You Don't Know What You've Got [Part Three]
Title: You Don’t Know What You’ve Got
Author: niblettk
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt Hummel, Burt Hummel, Noah Puckerman / Puckurt (preslash if you squint)
Rating: pg13
Genre: mystery, angst, hurt/comfort, gen
Word Count: 1657 for this part.
Author Notes: Part of the idea for this story came from the movie The Invisible. Except that I don’t remember that movie very much, so it’s the basic premise of the film and then my own imagination manipulating the rest. Also, all of my work is unbeta’d, so if there are mistakes, I take all credit for them. I do have to thank alter_alterego for being unquestionably amazing.
This was written for the September Diva-off at Puckurt, with the prompt “tree.”
Warning: violence, angst
Spoilers: Up to the season one finale, to be safe.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Glee or The Invisible.
Summary: Kurt isn’t dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Part One | Part Two
[Friday, 3:40 p.m.]
“You don’t remember anything?”
Kurt sighs, staring out the car window as Puck pulls up in front of his own house, “No. I was walking home, and then I was lying on the sidewalk and nobody could see me anymore.”
“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to find your body?”
“I don’t know.”
Kurt slips out the side of the car as Puck opens his door and steps out.
“Go home, Hummel. Be with your dad.”
Kurt watches Puck walk up the steps to his house for the second time.
---
[Friday, 4:12 p.m.]
Burt is sleeping when Kurt gets home.
Kurt watches him until he feels like a creep, and then goes downstairs to sit beside Finn and Rachel on the couch. Finn cries a little, which surprises him, but mostly they just sit and watch the television.
Every time the phone rings, Carole picks it up in the other room, but it’s never the police. It’s never news.
---
[Friday, 5:56 p.m.]
Kurt is sitting at the top of the stairs, where he’s able to listen to both his dad’s snores and the soft sounds of whatever Carole and Finn and Rachel do. There’s a quiet knock at the door, and Carole darts out of the kitchen, past Kurt’s line of sight.
The door makes a weird swoosh of sound as Carole pulls it open, and the exhale that follows means that it’s just a friend who can’t deal, who needs Finn or Rachel.
“Hey,” Puck’s voice makes Kurt smile, “I... Uh-Hey.”
“I’m up here, Puck,” Kurt calls, and Puck moves closer into the room, taking a seat on the couch so he can see Kurt at the top of the stairs.
They stare at each other for a long time before Puck clears his throat and says, “This sucks.”
Rachel sniffles, and Kurt smiles thinly, trying to stop the sudden rush of tears.
---
[Friday, 7:02 p.m.]
Puck wanders, drifting into the kitchen and talking to Carole for a while.
Kurt follows.
“Do you think I could go into his room?” Puck asks, and Carole hesitates.
“I don’t know about that, Noah.”
Puck starts promising that he’s not going to touch anything, he just wants to see. Kurt watches Carole watch Puck, wondering if she’ll give in.
---
[Friday, 7:12 p.m.]
“I honestly cannot believe she allowed you down here.”
Puck shrugs, flipping through a stack of papers on Kurt’s desk. Kurt is sitting on his bed; nothing has been touched, nothing is out of place. He doesn’t even think anybody has been down here.
“Why are you here?”
Puck doesn’t show any outward signs of his emotions, but Kurt watches for anything that might tell him what is going on in Puck’s head.
“I don’t think we should keep looking for your body,” Puck says, turning towards him and leaning back against the desk. Kurt quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, if it means you’ll be gone for real, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Plus,” he adds hastily, “I might get in shit for just randomly finding your body.”
Kurt smiles. “You’ll miss me.”
“I didn’t fucking say that.”
Kurt keeps smiling anyway.
---
[Friday, 7:21 p.m.]
“Let’s get shit-faced.”
“I can’t get shit-faced. I’m dead, remember?”
“Well, I need to get shit-faced. So come watch me get shit-faced.”
---
[Friday, 8:40 p.m.]
They sit on the hood of Puck’s truck while he drinks.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Puck takes a sip, “I don’t know. Do we have to talk about this?”
Kurt stares at the sun, which is still setting, “What’s wrong with talking about this?”
“Talking about my future when you don’t have one anymore. It’s just, not cool.”
“I didn’t think about it that way,” Kurt says quietly.
“Sorry.”
---
[Friday, 9:17 p.m.]
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” Kurt laughs. He nearly tries to slap Puck’s arm, but he remembers before he makes the movement and ruins the mood.
“No, seriously,” Puck sits up from where he’s been laying back against the windshield of his truck, turning to Kurt seriously, “Anthony Hopkins didn’t blink-not once-while he played Hannibal. I watched the movie six times when I found that out, just to be sure.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s dedication, dude.”
“From who, you or Anthony Hopkins?”
Puck laughs, snorting around the bottle he’s just lifted to his lips.
---
[Friday, 11:47 p.m.]
“I’m not supposed to start liking you after you’re dead.”
Puck’s words are slurred, and Kurt smiles, keeping his mouth shut. He wouldn’t be getting this if Puck wasn’t drunk.
“Seriously, you’re one cool dude.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Why are you dead?”
Kurt just starts singing the chorus of Big Yellow Taxi under his breath, which makes Puck laugh again, “Seriously. Stop being awesome.”
---
[Saturday, 12:58 a.m.]
“Where are my keys?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why the fuck not!?”
“You’re drunk, and only one of us needs to be dead.”
“Fuck, Hummel.”
---
[Saturday, 4:09 a.m.]
Puck parked on some secluded road, and Kurt gets off the truck at around two and just walks, wandering beside a long wooden fence.
It should be getting easier.
It’s not, though. He’s starting to enjoy Puck’s company, and he doesn’t want to be dead. He didn’t before, but now he’s thinking about his future.
It’s not fair that he’s dead. He deserves more out of life.
---
[Saturday, 5: 32 a.m.]
He wanders home, after he checks that Puck isn’t drowning in his own vomit or something-not that it matters. If Puck has alcohol poisoning, Kurt has no way of getting help for him anyways.
He hates feeling helpless.
He can’t do anything at home, either. Finn isn’t home, but Kurt doesn’t care.
He’s here for his dad.
“Three days, Carole. What if-what if somebody took him?”
“Nobody took him, Burt.”
“Then where is he?” He looks so devastated, like he just doesn’t understand how Kurt isn’t there, and Kurt has to run away again, because Carole doesn’t have an answer. Neither does Kurt.
---
[Saturday, 8:49 a.m.]
He went to visit Mercedes, but that went about as well as stopping by his house, so he runs again.
Puck sits up on the hood of the car, looking around, when Kurt is still a good ways down the road. Puck spots him and waves once, quickly, before sliding off the hood of the car.
Kurt thinks Puck might throw up, but he just gets in the car and drives towards Kurt, who grins and sticks his thumb out like a hitchhiker.
Puck flips him off as he stops.
---
[Saturday, 10:12 a.m.]
Kurt sits across from Puck in the diner, watching him shovel food into his mouth longingly.
“I miss food.”
“I can see that,” Puck says, pouring copious amounts of syrup on his waffles, “Can you stop drooling, it’s disturbing.”
Kurt swipes a hand across his mouth, embarrassed, but he has a feeling Puck was kidding about the drool.
“I’m not hungry,” Kurt ponders, “But I basically want to swallow that whole.”
“That’s what she said.”
Puck laughs, even as Kurt sputters indignantly.
---
[Saturday, 10:30 a.m.]
“It’s weird to see you wearing the same clothes more than one day.”
Kurt groans, throwing a hand over his eyes, “I’ve tried to focus all my energy into changing my clothes, but no can do. If I’m still here a year from now, I’ll be out of style, and then I might actually want to be dead.”
“I keep forgetting that you’re dead.”
“Sorry,” Kurt smiles, strained, “I try not to forget. It hurts more if I think I’m okay and then realize I’m not ever going to be okay again.”
Puck doesn’t say anything, and he turns the radio up until Big Yellow Taxi comes on. Kurt laughs, but Puck doesn’t seem to think it’s funny anymore.
---
[Saturday, 11:03 a.m.]
Puck drives, silent for a while, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting firmly on the shoulder of Kurt’s seat. He has a feeling that if he were solid, if they could touch, Puck’s hand would be on his shoulder.
“I meant what I said last night, you know.”
Kurt turns his head; he wants to rest it against the headrest, but he’d just go through it, so he doesn’t.
“You’re cooler than I thought,” Puck turns to look at him, taking his eyes off the road, “It sucks that you had to-”
“Puck!” Kurt shouts, throwing his hands in front of his face instinctively, but there’s no way to stop in time.
---
[Saturday, 11:05 a.m.]
“Puck!” Puck stumbles out of the car, laughing, and Kurt sags with relief, already standing on Puck’s side of the car, “Oh, thank god you’re okay.”
“Shit,” Puck leans over, clapping his hands over his knees, “That thing came out of nowhere.”
He breathes heavily, bending so far over his head is almost between his legs, and then Kurt breathes out quietly, “You killed it.”
Puck straightens up, looking at the legs of the deer. “Nah, he’s still kicking.” The animal had jumped in front of the car; it’s lucky that everything just goes through Kurt, because the deer has sliced through the car, taking off most of the passenger side and leaving Puck’s side unscathed.
“That’s just a reflex. Look-”
Puck looks: Kurt is reaching out to pat the head of a deer. The markings on its back are identical to the markings that adorn the body sticking out of his truck.
The deer nudges Kurt’s hand once, and Puck sees the final twitch of the one he’s hit in his peripheral vision. In the same instant, the ghost version of it vanishes.
Kurt lets out this little whimper, staring at the dead deer.
Puck doesn’t get it until Kurt turns to him, eyes wide and terrified.
“I’m alive.”