Badass Babysitter
Title: Badass Babysitter
Fandom: Glee
Written: January, 2011
Rating: PG
Words: 1850
Summary: Mr. Schuester needs a babysitter for his daughter. Puck volunteers.
Notes: AU; Terri and Quinn pulled off the baby swap and Will never left Terri.
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Glee club has gotten hella boring lately. Not that it wasn't always boring, but now it seems like Schue's totally willing to let Rachel go all crazy eyes on us whenever she wants to. If I have to listen to her screeching about Barbra or Bernadette or Big Bird or whatever famous B-lady she's always yammering on about one more time, I might shove my fist down my own throat to break the monotony.
Cause apparently raising a baby is, like, hard or whatever. I don't get it. All they do is cry and get hungry and poop, so all you have to do is feed them all the time and be on constant diaper-watch. And I've heard that making stupid faces makes them laugh, so there we go. Insta-happy baby. I'd be a boss dad.
But Schue always comes in yawning and waving his hands around and letting Rachel teach us about chords or whatever, even though most of the time she just sings at us and tells us to work on syncing our swaying abilities. He's got a fro going now, probably because he's too busy fathering or whatever to take care of his 'do. But that's not my problem, 'cause it's fun to watch Coach Sylvester shoot spitballs at him during assemblies and keep a tally of how many she can get stuck in there without him noticing. (Her record is 24. My record from Spanish class is 31. Yeah, I'm even more badass than Coach Sylvester. What now.)
But on the off chance Schue does decide to actually teach us something, I always pay attention to the first two minutes of glee club. He gets two minutes, then I'm conked out. And apparently he still hasn't learned about appropriate student-teacher boundaries, because he's yammering on about the challenges of being a father and a husband at the same time. Uh, that's creepy, dude. Nobody wants to hear about your marital problems. Nobody ever has.
"...so I've decided to take Terri out this Friday, which means I need a babysitter. And I was hoping one of you guys wouldn't mind volunteering your services?"
My hand's up in the air before he even says the word 'babysitter.' And yeah, it's totally not badass to want to babysit, but it's cool. Babies love me, and maybe the reason Schue is a crap father is because my baby's smart and badass enough to smell an imposter. She'll probably love me.
"Uh, thanks Puck, but you do realize I need someone this Friday, right?" Mr. Schue is looking at me funny, like he expects me to make some crack about Michael Jackson holding his kid off a balcony, which I totally wouldn't do because A) it's still too soon to make MJ jokes and 2) I'm totally not stupid enough to try that. But Schue's still talking, so I should probably listen now. "...was hoping to get someone with a better track record, no offense."
"Schue, come on, man. Just 'cause we're in glee club doesn't mean the rest of these dweebs don't have plans. You should be lucky someone as badass as me is stepping up to the plate." I flex for him, leaning forward and tugging up my sleeve. "Look at these guns and try to tell me your kid won't be totally safe with me in the house. Ask my sister. I'm the best babysitter you're gonna get on such short notice."
Rachel looks like she wants to say something - probably offer her services because she could, like, sing the kid to sleep or something - but then she closes her mouth and just sort of stares at me. It's kinda eerie, like she knows something more than she should. It's totally weirding me out, so I don't even hear what Schue says next, but I'm guessing he said that's cool because he doesn't say anything else.
Rachel takes over the club again, and I start counting the little dots on the ceiling tiles. My phone buzzes, so I check it and see a message from Santana asking why I'm blowing her off for a baby. Oh, right, we were supposed to hook up on Friday. I text her back and tell her I forgot. She kinda glares at me for the rest of glee, but it's cool. I don't really notice, 'cause I'm gonna get to be a father to MY daughter on Friday. Hell yeah.
Schue gives me his address, which is stupid 'cause I already know where he lives, and asks me to be over at 6:30. He still looks a little confused, but he doesn't say anything more, so whatever. I give him a little salute and tell him, "You better be prepared for the badass babysitter to replace you as your little girl's favorite." He just kind of stares at me, so I book it out of the room. I'd almost feel bad for just how confused he was if it wasn't my daughter he was raising.
There's shouting when I get to the Schuesters' apartment. I hear my name and then a loud thud, like somebody stomped their foot, and then a baby starts crying. My baby starts crying. So I don't even knock; I open the door and invite myself in, following the sound of the crying past the kitchen where Schue and Mrs. Schue are arguing and into the baby's room. She's lying in her crib, little arms flailing, mouth open as wide as it can go. Well, duh. Babies don't like it when you shout. That's like, number 34 on the list of obvious things.
I pick her up and she wriggles a little bit in my arms. It's kinda weird, because I don't really know how to hold a baby. So I just make sure her head is resting on my shoulder and one of my arms is supporting her bum, because babies are supposed to like that or something. My other hand pats her back and I bounce on my feet. That's what people do in movies when they hold babies. And it works, too, because she's still wriggling a little but it's more of the I-want-to-get-in-a-more-comfortable-position wriggling than the who-the-hell-are-you-and-why-are-you-holding-me wriggling. She's not crying anymore, either, so that's definitely a plus.
Score one for Daddy Puck.
It takes, like, five minutes for Schue and Mrs. Schue to stop shouting and come looking for their kid. They both kind of have a panic attack when they see me holding their kid because they both probably think I'm like, a murderer or something, but then Schue just kind of sighs this huge sigh and says, "Puck. Nice to see you."
"Schue. Mrs. Schue," I grin at them. "Your baby was crying so I let myself in." I'm still bouncing up and down and I can feel, like, drool or something all over my shoulder, but it's cool. I wore an old shirt and this is my kid, so she can drool all over me all she wants.
"Annabel Schuester," Schue walks over and gives the baby a kiss on her head. He doesn't ask for her back or anything, but that's probably because she's not crying anymore and it feels like she might be, like, gnawing on my shoulder. But not really, because she doesn't have any teeth yet. But that's not even an issue, because they named her Annabel, which is the girliest name ever and totally not suitable for a Puckerman.
Mrs. Schuester tells me a lot of phone numbers and when they'll be back and points at a feeding schedule she has on the fridge, but I'm not really paying attention because Annabel - God, she really needs a different name - is tugging on my sleeve. But I won't need help and babies are supposed to have super early bedtimes or something, so it's totally not gonna be an issue.
Except it is an issue, because Annabel - and I'm just gonna call her Bel from now on, because Anna sounds too normal and I don't like the name Annabel - gets all whiney if I put her down for more than two minutes. So I end up holding her, like, all night long. So maybe being a dad is harder work than I thought, but it's okay. I'm still her dad and I'll still take care of her no matter what.
I sing to her a lot, actually. At first I just did it because she was crying, but then after I changed her diaper she got all quiet and it was weird, so I started singing. She makes this gurgly laughing noise which is kind of really cute, so I just kept singing because she seems to really like it. She never went to bed and I probably didn't stick to Mrs. Schue's feeding schedule, but I played with a laughing baby for like, four hours, so that's definitely cool. Bel totally loves me, even though she did puke on my shirt after I fed her.
She falls asleep in my lap at, like, midnight-ish. I don't really know because I don't have a watch on and I'm sitting in Bel's rocking chair and there's no clock in her room. But Schue and Mrs. Schue have been gone for a really long time, so it's probably midnight. I could probably put Bel in her crib and let her sleep, but she's all warm and she's cuddled into my arm, so who in their right mind would ever screw up that perfect picture to put the kid in its crib? Dumb shits, that's who.
So I just hold her and rock her and sing to her for a really long time. When Schue and Mrs. Schue come home and start whispering my name to find me, Bel wakes up and starts crying. I tuck her into my arms again and, like, run into the living room so they don't keep making noise. Mrs. Schue looks all pissy and kind of yanks Bel out of my arms, saying, "She needs her pacifier to sleep. I left that in my schedule." She takes Bel back into her room and leaves me and Schue alone.
"Thanks, Puck," he says, taking out his wallet. "I really appreciate it."
"No sweat, Mr. Schue," I shrug one shoulder. "Bel was great. She only cried, like, twice. And she puked on me but I'm pretty sure that's supposed to happen." He kind of just blinks at me stupidly, then his mouth makes this little 'o' and he nods.
"Bel. That's cute." He hands me a wad of cash. "Thank you, again. Drive safely back home, okay?"
"I will." I tuck the money in my pocket and look over my shoulder towards Bel's room before I leave. After I leave the apartment, I take the money out and count it, trying to figure out how much Schue paid me per hour. He totally overpaid me, either way, but I'm not complaining.
When Schue comes in on Monday and needs another babysitter, my hand's in the air before anyone else's. And it's not because of the money.
Fandom: Glee
Written: January, 2011
Rating: PG
Words: 1850
Summary: Mr. Schuester needs a babysitter for his daughter. Puck volunteers.
Notes: AU; Terri and Quinn pulled off the baby swap and Will never left Terri.
------
Glee club has gotten hella boring lately. Not that it wasn't always boring, but now it seems like Schue's totally willing to let Rachel go all crazy eyes on us whenever she wants to. If I have to listen to her screeching about Barbra or Bernadette or Big Bird or whatever famous B-lady she's always yammering on about one more time, I might shove my fist down my own throat to break the monotony.
Cause apparently raising a baby is, like, hard or whatever. I don't get it. All they do is cry and get hungry and poop, so all you have to do is feed them all the time and be on constant diaper-watch. And I've heard that making stupid faces makes them laugh, so there we go. Insta-happy baby. I'd be a boss dad.
But Schue always comes in yawning and waving his hands around and letting Rachel teach us about chords or whatever, even though most of the time she just sings at us and tells us to work on syncing our swaying abilities. He's got a fro going now, probably because he's too busy fathering or whatever to take care of his 'do. But that's not my problem, 'cause it's fun to watch Coach Sylvester shoot spitballs at him during assemblies and keep a tally of how many she can get stuck in there without him noticing. (Her record is 24. My record from Spanish class is 31. Yeah, I'm even more badass than Coach Sylvester. What now.)
But on the off chance Schue does decide to actually teach us something, I always pay attention to the first two minutes of glee club. He gets two minutes, then I'm conked out. And apparently he still hasn't learned about appropriate student-teacher boundaries, because he's yammering on about the challenges of being a father and a husband at the same time. Uh, that's creepy, dude. Nobody wants to hear about your marital problems. Nobody ever has.
"...so I've decided to take Terri out this Friday, which means I need a babysitter. And I was hoping one of you guys wouldn't mind volunteering your services?"
My hand's up in the air before he even says the word 'babysitter.' And yeah, it's totally not badass to want to babysit, but it's cool. Babies love me, and maybe the reason Schue is a crap father is because my baby's smart and badass enough to smell an imposter. She'll probably love me.
"Uh, thanks Puck, but you do realize I need someone this Friday, right?" Mr. Schue is looking at me funny, like he expects me to make some crack about Michael Jackson holding his kid off a balcony, which I totally wouldn't do because A) it's still too soon to make MJ jokes and 2) I'm totally not stupid enough to try that. But Schue's still talking, so I should probably listen now. "...was hoping to get someone with a better track record, no offense."
"Schue, come on, man. Just 'cause we're in glee club doesn't mean the rest of these dweebs don't have plans. You should be lucky someone as badass as me is stepping up to the plate." I flex for him, leaning forward and tugging up my sleeve. "Look at these guns and try to tell me your kid won't be totally safe with me in the house. Ask my sister. I'm the best babysitter you're gonna get on such short notice."
Rachel looks like she wants to say something - probably offer her services because she could, like, sing the kid to sleep or something - but then she closes her mouth and just sort of stares at me. It's kinda eerie, like she knows something more than she should. It's totally weirding me out, so I don't even hear what Schue says next, but I'm guessing he said that's cool because he doesn't say anything else.
Rachel takes over the club again, and I start counting the little dots on the ceiling tiles. My phone buzzes, so I check it and see a message from Santana asking why I'm blowing her off for a baby. Oh, right, we were supposed to hook up on Friday. I text her back and tell her I forgot. She kinda glares at me for the rest of glee, but it's cool. I don't really notice, 'cause I'm gonna get to be a father to MY daughter on Friday. Hell yeah.
Schue gives me his address, which is stupid 'cause I already know where he lives, and asks me to be over at 6:30. He still looks a little confused, but he doesn't say anything more, so whatever. I give him a little salute and tell him, "You better be prepared for the badass babysitter to replace you as your little girl's favorite." He just kind of stares at me, so I book it out of the room. I'd almost feel bad for just how confused he was if it wasn't my daughter he was raising.
There's shouting when I get to the Schuesters' apartment. I hear my name and then a loud thud, like somebody stomped their foot, and then a baby starts crying. My baby starts crying. So I don't even knock; I open the door and invite myself in, following the sound of the crying past the kitchen where Schue and Mrs. Schue are arguing and into the baby's room. She's lying in her crib, little arms flailing, mouth open as wide as it can go. Well, duh. Babies don't like it when you shout. That's like, number 34 on the list of obvious things.
I pick her up and she wriggles a little bit in my arms. It's kinda weird, because I don't really know how to hold a baby. So I just make sure her head is resting on my shoulder and one of my arms is supporting her bum, because babies are supposed to like that or something. My other hand pats her back and I bounce on my feet. That's what people do in movies when they hold babies. And it works, too, because she's still wriggling a little but it's more of the I-want-to-get-in-a-more-comfortable-position wriggling than the who-the-hell-are-you-and-why-are-you-holding-me wriggling. She's not crying anymore, either, so that's definitely a plus.
Score one for Daddy Puck.
It takes, like, five minutes for Schue and Mrs. Schue to stop shouting and come looking for their kid. They both kind of have a panic attack when they see me holding their kid because they both probably think I'm like, a murderer or something, but then Schue just kind of sighs this huge sigh and says, "Puck. Nice to see you."
"Schue. Mrs. Schue," I grin at them. "Your baby was crying so I let myself in." I'm still bouncing up and down and I can feel, like, drool or something all over my shoulder, but it's cool. I wore an old shirt and this is my kid, so she can drool all over me all she wants.
"Annabel Schuester," Schue walks over and gives the baby a kiss on her head. He doesn't ask for her back or anything, but that's probably because she's not crying anymore and it feels like she might be, like, gnawing on my shoulder. But not really, because she doesn't have any teeth yet. But that's not even an issue, because they named her Annabel, which is the girliest name ever and totally not suitable for a Puckerman.
Mrs. Schuester tells me a lot of phone numbers and when they'll be back and points at a feeding schedule she has on the fridge, but I'm not really paying attention because Annabel - God, she really needs a different name - is tugging on my sleeve. But I won't need help and babies are supposed to have super early bedtimes or something, so it's totally not gonna be an issue.
Except it is an issue, because Annabel - and I'm just gonna call her Bel from now on, because Anna sounds too normal and I don't like the name Annabel - gets all whiney if I put her down for more than two minutes. So I end up holding her, like, all night long. So maybe being a dad is harder work than I thought, but it's okay. I'm still her dad and I'll still take care of her no matter what.
I sing to her a lot, actually. At first I just did it because she was crying, but then after I changed her diaper she got all quiet and it was weird, so I started singing. She makes this gurgly laughing noise which is kind of really cute, so I just kept singing because she seems to really like it. She never went to bed and I probably didn't stick to Mrs. Schue's feeding schedule, but I played with a laughing baby for like, four hours, so that's definitely cool. Bel totally loves me, even though she did puke on my shirt after I fed her.
She falls asleep in my lap at, like, midnight-ish. I don't really know because I don't have a watch on and I'm sitting in Bel's rocking chair and there's no clock in her room. But Schue and Mrs. Schue have been gone for a really long time, so it's probably midnight. I could probably put Bel in her crib and let her sleep, but she's all warm and she's cuddled into my arm, so who in their right mind would ever screw up that perfect picture to put the kid in its crib? Dumb shits, that's who.
So I just hold her and rock her and sing to her for a really long time. When Schue and Mrs. Schue come home and start whispering my name to find me, Bel wakes up and starts crying. I tuck her into my arms again and, like, run into the living room so they don't keep making noise. Mrs. Schue looks all pissy and kind of yanks Bel out of my arms, saying, "She needs her pacifier to sleep. I left that in my schedule." She takes Bel back into her room and leaves me and Schue alone.
"Thanks, Puck," he says, taking out his wallet. "I really appreciate it."
"No sweat, Mr. Schue," I shrug one shoulder. "Bel was great. She only cried, like, twice. And she puked on me but I'm pretty sure that's supposed to happen." He kind of just blinks at me stupidly, then his mouth makes this little 'o' and he nods.
"Bel. That's cute." He hands me a wad of cash. "Thank you, again. Drive safely back home, okay?"
"I will." I tuck the money in my pocket and look over my shoulder towards Bel's room before I leave. After I leave the apartment, I take the money out and count it, trying to figure out how much Schue paid me per hour. He totally overpaid me, either way, but I'm not complaining.
When Schue comes in on Monday and needs another babysitter, my hand's in the air before anyone else's. And it's not because of the money.