Chapter Four

There was a side of Noah Puckerman that most people didn't know. His psychologist had once told his mother that if it weren't for Puck knowing that he and Noah were the same person, the psychologist would've been inclined to label him with Multiple Personality Disorder. However Puck knew exactly who Noah was. He was weak, he was a wuss and he only came out when Puck let him, because that man...that was the man his father had beaten out of him.

Noah had been seven going on eight when his father left his mother with a baby on the way. Noah, despite the fear that his father would come back and beat the hell out of him, had cried for hours for his daddy to return. His daddy played football with him and laughed with him. But then his mother had demanded he help around the house, demanded that if she was stuck a Puckerman then she might as well make one into a man. Puck had been born steadily over the next several months. He'd stopped hanging with the fag and the new cripple and started hanging with fellow badasses. He started cursing, starting smoking, and he'd started throwing losers like fag and cripple in the dumpster. The acts made Noah feel like a terrible person, but it made Puck feel empowered.

His father had once told him that weak people let others beat them and leave them defenseless. Strong people tossed around their power and strength like they had plenty to share. Before the end of his ninth birthday, Noah had fully become Puck, the studzilla with a Mohawk. His mother's disappointment went sky high and his old friends were long gone

Puck entered his house and tossed his bag on the ground. The only people who still ever saw Noah were his little sister and occasionally Quinn during her pregnancy.

"Noah," his mother called out from the kitchen.

"Yeah Ma?" he replied as he slumped into the kitchen. He grabbed a cookie from the backing sheet-only to have his hand slapped. "Hey!" he mumbled as he shoved it in his mouth before she could take it back.

"You are useless some days," she grumbled as she looked at him. "I need you to watch your sister tonight. I've got a late shift."

"Whatever."

"Noah, please."

"Fine," he answered heaving a sigh.

"And get off the counter. How was school?" When her son didn't respond right away she looked at him, "Noah, are you ignoring me?"

"No, Ma." He paused for a moment he turned to her. "Can I ask you a hypocritical question—"

"Hypothetical son, and yes."

Puck shuffled for a moment, trying to decide how to start. "A guy from glee is kind of upset and the rest of the club isn't being very helpful."

His mother studied him for a long moment. "Noah, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" he growled. "Look, Hummel's dad had a heart attack, and because he doesn't believe in God, the rest of the gleeks are basically shunning him!"

Her eyes went wide. "Burt had a heart attack!"

Puck could only vaguely remember him from when he was a kid. "Yeah, yesterday. He's in a coma or somethin'." Puck shrugged. "Hummel didn't exactly share a lot of details."

"He has a name, Noah."

"Sorry, Ma," he said nonchalantly.

"Is he staying with anyone?"

"I don't know," Puck replied honestly.

She studied him, "Has he been eating?"

Puck sighed, realizing he hadn't done a much better job of being a friend than the others. "I don't know."

Puck winced slightly. "Well I'm pretty sure Mr. Hummel is staying in the hospital." At his mother's eye roll he heaved another sigh and answered correctly. "He says he is, but I don't believe him. I tried to talk to him but he kinda hates me."

"Why would he hate you?" she asked pointedly, glaring at her son. He mumbled something, as if embarrassed, and she closed her eyes. "I can't hear you."

"Because I may have bullied him for the past five years or so."

"Noah Puckerman! That boy has been nothing but friendly to you!" She shook her head. "It's unbelievable to me how you can change your mind so quickly from one moment to the next."

Puck watched as his mother stormed out of the room. His shoulders sagged slightly as he watched the kitchen door, half expecting his mother to come back in. Noah looked down at the floor, trying to remember the last time he'd taken the time to care about someone like he did his fellow gleeks. He'd meant what he'd said last year. glee was the best part of his day. He loved it. He'd known most of the kids in glee club since they were all little. Lima wasn't exactly a huge town, and it wasn't hard to know practically everyone in high school. Most of them had attended the same school for years.

Beth's birth had certainly taught him what it meant to love someone, but Puck was rapidly learning different things. From his brief stint in juvie this summer for driving his car into an ATM, he'd definitely learned that he was a mild badass compared to some of the people in that place. "Damn it, Hummel," Puck muttered grabbing his phone and texting the teen.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Kurt felt rage, pure levels of anger, something he hadn't felt for a long time—not since his mother had died—watching his so called friends force their religions on him and his father. He stepped inside the room. "What's going on here? I didn't ask you to do this!" Couldn't they see he was barely hanging on? He felt like he'd snap at any given moment. He knew it was their way of attempting to help, but he couldn't take their help right now.

Carole was tired, she hadn't slept at all last night. On top of that her worry for Kurt's well being and how he'd been looking lately worried her. "Honey, friends help each other out even if you don't ask," she reasoned. Kurt looked at her. Couldn't she understand he was breaking inside? He felt lost and alone.

"Mr. Kurt Hummel," he looked back at the Sikh.

"Dude if you wanted us to pray in Muslim, you could've just said so," Finn stated.

Once again, Finn's level of stupidity was astounding. "I'm not Muslim. I'm a Sikh."

"She's going to perform acupuncture to help assist the flow of blood to his brain. Ironically needles pierce the skin better than psalms. Please leave."

He watched her work carefully, placing the pins in various spots on his body. He was so exhausted. Closing his eyes, he felt his consciousness begin to slip. He shook his head once, trying to remain awake, but even as his eyes slid shut, he felt his world go dark as he fell asleep, allowing memories to take him over again.

The weather was surprisingly beautiful for the beginnings of winter in Ohio. A light snow had begun to fall, Christmas was nearing. Burt sat beside his comatose wife. Her brain had stopped functioning nearly three months ago. The doctors wanted to remove her from life support, but her last will and testament stated that should she ever be in a coma she was to remain on life support for fifteen months. Burt had been holding out hope for the past eleven months, but with the last three and a half months rapidly closing in, he realized it was going to be time to say goodbye soon.

"Daddy?" Kurt whispered from where he sat doing his mother's nails.

Burt glanced up slightly at the small boy. This didn't seem fair to Kurt, for everything that he was dealing with. He'd only just turned seven. Burt knew that Kurt felt his mother was already dead, and that truly he was humoring his father by coming and caring for her. But he was a small child, and Burt believed that some little part of Kurt wanted to believe his mother would wake up and spend all the rest of their Christmases together.

"Yeah kiddo?"

"Do you believe in God?"

Burt considered his words, Angie had believed in God but wasn't very religious, and he'd never had much interest with religion to begin with. It wasn't that he didn't believe in God, but he found it easier to say he didn't believe so that when bad things did happen, God didn't become his scapegoat. He felt people should live good lives regardless of what a book did or didn't say. "Do you," he finally asked.

Kurt seemed to consider it. "Mommy did."

"You know Kurt, you don't have to do what Mommy and I do. Anything you choose in your life is your choice, not ours. We're not going to ever force you into a box. That's not what parents should do."

"Is that why Mom always asked if I wanted to go to church or stay home with you?"

Burt nodded. "We wanted to encourage you to understand that church is a special place for Mommy, but that you should choose if you wanted to be a part of that."

"The people at Mommy's church didn't approve of me," he whispered.

Burt reached out and gripped his son's hand. "Listen to me Kurt? Religion is based on people who take a book written by man and read it like it's history—and it's not. Blind faith is no better than blind ignorance. God made you the way you are, and he loves you. He doesn't make mistakes buddy, he only makes beauty."

"So you do believe in God?"

Burt shook his head. "You know what I believe in Kurt?" He smiled as he lifted his son into his arms and hugged him close. "I believe in you, and I believe in me and your mother. And I believe we're on this earth to be good people and love everyone. What do you think?"

The boy grinned. "Me too."

Burt smiled as he pressed a kiss to the child's temple. "I love you son," he murmured. Even if his wife didn't make it, they would still have each other, and to Burt that was the most important thing in the world.