When Everything Feels Like The Movies
Title: When Everything Feels Like The Movies
Pairing: Puck/Kurt with Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Quinn Fabray, Beth Fabray-Puckerman, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike Chang, Mercedes Jones, Matt Rutherford, Santana Lopez, Brittany, Will Shuester, and Deborah Puckerman(Puck's Mom)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,349
Status: Complete
Note: I really should try writing a happy story for these two, but...the angst is just too much fun!!
Summary: Things weren’t supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be a perfect night.
WARNINGS: Homophobia, violence, and more Queer As Folk references than may be healthy.
Real life isn’t like TV.
Except for when it is.
Kurt still didn’t want to believe that it was real, that his night had turned into a damn Queer As Folk episode. Things weren’t supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be a perfect night.
Kurt laughed as Puck pulled him out of the school gym and into the parking lot, both of them humming and laughing as they kissed. Puck pulled him in again, lips falling against his, and Kurt pushed on his chest, rubbing small hands over defined muscles.
“Go. You need to go pick up Beth,” he said, pushing Puck closer towards where his car (that replaced that God awful truck) was parked.
“You might as well just come.”
Kurt shook his head. “Go spend time with your daughter. It’s your weekend with her.”
Puck nodded, smiling softly as he thought of his baby girl and the agreement Quinn and he had come to. He kissed Kurt once more before slapping his ass playfully. “Inside. Aretha is probably waiting for you.”
Kurt smiled, looking over his shoulder and towards the gym doors, as if Mercedes would be standing there. He turned back to Puck, moving until they were pressed chest-to-chest and his arms fell over Puck’s shoulders. “Call me when you get her down,” he whispered, giving Puck’s ear a little nip.
Puck’s eyes fell closed and his hands gripped Kurt’s hips. “Phone sex?” he asked, hopeful.
Kurt moved away from him, smirking devilishly. “Call me and find out.” He gave one last wink before turning away and heading back towards the school, listening to Puck laugh behind him. He paused at the door, turning back to get a last glance at Puck’s ass.
And froze.
Karofsky.
Bat.
“NOAH!”
Crack.
Ground.
Blood.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Kurt pressed his eyes shut, tears spilling no matter how hard he tried to hold them back.
Too slow.
Should have walked Puck to the car.
It should have been him.
He was the Justin Taylor to Puck’s Brian Kinney. Brian Kinney wasn’t the one that got hurt, he was the one that pressed a silk scarf to Justin’s bleeding head.
Just like he had.
“Someone help!!!!”
The words came out choked, cut off by sobs as Kurt tried to stop the blood that poured from Puck’s head.
“Wake up, No,” he whispered, begging. “Wake up for me. Please...”
Nothing.
Karofsky lay on the ground a few yards away, bat thrown God knows where, and screaming about his knee. Kurt hoped he’d destroyed the fucking thing, wished he’d hit Karofsky in the jaw.
He still wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, his hands coated in warm, sticky blood.
Puck bleeding out on concrete.
He coded in the ambulance.
Dead.
For ninety-three soul crushing seconds, Noah Puckerman had been dead.
For ninety-three seconds, Kurt Hummel’s world had stopped.
He’d thrown up the second the doors opened.
Finn’s hand squeezed his shoulder, both of them shaking. “He’ll be okay,” he whispered.
“You don’t know that.”
Finn had no idea, had no idea how many times he’d told himself that his mom would be okay after her accident. She’d died on some cold operating table in this same hospital.
“Beth needs her dad,” Finn insisted, and Kurt wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “He fought so hard to keep her...he wouldn’t just...he knows what it’s like to not have a dad. He wouldn’t let her grow up like that.”
Kurt hugged him, face pressed into Finn’s chest and wishing more than anything that things were that simple and that Puck could just decide that he’d be okay, that he’d just decide that taking an aluminum bat to the head was nothing more than a little bump a few Advil couldn’t cure.
He knew Beth needed her father. He knew that on her fussy nights, nothing could get her to sleep except for Puck singing her special lullaby, her namesake. He knew that she was a complete Daddy’s girl, sleeping soundly through Temple, but absolutely screaming during mass. He knew that if Puck had a choice, he’d be home with Beth already and sitting in his mom’s old rocking chair as he watched her sleep.
He looked up, eyes searching for that little baby, though he knew he wouldn’t find her. Quinn had picked her up from the sitter hours ago, but it was like she’d known something was wrong with her daddy and she hadn’t stopped screaming since Quinn had gotten her. Quinn had finally had to take her outside before they all got kicked out. Outside, but not gone. None of them were leaving until they knew something.
The scarf still lay across his neck, heavy and soaked with blood, but he didn’t throw it away.
Couldn’t.
It wasn’t the silk designer scarf Brian wore in the episode he’d never be able to watch again. No. This was a no-name scarf, some green, soft, cotton and polyester blend that Puck had probably picked up at Wal*Mart or something.
He’d been wearing it the first time they kissed.
Deborah Puckerman had cried when she saw it, saw him. She’d screamed at him to take it off, to leave. Screamed that her baby never would have been hurt if it hadn’t been for him.
Kurt didn’t leave, but he didn’t believe she was wrong.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Santana clutching onto Brittany’s hand, her face covered in tears and mascara. Brittany (bless her) seemed to grasp that all was not right and put an arm across her fellow Cheerio, cradling her against her chest.
Mercedes’ head was bent, her feet curled up onto her chair. Kurt could barely hear the whispered prayers that left her mouth.
Rachel murmured in Hebrew, her hand still clutching the moist toilette that she’d used to clean the blood smears from his face. She’d done that hours ago.
Tina sat in Artie’s lap, her face buried in his neck as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. Artie looked tired, his eyes drooping every few seconds, but stubbornly holding onto consciousness. He refused to be asleep when word came.
Matt was pacing, looking murderous. He’d long since stopped screaming for Karofsky, swearing death upon the football player, but his words had only ceased when a nurse threatened to kick them all out. Now, he clenched his jaw shut, face red, and eyes livid.
Mike tried to calm Matt down, speaking to him softly and telling him that Karofsky would get what was coming to him. Matt hissed at him that no one, that fucking no one touched one of his teammates, that this went way past a slushie or a locker shove.
They all knew that. This...this wasn’t Karofsky being a jerk. He could have killed Puck. There wasn’t a doubt in any of their minds that that had been his goal.
He had no idea how long it was before the doctor finally came out, bloody scrubs too red. He didn’t so much as blink as Deborah Puckerman stood on shaky legs, his dad and Mr. Shue on either side of her. He didn’t breathe as the doctor spoke, heart tightening with every word.
Bleeding.
Pressure.
Possible brain damage.
Coma.
He cried.
His body shook, sobs wracking his body so hard that he would have slipped off the chair if Finn hadn’t grabbed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a shaken Mike whisper that he’d get Quinn. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Matt punch his hand through a wall.
He didn’t care.
Not about the others.
Not that Matt had probably broken his hand.
Not about anything except the fear eating at his heart.
What if he didn’t wake up?
What if he woke up and he wasn’t the man Kurt had fallen for?
What if he woke up and he’d lost that night like Justin had?
What if...what if he woke up and forgot what he’d told Kurt after their dance?
“I love you.”
The End
Pairing: Puck/Kurt with Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Quinn Fabray, Beth Fabray-Puckerman, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike Chang, Mercedes Jones, Matt Rutherford, Santana Lopez, Brittany, Will Shuester, and Deborah Puckerman(Puck's Mom)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,349
Status: Complete
Note: I really should try writing a happy story for these two, but...the angst is just too much fun!!
Summary: Things weren’t supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be a perfect night.
WARNINGS: Homophobia, violence, and more Queer As Folk references than may be healthy.
Real life isn’t like TV.
Except for when it is.
Kurt still didn’t want to believe that it was real, that his night had turned into a damn Queer As Folk episode. Things weren’t supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be a perfect night.
Kurt laughed as Puck pulled him out of the school gym and into the parking lot, both of them humming and laughing as they kissed. Puck pulled him in again, lips falling against his, and Kurt pushed on his chest, rubbing small hands over defined muscles.
“Go. You need to go pick up Beth,” he said, pushing Puck closer towards where his car (that replaced that God awful truck) was parked.
“You might as well just come.”
Kurt shook his head. “Go spend time with your daughter. It’s your weekend with her.”
Puck nodded, smiling softly as he thought of his baby girl and the agreement Quinn and he had come to. He kissed Kurt once more before slapping his ass playfully. “Inside. Aretha is probably waiting for you.”
Kurt smiled, looking over his shoulder and towards the gym doors, as if Mercedes would be standing there. He turned back to Puck, moving until they were pressed chest-to-chest and his arms fell over Puck’s shoulders. “Call me when you get her down,” he whispered, giving Puck’s ear a little nip.
Puck’s eyes fell closed and his hands gripped Kurt’s hips. “Phone sex?” he asked, hopeful.
Kurt moved away from him, smirking devilishly. “Call me and find out.” He gave one last wink before turning away and heading back towards the school, listening to Puck laugh behind him. He paused at the door, turning back to get a last glance at Puck’s ass.
And froze.
Karofsky.
Bat.
“NOAH!”
Crack.
Ground.
Blood.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Kurt pressed his eyes shut, tears spilling no matter how hard he tried to hold them back.
Too slow.
Should have walked Puck to the car.
It should have been him.
He was the Justin Taylor to Puck’s Brian Kinney. Brian Kinney wasn’t the one that got hurt, he was the one that pressed a silk scarf to Justin’s bleeding head.
Just like he had.
“Someone help!!!!”
The words came out choked, cut off by sobs as Kurt tried to stop the blood that poured from Puck’s head.
“Wake up, No,” he whispered, begging. “Wake up for me. Please...”
Nothing.
Karofsky lay on the ground a few yards away, bat thrown God knows where, and screaming about his knee. Kurt hoped he’d destroyed the fucking thing, wished he’d hit Karofsky in the jaw.
He still wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, his hands coated in warm, sticky blood.
Puck bleeding out on concrete.
He coded in the ambulance.
Dead.
For ninety-three soul crushing seconds, Noah Puckerman had been dead.
For ninety-three seconds, Kurt Hummel’s world had stopped.
He’d thrown up the second the doors opened.
Finn’s hand squeezed his shoulder, both of them shaking. “He’ll be okay,” he whispered.
“You don’t know that.”
Finn had no idea, had no idea how many times he’d told himself that his mom would be okay after her accident. She’d died on some cold operating table in this same hospital.
“Beth needs her dad,” Finn insisted, and Kurt wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “He fought so hard to keep her...he wouldn’t just...he knows what it’s like to not have a dad. He wouldn’t let her grow up like that.”
Kurt hugged him, face pressed into Finn’s chest and wishing more than anything that things were that simple and that Puck could just decide that he’d be okay, that he’d just decide that taking an aluminum bat to the head was nothing more than a little bump a few Advil couldn’t cure.
He knew Beth needed her father. He knew that on her fussy nights, nothing could get her to sleep except for Puck singing her special lullaby, her namesake. He knew that she was a complete Daddy’s girl, sleeping soundly through Temple, but absolutely screaming during mass. He knew that if Puck had a choice, he’d be home with Beth already and sitting in his mom’s old rocking chair as he watched her sleep.
He looked up, eyes searching for that little baby, though he knew he wouldn’t find her. Quinn had picked her up from the sitter hours ago, but it was like she’d known something was wrong with her daddy and she hadn’t stopped screaming since Quinn had gotten her. Quinn had finally had to take her outside before they all got kicked out. Outside, but not gone. None of them were leaving until they knew something.
The scarf still lay across his neck, heavy and soaked with blood, but he didn’t throw it away.
Couldn’t.
It wasn’t the silk designer scarf Brian wore in the episode he’d never be able to watch again. No. This was a no-name scarf, some green, soft, cotton and polyester blend that Puck had probably picked up at Wal*Mart or something.
He’d been wearing it the first time they kissed.
Deborah Puckerman had cried when she saw it, saw him. She’d screamed at him to take it off, to leave. Screamed that her baby never would have been hurt if it hadn’t been for him.
Kurt didn’t leave, but he didn’t believe she was wrong.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Santana clutching onto Brittany’s hand, her face covered in tears and mascara. Brittany (bless her) seemed to grasp that all was not right and put an arm across her fellow Cheerio, cradling her against her chest.
Mercedes’ head was bent, her feet curled up onto her chair. Kurt could barely hear the whispered prayers that left her mouth.
Rachel murmured in Hebrew, her hand still clutching the moist toilette that she’d used to clean the blood smears from his face. She’d done that hours ago.
Tina sat in Artie’s lap, her face buried in his neck as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. Artie looked tired, his eyes drooping every few seconds, but stubbornly holding onto consciousness. He refused to be asleep when word came.
Matt was pacing, looking murderous. He’d long since stopped screaming for Karofsky, swearing death upon the football player, but his words had only ceased when a nurse threatened to kick them all out. Now, he clenched his jaw shut, face red, and eyes livid.
Mike tried to calm Matt down, speaking to him softly and telling him that Karofsky would get what was coming to him. Matt hissed at him that no one, that fucking no one touched one of his teammates, that this went way past a slushie or a locker shove.
They all knew that. This...this wasn’t Karofsky being a jerk. He could have killed Puck. There wasn’t a doubt in any of their minds that that had been his goal.
He had no idea how long it was before the doctor finally came out, bloody scrubs too red. He didn’t so much as blink as Deborah Puckerman stood on shaky legs, his dad and Mr. Shue on either side of her. He didn’t breathe as the doctor spoke, heart tightening with every word.
Bleeding.
Pressure.
Possible brain damage.
Coma.
He cried.
His body shook, sobs wracking his body so hard that he would have slipped off the chair if Finn hadn’t grabbed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a shaken Mike whisper that he’d get Quinn. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Matt punch his hand through a wall.
He didn’t care.
Not about the others.
Not that Matt had probably broken his hand.
Not about anything except the fear eating at his heart.
What if he didn’t wake up?
What if he woke up and he wasn’t the man Kurt had fallen for?
What if he woke up and he’d lost that night like Justin had?
What if...what if he woke up and forgot what he’d told Kurt after their dance?
“I love you.”
The End