A/N: Sorry for the delay - I've been in the hospital. This chapter's a little short, but I hope it's good anyways.

Sun Gone Lost

Puck woke up in shackles and yelled for fifteen minutes before Ted popped his head into the Solitary room to tell him to pipe down, slamming the door shut behind him. Puck dropped back onto the bed, his throat sore and dry from the combination of his meds and the shouting. The edges of his brain still felt fuzzy from the Haldol, but the anti-psychotics had started to wear off and voices were now slipping in through the cracks.

All alone, buddy.

No place to go, no one to talk to.

No one to ask for help.

Excuse me, are you tied up at the moment?

A ripple of cackling laughter washed over his head as he pulled at the cuffs on his wrists. The joke hadn't even been funny.

Do you remember what you did? asked one of them as the laughter died away after a few moments.

Do you?

"I'm not playing this game!" he cried to the empty room.

Santana, they hissed. You tried to kill her.

"You made me!"

Don't be ridiculous, you did it yourself.

It was your hands around her neck, wasn't it?

Cutting off her air.

"Shut UP!"

Go on, make us.

Let's see you try.

Ha ha!

Puck tried to sit up, but his hands and feet were shackled so closely to the bed that he could do little more than lift his head. "Somebody help me!" he screamed towards the door. His heart skipped a beat as the walls of the room began to ripple and bend as if they were made of water. He felt something slither across his chest and suddenly he was looking into the red eyes of a copperhead snake. Its tongue flicked out, smelling him. The ceiling creaked and rolled above.

Light to his left caught his eye and he yelped when he saw that the curtain over the window had burst into flames. He yanked at the shackles again.

Been playing with matches again, have you? said the snake with a slight grin, fangs glinting. You should know better.

"Somebody help!" Puck screamed, struggling. The snake was getting heavier.

There's no one there, it chuckled.

A wave of heat from the fire stung the insides of Puck's nostrils as he breathed. The snake slithered around his neck, the scales scraping lightly against his skin. Puck shuddered, unable to do anything but lay almost still, until finally – finally – the door swung open and three orderlies surrounded him. He screamed – their faces seemed to be melting off of their skulls. One of them stabbed him in the thigh with a needle, and in a few seconds, he was blissfully unconscious.

Will was so deep in thought as he stood in line at the grocery store that evening that he didn't notice the woman behind him until she accidentally bumped him with her cart.

"Oh, sorry," she said, looking haggard and exhausted.

Will frowned in recognition. "Mrs. Puckerman?"

Her head snapped up. "Ms." she corrected. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He shifted his shopping basket to his other side so he could shake her hand. "I'm Will Schuester – I'm your son's Glee coach."

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

"I was really sorry to hear about what happened," he said honestly. "Puck was a big part of the club and I enjoyed having him in class."

She swallowed, averting her eyes. "Yes, well…he enjoyed being in your club," she responded courteously.

"You mind if I ask how he's doing?" Will ventured. "I've been to see him a few times, but since I'm not family the doctors really haven't told me anything and his friends at school are really worried about him."

She stared at him for a minute. "Um, well…" she started, her voice shaking a little. "I, uh, haven't seen him."

It took a few seconds for Will to understand what she was saying. "You haven't?" he said, unable to keep a hint of dismay out of his tone. She was Puck's mother.

She refused to meet his eye again, instead fiddling with the strap of her purse. "No, I haven't."

"He's having a really hard time," Will said gently. "I think he'd feel better if he could see you."

She sighed. "Mr. Schuester, I have a seven-year-old daughter to care for and three jobs to hold down. Noah's gotten himself into plenty of scrapes before."

At that, something snapped in Will's head and he couldn't help but reply sternly, "With respect, Ms. Puckerman, I don't think you understand what exactly is going on with him. He's sick. And he needs you."

Her expression hardened. "Do not delve into my private life, Mr. Schuester. What goes on between me and my son is none of your business."

"I agree. Which means I shouldn't be the one telling you how he's doing. You should be finding that out for yourself." Will knew he was overstepping his bounds and acting completely inappropriately, but he was suddenly pissed and his protective papa bear streak was kicking into overdrive.

"You're passing judgment before you know all the facts," she snapped. "As I said, it's no business of yours, so I'd appreciate it if you could just be on your way."

"Regardless of the facts involved, you are Puck's only parent. He doesn't need to see his friends right now, but he does need to see you. He needs to know you support him. Otherwise he might end up staying in the hospital for good."

She huffed. "I am currently working a seventy-hour work week so that I can pay for the hospital! So that Noah can get the help he needs! I don't have time to visit him between work and taking care of his sister." She pursed her lips. "Look, Mr. Schuester, Noah is in good care, and I am doing the best that I can to support him. I have to prioritize. I don't have a choice."

"You could at least call him."

"What sort of mother do you think I am?" she demanded. "Of course I've tried calling him, but every time I do all I get is some doctor telling me that Noah's asleep, or that he's not coherent enough to talk on the phone. What do you want me to do?"

Will sighed.

"None of this is any concern of yours, Mr. Schuester," she repeated. "So please, don't talk to me about this again."