I Blame The Alcohol

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Chapter 1: Love is a Battlefield

Look, I never planned on waking up naked between Hummel and his ex. That was *not* on my Lima bucket list. But it happened. And yeah, it was at Scandals. Freakin' Karofsky, man. He invited me for a chill night out, and the next thing I know, I'm in bed, hungover, with a splitting headache… and Kurt spooning me. Not like cute snuggles. Like snuggles snuggles. Let's just say the details were fuzzy, but the soreness wasn't.

I bolted out of there like the place was on fire. Didn't even grab breakfast. Got in my truck, tasted regret, and shoved half a pack of mints in my mouth. Then I went home and lived in the shower for, like, three hours. Scrubbed myself like I was trying to erase my whole existence. I couldn't even look at my phone. I ghosted everyone. Nightmares? Had 'em. Dreams? Also had 'em. And they weren't nightmares about monsters. They were dreams about dancing naked with Kurt while he… yeah, never mind. Every time I woke up hard, I cursed my brain and maybe—just maybe—whispered his name. Not proud of it. But it happened.

I tried to hook up with Quinn a couple of times after that, but… it wasn't working. My brain kept short-circuiting back to him. So Quinn and I called it. Then Santana—because, of course, she knows everything—tells me Kurt and Blaine split. A week later, Kurt shows up at my place looking like he's about to audition for The Bachelor: Emo Edition.

He doesn't say much at first. Just asks where my room is. We sit. Then bam—he kisses me. And not just a "hey bro" kiss. This was... real. I push his bangs out of his face, and yeah, I kiss him back. Then I pull back and say something like, "I blame the Village People, man. If I hadn't asked you to dance to 'In the Air Force,' we wouldn't be in this mess. Just—what happened that night? All I remember is waking up with your… yeah, you know."

Kurt turns tomato red but owns it. He goes, "You had a foursome with me, Blaine, and Karofsky. I took your virginity. Blaine and I didn't break up because of you. I found him with Sam, Karofsky, and Sebastian Smythe. Sam was drugged. Blaine did it. And yeah, probably you too."

And just like that, I wanted to punch someone. Mostly Blaine. But I also felt… weirdly relieved? Because that meant what happened with Kurt wasn't just some joke or dare. He chose me. Maybe I chose him, too.

Then Kurt hits me with the real reason he came. "I want to know if I'm the guy you told Karofsky you loved."

And then his hand's down my pants. And yeah—we go there. For real this time. Not hazy, not drugged, just us. Honest and raw and… kinda perfect. Afterward, we're catching our breath, and my phone won't shut up. I glance at it—Quinn, Santana, and *Burt freakin' Hummel* blowing me up.

I show Kurt, and he groans. I text Burt:

"Quit the Air Force. Got a job at Mick's. Your photo album's in my storage unit. Does anyone else know?"

Burt replies, chill as ever:

"Just Mick. Carole knows about the pills."

Then Kurt freaks. "Endurance pills?! Oh god, I don't wanna know!"

But then he laughs. That laugh that makes your chest feel full. He kisses me and says, "You might be my dream guy, but Tracy's been calling you 'Daddy Nono' since she could talk. First word was 'Dada.'"

I don't even know what to say to that. My throat gets all tight. Kurt sighs and tells me he's known about Burt's photo stash since Finn passed. Then Quinn FaceTimes us, and we're still, uh… naked.

She smirks, of course. Tells us Santana was at Scandals that night, too. Drops the bomb that Sam drugged himself and is having an affair with Blaine. Then shows us Blaine in the ICU with a heel stuck in his ass. Quinn's heel. Classic.

I say, "Tell the girls I'm Kurt's rebound—and yeah, I'm gay."

In unison: "Bye, Mr. P!" And Blaine turns sheet-white on the hospital bed.

Rachel texts me:

"Tracy calls you that around Blaine 'cause your temper's like Burt's. She wished The Hulk was Kurt's new partner the week before what happened."

I laugh and send her a pic of me in my boxers, colored green. Hulk-style.

Then I reply:

"Blaine's gonna regret everything once I become Tracy's stepdad. Kurt's my first crush. I told myself for years I wasn't into dudes. But that night at Scandals? That changed everything."

I turn off my phone and look at Kurt. "I blamed you for months. Told Karofsky I loved you. Chickened out when he wanted to sleep with me. But you? I've wanted you since that night. I just wish I remembered our first time."

He kisses down my chest and gives me something that makes me forget how to speak. After, he grabs whiskey from the nightstand, takes a swig, and says, "Noah, I haven't stopped thinking about you either. I'm glad I came here."

I pull him close and say, "Me too, Princess. Me too."

He elbows me for the nickname, but he's grinning.

You ever wake up with a smile on your face and panic in your gut at the same damn time?

Yeah. That was me. Morning after I slept with Kurt — again, but this time I remembered every single freakin' second. Every kiss. Every moan. The way he said my name, like it tastes sweet. And how, when it was over, he didn't bolt. He stayed. Curled up on my chest like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I don't know what hit me harder — the peace or the fear.

My alarm didn't even go off. Guess it knew not to ruin that moment. But then reality kicked in. I had to work. I had to face the world. And worse… I had to figure out how the hell I was gonna tell Tracy that I wanted to be more than her babysitter or her green-boxer Hulk impersonator. I wanted to be her stepdad. Hell, maybe even her real dad, if she'd have me.

Kurt stirred, still half-asleep, mumbling, "You make a great pillow, you know that?"

I snorted. "Yeah, and you're a damn furnace. You got a setting lower than 'burn-my-nipples-off'?"

He chuckled, soft and sleepy. "Nope."

We lay there in silence. And it wasn't awkward. It was the kind of quiet that says we're safe here. That maybe, just maybe, the world outside could wait a few more minutes.

I finally said it. "You know, I used to think you were too fancy for me. Like… Prada and Broadway, and sipping tea with your pinky out. And here I am — tattooed, loud, allergic to books without pictures."

Kurt lifted his head, that sleepy smile still there. "Noah… you make me laugh more than anyone ever has. And Tracy worships you. Do you think I care if you've read *Pride and Prejudice*?"

"Only part of it. The zombie version."

"Of course you did."

He kissed me again. Slow and soft. And I swear, it wasn't even about sex. It was about *us*. About rewriting everything we thought we knew.

Then the door slammed downstairs.

Kurt's eyes went wide. "Shit. Blaine."

I jumped up, grabbing my pants and one sock — just one — while Kurt threw on my oversized Metallica shirt like it was armor. We both froze when we heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet on the stairs.

"Daddy Nono!" came the voice that made my damn heart skip.

Tracy burst into the room like she owned the place — which, let's be real, she kinda did.

Her eyes landed on Kurt in my shirt and me with bedhead and sock-fail, and she gasped like she just found out Santa was real and lived in our attic.

"You had a sleepover with Daddy Kurt?!"

Kurt turned beet red.

I just shrugged and said, "Yup. But no pillow forts this time."

Tracy narrowed her eyes like a tiny judge. "Was it a kissy sleepover?"

Kurt tried to hide behind me. Coward.

I crouched down and ruffled her curls. "Yeah, Squirt. We kissed. A lot. And we talked. And we ate leftover pizza. And then he stole my favorite shirt."

She crossed her arms. "You guys in love or something?"

Kurt cleared his throat. "We're figuring things out, sweetheart. It's complicated."

Tracy just beamed. "Good. I told my teacher you were gonna marry Daddy Nono, and he was gonna be my new dad for real. Blaine is mean and cries too much."

Kurt blinked. "You what?"

"I said what I said."

She ran off, probably to tell her stuffed animals the prophecy had been fulfilled.

Kurt sat on the bed, stunned. I joined him, elbowed him gently. "Dream come true, dude."

He didn't say anything for a second. Then he turned and whispered, "You think we can do this?"

I looked down the hall where Tracy had gone, then back at him.

"Hell yeah, we can. We already are."

You know when you can *feel* something coming before it happens?

Like the air gets real still, too still. Your skin tightens. Your gut churns even though your brain keeps telling you to play it cool. That was me. Walking down the street with Tracy swinging between me and Kurt's, singing some made-up song about "peanut butter ponies," and pretending like we weren't headed for a showdown.

We were meeting Blaine.

He asked. Said he wanted to talk. Said he wanted to apologize. Said he missed Tracy.

Kurt was stiff beside me. Not angry-stiff — scared-stiff. Like part of him wanted to run, part of him wanted to believe in second chances, and all of him just wanted his little girl to be okay.

Me? I wasn't scared. I was ready.

We stopped at the park. Blaine was already there. Sitting on the bench. The suit jacket is too perfect. Hair is too neat. Like he was trying too hard to look put-together when everybody knew he was still shattered.

Tracy let go of our hands and ran toward him. Not with joy. With caution.

"Hi," she said flatly.

Blaine smiled like he was seeing the sun for the first time in months. "Hi, baby."

She didn't say anything back. Just stared at him. Then walked over to a swing, like she wasn't ready to decide yet. Smart kid.

I watched Kurt take a deep breath. He walked ahead first. Me? I stayed back, arms crossed, leaning on the fence like I had all day. I didn't. I had five minutes of patience left and a fuse soaked in gasoline.

"Thank you," Blaine said to Kurt. "For coming."

Kurt nodded. "Don't make me regret it."

"Never." Blaine looked over his shoulder. "You too, Puck."

I didn't move. Just said, "Talk fast, Anderson."

Blaine sighed and sat back. "I've been in therapy. Every day. I'm sober. I haven't touched a drink in three months. I know that doesn't fix what I did, but I need you to know… I never wanted to hurt you. Or Tracy."

Kurt sat down beside him. Me? Still standing. Still not ready to forgive.

Blaine looked at me then. "I know you hate me. You should. But you love her. And so do I."

I didn't answer.

He pushed anyway. "I'd like to be part of her life again. Slowly. On her terms."

I tilted my head slowly. Calm. Dangerous. "You sure that's what *she* wants? 'Cause last time I checked, she cried every night until she forgot your voice."

Blaine winced.

Good.

Kurt looked like he was holding in every scream he ever swallowed. But he stayed still. Steady. Brave in a way I didn't even know he could be.

Blaine tried again. "She's my daughter—"

"No," I cut him off. Voice low. Steady. "She *was* your daughter. Until you scared her. Until you shoved Kurt. Until she locked herself in a closet because she thought her screaming made you hit her dad."

His mouth opened, but I wasn't done.

"You lost your chance the second you made that little girl feel like love was something you had to be quiet for."

Silence.

Then Tracy's voice broke the tension. Soft. Curious.

"Daddy Kurt? Can we go home now?"

Kurt stood up like his spine had been yanked straight by those words. "Yeah, sweetheart. We're going."

Blaine didn't chase after her. He just sat there. Hands in his lap. Tears in his eyes.

I walked past him slowly. Close enough, he could hear it when I said, "You got help. Good. Stay helped. Stay gone."

Then I took Tracy's hand, and we walked home together.

I never meant to Hulk out in a public park. Not my style anymore. I've mellowed. Supposedly.

But there's one thing—*one thing*—that'll snap every fuse I've carefully rewired since Beth died, and that's Tracy's tears. Especially when I didn't earn 'em. When some punk-ass kids did.

We'd gone back to the same park a few days after the Blaine thing. Just me and Tracy. She was doing better. Sleeping through the night again, eating full meals. Smiling more. I thought we were past the worst of it.

She was on the monkey bars, chatting with a couple of kids who looked her age — maybe six, maybe seven — and I was on the bench not far off, nursing a coffee like some cliché suburban dad. I even had my sunglasses on. The kind you wear when you're pretending to be relaxed but still watching everything.

That's when I heard it.

First, a giggle.

Then: "You have two dads? That's weird."

Another voice. "That's not even real. That's fake. You're fake."

"Maybe you don't have a mom because she didn't want you."

That one sliced through me.

I turned my head.

Tracy froze halfway on the bars. Eyes wide. Not blinking. She dropped to the ground, hard knees scraped, palms raw. But she didn't cry then. Not until she turned, saw me, and started walking over like she was trying to hold it in.

Then the tears came.

Big, silent ones.

She clung to my leg like she was afraid to say it out loud, and all she whispered was, "They said I'm fake."

That was it.

That's all it took.

My brain went red. My jaw locked. I stood up so fast my coffee hit the ground without a sound, and my sunglasses were off before I even took a step.

I marched across that playground like I was twenty again. Like I hadn't buried half my anger in therapy and the rest in guilt.

The kids backed up when they saw me coming.

Good.

"You three got something to say?" I growled.

One of them — a scrawny boy with too-big teeth and a Spider-Man shirt — tried to hide behind a girl. "We were just joking—"

"No. You weren't." I stepped closer. "You made a five-year-old cry. Over *who loves her.* You think that's funny?"

They all shook their heads. Wide-eyed. Scared. As they should be.

"Do I look like I'm laughing?"

"No," the girl squeaked.

"Exactly. So here's the deal," I said, voice low, slow, *calm before the storm* even though I could feel the Hulk in my chest trying to rip his way out. "You wanna be mean, go pick on someone your size. Better yet, don't pick on anybody. You don't know people's lives. You don't know their families. And if I ever catch you making Tracy cry again, I'll make sure your parents know *exactly* what kind of little jerks they raised."

The boy tried to say something. I shot him a glare that made him shut his mouth with a snap.

And just like that, they ran.

Not walked.

Ran.

I stood there for a second, fists clenched, heart pounding like a war drum.

Then I turned around, knelt, and pulled Tracy into my arms.

She was still sniffling. I kissed the top of her head.

"You're not fake," I told her. "You're the realest, bravest, smartest little girl I know. And you got two dads who love the crap outta you. That's not weird. That's lucky."

She looked up at me, cheeks tear-streaked. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart," I said, tapping her chest. "And guess what? You don't owe anybody an explanation. Your family is your family. If they don't get it, that's *their* problem."

Tracy nodded slowly. Then leaned in and whispered, "You Hulked out, didn't you?"

I chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Only a little, Squirt. Don't tell Daddy Kurt."

She grinned.

And just like that, the storm passed.

Burt Hummel always smelled like motor oil and aftershave when we were younger. Now? He smells like expensive suit fabric and Amtrak coffee. But the second he hugged me in the doorway, it was like I was sixteen again and scared shitless he'd punch me for calling his kid names.

"Hey, kid," he said, clapping my back. "You look like you've been lifting tanks."

Carole laughed behind him. "Tracy told us you're *very strong* Noah. But not as strong as Hulk."

"Only when I'm angry," I said under my breath.

They both raised their eyebrows at that.

We made it through dinner — meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and the kind of green beans that come in a can because Carole doesn't judge and neither do I — and after Tracy insisted on showing Carole every single drawing she'd made in the past year, I found myself outside with Burt. Front porch. Two beers. Stars out. Classic.

"She okay?" he asked, nodding toward the house.

"She bounced back. But yeah, she cried. Not like stub-your-toe cry. This was deep."

He didn't say anything, just waited. That's a Burt move. He never rushes you.

"Some punk kids at the park told her having two dads was gross," I said. "Said it wasn't normal. One kid asked if her real mom gave her away because she was weird."

Burt's jaw tightened. "Jesus."

"Yeah." I looked at the bottle in my hand. "And I… I lost it. Not like full-on fists-flying, but I stood up, got in their faces, and said the kind of stuff that makes a pack of bullies scatter."

"Did you swear?"

"Nope," I smirked a little. "But I used my voice. That one I used to use in high school. The one that says I'm two seconds from being a real problem."

Burt nodded slowly. "Good."

"Seriously?"

"Puck." He looked at me. "Do you think for one second that if someone had made Kurt cry in front of me when he was little, I wouldn't have gone full dad mode?"

"Even with the whole congressman title now?" I asked.

He laughed. "Especially now. I'd use my inside voice, but it'd still terrify them."

I looked out at the quiet street, the porch light flickering over the mailbox Tracy painted with stars and crooked hearts.

"I used to be those kids, Burt. I made Kurt cry. I was the bully. And now I'm the dad scaring the crap out of middle schoolers for being little versions of me."

He was quiet for a beat. Then: "That's the cycle breaking, Puck."

I blinked at him.

"You think it's about never messing up again? Nah. It's about learning, changing, and making damn sure your kid doesn't grow up thinking the bad stuff is normal. You did that. You stood between your kid and something that hurt her. That's the job."

"Yeah, well," I muttered, "She was shaking, Burt. Like, clutching my shirt so tight I thought she'd rip it. She kept asking if Blaine was gonna be mad. If maybe it was her fault."

He swore under his breath and took a long drink. "You told her the truth, right?"

"That there's nothing wrong with her? That she's got two awesome dads and a whole crew that would walk through fire for her?" I nodded. "Yeah. I told her. She didn't believe me right away. But she smiled later when we made cookies. Said I was better than the Hulk 'cause I made chocolate chip bombs."

Burt smiled into his beer. "Sounds like she believes you now."

I didn't answer. Just let the silence settle.

Then Burt added, "You're not overcorrecting, Noah. You're just loving the hell outta that kid. That's all anyone ever wanted from you."

That hit. More than I expected.

"Thanks, man," I said. "Means a lot coming from you."

"Of course it does," he said with a grin. "I'm your dad-in-law now, right?"

I choked on my beer.

He laughed. "Just saying — Tracy already sees you as her father, and Kurt won't shut up about how you're the one holding everyone together."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. And you're doing it one Hulk smash at a time."

I didn't say anything after that. Just nodded. Because, for once in my life, I didn't feel like the screw-up.

I felt like Tracy's dad.

And that? That felt damn good.

The cemetery's quiet in that way only cemeteries can be — like the world hit pause out of respect. I parked a little crooked like always, even though there's no one to care. It's just me, a six-pack of root beer I grabbed last minute, and Finn.

Well. What there is left of him.

I hadn't been here in a while. Not because I didn't think about him — I did. Especially now. Especially since I've been staying at Kurt's more. Especially since I started realizing I want to stay for good.

I walked over slowly, gravel crunching under my boots, and sat down in front of the headstone like it was a beat-up couch in the Lima Bean. I popped one of the bottles and set it by the flowers someone else brought — probably Carole. Mine were still in the truck. Forgot 'em. Again.

"Hey, Finn," I said. "You'd be mad I brought root beer, huh? But it felt wrong drinking the real stuff with Tracy in the car." I paused. "Yeah, that's right. I'm a dad now. Kind of. Long story."

The breeze kicked up a bit. Just enough to make me shiver. Or maybe that was nerves.

"I've been thinking a lot lately, man," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "About who I am. What I want. Who I want. And I realized something I never told you. Like, ever. I'm gay."

I waited. As if he'd sit up and yell *'No freakin' way, bro!'*

But, y'know. Dead people don't do that.

I smiled, just a little. "Honestly? Kinda glad you can't say anything. You'd probably have made some dumbass joke like, 'So which one of you sings lead in the relationship?'" I let out a dry laugh. "But then you'd hug me so hard I'd stop breathing. And you'd ask if he makes me happy. He does, Finn. Kurt makes me feel… safe. Like I'm finally allowed to be soft, y'know? Like, I don't have to be the tough guy all the time."

I leaned back, looking up at the sky.

"He's not perfect. He's stubborn as hell, gets real quiet when he's hurting, and he decorates everything like Martha Stewart went on a glitter bender. But he's good. To me. To Tracy."

I paused and let my voice drop.

"I think I love him. Like... for real."

The wind blew harder this time, and I swore for a second it felt like someone was standing behind me. I didn't turn around. Just closed my eyes.

"I never got to say this stuff to you, man. Not even when you were alive. I was too scared to say it out loud — scared of what people would think. What *you* would think."

I looked back down at the grave. "But now I'm here, saying it, and… I don't think you'd be mad. I think you'd tease me. Probably ask if I'm still a badass, or if dating Kurt means I have to start wearing scarves and skinny jeans." I smirked. "You'd be unbearable. But you'd still be proud. I know that."

I sat there for a while. Long enough for the sun to shift and the shadows to stretch out across the grass.

"Tracy's gonna know who you were," I said quietly. "She already knows Uncle Finn was a hero. But I'll make sure she knows how much you meant to me. How much you loved her dads, even when we were all messes. You were always the glue, dude. Now I gotta try to be that."

I finally stood, brushing off my jeans.

"I might ask Kurt to make this a real thing," I admitted. "Not like marriage yet, but… something more. Something solid. Think he'd say yes?"

Silence. But it didn't feel empty.

I looked down one last time. "Miss you, man."

I walked away before I could cry.

Chapter 2 will be up soon.