Okay, so I hated this chapter. Like, a lot. I actually rewrote it, twice, and I still don't like it too much. Let me know if you want it burned, I still kinda do. I own nothing but this VERY alternate timeline, read, review. -Love, Maya

Kurt understood and respected that Puck needed to get home and look after his ten-year-old sister, of course, but this is not to say that Kurt went without a fight. Come on. Adam Lambert himself, in all his glittery glory, had come to meet him personally. That's hardly a usual day in Kurt's schedule. In the end, though, Puck had turned on his puppy-dog eyes. Kurt may have been immune to The Smolder, but Gaga save him from those hazel eyes turned sad and shiny on him. With a groan of resigned irritation, he turned to Adam, apologies on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could say anything, Adam chuckled and waved his hand in a shooing motion. "Go," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Kurt's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow." Every girl in the room, even Santana, gave a delighted gasp, and Kurt's eyes went comically wide, his skin turning scarlet from the tips of his ears to the collar of his shirt. If Puck's fingers tightened a little around his wrist, he didn't feel it.

Now they sat quietly in Kurt's baby, Kurt navigating the way to the Puckerman residence without a thought and swearing to himself that he would never wash his cheek, even though that absolutely ruined his skincare routine.

Puck's voice broke the silence. "Why is he here, really?"

Kurt pursed his lips. "Here's a better question. Why aren't you excited? I know you like him; he's a super-talented hot Jew."

"Racist."

"Am not."

"Not the point. I mean, why would he come all this way just to see—and apparently cuddle the fuck out of—you after seeing all of us singing? We're not even that good."

"How would I know?" From the corner of his eye, he could see Puck giving him a frustrated, suspicious look.

"Because I think you do. There's something you're not telling me."

Kurt huffed out an exasperated breath as he looked at Puck. "Well, I don't tell you everything." He was unprepared for the brief flash of hurt in Puck's eyes, and it twisted like a knife in his gut. "Noah—"

"No, it's cool." Puck sat back in his seat, attempting a relaxed posture and fooling no one.

Kurt set his jaw and pulled over, taking the key from the ignition and turning in his seat to stare at Puck (this was becoming a thing, that should bother him). "What is wrong?" he demanded.

There was silence while he waited for Puck to nut up and meet his gaze. Soon, Puck caved and looked up. "I'm supposed to protect you, right? That's my job."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Well, I hardly want to be protected from the only out adult I've ever met besides Rachel's dads." Kurt considered Puck carefully, taking in the harsh set of his jaw and his fists resting on his thighs, the muscles in his arms twitching with tension. "That's not what's wrong, though, it couldn't be."

"They'll leave you alone," Puck said sullenly, "even after he's gone. They won't wanna fuck with someone who's tight with an actual famous person."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Puck looked away at the still, empty road, and Kurt frowned at him. "Is it a bad thing, Noah?"

Puck chewed anxiously at his lower lip for a few seconds before answering unhelpfully, "I don't know, man."

"What don't you know?"

Puck's brow screwed up in frustration, and he continued to glare out at the asphalt, like it was the source of all his problems. Finally, he spoke, if haltingly, "I don't know… what'll happen when—if you don't need me anymore."

Kurt blinked at him. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Puck whipped around to look at Kurt, something strange in his eyes. "If you don't need me to protect you, will you stick around? What's keeping you?" he demanded.

Kurt stared speculatively back at him, smelling some sort of breakthrough; he was about to know Noah Puckerman much better than he did an hour ago.

With a sigh that was more of a harsh exhale, Puck faced forward, looking blindly at the road ahead. "You wouldn't be the first, you know," he said bitterly. "You know why Quinn slept with me? She felt fat that day, and Finn was too stupid to do anything about it. So she comes to me, and as soon as she remembers how goddamn beautiful she is, she declares me a mistake."

Chewing his lip—wholly unprepared for Puck's distress, the dark resignation in his tone—Kurt turned in his seat, making a show of giving Puck his full and undivided attention with his hands folded neatly and unthreateningly in his lap. It seemed like Puck had a lot to say, had for a long time, and Kurt was not about to stop him.

"Santana may say she left me because of my credit score," he went on, "but that was actually when she figured out what she had with Brittany, even though she was to chickenshit to do anything about it, even admit it to herself. Of course, she still tapped me to fuck her pretty regularly, but she was always one to, at least with me, take half a minute to catch her breath, then put her clothes back on, fix her hair and make up, and stroll away with barely a 'hey, thanks.'" He gradually slumped in his seat, his gaze and voice going flat but no less bitter. "As soon as Rachel figured out that I wasn't making Finn jealous exactly like she wanted, she broke up with me. The last time Finn talked to me one-on-one was to slash some Vocal Adrenaline tires." Puck looked so tired, and as small as Kurt had ever seen him. "Unless I'm useful, nobody sticks around."

Kurt watched him for a few more seconds, fingernails in his palms with some emotion he couldn't quite get a finger on, and then he decided to gamble with his life and push some limits. With a hand he hoped wasn't shaking noticeably, he reached across the center console and took Noah's fist, uncurling his fingers. "Noah." He didn't look up, but he did look at their clasped hands, and Kurt gripped a little tighter, swallowing to wet his throat. "Noah, look at me." After another moment of stillness, Noah lifted his eyes, watching Kurt through his lashes, and Kurt was careful to meet them as steadily as he could manage. "I believe I made it clear," he said slowly, picking his words gingerly, "that you would be around until you proved to me that you didn't deserve to be."

Noah looked away again, snorting, "Yeah, whatever that means."

"Hey." Kurt squeezed his fingers around Noah's, recapturing his gaze, and was inordinately proud of himself for not losing his patience with all this angst in a small, enclosed space. "It means," he said, keeping his tone soft, "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you, not until you want to."

Noah blinked at him; it was weird to see him so defenseless, guard behind his eyes totally dropped, leaving them wide and clear. "What…?"

With a sigh, Kurt loosened his grip slightly, checking to see if Noah would take the opportunity and pull away, but Noah's fingers actually tightened a little around Kurt's, picking up the slack. Kurt smiled a little at that; he couldn't not, even though it was probably only a reflex (and even though his hand was probably gross and sweaty from his general awkwardness over all this). "I don't need you to protect me for us to stay friends and hang out," he said, reassured. "It'll actually be easier for you to trust me with your friendship if you don't think I want something from you; then you know I'm not using you, that I won't use you. And, since I can't think for the life of me what you'd be using me for, I'll trust you with the same. This doesn't have to be some kind of transaction."

Noah looked heavily at him for more seconds than Kurt would allow himself to count, then looked down at their joined hands as if he hadn't noticed them before. Kurt immediately released him, his palms out in front of his chest in surrender. "Sorry!" His nerves were finally showing, and he hated that tone in his voice. "You just looked like you needed—and I just—I'm sorry—" He shut up when fingers wrapped themselves around his, intertwining and more intimate than he'd ever even dreamed of being before college, let alone with Noah Puckerman.

Puck stared out at the blank road ahead through the windshield, Hummel's slightly-smaller-but-way-softer hand firmly encased in his. It was like a really long handshake, he rationalized to himself. That was why it felt so binding. If Hummel was bound to him, he wouldn't leave him so easily, so readily, like everyone else. This would be a relationship (a very manly, bro-type, man…ness… relationship) that would last; it was safe, or whatever.

He chanced a sideways glance at Hummel. The guy was silent, watching him; he didn't take his hand from Puck's, nor his piercing eyes from Puck's face. His lips were pressed thoughtfully together, but Puck was glad his teeth weren't sunk into his lower one like usual. Puck looked away again, and a few seconds later he felt those soft fingers squeeze his gently. He turned his head to look, and Kurt was still watching him.

"Do you believe me?" he asked quietly (why in the fuck was his voice so even?).

Puck stared back at him and threw on all the bravado he could muster. "We're shaking on it, aren't we?"

Kurt smiled at him then, disengaging their fingers and reaching across Puck's body for his right hand, taking it in his and shaking it firmly; dude had one manly handshake. "So we are," he agreed wryly. With that, he released Puck and started the car, pulling calmly back out onto the road like Puck hadn't just bared his soul, and for that Puck was grateful. They drove in inappropriately easy silence; Puck kept stealing furtive glances at Kurt, but Kurt kept his eyes coolly on the road, his motions smooth and fluid, betraying no nervousness or strangeness.

As they pulled up to the Puckerman house, they were still quiet, and Puck plucked up his courage. "Kurt."

Kurt blinked at him, clearly startled, and Puck cursed himself for using his first name. Kurt let it slide though, because he was cool like that, and simply said, "Yes?"

Puck shook himself internally, then asked, "Are you free right now?"

Kurt nodded slowly, watching Puck like he was some exotic animal trying to sniff him or something.

Puck cleared his throat. "Do you like Super Mario?"

Kurt grinned at him, and Puck felt like it might be okay.