bitterly.

"Where's your sister? Aren't you supposta be watchin' her?" His father slurred his words and stared absently at Puck.

"No," he replied, rubbing sleep and tears from his eyes. "She's at a sleep over. Didn't Ma tell you? Where's Ma?"

"Went to bed. And so what if she did tell me. Maybe I forgot," he paused for a moment, taking another drink from the beer he was holding. "Don't take that tone with me. I just wanted to spend time with a girl who isn't as insufferable as your mother was tonight."

Puck was growing angry and scared. He wasn't sure what his father meant. "Well she's not here. But just leave her alone when she is here. She's only 8."

His father's expression twisted in confusion. "I would never do anything to my princess. She doesn't deserve it like you do you punk-ass, useless excuse for a teenager."

As he finished his sentence, he grabbed Puck by his t-shirt and pulled him off the bed. Puck was still tired but he fought off the drunk and shoved his father into the bedroom door and stood up, wincing in pain.

"See, this is what gets you in trouble…" Before Puck could think, his father had dropped his beer to the floor and tackled Puck onto the bedroom floor, allowing Puck's head to slam into his guitar that was sitting on the floor at the end of his bed.

The force of Puck's skull was enough to break the hollow shell of the acoustic guitar. Puck's vision was getting slightly blurry and the weight of his father on top of him made it impossible to fight anymore. For the first time, Puck actually wished he was back in his reoccurring nightmare. At least that was something he could wake up from. This new hell was something he saw no way out of. He passed out just as his father had ripped Puck's shirt and begun to stab Puck's arm and shoulder with the broken pieces of wood.

Sunday afternoon Puck was really glad that all the Jesus crap had happened last week. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle it at school. He understood Kurt better now. He knew having faith in something didn't make real life any better. Puck wouldn't be able to stand anyone telling him that some sort of god was up there caring for him. It obviously wasn't true.

He should have known it wasn't going to be a pleasant day. It had taken Puck 10 minutes just to be able to get up off the floor and figure out what the day and time was. He didn't remember falling asleep on the floor, but as he passed his mirror on the way to his door, he saw the damage that wasn't there the day before and remembered. There were dozens of cuts and bruises covering his upper left arm and shoulder, leading into his chest. Some of the cuts were deeper than others, but all the blood had dried and some of the more shallow cuts had begun to scab over. He lightly touched them, feeling the heat they were giving off. He closed his eyes and forced himself not to cry. Instead he took a painkiller, put on a shirt, and opened his door.

To his surprise, he found another note from his mother. This one told him there were pancakes in the kitchen and she would be out with Nanna all day.

Much to Puck's dismay, his father was already sitting at the kitchen table, eating pancakes and reading the paper.

"So you are alive today…" His father said, not looking up from the paper.

Puck grunted and took a seat. "No thanks to you." He added pancakes to his plate and began to eat slowly.

His father laughed and took another bite of his breakfast before setting his paper aside. "You're pretty dumb for acting like such a smartass."

Puck rolled his eyes and focused on eating, trying to ignore his father.

"I know you didn't actually clean up the living room the other night… just pulled a rug over the mess… fix it today."

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Puck tried to eat as quickly as he could, knowing the sooner he got out today, the better.

After he finished eating, he put his dish in the sink and grabbed the carpet cleaning supplies, hoping to clean the carpet quickly.

It took him about an hour, but finally the stains were out of the carpet. He moved the rug back to its original place and coughed, wincing in pain but also relief as he felt his rib was at least in its proper place. The rest of his afternoon he spent in his room, up until his dad stood in his doorway with a look of confusion and anger on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing boy?" His father asked.

"Just trying to recover so people don't ask questions at school tomorrow about why I look like shit."

His father laughed. "No one cares enough to ask about you. Now get up, you have to clean up from breakfast and do this list of chores your mom left me."

Puck stared in disbelief. "Ma left you chores to do… You mean she actually expects you to do something around here?" He asked sarcastically.

"Shut up you son of a bitch." His father walked into Puck's room and grabbed him by his t-shirt. Puck stumbled as he was pulled into the hallway. "Now get the fuck downstairs and stop being such a smartass." Puck was suddenly thrown down the stairs. He could feel his hip slam against the wooden stairs and his ankle twist harshly. Finally he landed at the bottom, hitting the side of his face on the floor, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek.

With a groan, Puck waited to see if his father was going to continue. When nothing came and he heard doors slam upstairs, Puck knew he got lucky on this one. His father could have done much worse.

He slowly stood up and tested his ankle, gently putting weight on his foot. He was happy it wasn't broken, but it caused a definite limp. He limped off to the kitchen and began to clean up from breakfast.

Moments later, he heard footsteps behind him. He quickly turned around, his vision blurring slightly as he tried to focus on the new situation.

"I want you out of the house." Puck's father demanded.

"What… the fuck?" Puck didn't know what to say. This was not at all what he had expected.

"You heard me. Get the fuck out. I'd keep beating it into you, but your mother will begin to notice. So get out and your mother will just know it's because you're a useless delinquent."

Puck stared at his father again. "You're the one that doesn't belong here. I'm not leaving."

Puck's father seemed to know he was up for a fight though. He moved quickly and slammed Puck's head into the kitchen counter. As Puck tried to gain balance, his father grabbed Puck's arm and bent in backwards. Puck could hear the crack before the pain itself even set in. He could feel tears fall down his cheeks and he hated that his own eyes were betraying him. He never wanted to cry because of this man again. He'd promised himself that when he was 10, but he'd failed.

"Now go pack a bag and get out. Maybe leave your mother a note, telling her not to find you. That'd be nice, now wouldn't it?" His father said almost happily. "And don't try to call here either. I could always just kill them, now couldn't I?"

Puck nodded and let out a choked sob as his head was throbbing again and his arm felt like it was on fire. He got off his knees and slowly limped up to his room, making sure his painkillers were the first thing in his bag.

After about 15 minutes, his father was back at his door. Puck had his bag packed and he'd left 2 notes. One he gave to his father to give to his mom, and the other he hid in Sarah's room with instructions to give to mom when dad wasn't around. He knew Sarah would understand what she needed to do. He hid that one before his 15 minutes were up and he hoped his father wasn't smart enough to search for a hidden note.

Puck then grabbed his keys and drove off, heading for nowhere in particular.

His arm was in a massive amount of pain and he was sure he had a concussion, but he couldn't go back to the hospital. There would be questions and then police, social services- no; he just had to get out. No one would believe Puck. He'd been in enough trouble with the police over the years, they wouldn't care and they wouldn't do anything.

He took another pain killer and kept driving. Hours later, he found himself in Columbus, Ohio. The first thing he did was find a hospital and use his excuse of a car accident.