(no subject)
The thing was, being trapped in a porta-john for twenty-four hours kind of gave a guy the perfect opportunity to reflect on his life.
Not that he was all into self-reflection or anything. That kind of stuff was for dudes with way too much time on their hands, and Puck was a busy sort of guy. Like right now, he was on a mission. Not a mission from God or anything lame like that. A real mission, from Mr. Shue, to save the Glee Club, because Puck was awesome like that. Of all the others, he was being trusted to make sure they could get to Sectionals and sing their asses off.
So, getting stuffed into a porta-potty and locked inside was a pretty huge blow to his ego. And he got it, he’d probably gone about the recruitment all wrong, but he’d actually had faith that his fellow players had the balls to man up and do something great, for a change.
But he’d been wrong. They were a bunch of meathead douchebags, but once and a while, they did something smart, like take his phone away so he couldn’t call for help or even pass the time playing tetris.
Great.
Prayer was overrated. Granted, he was a good Jew and everything, because it made his Ma happy, but as far as fathers went, God could be as much of an unreliable asshole as the rest of them. But God had done him a solid a few times before - he’d even answered all their prayers and let Burt Hummel wake up from that coma - so Puck figured the guy wasn’t all bad.
He knew how deals worked. A guy gives you something, you have to have something of equal value you’re willing to give up in return, and being nice to people he didn’t even know seemed like a fair trade. So, Noah Puckerman prayed. He promised God that he’d be a good person from this moment on, if only God’d get him out of this literal shithole, before he died from starvation or dehydration or asphyxiation from the smell. And when he realized that probably wasn’t something he could pull off, Noah narrowed the field down to his fellow Jews, because he knew he could at least do right by them, if it meant that much to the big guy upstairs.
But it didn’t happen. The doors didn’t open. God didn’t help, and no matter how loudly he shouted, how hard he banged on that damn locked door, the hours kept on ticking by. It sucked. It sucked more than just about anything ever had ever.
Except maybe when his dad left. Or when he banged his best friend’s girl and got her pregnant. Or when he got sent to Juvie for being a moron…
Okay, top five worst thing ever, at least.
He was dozing, cowering in the corner with his knees pulled up to his chest, his head lolling against rough plastic, when suddenly, it felt a whole lot warmer inside his tiny, shit-smelling torture-coffin. Huffing out a breath, he unzipped his hoodie, kicking off his shoes and rubbing a hand over the stripe of hair on his head.
Then, he heard it. Oh God, it was beautiful. A miracle. Voices, just outside, muffled and indistinct, but voices.
“Oh God, hello?” he shouted, too damn tired to be embarrassed by how hoarse his voice sounded. He was ready to beg, ready to burst into tears and grovel at someone’s feet. Anyone. God, just-
“GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
[[See this post before tagging. Find him anywhere on the beach. ST/LT welcome. No limit LOL When I said no limit, I didn't think I'd get 12 toplevels. Unless I've spoken to you personally, I think I need to cut this post off. Sorry, guys.]]
Not that he was all into self-reflection or anything. That kind of stuff was for dudes with way too much time on their hands, and Puck was a busy sort of guy. Like right now, he was on a mission. Not a mission from God or anything lame like that. A real mission, from Mr. Shue, to save the Glee Club, because Puck was awesome like that. Of all the others, he was being trusted to make sure they could get to Sectionals and sing their asses off.
So, getting stuffed into a porta-potty and locked inside was a pretty huge blow to his ego. And he got it, he’d probably gone about the recruitment all wrong, but he’d actually had faith that his fellow players had the balls to man up and do something great, for a change.
But he’d been wrong. They were a bunch of meathead douchebags, but once and a while, they did something smart, like take his phone away so he couldn’t call for help or even pass the time playing tetris.
Great.
Prayer was overrated. Granted, he was a good Jew and everything, because it made his Ma happy, but as far as fathers went, God could be as much of an unreliable asshole as the rest of them. But God had done him a solid a few times before - he’d even answered all their prayers and let Burt Hummel wake up from that coma - so Puck figured the guy wasn’t all bad.
He knew how deals worked. A guy gives you something, you have to have something of equal value you’re willing to give up in return, and being nice to people he didn’t even know seemed like a fair trade. So, Noah Puckerman prayed. He promised God that he’d be a good person from this moment on, if only God’d get him out of this literal shithole, before he died from starvation or dehydration or asphyxiation from the smell. And when he realized that probably wasn’t something he could pull off, Noah narrowed the field down to his fellow Jews, because he knew he could at least do right by them, if it meant that much to the big guy upstairs.
But it didn’t happen. The doors didn’t open. God didn’t help, and no matter how loudly he shouted, how hard he banged on that damn locked door, the hours kept on ticking by. It sucked. It sucked more than just about anything ever had ever.
Except maybe when his dad left. Or when he banged his best friend’s girl and got her pregnant. Or when he got sent to Juvie for being a moron…
Okay, top five worst thing ever, at least.
He was dozing, cowering in the corner with his knees pulled up to his chest, his head lolling against rough plastic, when suddenly, it felt a whole lot warmer inside his tiny, shit-smelling torture-coffin. Huffing out a breath, he unzipped his hoodie, kicking off his shoes and rubbing a hand over the stripe of hair on his head.
Then, he heard it. Oh God, it was beautiful. A miracle. Voices, just outside, muffled and indistinct, but voices.
“Oh God, hello?” he shouted, too damn tired to be embarrassed by how hoarse his voice sounded. He was ready to beg, ready to burst into tears and grovel at someone’s feet. Anyone. God, just-
“GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
[[See this post before tagging. Find him anywhere on the beach. ST/LT welcome. No limit LOL When I said no limit, I didn't think I'd get 12 toplevels. Unless I've spoken to you personally, I think I need to cut this post off. Sorry, guys.]]