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Somebody Shoot Me
Continued from this
Somebody Shoot Me (or, Schuegate: the Aftermath) (2/3)
NC-17 (not this part) | Kurt/Puck, Will/Finn | ~9,600 words
Kurt panics and Puck may be gayer than he thought. Relationships are changed.
Driving is good. Will likes driving, it clears his head. Turn. Stop. Wait. The radio's off for once and he can hear his muffler scraping on the ground. Go. Turn. He's in a part of Lima he's never seen before, a suburb just unlike enough to throw his sense of direction off balance. Stop. Wait. Go. The wind coming in through the window smells like a park, grass and play structures. Stop. Will likes parks.
He makes his way across to the swing set. Cold. He left his jacket at home. The chain is freezing under his hand, the seat just as cold under him. He's still wearing his day shoes that aren't good for anything but looking professional. He rests his head on the chain, relishing the way the metal feels against his temple. It wakes him up.
Terri lied to him.
There was no baby.
He's not a father.
Will scuffs his shoes in the dirt, unable to push the swing.
___
It's almost midnight when Mercedes realizes that her phone battery died while she was at school and the stupid thing has been off for hours. It takes twenty minutes to find her charger in the giant pile of glamour and neon that is her room, but she finds it stuffed in the pocket of the hoodie she wore two days ago, no worse for wear.
Her phone has fifteen messages. One from her mother -- probably wanted her during school for something she finished before Mercedes got home -- and fourteen from Kurt. Four. Teen. Mercedes calls him back on her home phone, expecting to hear that a family member has died, or someone threw paint on Kurt's favorite sweater or something equally distressing.
That's not what she gets.
"Would you... I mean, not that I need it for anything, but, do you... have Puck's phone number?"
"What?" Mercedes snaps, her voice dripping with disdain.. "You left a 911 voicemail to get Puck's phone number?"
"... Yes? You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Mercedes sighs long-sufferingly. She's dying to know why, but she'll get it out of Kurt later, when he doesn't sound so desperate. "I don't have it, but Finn might. Want me to call him?"
"Oh yes please," Kurt gushes. "You're amazing."
"Damn right I am," she says, putting Kurt on hold. Finn's mom picks up on the third ring and informs her that Finn's out, but she's known the Puckermans for years and is happy to giver her their number, anything for a friend of Finn's. Just talking to someone so... motherly cheers Mercedes up. She reconnects with Kurt's line and rattles off the number.
"I can't thank you enough," Kurt says.
"No, but you can tell me why you need it so badly later."
"We're doing a science project together."
Mercedes gives the phone her best diva look.
"You're a bad liar. Good night."
___
Finn's on an overnight Halo mission, living off Red Bull as much as oxygen. But with great amounts of Red Bull, there come great amounts of bathroom visits, forcing Finn out of the game world often. His bladder hates him, it's a scientific fact by this point. It's during one of his treks from the bathroom back to the game console in his bedroom when he sees him.
Mr. Schuester. On a swing in the park. Finn feels like the ground just moved under his feet. Everything's at an angle.
"Mom, I'm going out," he calls. He leaves before he hears an answer. He crosses the street without looking both ways -- a first for him, oddly enough -- unable to take his eyes off the lonely figure of his teacher slumped in the swing set. There's nothing right about this, and Finn's sprinting to get there faster. He's out of breath when he reaches him, putting his hand on Schue's shoulder to steady himself.
Schue doesn't even look at him. Finn is so scared.
"Mr. Schue?" he asks, leaning forward. "You okay?" That's a stupid question, it's pretty obvious that he isn't, but Finn has to ask, because that's what you ask when people are acting weird. What he really wants to hear is a yes, Schue's totally fine, he's just out here for some late night Glee brainstorming, sorry to worry him.
"Finn?" Schue asks, blinking at him.
"Yeah, it's me," Finn says. He bites his lip and holds tight to Schue's shoulder.
"Hi, Finn."
"Hi."
Schuester pauses, staring up at Finn's face like he can't take it in. Finn doesn't know what to do but stand there and wait for him to snap out of it. Protectiveness hits him in waves, he wants to bundle Schue up and take him home and make him better, but he doesn't know how. He's never felt so helpless as he does now.
"I'm not having a baby, Finn," Schue says. His voice cracks.
"Like... not anymore?" Finn asks.
"I never was," Schue says.
It's like breaking down a dam. Schue's crying quietly, his head tilted down so Finn won't see it.
Finn kneels down and wraps the older man in his arms, the just what Schue did for him what feels like forever ago. Did he feel this small then? This breakable?
Schuester's fingers dig into the fabric of Finn's jacket, clinging to him for dear life.
___
Quinn is possibly the most put-upon pregnant teenager in the entire state of Ohio. Not because her parents would kill her if they found out, or that she got kicked out of the Cheerios, but, adding insult to injury, her loser boyfriend doesn't have a driver's license. Meaning she has to pick him up on her way to school every day. She pulls into his driveway, past a familiar busted down blue car.
"Is that Mr. Schue's car?" Quinn asks as Finn climbs into shotgun.
"Uh, yeah," Finn says, smiling apologetically. "He's crashing on my couch. Don't tell anyone?"
___
Kurt was too desperate to get to school to even dress up to his full fabulous potential, settling for low key jeans and a shirt from last season. He still looks great, don't get him wrong, but not as good as usual.
He loiters around the dumpster, trying to tempt Puck out of hiding. He sees a lot of shaved heads and letter jacket, but none of them are the right ones. First bell rings and Kurt is totally ungarbaged.
He'd called Puck enough times to memorize the number without putting it in his phone. Creepy? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely. Puck's not in the hallway, as far as Kurt can see, but he has to get to class soon and he doesn't have time to really look. His chest gets tighter the farther he walks without seeing him, he can't breathe by the time he gets to class.
___
The thing about Finn's couch is; it's comfy, if you're sitting, but it's also tiny and cramped so if you're laying down on it -- say, wrapped in a blanket with your shoes and tie still on and little to no memory of how you got there -- it's awful. Will has knots in muscles he wasn't aware he had before, and he's a dancer, that's saying a lot.
The last thing he remembers is crying. Lots of crying, so much that his face still feels a little swollen. He groans and stretches, his clothes feel disgusting.
" 'Bout time you woke up," a woman (not Terri) calls from the kitchen. "You feel like eggs?"
"Huh?" Will asks. She pokes her head into the living room and gives him a patient smile.
"Eggs. For breakfast. You want?"
"Uh, sure. Thanks."
"Gotcha, hun," the woman can't be that much older than him, but Will doesn't dispute the endearment. "I'm Ms. Hudson, by the way. I think you're old enough to call me Carole." Finn's mom disappears back into the kitchen, leaving Will to stare around her living room incredulously. It's smaller and... browner than he imagined Finn's house would be. Very average and suburban.
Not a thing is giant-sized, especially not the lumpy couch.
Will hears a sizzling frying pan and his stomach grumbles loudly, making Ms Hudson laugh in the kitchen. The house is really small.
"Um," Will asks. "What am I doing here, and," he checks his watch, "ohno. I'm three hours late for work."
"I called you in," Ms Hudson calls out the kitchen door. "It's amazing what PTA members can do. You were way too out of it to go to work today."
"Out of it?"
Ms Hudson carries out a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. She looks concerned in a way that makes Will miss his own mother fiercely.
"Finn brought you over here around one this morning. You weren't talking, you wouldn't let go of him and you wouldn't look at anyone. You scared my boy bad, Mr. Schuester."
"Call me Will," he says automatically, taking his breakfast.
___
When nobody's looking at him, Artie likes to pop wheelies in the halls. Not if it's overcrowded, and not if he has a lot of stuff with him, but yeah, he does it fairly often. He's late to class all the time because he A) has an excuse and B) can't go that fast when he's balancing on his back wheels.
He left skid marks on the floor once. The janitors hate him, but won't say anything. Artie's bulletproof in his wheelchair. Lucky him.
Artie executes a perfect left hand spin into a 270, stopping himself easily with one hand and swerving down the hallway. He can feel his wheel trying to pull off the floor and resists the urge to go faster. He whooshes down the hallway -- he really should get a cape. A short one to hook onto his suspenders that won't get tangled in his spokes -- sending scrap pieces of paper flying into the air with, past Puck on the stairs, down to the --
Wait.
Artie backpedals, cautiously. You never knew with Puck. Depending on his mood he could either be tolerant of Artie, or homicidal. He doesn't look particularly like he's feeling either of those, so Artie can risk getting closer. He feels like someone on Animal Planet.
"Hey," he says, inching closer. Puck glares at him. Pretty standard behavior. "Why aren't you in class?"
"Why do you care?" Puck growls.
Artie shrugs. "Just curious."
Puck scowls like he's waiting for Artie to go away. Artie doesn't.
"I'm not going to talk to you," Puck says.
"You don't have to."
The clock on the wall says that three minutes have passed before Puck speaks again. It feels like twenty, but school time always drags.
"What do you want?" Puck sighs.
"My arms are tired," Artie lies. "If you push me to class, then we both have an excuse to be late."
He swears he can see Puck smile -- for almost a second before he scowls again, standing up and dumping his textbooks in Artie's lap.
"This is only because you're crippled. We're not friends," he says, grabbing Artie's handles.
"Understood."
"Not a word of this to anyone."
"... My class is in the other direction."
Puck jerks the chair roughly to the side. Artie scrambles to keep hold of everything on his lap, somehow keeping it all in place.
"Damn Glee club. I wouldn't even know you if we didn't have that fucking gay club."
"Isn't the GSA the gay club?"
"Hummel's the biggest queer in this school, which club is he in?"
Artie has to concede that point to Puck.
"Thinks he can... Fucking Hummel."
"Thinks he can... what?"
Puck jerk's his chair sharply around the next turn. Artie thinks he might have whiplash, but he definitely struck one of Puck's nerves.
"Nothing."
Artie wants to ask if Kurt gave Puck cooties or something, but he doesn't think his neck bones will survive. His class is in sight and he doesn't know if he's more relieved or confused.
"Are you the reason Kurt called my house six times yesterday?" he blurts.
Puck stops. Just stops in the middle of the hallway. Artie awaits his imminent demise.
"Dude," Puck says. His voice sounds scraped raw. "That's really gay."
___
Mercedes is immersed in her notes -- or that's what it looks like to the untrained eye, she's really texting Kurt from behind her purse -- when Puck walks in twenty minutes late. Instead of getting called on it, he hands Mrs. Forrester a note and sits down.
Of all the nerve.
Pcks here, she sends Kurt.
rlly? Kurt sends back.
Ys y do u care?
i don't.
>:|
don't type that face at me.
dn't lie thn.
where r you?
Y do u care?
tell you later. promise.
Kk.
Mercedes texts him the room number and waits for whatever's about to happen, her camera phone at the ready.
___
Puck really wishes that the Science rooms weren't on the second floor, because with his badassitude level it would be perfectly acceptable to leave via the nearest window. But gravity does not accept the laws of Puck and he has to use the door like everyone else, taking a step out and nearly walking -- literally -- into Hummel.
"We need to talk," he says. The only color in his face are the reddish rings around his eyes. Puck grabs him by the collar and marches him away.
"Damn right we do, queer," he says loudly. The handful of his teammates around him cheer. He hopes Hummel is smart enough not to try and get away, because Puck's grip is loose enough for him to have a good chance at it. Kurt seems to get it though, and follows Puck with little resistance. More and more people cheer when they see Puck pulling Kurt along, and he knew it would happen, but it's never pissed him off this much before. "You lookin' at somethin'?" He snarls at the nearest guy.
The crowd parts, giving Puck and his prize as much room as he wants. Kurt makes a strangled noise, his throat vibrating against Puck's knuckles.
Before he can think about that too much, Puck throws him into a janitor's closet. There's a clatter and a yelp, then Puck's following him in, locking the door behind him.
Kurt splutters up at him from the floor incredulously, pushing himself upwards.
"If you're going to beat me up, I at least want my say first," he says.
"Shoot," Puck says, leaning against the wall. Hummel stands slowly, arms raised to protect a potential face blow, frowns down at his soaked clothes -- he seems to have landed in a full bucket of mop water. Oops -- and launches into his pitch.
"What happened in the parking lot... happened, okay, it really happened , and I don't expect it to keep happening, but." He pauses, looking up at Puck with those big eyes of his. "That's the first time anything like that's happened to me, and I don't want to have to pretend it never happened. Also, I just annoyed the hell out of myself by using the same word six times in one breath, doesn't that count for anything?"
"You are so gay," Puck says.
He has two choices here. One, beat the shit out of Hummel and go back to normal. Two, well -- two is the option he shouldn't even be thinking about, because it involves things that a normal straight guy doesn't think about -- even if he got off so hard with Hummel that he walked crooked back to his car -- if they want to stay normal and straight.
"I know," Kurt sighs. Puck looks him over -- objectively. He's not awful looking, and he certainly dresses like a girl. He's never really checked before, but he thinks that Hummel might just have a really nice ass.
And he doesn't care about Puck's credit score.
"Rules are for pussies," Puck says definitively. He pulls Hummel close -- he does have a nice ass, Puck must have radar a radar for this. Assdar.
"What?" Kurt squeaks.
"Relax, baby," Puck says. "Things are happening."
Hummel utters this weird, hysterical giggle that completely kills the mood.
"Calm down, chickenshit."
"That's better."
Puck sighs. "You wanna make out, or what?"
"Sure," Kurt answers smugly. Puck's stomach does a back flip.
___
Walking into his house knowing his teacher will be there is weird enough as it is, but it's even weirder when said teacher is sitting at the table talking to Finn's mom and wearing Finn's clothes. Yeah, not something he sees every day. Mr. Schue waves -- weird because he's only a few feet away, but Finn can deal -- and smiles at him. Finn waves back.
"How's it goin', Mr. S?" Finn asks, setting his backpack down and sitting at the opposite end of the table.
"Pretty good, Finn," Mr. Schue replies. Finn's Mom tsks at him, before bustling out of the room. "She's great," Schue says earnestly. He stares at his hands on the table.
"Yeah," Finn agrees.
Finn's Mom clears her throat loudly from the hallway, much to both their embarrassment.
"... Thank you, Finn. For bringing me here."
"No problem," Finn says quickly. Really, it wasn't. He would have felt a lot worse sending Schue home in the condition he was in. If he even could go home, which he probably couldn't.
Schue quirks a little smile at him. "So it's not weird to have a teacher in your house?"
"Well," Finn starts. He doesn't always know how to say things without hurting someone's feelings, and he doesn't want that to happen now. Will Schue's feelings get hurt anyway if he goes too long without talking? How long has he been staring at the clock? Schue probably thinks Finn hates him now anyway, so he has nothing to lose. "You scared me. Like, you wouldn't talk or anything. I didn't think you knew who I was."
"I'm so sorry, Finn," Schue says. He looks like he really means it, Finn thinks they both might cry, so he shrugs it off.
"You're okay now though."
"Yeah," Schue says.
Finn knows he's not the smartest person in the world, but he knows when he's being lied to.
___
Estranged from popularity as she is, Quinn Fabray still knows how to get around. No pregnancy jokes, please. She can work a rumor like nobody's business, so within an hour of it happening, Quinn knows that Puck and Kurt went into a closet together during lunch period and closed the door. She also knows that twenty minutes later they both came out, unharmed -- if you don't count the suspicious looking 'bruises' low on Kurt's neck.
Quinn also knows that Mercedes -- Kurt's best friend -- got a text roughly an hour after that that made her scream out loud in class. She managed to delete it before her phone was confiscated, but Quinn can still put two and two together, and she doesn't like the outcome.
Her babydaddy is sleeping around on her. Publicly acknowledged or not, Quinn has a problem with that. She spends an afternoon on the phone. If she learned anything from the Cheerios it's how to be ruthless, and that's what she is.
Puck better watch out.
____
"Hey, you're not fat anymore," the man -- the same one who visited her house. His shirt has the Batman logo on it today -- exclaims when Terri runs into the same stupid store that ruined her marriage in the first place. Terri slams her hands down on the counter just to make him jump. "Jesus, ya crazy bitch."
"I need a love potion. A real one this time!" Terri growls.
"No can do, lady," he says. "Don't have one."
"What?" Terri shrieks. "How could you not have one? You had one yesterday!"
"Uh, no we didn't, I thought you figured that part out the hard way."
Terri really wants to shake him. "What do you have, then?" she asks.
"Herbal laxatives?" Bat-dork suggests. Terri inhales deeply, her fingers making involuntary strangling gestures against the counter. "Or not. Lemme see what we've got here" -- he rummages around under the counter -- "sleeping potion, dog's breath pills -- those are funny --, truth serum--"
"Truth serum?"
"Yeah. Whoever drinks it can't lie."
"I'll take that."
___
It takes two days of painstaking cleaning -- her house, her office, her lunchbox -- for Emma to feel normal again after counseling Rachel Berry. Because Rachel is terrifying. Emma can understand liking Will Schuester -- because she lives it, not to say other people don't like Will, because he's a very likable guy, he's sweet. And charming. But she can understand liking him a little too much to be considered normal -- but Rachel is something else. Truthfully, Emma's a bit scared for him right now.
Emma's just gotten her office the way she likes it. All her papers are stacked neatly in their respective drawers, the flowers on her desk have been arranged according to both height and color, and the chairs are both exactly seven inches away from her desk. A good day's work, all things considered.
Where's her lunch box?
Oh no.
It's not in the third drawer down on her left -- it's not in it's place --and it's not on top of her desk so she can easily grab it on her way to the break room so it might not even be in her office and she doesn't know what to do about that.
"Looking for this?" someone asks, poking his head in the door. She's never seen him before, but his lunchbox is dangling from his hand.
"Yes, thank you," she says, striding forward to take it. He smiles at her and hands it over.
"Found it in the hallway."
"Thank you for returning it," Emma repeats. He looks much too old to be wandering around the school. She really wants to disinfect her lunchbox but that might be considered rude even though he seems kind of greasy, like he hasn't showered in a few days. The thought makes Emma's skin crawl.
"No problem," he says turning away. His shirt flashes her a red batman symbol. "Have a nice day!"
"You too," Emma calls after him. She has a can of Lysol in her hand before he's even most of the way gone.
After she's sprayed the box down, waited five minutes, wiped the residue off with a wash cloth and sanitized her hands, Emma feels safe to go to lunch. Her walk to the break room is exactly forty seven steps -- fifty eight steps if you count the ones from the door to her seat -- and her lunch is arranged exactly the way she left it, sandwich to the side, cookie -- she doesn't eat them herself, normally she gives them away to Ken or Will, whoever asks first -- properly bagged, and her thermos packed in neatly.
She finds comfort in order. Is that so wrong?
Emma eats her sandwich -- peanut butter and grape jelly -- first, then washes it down with tea. Or tries to. Her tea tastes funny, and she can't bring herself to drink more than a sip.
"You sure you gotta toss all of it?" Ken asks.
"I can't drink it now," Emma says, pouring it down the sink. "You want my cookie?"
___
Motel 6 is disgusting. They never show that on the commercials. Will's pretty sure he can see something crawling under the bedcovers while the wallpaper slowly peels off the walls.
Home, sweet home.
___
The water in the drinking fountain tastes weirder than usual, Finn observes. Kinda... hard to describe, but different. He runs back to the huddle, tapping his palm familiarly on the back of Kurt's helmet.
"So, what should we run?" he asks, tucking into the circle of his team mates.
"The circley one," Kurt says. "Where Puck and Matt run behind you?"
"We do need work on that," Matt agrees.
"Okay, we'll run that one then," Finn says agreeably.
"I slept with Quinn," Puck says. "I'm not sure why I just said that, but it feels good to get it off my chest. The baby's mine, by the way."
"What?"
"Quinn. I fucked her a few months ago and she got pregnant and told you it was yours. Holy fuck I can't stop talking," Puck says.
Everyone else slowly backs out of the huddle. Finn sees a big black spot in his eyes over Puck's face.
"I can't believe it," Finn says. He really can't.
"That's because you're pretty stupid."
Finn's fist is buried in Puck's face.
___
Everyone's too scared to go near them, so Kurt's the one who has to pull Finn off Puck, even though he's the smallest person on the team. He grabs as tight as he can onto Finn's shoulders and throws his weight back. Finn jerks slightly, but keeps pounding away at Puck, who's scrambling but can't seem to get any hits in. Kurt moves his grip to Finn's waist and tries again. He's pretty sure he's crying a little, because this is one of the fucking scariest things he's ever seen in real life.
Matt's grabbing at Puck's arms and trying to pull him away from Finn, while three or four other guys are pushing themselves in between the two of them. Everything feels like slow motion as Kurt gives another huge pull -- Finn goes limp in his arms, separated from Puck -- and nearly falls on his ass.
Someone off to his right is screaming Finn's name. Kurt thinks it might be Quinn and pulls Finn towards the locker room.
"We should get him out of here," he announces. The team stares at him blankly. "Now!"
Quinn screams again, closer this time. The team mobilizes, collectively pushing Finn away from her, while Kurt goes to help Puck.
Puck doesn't look so good.
"Noah?" Kurt asks, crouching next to him.
"Don' call me that," Puck says. Kurt's chest feels a little less tight. If he can bitch, he's good enough.
"You okay?"
"Finn punches like a girl," Puck says cockily. "A really big, strong girl."
Kurt is seriously wondering why he finds this douchebag so hot.
___
Will's just settled into his new motel room -- laid out all his papers on the spare bed, set what few clothes he retrieved from his apartment while Terri was at work in the drawers -- and is getting ready to take a nap when Finn shows up.
Literally. He just walks into Will's room.
"Hey, Mr. Schue," he says. He's holding his arms close to his sides, like he's trying to keep himself in. "I just... I'm sorry for barging in but since I freaked out on you when Quinn told me that she was pregnant you should probably be the first to know that it's not my kid. Third, if you count me and my mom. I can't stop talking and I really need a hug because I think I'm gonna cry."
Will's gives it to him. Finn cries anyway.
Continued
Somebody Shoot Me (or, Schuegate: the Aftermath) (2/3)
NC-17 (not this part) | Kurt/Puck, Will/Finn | ~9,600 words
Kurt panics and Puck may be gayer than he thought. Relationships are changed.
Driving is good. Will likes driving, it clears his head. Turn. Stop. Wait. The radio's off for once and he can hear his muffler scraping on the ground. Go. Turn. He's in a part of Lima he's never seen before, a suburb just unlike enough to throw his sense of direction off balance. Stop. Wait. Go. The wind coming in through the window smells like a park, grass and play structures. Stop. Will likes parks.
He makes his way across to the swing set. Cold. He left his jacket at home. The chain is freezing under his hand, the seat just as cold under him. He's still wearing his day shoes that aren't good for anything but looking professional. He rests his head on the chain, relishing the way the metal feels against his temple. It wakes him up.
Terri lied to him.
There was no baby.
He's not a father.
Will scuffs his shoes in the dirt, unable to push the swing.
___
It's almost midnight when Mercedes realizes that her phone battery died while she was at school and the stupid thing has been off for hours. It takes twenty minutes to find her charger in the giant pile of glamour and neon that is her room, but she finds it stuffed in the pocket of the hoodie she wore two days ago, no worse for wear.
Her phone has fifteen messages. One from her mother -- probably wanted her during school for something she finished before Mercedes got home -- and fourteen from Kurt. Four. Teen. Mercedes calls him back on her home phone, expecting to hear that a family member has died, or someone threw paint on Kurt's favorite sweater or something equally distressing.
That's not what she gets.
"Would you... I mean, not that I need it for anything, but, do you... have Puck's phone number?"
"What?" Mercedes snaps, her voice dripping with disdain.. "You left a 911 voicemail to get Puck's phone number?"
"... Yes? You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Mercedes sighs long-sufferingly. She's dying to know why, but she'll get it out of Kurt later, when he doesn't sound so desperate. "I don't have it, but Finn might. Want me to call him?"
"Oh yes please," Kurt gushes. "You're amazing."
"Damn right I am," she says, putting Kurt on hold. Finn's mom picks up on the third ring and informs her that Finn's out, but she's known the Puckermans for years and is happy to giver her their number, anything for a friend of Finn's. Just talking to someone so... motherly cheers Mercedes up. She reconnects with Kurt's line and rattles off the number.
"I can't thank you enough," Kurt says.
"No, but you can tell me why you need it so badly later."
"We're doing a science project together."
Mercedes gives the phone her best diva look.
"You're a bad liar. Good night."
___
Finn's on an overnight Halo mission, living off Red Bull as much as oxygen. But with great amounts of Red Bull, there come great amounts of bathroom visits, forcing Finn out of the game world often. His bladder hates him, it's a scientific fact by this point. It's during one of his treks from the bathroom back to the game console in his bedroom when he sees him.
Mr. Schuester. On a swing in the park. Finn feels like the ground just moved under his feet. Everything's at an angle.
"Mom, I'm going out," he calls. He leaves before he hears an answer. He crosses the street without looking both ways -- a first for him, oddly enough -- unable to take his eyes off the lonely figure of his teacher slumped in the swing set. There's nothing right about this, and Finn's sprinting to get there faster. He's out of breath when he reaches him, putting his hand on Schue's shoulder to steady himself.
Schue doesn't even look at him. Finn is so scared.
"Mr. Schue?" he asks, leaning forward. "You okay?" That's a stupid question, it's pretty obvious that he isn't, but Finn has to ask, because that's what you ask when people are acting weird. What he really wants to hear is a yes, Schue's totally fine, he's just out here for some late night Glee brainstorming, sorry to worry him.
"Finn?" Schue asks, blinking at him.
"Yeah, it's me," Finn says. He bites his lip and holds tight to Schue's shoulder.
"Hi, Finn."
"Hi."
Schuester pauses, staring up at Finn's face like he can't take it in. Finn doesn't know what to do but stand there and wait for him to snap out of it. Protectiveness hits him in waves, he wants to bundle Schue up and take him home and make him better, but he doesn't know how. He's never felt so helpless as he does now.
"I'm not having a baby, Finn," Schue says. His voice cracks.
"Like... not anymore?" Finn asks.
"I never was," Schue says.
It's like breaking down a dam. Schue's crying quietly, his head tilted down so Finn won't see it.
Finn kneels down and wraps the older man in his arms, the just what Schue did for him what feels like forever ago. Did he feel this small then? This breakable?
Schuester's fingers dig into the fabric of Finn's jacket, clinging to him for dear life.
___
Quinn is possibly the most put-upon pregnant teenager in the entire state of Ohio. Not because her parents would kill her if they found out, or that she got kicked out of the Cheerios, but, adding insult to injury, her loser boyfriend doesn't have a driver's license. Meaning she has to pick him up on her way to school every day. She pulls into his driveway, past a familiar busted down blue car.
"Is that Mr. Schue's car?" Quinn asks as Finn climbs into shotgun.
"Uh, yeah," Finn says, smiling apologetically. "He's crashing on my couch. Don't tell anyone?"
___
Kurt was too desperate to get to school to even dress up to his full fabulous potential, settling for low key jeans and a shirt from last season. He still looks great, don't get him wrong, but not as good as usual.
He loiters around the dumpster, trying to tempt Puck out of hiding. He sees a lot of shaved heads and letter jacket, but none of them are the right ones. First bell rings and Kurt is totally ungarbaged.
He'd called Puck enough times to memorize the number without putting it in his phone. Creepy? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely. Puck's not in the hallway, as far as Kurt can see, but he has to get to class soon and he doesn't have time to really look. His chest gets tighter the farther he walks without seeing him, he can't breathe by the time he gets to class.
___
The thing about Finn's couch is; it's comfy, if you're sitting, but it's also tiny and cramped so if you're laying down on it -- say, wrapped in a blanket with your shoes and tie still on and little to no memory of how you got there -- it's awful. Will has knots in muscles he wasn't aware he had before, and he's a dancer, that's saying a lot.
The last thing he remembers is crying. Lots of crying, so much that his face still feels a little swollen. He groans and stretches, his clothes feel disgusting.
" 'Bout time you woke up," a woman (not Terri) calls from the kitchen. "You feel like eggs?"
"Huh?" Will asks. She pokes her head into the living room and gives him a patient smile.
"Eggs. For breakfast. You want?"
"Uh, sure. Thanks."
"Gotcha, hun," the woman can't be that much older than him, but Will doesn't dispute the endearment. "I'm Ms. Hudson, by the way. I think you're old enough to call me Carole." Finn's mom disappears back into the kitchen, leaving Will to stare around her living room incredulously. It's smaller and... browner than he imagined Finn's house would be. Very average and suburban.
Not a thing is giant-sized, especially not the lumpy couch.
Will hears a sizzling frying pan and his stomach grumbles loudly, making Ms Hudson laugh in the kitchen. The house is really small.
"Um," Will asks. "What am I doing here, and," he checks his watch, "ohno. I'm three hours late for work."
"I called you in," Ms Hudson calls out the kitchen door. "It's amazing what PTA members can do. You were way too out of it to go to work today."
"Out of it?"
Ms Hudson carries out a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. She looks concerned in a way that makes Will miss his own mother fiercely.
"Finn brought you over here around one this morning. You weren't talking, you wouldn't let go of him and you wouldn't look at anyone. You scared my boy bad, Mr. Schuester."
"Call me Will," he says automatically, taking his breakfast.
___
When nobody's looking at him, Artie likes to pop wheelies in the halls. Not if it's overcrowded, and not if he has a lot of stuff with him, but yeah, he does it fairly often. He's late to class all the time because he A) has an excuse and B) can't go that fast when he's balancing on his back wheels.
He left skid marks on the floor once. The janitors hate him, but won't say anything. Artie's bulletproof in his wheelchair. Lucky him.
Artie executes a perfect left hand spin into a 270, stopping himself easily with one hand and swerving down the hallway. He can feel his wheel trying to pull off the floor and resists the urge to go faster. He whooshes down the hallway -- he really should get a cape. A short one to hook onto his suspenders that won't get tangled in his spokes -- sending scrap pieces of paper flying into the air with, past Puck on the stairs, down to the --
Wait.
Artie backpedals, cautiously. You never knew with Puck. Depending on his mood he could either be tolerant of Artie, or homicidal. He doesn't look particularly like he's feeling either of those, so Artie can risk getting closer. He feels like someone on Animal Planet.
"Hey," he says, inching closer. Puck glares at him. Pretty standard behavior. "Why aren't you in class?"
"Why do you care?" Puck growls.
Artie shrugs. "Just curious."
Puck scowls like he's waiting for Artie to go away. Artie doesn't.
"I'm not going to talk to you," Puck says.
"You don't have to."
The clock on the wall says that three minutes have passed before Puck speaks again. It feels like twenty, but school time always drags.
"What do you want?" Puck sighs.
"My arms are tired," Artie lies. "If you push me to class, then we both have an excuse to be late."
He swears he can see Puck smile -- for almost a second before he scowls again, standing up and dumping his textbooks in Artie's lap.
"This is only because you're crippled. We're not friends," he says, grabbing Artie's handles.
"Understood."
"Not a word of this to anyone."
"... My class is in the other direction."
Puck jerks the chair roughly to the side. Artie scrambles to keep hold of everything on his lap, somehow keeping it all in place.
"Damn Glee club. I wouldn't even know you if we didn't have that fucking gay club."
"Isn't the GSA the gay club?"
"Hummel's the biggest queer in this school, which club is he in?"
Artie has to concede that point to Puck.
"Thinks he can... Fucking Hummel."
"Thinks he can... what?"
Puck jerk's his chair sharply around the next turn. Artie thinks he might have whiplash, but he definitely struck one of Puck's nerves.
"Nothing."
Artie wants to ask if Kurt gave Puck cooties or something, but he doesn't think his neck bones will survive. His class is in sight and he doesn't know if he's more relieved or confused.
"Are you the reason Kurt called my house six times yesterday?" he blurts.
Puck stops. Just stops in the middle of the hallway. Artie awaits his imminent demise.
"Dude," Puck says. His voice sounds scraped raw. "That's really gay."
___
Mercedes is immersed in her notes -- or that's what it looks like to the untrained eye, she's really texting Kurt from behind her purse -- when Puck walks in twenty minutes late. Instead of getting called on it, he hands Mrs. Forrester a note and sits down.
Of all the nerve.
Pcks here, she sends Kurt.
rlly? Kurt sends back.
Ys y do u care?
i don't.
>:|
don't type that face at me.
dn't lie thn.
where r you?
Y do u care?
tell you later. promise.
Kk.
Mercedes texts him the room number and waits for whatever's about to happen, her camera phone at the ready.
___
Puck really wishes that the Science rooms weren't on the second floor, because with his badassitude level it would be perfectly acceptable to leave via the nearest window. But gravity does not accept the laws of Puck and he has to use the door like everyone else, taking a step out and nearly walking -- literally -- into Hummel.
"We need to talk," he says. The only color in his face are the reddish rings around his eyes. Puck grabs him by the collar and marches him away.
"Damn right we do, queer," he says loudly. The handful of his teammates around him cheer. He hopes Hummel is smart enough not to try and get away, because Puck's grip is loose enough for him to have a good chance at it. Kurt seems to get it though, and follows Puck with little resistance. More and more people cheer when they see Puck pulling Kurt along, and he knew it would happen, but it's never pissed him off this much before. "You lookin' at somethin'?" He snarls at the nearest guy.
The crowd parts, giving Puck and his prize as much room as he wants. Kurt makes a strangled noise, his throat vibrating against Puck's knuckles.
Before he can think about that too much, Puck throws him into a janitor's closet. There's a clatter and a yelp, then Puck's following him in, locking the door behind him.
Kurt splutters up at him from the floor incredulously, pushing himself upwards.
"If you're going to beat me up, I at least want my say first," he says.
"Shoot," Puck says, leaning against the wall. Hummel stands slowly, arms raised to protect a potential face blow, frowns down at his soaked clothes -- he seems to have landed in a full bucket of mop water. Oops -- and launches into his pitch.
"What happened in the parking lot... happened, okay, it really happened , and I don't expect it to keep happening, but." He pauses, looking up at Puck with those big eyes of his. "That's the first time anything like that's happened to me, and I don't want to have to pretend it never happened. Also, I just annoyed the hell out of myself by using the same word six times in one breath, doesn't that count for anything?"
"You are so gay," Puck says.
He has two choices here. One, beat the shit out of Hummel and go back to normal. Two, well -- two is the option he shouldn't even be thinking about, because it involves things that a normal straight guy doesn't think about -- even if he got off so hard with Hummel that he walked crooked back to his car -- if they want to stay normal and straight.
"I know," Kurt sighs. Puck looks him over -- objectively. He's not awful looking, and he certainly dresses like a girl. He's never really checked before, but he thinks that Hummel might just have a really nice ass.
And he doesn't care about Puck's credit score.
"Rules are for pussies," Puck says definitively. He pulls Hummel close -- he does have a nice ass, Puck must have radar a radar for this. Assdar.
"What?" Kurt squeaks.
"Relax, baby," Puck says. "Things are happening."
Hummel utters this weird, hysterical giggle that completely kills the mood.
"Calm down, chickenshit."
"That's better."
Puck sighs. "You wanna make out, or what?"
"Sure," Kurt answers smugly. Puck's stomach does a back flip.
___
Walking into his house knowing his teacher will be there is weird enough as it is, but it's even weirder when said teacher is sitting at the table talking to Finn's mom and wearing Finn's clothes. Yeah, not something he sees every day. Mr. Schue waves -- weird because he's only a few feet away, but Finn can deal -- and smiles at him. Finn waves back.
"How's it goin', Mr. S?" Finn asks, setting his backpack down and sitting at the opposite end of the table.
"Pretty good, Finn," Mr. Schue replies. Finn's Mom tsks at him, before bustling out of the room. "She's great," Schue says earnestly. He stares at his hands on the table.
"Yeah," Finn agrees.
Finn's Mom clears her throat loudly from the hallway, much to both their embarrassment.
"... Thank you, Finn. For bringing me here."
"No problem," Finn says quickly. Really, it wasn't. He would have felt a lot worse sending Schue home in the condition he was in. If he even could go home, which he probably couldn't.
Schue quirks a little smile at him. "So it's not weird to have a teacher in your house?"
"Well," Finn starts. He doesn't always know how to say things without hurting someone's feelings, and he doesn't want that to happen now. Will Schue's feelings get hurt anyway if he goes too long without talking? How long has he been staring at the clock? Schue probably thinks Finn hates him now anyway, so he has nothing to lose. "You scared me. Like, you wouldn't talk or anything. I didn't think you knew who I was."
"I'm so sorry, Finn," Schue says. He looks like he really means it, Finn thinks they both might cry, so he shrugs it off.
"You're okay now though."
"Yeah," Schue says.
Finn knows he's not the smartest person in the world, but he knows when he's being lied to.
___
Estranged from popularity as she is, Quinn Fabray still knows how to get around. No pregnancy jokes, please. She can work a rumor like nobody's business, so within an hour of it happening, Quinn knows that Puck and Kurt went into a closet together during lunch period and closed the door. She also knows that twenty minutes later they both came out, unharmed -- if you don't count the suspicious looking 'bruises' low on Kurt's neck.
Quinn also knows that Mercedes -- Kurt's best friend -- got a text roughly an hour after that that made her scream out loud in class. She managed to delete it before her phone was confiscated, but Quinn can still put two and two together, and she doesn't like the outcome.
Her babydaddy is sleeping around on her. Publicly acknowledged or not, Quinn has a problem with that. She spends an afternoon on the phone. If she learned anything from the Cheerios it's how to be ruthless, and that's what she is.
Puck better watch out.
____
"Hey, you're not fat anymore," the man -- the same one who visited her house. His shirt has the Batman logo on it today -- exclaims when Terri runs into the same stupid store that ruined her marriage in the first place. Terri slams her hands down on the counter just to make him jump. "Jesus, ya crazy bitch."
"I need a love potion. A real one this time!" Terri growls.
"No can do, lady," he says. "Don't have one."
"What?" Terri shrieks. "How could you not have one? You had one yesterday!"
"Uh, no we didn't, I thought you figured that part out the hard way."
Terri really wants to shake him. "What do you have, then?" she asks.
"Herbal laxatives?" Bat-dork suggests. Terri inhales deeply, her fingers making involuntary strangling gestures against the counter. "Or not. Lemme see what we've got here" -- he rummages around under the counter -- "sleeping potion, dog's breath pills -- those are funny --, truth serum--"
"Truth serum?"
"Yeah. Whoever drinks it can't lie."
"I'll take that."
___
It takes two days of painstaking cleaning -- her house, her office, her lunchbox -- for Emma to feel normal again after counseling Rachel Berry. Because Rachel is terrifying. Emma can understand liking Will Schuester -- because she lives it, not to say other people don't like Will, because he's a very likable guy, he's sweet. And charming. But she can understand liking him a little too much to be considered normal -- but Rachel is something else. Truthfully, Emma's a bit scared for him right now.
Emma's just gotten her office the way she likes it. All her papers are stacked neatly in their respective drawers, the flowers on her desk have been arranged according to both height and color, and the chairs are both exactly seven inches away from her desk. A good day's work, all things considered.
Where's her lunch box?
Oh no.
It's not in the third drawer down on her left -- it's not in it's place --and it's not on top of her desk so she can easily grab it on her way to the break room so it might not even be in her office and she doesn't know what to do about that.
"Looking for this?" someone asks, poking his head in the door. She's never seen him before, but his lunchbox is dangling from his hand.
"Yes, thank you," she says, striding forward to take it. He smiles at her and hands it over.
"Found it in the hallway."
"Thank you for returning it," Emma repeats. He looks much too old to be wandering around the school. She really wants to disinfect her lunchbox but that might be considered rude even though he seems kind of greasy, like he hasn't showered in a few days. The thought makes Emma's skin crawl.
"No problem," he says turning away. His shirt flashes her a red batman symbol. "Have a nice day!"
"You too," Emma calls after him. She has a can of Lysol in her hand before he's even most of the way gone.
After she's sprayed the box down, waited five minutes, wiped the residue off with a wash cloth and sanitized her hands, Emma feels safe to go to lunch. Her walk to the break room is exactly forty seven steps -- fifty eight steps if you count the ones from the door to her seat -- and her lunch is arranged exactly the way she left it, sandwich to the side, cookie -- she doesn't eat them herself, normally she gives them away to Ken or Will, whoever asks first -- properly bagged, and her thermos packed in neatly.
She finds comfort in order. Is that so wrong?
Emma eats her sandwich -- peanut butter and grape jelly -- first, then washes it down with tea. Or tries to. Her tea tastes funny, and she can't bring herself to drink more than a sip.
"You sure you gotta toss all of it?" Ken asks.
"I can't drink it now," Emma says, pouring it down the sink. "You want my cookie?"
___
Motel 6 is disgusting. They never show that on the commercials. Will's pretty sure he can see something crawling under the bedcovers while the wallpaper slowly peels off the walls.
Home, sweet home.
___
The water in the drinking fountain tastes weirder than usual, Finn observes. Kinda... hard to describe, but different. He runs back to the huddle, tapping his palm familiarly on the back of Kurt's helmet.
"So, what should we run?" he asks, tucking into the circle of his team mates.
"The circley one," Kurt says. "Where Puck and Matt run behind you?"
"We do need work on that," Matt agrees.
"Okay, we'll run that one then," Finn says agreeably.
"I slept with Quinn," Puck says. "I'm not sure why I just said that, but it feels good to get it off my chest. The baby's mine, by the way."
"What?"
"Quinn. I fucked her a few months ago and she got pregnant and told you it was yours. Holy fuck I can't stop talking," Puck says.
Everyone else slowly backs out of the huddle. Finn sees a big black spot in his eyes over Puck's face.
"I can't believe it," Finn says. He really can't.
"That's because you're pretty stupid."
Finn's fist is buried in Puck's face.
___
Everyone's too scared to go near them, so Kurt's the one who has to pull Finn off Puck, even though he's the smallest person on the team. He grabs as tight as he can onto Finn's shoulders and throws his weight back. Finn jerks slightly, but keeps pounding away at Puck, who's scrambling but can't seem to get any hits in. Kurt moves his grip to Finn's waist and tries again. He's pretty sure he's crying a little, because this is one of the fucking scariest things he's ever seen in real life.
Matt's grabbing at Puck's arms and trying to pull him away from Finn, while three or four other guys are pushing themselves in between the two of them. Everything feels like slow motion as Kurt gives another huge pull -- Finn goes limp in his arms, separated from Puck -- and nearly falls on his ass.
Someone off to his right is screaming Finn's name. Kurt thinks it might be Quinn and pulls Finn towards the locker room.
"We should get him out of here," he announces. The team stares at him blankly. "Now!"
Quinn screams again, closer this time. The team mobilizes, collectively pushing Finn away from her, while Kurt goes to help Puck.
Puck doesn't look so good.
"Noah?" Kurt asks, crouching next to him.
"Don' call me that," Puck says. Kurt's chest feels a little less tight. If he can bitch, he's good enough.
"You okay?"
"Finn punches like a girl," Puck says cockily. "A really big, strong girl."
Kurt is seriously wondering why he finds this douchebag so hot.
___
Will's just settled into his new motel room -- laid out all his papers on the spare bed, set what few clothes he retrieved from his apartment while Terri was at work in the drawers -- and is getting ready to take a nap when Finn shows up.
Literally. He just walks into Will's room.
"Hey, Mr. Schue," he says. He's holding his arms close to his sides, like he's trying to keep himself in. "I just... I'm sorry for barging in but since I freaked out on you when Quinn told me that she was pregnant you should probably be the first to know that it's not my kid. Third, if you count me and my mom. I can't stop talking and I really need a hug because I think I'm gonna cry."
Will's gives it to him. Finn cries anyway.
Continued