It's Your Song That Sets Me Free - Puck/Rachel - R - Part Sixteen [2/2]
Title: It's Your Song That Sets Me Free (I Sing It While I Feel I Can't Hold On)
Category: Glee
Genre: Tragedy/Angst/Romance
Ship: Rachel/Puck
Rating: NC17/R
Warning(s): Coarse/Sexual Language, Sexual Content, Themes of Depression, Substance Abuse, Character Death, Suicidal Themes
Word Count: 9,391
Summary: Rachel Berry had no idea what events would transpire that day. How standing up for someone she didn't know would eventually lead to tragedy. And Noah Puckerman was the unfortunate boy who had to deal with the aftermath; only he had no idea how. And coping was never his strong suit.
[Go Back: First Half.]
It took him an hour and a half to put his room back to rights. He even made his bed and laid Rachel's nightgown down on her side. When he stood back, it looked like it used to; like he hadn't lost his mind and totaled it. Her jewelry was all picked back up and put back in their boxes on the dresser and he'd even checked to make sure every earring had its partner. He put his CDs back in place, in alphabetical order like she preferred. Her sweaters and his jerseys were hung back up, side by side. The stereo was broken and the door had to be leaned against the wall, but everything else was where it was supposed to be.
Nodding, he walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out the letters, tucked and folded in their separately signed envelopes, and found Sarah's. He then grabbed up his guitar and put it away in its case, with the two picks Rachel had given him and a box of strings.
Walking down the hall, careful to avoid where the floor creaked, he opened her door and stepped into her room, lit up faintly by her night light. He put her letter on her bedside table and he leaned his guitar against the wall. And then, he knelt down by her bed and brushed the tangled brown hair from her face. He stared a long moment at the little girl he'd helped raise from birth and finally leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead. "I'm sorry, kid," he whispered as he sat back on his heels, blinking back tears.
Nose wrinkled, she opened her eyes slightly. "Noah?" she said sleepily.
"Go back to sleep, Squirt," he said, standing and walked to her door.
With a soft sigh, she buried her face back in her pillow.
Pausing, he looked back at Sarah, so full of life and dreams and endless possibilities. "Hey?"
"Hm?" she hummed.
"Love you."
She smiled tiredly. "Ditto."
Nodding to himself, he stepped out of her room, closing the door behind him gently.
Back in his room, he placed a letter on the center of his bed and gathered up the rest of his things. He paused outside his door to stare long and hard at his mother's. Jaw ticking, he finally turned and made his way downstairs.
He grabbed his truck keys off the wall and took one last look around at his house. At the armchair his dad and he used to watch cartoons on, huddled together with bowls of cereal. The mantel where pictures of him and Sarah sat, ranging in age, and even a few more recent ones with Rachel. The stairs he'd nearly tripped down a couple times because of Sarah's toys. The dent in the wall where his ma threw one of his boots at him for getting arrested. The couch he and Rachel cuddled up together to watch movies. The stain on the carpet from where Sarah spilled her spaghetti and it never really came out. The crack in the window from that time he and Finn were playing football in the house and Finn clumsily fell into it. A lifetime of memories.
He turned his back and walked out the door, walking down the porch that he and Rachel spent hours sitting on; talking, not talking, sometimes just wrapped up in each other. He glanced at the flower beds that were filled with weeds; his mom used to tend to them before his dad cut and ran, just like the garden in the back that Rachel had long taken over and he was sure nobody had touched since she died. He walked across the driveway he taught Sarah to ride a bike in. Where she got her first skinned knee. Where he taught her to roller blade and even helped her play around on his skateboard a few times. Where he played basketball with Finn, Mike and Sam a few hundred times. Where Rachel and Sarah had drawn huge chalk pictures. He unlocked his truck and hopped inside, dropping everything to the seat next to him, where Rachel used to sit, playing with his radio.
He turned on the engine and let it idle a few minutes while he stared up at his old house. A house he'd had to take care of for years; cleaning gutters, fixing leaks, repairing broken stairs and door knobs and leaky faucets. A house he'd had to be the man of too young. A house that was only half a home until Rachel got there and made it whole.
Licking his dry lips, he flicked his fingers as if to wave, and then he put the truck into gear and he backed up out of the driveway.
The drive to Kurt and Finn's was silent; there was nobody around, no cars, no curious neighbors. Everybody was fast asleep in their beds. He stopped in front of the house and stuck it in park, but left it running. He gathered up four items and he walked up the lawn to put them on the stoop. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he stared at the door a long second, thinking of Burt and Carole, before finally turning and walking back to his truck. He rested his arm on the window sill and peered down at the dark windows of the basement Kurt and Finn shared. With a nod farewell, he pulled back onto the road.
On the way through town, he stopped to drop Leroy and Hiram's letter in a mail box just outside of Sheets N' Things before finally, he drove up the hill to the cliff overlooking Lima Lake.
From here, he could see it all.
The whole city, lit up only with street lamps. He could see his elementary, middle, and high school; all of which he shared with Rachel. He could see the synagogue they attended Temple at. The movie theatre they went to almost weekly. The 7-Eleven they went to for their slushees. The building she took her dance and vocal lessons in. The park they took Sarah to on weekends. The hockey arena they skated in. The police department he'd spent entirely too much time at. The warehouse his Fight Club used to meet in. All of his friend's houses. Finn's old place that Puck had spent most of his childhood hanging out at. Sarah's preschool. Nana Connie's retirement home. And Rachel's house; an empty shell to be filled by someone else.
"You still with me?" he asked.
Always.
Grabbing up the CD, he flipped the lid open and stuck the disc into the stereo, turning the knob up higher. "You remember this?"
Where it began, I can't begin to know when,
But then I know it's growing strong…
She laughed softly. How could I forget?
Putting the truck into reverse he backed it up twenty or thirty feet and then idled as he sat thoughtfully. "Ya think I'm selfish, Rachel?"
Oh, wasn't the spring,
And spring became the summer,
Who'd believe you'd come along…
She sighed. I think… that you're hurting… And you can't imagine ever not hurting.
He nodded and pushed the stick into drive, his foot sitting heavy on the brake pedal.
And now I, I look at the night,
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two, oh…
Turning his head, he turned to stare at where she should have been sitting. "I would've married you."
I know.
He swallowed tightly and squeezed the steering wheel in shaking hands. "I would've been happy."
Are you sure you want to do this, Noah? There's no going back…
He set his face and pressed his foot down on the accelerator. "Bring it."
And when I hurt,
Hurting runs off my shoulder,
How can I hurt when holding you…
The truck sped off the cliff and nosedived toward the lake.
He watched the city through the front window pass him by in what seemed like slow motion; a town that never gave him a chance, never believed in him, and had once promised to be the end of his dreams.
People have said that when death was close, their life passed before their eyes.
Puck was no different.
He saw it all; good and bad.
His dad; smiling, laughing, chucking him on the chin, noogeying his mohawk, high-fiving, playing his guitar, fighting with his mom, yelling, throwing things, drinking, leaving, never saying goodbye.
His mom; hugging him, cutting the crusts off his sandwiches, dancing, singing, kissing his cheek, crying, screaming, telling him he's a disappointment, begging him to be better, shouting that he's just like his father, giving up on him.
A squalling new born Sarah. Changing diapers. Feeding her. Bathing her. Hearing her first words. Teaching her how to swing a bat, throw a baseball, shoot a hoop, ride a bike, roller blade, ice skate, swim, build sandcastles. Pushing her on the swings, catching her on the slide, carrying her on his shoulders, his back, swinging her to and fro by her hands between him and Rachel. Taking care of her when she was sick. Dropping her off at school, picking her up, parent-teacher conferences, high-fiving her after she won a fight between her and a boy at school. Cleaning her scraped knee, kissing her owies, braiding her hair, singing her to sleep. Laughing with her, bugging her, hugging her. Saying hello, saying goodbye.
Finn; as children, playing cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians. Playing baseball, football, basketball. Trying to build a treehouse; failing. Riding bikes, fishing, wrestling. Discovering girls. Liking the same girls. Video games. Movies. Scars. Broken bones. Spit-shakes. Growing up. Glee club. Quinn. Beth. Singing. Dancing. Fighting. Forgiving.
Mike; ninjas, football, dancing, basketball, video games, comparing notes on girlfriends, badly dubbed Asian movies, ancient Chinese wisdom.
Artie; trapping him in a porta potty, flipping his brakes on his wheelchair randomly, probation, COD, secret handshakes, double dates, getting tutored in math, teaching him how to charm the ladies.
Sam; constantly implying he looked like Quinn's twin brother, teasing him for having a big mouth, singing country music, singing Bieber, geeking out, sports, giving in and admitting Avatar was pretty badass.
Kurt; tossing him in garbage cans, swirlies, slushees, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, noogeying his hair because he knew he hated it, standing up for him, dancing with him, making him blush, constantly making jokes that he was hot for his bod, teaming up to bug Rachel.
Santana. Cougars. Quinn.
Beth. Seeing her for the first time. Knowing he had to give her up. Wishing he could be better for her. Failing.
ATMs. Juvie. Waffles.
Rachel.
The first time he saw her; yellow ribbons in her hair.
Temple. Being forced to be nice to her because of his ma. Listening to her very first Tony speech. Socking Jacob Ben Israel in the arm for trying to peek up her dress. Getting sugar cookies as a thank you.
Slushees.
Sign from God. Grape. Dating. Dumped. Wishing he wasn't always second best to Finn.
Friendship. Wanting to be more when she was still trying to get over Finn. Trying not to want her; failing.
Throwing down an ultimatum; dating or nothing. Convincing her that he could be what she wanted; what she needed. Convincing himself he could be. Actually being.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Their first date. Their first kiss. Their first time.
Holding her hand. Looped arms. Kissing her cheek; her forehead; her hair.
Being proud of her. Knowing she was proud of him.
Her washing slushee from his 'hawk. Returning the favor.
Fighting anybody who tried to slushee her; pep talks, stained clothes, blocking her so he'd take the brunt of it.
Teaching her how to skateboard. Catching her when she fell.
Teaching her football. Convincing her she'd play better in his jersey.
Ballet recitals. Singing competitions. Bringing her to and picking her up from all her lessons. Knowing her schedule better than the back of his hand.
Sleeping. Breathing. Snoring. Actually recording her snoring to prove she did. Laughing when she still didn't believe him.
Going to bed with her. Waking up to find her still in his arms.
Crying. Fighting. Making up.
Kissing. Hugging. Making out.
Biting his lip. Bumping noses.
Getting under her animal sweater. Getting under her skirt.
Fucking. Making love. A difference; a huge fucking difference.
That noise she made when he kissed her neck; when he brushed the inside of her thigh; when he tickled the back of her knee.
The noises she made when she came; how she cried his name. How she gripped his hair; his shoulders; his fingers.
The smell of her; her perfume, her shampoo, her skin.
The taste of her; her lip gloss, her lips, her tongue, the inside of her wrist, her fingertips, her entire body.
How he felt when she looked at him, when she smiled, when she called him Noah.
Writing. For her. To her. About her.
Singing. For her. To her. About her.
Studying. Homework. Going to Math class.
New York. NYU. Broadway.
I love you. I love you. I really fucking love you.
Being enough. Believing he was enough. Dreaming. Hoping. Getting. Losing.
Dying.
Laying still and limp on the floor.
Dying.
Blood all around her head.
Dying.
Begging her to live for him; to breathe; to come back.
Dead.
Knowing it was all over.
Oh, one, touching one, reaching out,
Touching me, touching you,
Oh, sweet Caroline…
Good times never seem so good,
Oh I've been inclined to believe it never would…
In the end, just before the windshield broke, before he was a bruised, battered, lifeless body, he saw her there beside him, where she always sat, smiling, holding out a hand for him to take.
And he grinned, genuinely, completely, like he hadn't in what felt like forever.
The glass shattered on impact; water filled the cab of the truck. Puck never took his eyes off of her; not when the glass spat back at him, slicing through his face; not when the force had his body slamming into the steering wheel so hard, his rib cage fractured.
His eyes stayed open even as his heart stopped beating, as his lungs filled with water, as he sunk deep into the lake, his truck submerged entirely.
And the radio cracked, desperately getting out the end of the song before it stopped entirely.
Ohhh, sweet Caroline, good times never seem so good-
../..
When Kurt woke up that morning, he was exhausted. He'd been tossing and turning all night, terrified that the phone would ring and it would be somebody telling him that Puck had done it. He'd OD'd on pills or hung himself in his bedroom or any number of things. Scenarios ran through his mind, keeping him awake or causing horrifying nightmares. But by morning, there was no call, no word, nothing. And no amount of primping was going to make him look good, so finally he just pushed his sunglasses over his ringed eyes.
"I'm going out for coffee," he called to his step-brother, who had been just as anxious as him.
Slipping on his favorite pair of shoes, he opened the front door and stepped out into the warm summer sun, only to nearly trip over something on the stoop.
Brows furrowed, he stared down at the mass in confusion. Heart skipping in his chest, he knelt down slowly, shoving his glasses up onto his head as he reached out a hesitant hand. There were three letters; one for him, Finn, and Mr. Shue. And beneath that was a sweater; Rachel's horse sweater.
Hand fluttering to his chest, Kurt felt the tears spring up to his eyes and burn a quick, hot path down his cheeks. He fell to his knees and inhaled a desperate, gulping breath.
"Hey, Kurt, what're you…" Finn trailed off as he spotted him. His eyes fell to what sat on the stoop. "No…"
Kurt looked behind him and up at Finn, his face flushed and his mouth trembling. "I knew… I knew he would do it…" He shook his head. "He's gone… He's gone, Finn…"
Finn practically fell to his knees and reached out, gripping the shoulder of Kurt's shirt in his fist and pulling him to him in a hug. He closed his eyes against his own tears, but his chest heaved with the effort of control and finally he broke down too.
../..
Sarah was sitting on the couch, her tongue stuck out of her mouth and her brother's guitar perched on her lap. She looked up when her mom walked down the stairs, tying her robe around her waist and rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Good morning," she murmured tiredly, making her way into the kitchen.
"Morning," Sarah spared before turning her attention back to her lap and plucking at each of the strings.
She could hear the click as her mom turned on the coffee machine. Her slippers shuffling around as she started getting breakfast together.
As she poured her mug of coffee, she called out wonderingly, "Sarah, is that your brother's guitar?"
She nodded, though her mother couldn't see her.
"What are you doing with that? You know you can't play with Noah's things…"
"He left it for me," she told her, simply. "In my room, with a letter."
Suddenly, there was a crash, of glass meeting the floor. And seconds later, her mother raced past her, her face stark with fear, taking the stairs two at a time.
As Puck's mother found her own farewell letter, she let out a terrible wail and fell to her knees in her son's bedroom.
../..
Ma,
You had to know this was coming.
I owe you an apology.
I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry that when you looked at me, you saw dad. I'm sorry I was so much like him and that you were right to think I was just as much of a fuck up as him.
I'm sorry it took me so long to find the right, nice, Jewish girl, and in the end not being able to save her.
I'm sorry for Beth and for Quinn and for always disappointing you.
And I'm sorry I won't ever be somebody you can say you're proud of.
I'm sorry I tried so damn hard to be better for you and it was never enough. That I gave up when I knew you'd never love me like you used to. And that I ever fucked up your life in the first place.
I'm sorry I caused you so much grief and that I grew to hate you as much as you hated me.
And lastly, I'm sorry that Sarah has to grow up with just you now. Please, if you do anything for me, if you loved me at all, don't blame her like you blamed me.
Forever your screwed up, delinquent son,
-Puck
Hate Me Today - Blue October
../..
Kurt sat on his bed with Rachel's sweater held tightly to his chest, sniffling here or there. He twirled Puck's letter between his fingers, staring at it with tired, sad eyes.
There was a part of him that didn't want to read it; because then it would be real. His verbal goodbye had been the first solid sign, but a part of Kurt had hoped that maybe he would change his mind; maybe something would happen or somebody would intervene. Perhaps he should have; there were chances, opportunities, he could have spoken up. But he hadn't. Because some part of him understood why Puck did it; how missing Rachel felt like a whole part of him was gone. Like there was a hole inside him that would never be filled. And maybe a little of Kurt had even wondered if that would be easier, to not feel it anymore; to not feel anything anymore…
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tore the envelope open. Wiping at his face, he attempted a stoic, controlled expression. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and began to read.
Kurt,
Weird right? I usually call you Hummel or like Beyonce or something. But you know I figured this was a little more serious, so…
I hope I said goodbye. I've been shit at keeping my word, but I've been trying to be better at it.
You know, when I knocked Quinn up I asked her to trust me… Later, when I got Rachel's trust, I did everything I could not to fuck it up. I dunno where I'm going with this… Maybe just that she made me a better man or something. At least I'd like to think I was. I know I'm not the same asshole that threw you in dumpsters and swirlied you and all the fucked up shit I pulled on you… And I know it's late or whatever, but I'm sorry I was such a dick to you. You're good people, Hummel. Even after all the bad blood between you and Rachel, you really stood by her after you went to Dalton. She told me you guys bonded and started calling you 'bestie' every time she mentioned you. She was so damn excited to have a friend, it was kinda sad, you know? And I know I was part of the reason she'd been so lonely before… Anybody's looking to crown the king of the assholes, I was right there waiting for the recognition.
One of the great things about Rachel was that she always gave people another chance. Whether we deserved it or not. I don't know where I'd be if she didn't. If we didn't date that first time or she didn't say yes again last year when I realized I couldn't be her friend when I was already half way in love with her. I think maybe I'd be like my dad… A bitter asshole who didn't get how lucky he was to have somebody who really loved him… I was headed that way and I'm sure I would've hit all the branches on the way down the loser tree if she didn't stop me.
I think of everyone I'm writing these letters to, you and the daddies-Berry are the only ones who are gonna get why all this makes any kind of sense… I like to think that maybe you guys know that I really loved her. I really fucking love her. All her crazy and her drama and her vocal exercises at six in the damn morning, I loved it all. And I really, seriously, so fucking much, wanted to be the guy she loved for the rest of her life… No shitting you, I really thought we'd get it all. I really thought I'd be in NYU next year and we'd be living in some tiny ass apartment, just making it work… And we'd get married one day and she'd get her Tony and we'd have badass kids, and I'd get my club and she'd conquer Broadway and we'd just be that couple that was still in love when they were ninety, still holdings hands and arguing over who was a better Jewish icon, Barbra or Neil… And when all of that was gone, I don't even… There was just nothing after that. I'm so fucking lost right now. Like I can't breathe without her… Every time I wake up and she's not there, it physically hurts! I take a shower and seeing her fucking shampoo makes me cry. I go to school and I see her everywhere and nowhere and it's all so fucking pointless!
I know you'd all have some speech about how Rachel wouldn't want me to end it like this or some shit. Maybe it didn't seem like it, but I heard you when you talked. And I'm sorry I had to put all this shit on you. Sorry you had to be the guy who knew what I was gonna do and not get in my way. That was a fucked up weight to put on your shoulders when you were already dealing with Rachel's death. So I'm sorry, you know? Hell, I'm sorry for a lot of things, so I'm just going to try and cover all my bases here and tell you that Blaine's a lucky dude to have you and Finn's a lucky brother and Rachel too for having you as a friend. And I wanna thank you, 'cause she needed you in her life and you were always there for her. For all the shit I couldn't do and you did, thanks.
I know you're not gonna want it and maybe you'll blow your shit about it, but I transferred half the money her dads gave me into your account… You and Blaine should go to New York and do everything she was going to. See every damn play they put on and get a great apartment with a view. Sing as often and as loudly as you can. Get a Tony by 25. Tell Blaine to bring you pink roses when you get a standing O at your first Broadway play. Name your children after Broadway legends and always, always tell them you love them and to reach as far as they have to for their dreams. Leave Lima in the rearview mirror, wave your middle finger back and tell them all they were lucky just to know you. Do it all, Kurt, and I guaran-fucking-tee she'll be cheering for you from wherever she is… And so will I.
Make it happen, man.
-Puck
Hear You Me (May Angels Lead You In) - Jimmy Eat World
Kurt read it three times, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, and a pained smile cracking his lips. Wiping delicately at his cheeks, he shook his head. "You stupid, broken boy…" he muttered. Looking down at the horse sweater, he rubbed his thumb into it. "I will…" He nodded. "You tell her I will."
../..
Finn sat in his truck, staring at the park he first met Puck in.
They were young and carefree and Finn kind of liked the taste of sand at the time. Puck already had a little faux-hawk and he was wearing a muscle shirt that had some band on it that Finn didn't know of at the time. He introduced himself as Noah, but years later, he would only go by Puck. When his dad left him and he turned into a hurt and screwed up little kid with too much responsibility.
Finn blinked his eyes each time they burned, squeezing his hands around the steering wheel until his knuckles were a stark white. "Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he screamed, shaking the steering wheel and beating his hands against it until he was panting and half-sobbing. "Why couldn't you just…?" He shook his head. "Why?"
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, clenching his teeth until a twinge of pain radiated up his jaw. And when he finally opened his eyes, he looked over at the letter sitting on his dash, marked simply, Finn.
With a shaking hand, he reached out and tore it open, unfolding the paper inside, his brow furrowed as he read.
Finn,
I'm not much of a letter writer man and I think you know that… I think of everybody you're gonna get that this, being poetic and shit, saying goodbye and asking for you to forgive me or to get it, it's not easy…
Rachel always thought I was this awesome song writer, you know… But my songs, the ones she really liked, they were always about her… Writing about her is easy. I used to look at her and think… Holy shit, this crazy chick actually wants to be with me… So you know, the first few songs were just about being surprised or arrogant as fuck and sometimes just waiting for her to leave… She used to tell me that writing about loving her was hard 'cause I wasn't a feelings kind of guy. But loving her was so damn easy that I guess writing about it was too.
The hard shit was writing about why loving her scared the fuck out of me. It was being terrified that one day I was gonna be just like my dad and leave her, or like my mom and have her leave me… It was waiting for that day when we fought like them or I drank like him or she just stopped caring like ma did… The hardest songs to write were the ones where I admitted that I was waiting for her to look at me and say the same things my mom did, that Quinn did, that I figured everybody thought. That I was a Lima Loser and she was wasting her time… Whenever I wrote those songs, and I spent so many hours going over every damn word, scratching them out and then rewriting them again and again until they were perfect and awful and it was like I'd torn this huge, gaping chunk of my heart out and thrown it down on paper… She always cried when I sang those songs and then she'd smile at me, like she was trying not to show that it hurt her that I was hurt or whatever… And she'd hug me and tell me all that uplifting bullshit about how I was better than him and that she was lucky to have me and we were gonna be so damn awesome in New York… And I'd fall in love with her all over again, you know? 'Cause it was so damn easy to love somebody who loved all my broken ass shit.
I know people don't get it. They never really got her or me or us together. And you say you do or you want to and that's cool. I know you're trying to help and you want me to be okay and that you loved her in your own way. And I know you love me like a brother, even after all the crazy shit I've pulled on you over the years… And you know, maybe I didn't say it enough, maybe I didn't make it clear, but man I am so fucking sorry that I ever did anything to hurt you. The shit with Quinn, that was low and even though I love Beth and I wanted so much to be a part of her life, I really wish I didn't hurt you like that. Me and you, we've been through so much… With your dad dying and my dad running off like a bitch and just… Growing up in this shitty town, trying to live up to all these expectations, telling ourselves we were kings of the shit pile… Who were we kidding? Acting like we were so damn awesome and what'd we get out of it? You know when I was happy, man? When I was just a kid. When me and you used to go to that park down the road and we'd swing on the monkey bars or play cops and robbers and just chill… There was no football and no slushees and nobody breathing down our necks about being cooler or more badass or any of that shit.
Truth is, I wouldn't have made it this long if it wasn't for you… No homo. If you didn't stick crayons up your nose just to make me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry 'cause my dad was the biggest fucking douche… Or when you shared your lunch with me 'cause ma couldn't get out of bed, she was so damn depressed… You stuck by me when I was an asshole and when I screwed you over and I'm sorry that this is the end… I'm sorry I won't be back for the ten year reunion to hear about your life and all the great shit you did with it. I won't meet your kids or your wife or reminisce about football and glee and all the good old days… And I'm sorry I'm gonna be that guy that you remember or you forget or whatever I'm gonna be instead of your best friend.
I'm sorry for a lot of shit, but I'm not sorry I'm doing this.
I'm writing this 'cause I don't want you to think it's your fault or something stupid like that. I don't want you to think you could've changed my mind or done something differently. And maybe you'll never really get it. Maybe you'll be pissed at me for doing this, I dunno. All I know is that I'm so tired man. I'm so fucking tired. I'm eighteen fucking years old and I've had a kid I'll never see. A dad who didn't want me. A mom who hardly likes me. And the one girl I really loved, the only girl I wanted for the rest of my messed up life, is gone… So I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to go to New York or heal or travel the world or any of that shit. I don't want to see a counselor or move on or forget Rachel or whatever the fuck people want me to do. I want to close my eyes and just see her, even for a second. I just want to have her again and then I'm good. I don't need anything else. There's probably not a heaven, maybe it's a waiting line until the next go-around, you know? I'd be happy to stand in line if she was there. Maybe next time I won't be such a screw up. Maybe next time Eli will stay or Rachel will live and we'll have Beth when the time's right and it'll all work out. I don't fucking know. But I do know that this life is done for me. So I'm going to let it be done and I'm going to close my eyes and say goodbye and wish you the best.
I hope you get everything you want and I hope you're happy and I hope you find somebody you love even half as much as I love Rachel. I hope you have a bunch of kids and you're an awesome dad and you're still singing when you're an old, bald dude.
So thank you or whatever for just always being my bro.
Peace,
-Puck
Mad Mad World - Gary Jules
Finn broke down and hung his head, his shoulders shaking. He cried for his childhood best friend, for the screwed up guy he became, for the man that Rachel helped repair, and the shattered boy who ended his life. He cried for the friendship he'd once had with him, for the help he couldn't give him, and for the loss he felt aching in his very heart. He cried until he had no more tears left. And then he went home and he hugged his mother and he let her hold him and comfort him and he hoped that one day it wouldn't hurt so much. That one day he would look back and remember Puck and he wouldn't wonder what he could have done differently.
But that day wouldn't come for a very long time.
[Next: Epilogue.]
Category: Glee
Genre: Tragedy/Angst/Romance
Ship: Rachel/Puck
Rating: NC17/R
Warning(s): Coarse/Sexual Language, Sexual Content, Themes of Depression, Substance Abuse, Character Death, Suicidal Themes
Word Count: 9,391
Summary: Rachel Berry had no idea what events would transpire that day. How standing up for someone she didn't know would eventually lead to tragedy. And Noah Puckerman was the unfortunate boy who had to deal with the aftermath; only he had no idea how. And coping was never his strong suit.
[Go Back: First Half.]
It took him an hour and a half to put his room back to rights. He even made his bed and laid Rachel's nightgown down on her side. When he stood back, it looked like it used to; like he hadn't lost his mind and totaled it. Her jewelry was all picked back up and put back in their boxes on the dresser and he'd even checked to make sure every earring had its partner. He put his CDs back in place, in alphabetical order like she preferred. Her sweaters and his jerseys were hung back up, side by side. The stereo was broken and the door had to be leaned against the wall, but everything else was where it was supposed to be.
Nodding, he walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out the letters, tucked and folded in their separately signed envelopes, and found Sarah's. He then grabbed up his guitar and put it away in its case, with the two picks Rachel had given him and a box of strings.
Walking down the hall, careful to avoid where the floor creaked, he opened her door and stepped into her room, lit up faintly by her night light. He put her letter on her bedside table and he leaned his guitar against the wall. And then, he knelt down by her bed and brushed the tangled brown hair from her face. He stared a long moment at the little girl he'd helped raise from birth and finally leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead. "I'm sorry, kid," he whispered as he sat back on his heels, blinking back tears.
Nose wrinkled, she opened her eyes slightly. "Noah?" she said sleepily.
"Go back to sleep, Squirt," he said, standing and walked to her door.
With a soft sigh, she buried her face back in her pillow.
Pausing, he looked back at Sarah, so full of life and dreams and endless possibilities. "Hey?"
"Hm?" she hummed.
"Love you."
She smiled tiredly. "Ditto."
Nodding to himself, he stepped out of her room, closing the door behind him gently.
Back in his room, he placed a letter on the center of his bed and gathered up the rest of his things. He paused outside his door to stare long and hard at his mother's. Jaw ticking, he finally turned and made his way downstairs.
He grabbed his truck keys off the wall and took one last look around at his house. At the armchair his dad and he used to watch cartoons on, huddled together with bowls of cereal. The mantel where pictures of him and Sarah sat, ranging in age, and even a few more recent ones with Rachel. The stairs he'd nearly tripped down a couple times because of Sarah's toys. The dent in the wall where his ma threw one of his boots at him for getting arrested. The couch he and Rachel cuddled up together to watch movies. The stain on the carpet from where Sarah spilled her spaghetti and it never really came out. The crack in the window from that time he and Finn were playing football in the house and Finn clumsily fell into it. A lifetime of memories.
He turned his back and walked out the door, walking down the porch that he and Rachel spent hours sitting on; talking, not talking, sometimes just wrapped up in each other. He glanced at the flower beds that were filled with weeds; his mom used to tend to them before his dad cut and ran, just like the garden in the back that Rachel had long taken over and he was sure nobody had touched since she died. He walked across the driveway he taught Sarah to ride a bike in. Where she got her first skinned knee. Where he taught her to roller blade and even helped her play around on his skateboard a few times. Where he played basketball with Finn, Mike and Sam a few hundred times. Where Rachel and Sarah had drawn huge chalk pictures. He unlocked his truck and hopped inside, dropping everything to the seat next to him, where Rachel used to sit, playing with his radio.
He turned on the engine and let it idle a few minutes while he stared up at his old house. A house he'd had to take care of for years; cleaning gutters, fixing leaks, repairing broken stairs and door knobs and leaky faucets. A house he'd had to be the man of too young. A house that was only half a home until Rachel got there and made it whole.
Licking his dry lips, he flicked his fingers as if to wave, and then he put the truck into gear and he backed up out of the driveway.
The drive to Kurt and Finn's was silent; there was nobody around, no cars, no curious neighbors. Everybody was fast asleep in their beds. He stopped in front of the house and stuck it in park, but left it running. He gathered up four items and he walked up the lawn to put them on the stoop. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he stared at the door a long second, thinking of Burt and Carole, before finally turning and walking back to his truck. He rested his arm on the window sill and peered down at the dark windows of the basement Kurt and Finn shared. With a nod farewell, he pulled back onto the road.
On the way through town, he stopped to drop Leroy and Hiram's letter in a mail box just outside of Sheets N' Things before finally, he drove up the hill to the cliff overlooking Lima Lake.
From here, he could see it all.
The whole city, lit up only with street lamps. He could see his elementary, middle, and high school; all of which he shared with Rachel. He could see the synagogue they attended Temple at. The movie theatre they went to almost weekly. The 7-Eleven they went to for their slushees. The building she took her dance and vocal lessons in. The park they took Sarah to on weekends. The hockey arena they skated in. The police department he'd spent entirely too much time at. The warehouse his Fight Club used to meet in. All of his friend's houses. Finn's old place that Puck had spent most of his childhood hanging out at. Sarah's preschool. Nana Connie's retirement home. And Rachel's house; an empty shell to be filled by someone else.
"You still with me?" he asked.
Always.
Grabbing up the CD, he flipped the lid open and stuck the disc into the stereo, turning the knob up higher. "You remember this?"
Where it began, I can't begin to know when,
But then I know it's growing strong…
She laughed softly. How could I forget?
Putting the truck into reverse he backed it up twenty or thirty feet and then idled as he sat thoughtfully. "Ya think I'm selfish, Rachel?"
Oh, wasn't the spring,
And spring became the summer,
Who'd believe you'd come along…
She sighed. I think… that you're hurting… And you can't imagine ever not hurting.
He nodded and pushed the stick into drive, his foot sitting heavy on the brake pedal.
And now I, I look at the night,
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two, oh…
Turning his head, he turned to stare at where she should have been sitting. "I would've married you."
I know.
He swallowed tightly and squeezed the steering wheel in shaking hands. "I would've been happy."
Are you sure you want to do this, Noah? There's no going back…
He set his face and pressed his foot down on the accelerator. "Bring it."
And when I hurt,
Hurting runs off my shoulder,
How can I hurt when holding you…
The truck sped off the cliff and nosedived toward the lake.
He watched the city through the front window pass him by in what seemed like slow motion; a town that never gave him a chance, never believed in him, and had once promised to be the end of his dreams.
People have said that when death was close, their life passed before their eyes.
Puck was no different.
He saw it all; good and bad.
His dad; smiling, laughing, chucking him on the chin, noogeying his mohawk, high-fiving, playing his guitar, fighting with his mom, yelling, throwing things, drinking, leaving, never saying goodbye.
His mom; hugging him, cutting the crusts off his sandwiches, dancing, singing, kissing his cheek, crying, screaming, telling him he's a disappointment, begging him to be better, shouting that he's just like his father, giving up on him.
A squalling new born Sarah. Changing diapers. Feeding her. Bathing her. Hearing her first words. Teaching her how to swing a bat, throw a baseball, shoot a hoop, ride a bike, roller blade, ice skate, swim, build sandcastles. Pushing her on the swings, catching her on the slide, carrying her on his shoulders, his back, swinging her to and fro by her hands between him and Rachel. Taking care of her when she was sick. Dropping her off at school, picking her up, parent-teacher conferences, high-fiving her after she won a fight between her and a boy at school. Cleaning her scraped knee, kissing her owies, braiding her hair, singing her to sleep. Laughing with her, bugging her, hugging her. Saying hello, saying goodbye.
Finn; as children, playing cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians. Playing baseball, football, basketball. Trying to build a treehouse; failing. Riding bikes, fishing, wrestling. Discovering girls. Liking the same girls. Video games. Movies. Scars. Broken bones. Spit-shakes. Growing up. Glee club. Quinn. Beth. Singing. Dancing. Fighting. Forgiving.
Mike; ninjas, football, dancing, basketball, video games, comparing notes on girlfriends, badly dubbed Asian movies, ancient Chinese wisdom.
Artie; trapping him in a porta potty, flipping his brakes on his wheelchair randomly, probation, COD, secret handshakes, double dates, getting tutored in math, teaching him how to charm the ladies.
Sam; constantly implying he looked like Quinn's twin brother, teasing him for having a big mouth, singing country music, singing Bieber, geeking out, sports, giving in and admitting Avatar was pretty badass.
Kurt; tossing him in garbage cans, swirlies, slushees, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, noogeying his hair because he knew he hated it, standing up for him, dancing with him, making him blush, constantly making jokes that he was hot for his bod, teaming up to bug Rachel.
Santana. Cougars. Quinn.
Beth. Seeing her for the first time. Knowing he had to give her up. Wishing he could be better for her. Failing.
ATMs. Juvie. Waffles.
Rachel.
The first time he saw her; yellow ribbons in her hair.
Temple. Being forced to be nice to her because of his ma. Listening to her very first Tony speech. Socking Jacob Ben Israel in the arm for trying to peek up her dress. Getting sugar cookies as a thank you.
Slushees.
Sign from God. Grape. Dating. Dumped. Wishing he wasn't always second best to Finn.
Friendship. Wanting to be more when she was still trying to get over Finn. Trying not to want her; failing.
Throwing down an ultimatum; dating or nothing. Convincing her that he could be what she wanted; what she needed. Convincing himself he could be. Actually being.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Their first date. Their first kiss. Their first time.
Holding her hand. Looped arms. Kissing her cheek; her forehead; her hair.
Being proud of her. Knowing she was proud of him.
Her washing slushee from his 'hawk. Returning the favor.
Fighting anybody who tried to slushee her; pep talks, stained clothes, blocking her so he'd take the brunt of it.
Teaching her how to skateboard. Catching her when she fell.
Teaching her football. Convincing her she'd play better in his jersey.
Ballet recitals. Singing competitions. Bringing her to and picking her up from all her lessons. Knowing her schedule better than the back of his hand.
Sleeping. Breathing. Snoring. Actually recording her snoring to prove she did. Laughing when she still didn't believe him.
Going to bed with her. Waking up to find her still in his arms.
Crying. Fighting. Making up.
Kissing. Hugging. Making out.
Biting his lip. Bumping noses.
Getting under her animal sweater. Getting under her skirt.
Fucking. Making love. A difference; a huge fucking difference.
That noise she made when he kissed her neck; when he brushed the inside of her thigh; when he tickled the back of her knee.
The noises she made when she came; how she cried his name. How she gripped his hair; his shoulders; his fingers.
The smell of her; her perfume, her shampoo, her skin.
The taste of her; her lip gloss, her lips, her tongue, the inside of her wrist, her fingertips, her entire body.
How he felt when she looked at him, when she smiled, when she called him Noah.
Writing. For her. To her. About her.
Singing. For her. To her. About her.
Studying. Homework. Going to Math class.
New York. NYU. Broadway.
I love you. I love you. I really fucking love you.
Being enough. Believing he was enough. Dreaming. Hoping. Getting. Losing.
Dying.
Laying still and limp on the floor.
Dying.
Blood all around her head.
Dying.
Begging her to live for him; to breathe; to come back.
Dead.
Knowing it was all over.
Oh, one, touching one, reaching out,
Touching me, touching you,
Oh, sweet Caroline…
Good times never seem so good,
Oh I've been inclined to believe it never would…
In the end, just before the windshield broke, before he was a bruised, battered, lifeless body, he saw her there beside him, where she always sat, smiling, holding out a hand for him to take.
And he grinned, genuinely, completely, like he hadn't in what felt like forever.
The glass shattered on impact; water filled the cab of the truck. Puck never took his eyes off of her; not when the glass spat back at him, slicing through his face; not when the force had his body slamming into the steering wheel so hard, his rib cage fractured.
His eyes stayed open even as his heart stopped beating, as his lungs filled with water, as he sunk deep into the lake, his truck submerged entirely.
And the radio cracked, desperately getting out the end of the song before it stopped entirely.
Ohhh, sweet Caroline, good times never seem so good-
../..
When Kurt woke up that morning, he was exhausted. He'd been tossing and turning all night, terrified that the phone would ring and it would be somebody telling him that Puck had done it. He'd OD'd on pills or hung himself in his bedroom or any number of things. Scenarios ran through his mind, keeping him awake or causing horrifying nightmares. But by morning, there was no call, no word, nothing. And no amount of primping was going to make him look good, so finally he just pushed his sunglasses over his ringed eyes.
"I'm going out for coffee," he called to his step-brother, who had been just as anxious as him.
Slipping on his favorite pair of shoes, he opened the front door and stepped out into the warm summer sun, only to nearly trip over something on the stoop.
Brows furrowed, he stared down at the mass in confusion. Heart skipping in his chest, he knelt down slowly, shoving his glasses up onto his head as he reached out a hesitant hand. There were three letters; one for him, Finn, and Mr. Shue. And beneath that was a sweater; Rachel's horse sweater.
Hand fluttering to his chest, Kurt felt the tears spring up to his eyes and burn a quick, hot path down his cheeks. He fell to his knees and inhaled a desperate, gulping breath.
"Hey, Kurt, what're you…" Finn trailed off as he spotted him. His eyes fell to what sat on the stoop. "No…"
Kurt looked behind him and up at Finn, his face flushed and his mouth trembling. "I knew… I knew he would do it…" He shook his head. "He's gone… He's gone, Finn…"
Finn practically fell to his knees and reached out, gripping the shoulder of Kurt's shirt in his fist and pulling him to him in a hug. He closed his eyes against his own tears, but his chest heaved with the effort of control and finally he broke down too.
../..
Sarah was sitting on the couch, her tongue stuck out of her mouth and her brother's guitar perched on her lap. She looked up when her mom walked down the stairs, tying her robe around her waist and rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Good morning," she murmured tiredly, making her way into the kitchen.
"Morning," Sarah spared before turning her attention back to her lap and plucking at each of the strings.
She could hear the click as her mom turned on the coffee machine. Her slippers shuffling around as she started getting breakfast together.
As she poured her mug of coffee, she called out wonderingly, "Sarah, is that your brother's guitar?"
She nodded, though her mother couldn't see her.
"What are you doing with that? You know you can't play with Noah's things…"
"He left it for me," she told her, simply. "In my room, with a letter."
Suddenly, there was a crash, of glass meeting the floor. And seconds later, her mother raced past her, her face stark with fear, taking the stairs two at a time.
As Puck's mother found her own farewell letter, she let out a terrible wail and fell to her knees in her son's bedroom.
../..
Ma,
You had to know this was coming.
I owe you an apology.
I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry that when you looked at me, you saw dad. I'm sorry I was so much like him and that you were right to think I was just as much of a fuck up as him.
I'm sorry it took me so long to find the right, nice, Jewish girl, and in the end not being able to save her.
I'm sorry for Beth and for Quinn and for always disappointing you.
And I'm sorry I won't ever be somebody you can say you're proud of.
I'm sorry I tried so damn hard to be better for you and it was never enough. That I gave up when I knew you'd never love me like you used to. And that I ever fucked up your life in the first place.
I'm sorry I caused you so much grief and that I grew to hate you as much as you hated me.
And lastly, I'm sorry that Sarah has to grow up with just you now. Please, if you do anything for me, if you loved me at all, don't blame her like you blamed me.
Forever your screwed up, delinquent son,
-Puck
Hate Me Today - Blue October
../..
Kurt sat on his bed with Rachel's sweater held tightly to his chest, sniffling here or there. He twirled Puck's letter between his fingers, staring at it with tired, sad eyes.
There was a part of him that didn't want to read it; because then it would be real. His verbal goodbye had been the first solid sign, but a part of Kurt had hoped that maybe he would change his mind; maybe something would happen or somebody would intervene. Perhaps he should have; there were chances, opportunities, he could have spoken up. But he hadn't. Because some part of him understood why Puck did it; how missing Rachel felt like a whole part of him was gone. Like there was a hole inside him that would never be filled. And maybe a little of Kurt had even wondered if that would be easier, to not feel it anymore; to not feel anything anymore…
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tore the envelope open. Wiping at his face, he attempted a stoic, controlled expression. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and began to read.
Kurt,
Weird right? I usually call you Hummel or like Beyonce or something. But you know I figured this was a little more serious, so…
I hope I said goodbye. I've been shit at keeping my word, but I've been trying to be better at it.
You know, when I knocked Quinn up I asked her to trust me… Later, when I got Rachel's trust, I did everything I could not to fuck it up. I dunno where I'm going with this… Maybe just that she made me a better man or something. At least I'd like to think I was. I know I'm not the same asshole that threw you in dumpsters and swirlied you and all the fucked up shit I pulled on you… And I know it's late or whatever, but I'm sorry I was such a dick to you. You're good people, Hummel. Even after all the bad blood between you and Rachel, you really stood by her after you went to Dalton. She told me you guys bonded and started calling you 'bestie' every time she mentioned you. She was so damn excited to have a friend, it was kinda sad, you know? And I know I was part of the reason she'd been so lonely before… Anybody's looking to crown the king of the assholes, I was right there waiting for the recognition.
One of the great things about Rachel was that she always gave people another chance. Whether we deserved it or not. I don't know where I'd be if she didn't. If we didn't date that first time or she didn't say yes again last year when I realized I couldn't be her friend when I was already half way in love with her. I think maybe I'd be like my dad… A bitter asshole who didn't get how lucky he was to have somebody who really loved him… I was headed that way and I'm sure I would've hit all the branches on the way down the loser tree if she didn't stop me.
I think of everyone I'm writing these letters to, you and the daddies-Berry are the only ones who are gonna get why all this makes any kind of sense… I like to think that maybe you guys know that I really loved her. I really fucking love her. All her crazy and her drama and her vocal exercises at six in the damn morning, I loved it all. And I really, seriously, so fucking much, wanted to be the guy she loved for the rest of her life… No shitting you, I really thought we'd get it all. I really thought I'd be in NYU next year and we'd be living in some tiny ass apartment, just making it work… And we'd get married one day and she'd get her Tony and we'd have badass kids, and I'd get my club and she'd conquer Broadway and we'd just be that couple that was still in love when they were ninety, still holdings hands and arguing over who was a better Jewish icon, Barbra or Neil… And when all of that was gone, I don't even… There was just nothing after that. I'm so fucking lost right now. Like I can't breathe without her… Every time I wake up and she's not there, it physically hurts! I take a shower and seeing her fucking shampoo makes me cry. I go to school and I see her everywhere and nowhere and it's all so fucking pointless!
I know you'd all have some speech about how Rachel wouldn't want me to end it like this or some shit. Maybe it didn't seem like it, but I heard you when you talked. And I'm sorry I had to put all this shit on you. Sorry you had to be the guy who knew what I was gonna do and not get in my way. That was a fucked up weight to put on your shoulders when you were already dealing with Rachel's death. So I'm sorry, you know? Hell, I'm sorry for a lot of things, so I'm just going to try and cover all my bases here and tell you that Blaine's a lucky dude to have you and Finn's a lucky brother and Rachel too for having you as a friend. And I wanna thank you, 'cause she needed you in her life and you were always there for her. For all the shit I couldn't do and you did, thanks.
I know you're not gonna want it and maybe you'll blow your shit about it, but I transferred half the money her dads gave me into your account… You and Blaine should go to New York and do everything she was going to. See every damn play they put on and get a great apartment with a view. Sing as often and as loudly as you can. Get a Tony by 25. Tell Blaine to bring you pink roses when you get a standing O at your first Broadway play. Name your children after Broadway legends and always, always tell them you love them and to reach as far as they have to for their dreams. Leave Lima in the rearview mirror, wave your middle finger back and tell them all they were lucky just to know you. Do it all, Kurt, and I guaran-fucking-tee she'll be cheering for you from wherever she is… And so will I.
Make it happen, man.
-Puck
Hear You Me (May Angels Lead You In) - Jimmy Eat World
Kurt read it three times, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, and a pained smile cracking his lips. Wiping delicately at his cheeks, he shook his head. "You stupid, broken boy…" he muttered. Looking down at the horse sweater, he rubbed his thumb into it. "I will…" He nodded. "You tell her I will."
../..
Finn sat in his truck, staring at the park he first met Puck in.
They were young and carefree and Finn kind of liked the taste of sand at the time. Puck already had a little faux-hawk and he was wearing a muscle shirt that had some band on it that Finn didn't know of at the time. He introduced himself as Noah, but years later, he would only go by Puck. When his dad left him and he turned into a hurt and screwed up little kid with too much responsibility.
Finn blinked his eyes each time they burned, squeezing his hands around the steering wheel until his knuckles were a stark white. "Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he screamed, shaking the steering wheel and beating his hands against it until he was panting and half-sobbing. "Why couldn't you just…?" He shook his head. "Why?"
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, clenching his teeth until a twinge of pain radiated up his jaw. And when he finally opened his eyes, he looked over at the letter sitting on his dash, marked simply, Finn.
With a shaking hand, he reached out and tore it open, unfolding the paper inside, his brow furrowed as he read.
Finn,
I'm not much of a letter writer man and I think you know that… I think of everybody you're gonna get that this, being poetic and shit, saying goodbye and asking for you to forgive me or to get it, it's not easy…
Rachel always thought I was this awesome song writer, you know… But my songs, the ones she really liked, they were always about her… Writing about her is easy. I used to look at her and think… Holy shit, this crazy chick actually wants to be with me… So you know, the first few songs were just about being surprised or arrogant as fuck and sometimes just waiting for her to leave… She used to tell me that writing about loving her was hard 'cause I wasn't a feelings kind of guy. But loving her was so damn easy that I guess writing about it was too.
The hard shit was writing about why loving her scared the fuck out of me. It was being terrified that one day I was gonna be just like my dad and leave her, or like my mom and have her leave me… It was waiting for that day when we fought like them or I drank like him or she just stopped caring like ma did… The hardest songs to write were the ones where I admitted that I was waiting for her to look at me and say the same things my mom did, that Quinn did, that I figured everybody thought. That I was a Lima Loser and she was wasting her time… Whenever I wrote those songs, and I spent so many hours going over every damn word, scratching them out and then rewriting them again and again until they were perfect and awful and it was like I'd torn this huge, gaping chunk of my heart out and thrown it down on paper… She always cried when I sang those songs and then she'd smile at me, like she was trying not to show that it hurt her that I was hurt or whatever… And she'd hug me and tell me all that uplifting bullshit about how I was better than him and that she was lucky to have me and we were gonna be so damn awesome in New York… And I'd fall in love with her all over again, you know? 'Cause it was so damn easy to love somebody who loved all my broken ass shit.
I know people don't get it. They never really got her or me or us together. And you say you do or you want to and that's cool. I know you're trying to help and you want me to be okay and that you loved her in your own way. And I know you love me like a brother, even after all the crazy shit I've pulled on you over the years… And you know, maybe I didn't say it enough, maybe I didn't make it clear, but man I am so fucking sorry that I ever did anything to hurt you. The shit with Quinn, that was low and even though I love Beth and I wanted so much to be a part of her life, I really wish I didn't hurt you like that. Me and you, we've been through so much… With your dad dying and my dad running off like a bitch and just… Growing up in this shitty town, trying to live up to all these expectations, telling ourselves we were kings of the shit pile… Who were we kidding? Acting like we were so damn awesome and what'd we get out of it? You know when I was happy, man? When I was just a kid. When me and you used to go to that park down the road and we'd swing on the monkey bars or play cops and robbers and just chill… There was no football and no slushees and nobody breathing down our necks about being cooler or more badass or any of that shit.
Truth is, I wouldn't have made it this long if it wasn't for you… No homo. If you didn't stick crayons up your nose just to make me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry 'cause my dad was the biggest fucking douche… Or when you shared your lunch with me 'cause ma couldn't get out of bed, she was so damn depressed… You stuck by me when I was an asshole and when I screwed you over and I'm sorry that this is the end… I'm sorry I won't be back for the ten year reunion to hear about your life and all the great shit you did with it. I won't meet your kids or your wife or reminisce about football and glee and all the good old days… And I'm sorry I'm gonna be that guy that you remember or you forget or whatever I'm gonna be instead of your best friend.
I'm sorry for a lot of shit, but I'm not sorry I'm doing this.
I'm writing this 'cause I don't want you to think it's your fault or something stupid like that. I don't want you to think you could've changed my mind or done something differently. And maybe you'll never really get it. Maybe you'll be pissed at me for doing this, I dunno. All I know is that I'm so tired man. I'm so fucking tired. I'm eighteen fucking years old and I've had a kid I'll never see. A dad who didn't want me. A mom who hardly likes me. And the one girl I really loved, the only girl I wanted for the rest of my messed up life, is gone… So I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to go to New York or heal or travel the world or any of that shit. I don't want to see a counselor or move on or forget Rachel or whatever the fuck people want me to do. I want to close my eyes and just see her, even for a second. I just want to have her again and then I'm good. I don't need anything else. There's probably not a heaven, maybe it's a waiting line until the next go-around, you know? I'd be happy to stand in line if she was there. Maybe next time I won't be such a screw up. Maybe next time Eli will stay or Rachel will live and we'll have Beth when the time's right and it'll all work out. I don't fucking know. But I do know that this life is done for me. So I'm going to let it be done and I'm going to close my eyes and say goodbye and wish you the best.
I hope you get everything you want and I hope you're happy and I hope you find somebody you love even half as much as I love Rachel. I hope you have a bunch of kids and you're an awesome dad and you're still singing when you're an old, bald dude.
So thank you or whatever for just always being my bro.
Peace,
-Puck
Mad Mad World - Gary Jules
Finn broke down and hung his head, his shoulders shaking. He cried for his childhood best friend, for the screwed up guy he became, for the man that Rachel helped repair, and the shattered boy who ended his life. He cried for the friendship he'd once had with him, for the help he couldn't give him, and for the loss he felt aching in his very heart. He cried until he had no more tears left. And then he went home and he hugged his mother and he let her hold him and comfort him and he hoped that one day it wouldn't hurt so much. That one day he would look back and remember Puck and he wouldn't wonder what he could have done differently.
But that day wouldn't come for a very long time.
[Next: Epilogue.]