masterfade, finn, one-shot
Title: masterfade
Author: une_fille
Character: Finn
Word count: ~1500
Rating: G
Summary: There’s no official date or time of death, just a three day period where he went missing, and was then found in the rubble.
A/N: Title from the Andrew Bird song. Much love to of_hearts & her baby tophats for the idea and for being REAL. And holy balls, all kinds of love to andbless_mybaby for the speediest beta job I ever got. YOU ROCK MY WORLD. ♥
Well you sure didn't look like you were having any fun
With that heavy-metal gaze they'll have to measure in tons
And when you look up at the sky
All you see are zeros
And all you see are zeros and ones
----
There’s no official date or time of death, just a three day period where he went missing, and was then found in the rubble. They tell her that he died a hero but the words are a cold comfort. As the black car drives away from their house, she stares down at the chubby, smiling baby in her arms and has enough presence of mind to put him down in his crib before she lets herself fall to the floor, sobbing.
(Christopher Jay Hudson, born June 3rd, 1962, died c. 1991)
----
The summer is slowly creeping toward western Ohio, the days growing hot and lazy. The sweat dripping down into Finn Hudson’s eyes burns as he watches the ice cream truck make its way down the street. He could go in and ask for a dollar and get himself a cherry sno-cone, gobble it up until the familiar dull pain hits his brain and he has to lay back onto the warm grass and watch the clouds as he waits for it to pass. He just needs to walk back into his house and give a gap-toothed grin and ask for that dollar. But it’s June 3rd today.
His birthday is the best day of the year and his father’s is the worst.
Their house is dark, his mother’s bedroom door is closed, and their lives just stop for that day. In October, when he has the string of his party hat biting into his chin and the warm glow of the birthday candles on his face, his mother whispers in his ear and reminds him to make a wish. She tells him that he’s a special boy and this is his special day and he believes her. He looks forward to his birthday like any other boy his age and he looks forward to hers, too. But there aren’t any wishes or candles or party hats on his father’s birthday. Just closed doors and dark houses and stopped lives.
He’ll leave her alone, he decides, his mournful eyes on the truck until it turns the corner and disappears.
(He’s four years old when he finally grasps the concept of death and buries Mr. Hunny-Bunny under the massive oak tree behind his house. He’s five when he learns that this death and dying business is the reason he has only a mother. He turns sixteen before he learns that even words like gone forever are not so black and white.)
----
The calendar says June, but nothing else about that day does. It’s freezing, the rain coming down in sheets and rumbling against the aluminum patio door. Finn’s face is pressed up against the glass, his breath clouding it, torn between facing the waterworks outside and those his mom has been shedding since the morning.
He knows that he is the last thing she wants to see right now, but that can change in an instant. She’ll need him, soon, and he wants to be there for her when she does.
Still, he wishes it wasn’t raining so he could leave the house and not have to be there.
(He admits he may have made a judgement in error in scraping his loose change together to buy a birthday cake from the grocery store. Especially when he eats it by himself in one sitting and throws it all up in the kitchen sink.)
----
Randy comes into their lives in a cloud of pine air freshener and green aerosol dye. He sings to Carole and encourages Finn to bang away on his drum set, and they both break a promise they made to themselves a million times before and do their best to forget a time before him.
It’s better this way, Finn tells himself. To have a mom and a Randy and a house where everyone is singing and dancing and laughing, and the urn is kept in coat closet.
And when June rolls around and Finn braces himself for the storm, it never comes. His mom spends the day out in the sun, tight denim shorts and an umbrella in her drink, while Randy sits on the deck chair next to hers and tells them about the amazing family trip to Memphis that they will never take.
It’s easily the best of his father’s birthdays.
(After Randy leaves, before Memphis and the new house and life as a real family, his mom falls apart. The following June is the worst yet.)
----
The school year ends officially in one week but Puck has already burned his math textbook in what he called a ritual cleansing by fire and declared that the summer of their lives had begun.
Finn spends the morning skipping class with Puck to grab burgers from the White Castle over by East Lima and the afternoon watching Puck convince the East Lima girls’ volleyball team that nothing would psych out their competition more than collectively dating McKinley’s resident “hot piece.”
“Uppity bitches,” Puck spits, the girls’ cackling laughter fading as they trudge into the school building, skin glistening with sun and sweat, their white shorts clinging to their asses. “Hope our chicks nail ‘em to the wall in the game next week.”
Finn’s mouth is dry and he’s only half-listening to his best friend’s angry muttering. “I’d love to nail them to wall,” he croaks distractedly.
Puck snorts his appreciation and motions toward his truck with a shrug of his shoulder. After Puck drops him off at home, Finn walks into the house as quietly as he can, toeing his sneakers off and wincing at the creak in the stairs. It’s 20 minutes before he gets the text.
Got sum1 2 score me a 6pac. Time 2 rock the fucked up bday in style.
He’s too grateful to even think about being offended.
They drive around aimlessly until dark and it’s only after they blow past the city limits that Finn turns to his friend in alarm.
“Relax, Finnbo,” he sighs. Puck brakes suddenly and the clink of bottles from under Finn’s seat fills the air.
They’re in the middle of nowhere, sitting on the bed of Puck’s truck drinking warm beer and debating whether Quinn Fabray would rather give it up to Superman or Batman.
“She’d want a real hero, a perfect guy,” Finn explains. “Quinn Fabray deserves Superman.”
“Maybe,” is all Puck has to say to that.
Finn slowly strips the label from his bottle. “When’s your father’s birthday?” he asks suddenly. He has vague memories of Mr. Puckerman. Leather cowboy boots and the stale smell of smoke, mostly.
Puck chortles humourlessly. “Fuck if I know,” he answers, rapping his knuckles nervously against the the metal siding. “September 14th,” he says quietly after a beat.
“September 14th,” Finn whispers to himself, trying to burn the date into his memory, vowing silently to return the favour.
“You’ll forget by the time you finish that beer.”
“Shut up, I won’t.”
(In a few months, on a balmy Indian summer day, Finn will wonder at the fond, knowing grin on Puck’s face as they trudge into class and pester him about what’s so funny.)
----
“Did you get the organic paper plates?”
“I got... plates,” Finn offers, weakly. He’s crouched behind the barbecue, his joints stiff and groaning under the pressure of the position. He hears Kurt huff softly next to him and he grins. “Dude, it’s not the plates that matter, it’s what on them.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow and turns back to watch his actions like a hawk.
They can hear their parents from inside the house, his mom giggling like mad as she leans against the credenza, the whole thing shaking and rattling as she tries to stifle her laughter. “Boys,” she yells loudly. “Boys, don’t think I forgot about you promising to make dinner tonight.”
Finn goes back to tinkering with the gas tank, and Kurt mutters about him blowing them all up as he lays the peppers across the grill, waiting for Finn to make fire. The patio door opens and closes, a glass one now, and Burt comes up behind them, clapping his hands.
“Where’s my burger?” he jokes, and Finn grins, turning the knob and watching the flame shoot up and burn Kurt’s vegetables to a crisp.
When they’re all sitting around the table, all four of them, Finn takes the time to breathe while inhaling his corn on the cob and looks up at his mom. She gives him a small smile, and nods her head. Burt sees it from the corner of his eye and grabs her hand, squeezing tightly before giving Finn his own crooked grin.
(Kurt’s the only one who doesn’t know about today, but when Puck shows up later tonight with a six-pack and grumbling about this “morbid as shit” day he thinks he’ll invite him along.)
Author: une_fille
Character: Finn
Word count: ~1500
Rating: G
Summary: There’s no official date or time of death, just a three day period where he went missing, and was then found in the rubble.
A/N: Title from the Andrew Bird song. Much love to of_hearts & her baby tophats for the idea and for being REAL. And holy balls, all kinds of love to andbless_mybaby for the speediest beta job I ever got. YOU ROCK MY WORLD. ♥
Well you sure didn't look like you were having any fun
With that heavy-metal gaze they'll have to measure in tons
And when you look up at the sky
All you see are zeros
And all you see are zeros and ones
----
There’s no official date or time of death, just a three day period where he went missing, and was then found in the rubble. They tell her that he died a hero but the words are a cold comfort. As the black car drives away from their house, she stares down at the chubby, smiling baby in her arms and has enough presence of mind to put him down in his crib before she lets herself fall to the floor, sobbing.
(Christopher Jay Hudson, born June 3rd, 1962, died c. 1991)
----
The summer is slowly creeping toward western Ohio, the days growing hot and lazy. The sweat dripping down into Finn Hudson’s eyes burns as he watches the ice cream truck make its way down the street. He could go in and ask for a dollar and get himself a cherry sno-cone, gobble it up until the familiar dull pain hits his brain and he has to lay back onto the warm grass and watch the clouds as he waits for it to pass. He just needs to walk back into his house and give a gap-toothed grin and ask for that dollar. But it’s June 3rd today.
His birthday is the best day of the year and his father’s is the worst.
Their house is dark, his mother’s bedroom door is closed, and their lives just stop for that day. In October, when he has the string of his party hat biting into his chin and the warm glow of the birthday candles on his face, his mother whispers in his ear and reminds him to make a wish. She tells him that he’s a special boy and this is his special day and he believes her. He looks forward to his birthday like any other boy his age and he looks forward to hers, too. But there aren’t any wishes or candles or party hats on his father’s birthday. Just closed doors and dark houses and stopped lives.
He’ll leave her alone, he decides, his mournful eyes on the truck until it turns the corner and disappears.
(He’s four years old when he finally grasps the concept of death and buries Mr. Hunny-Bunny under the massive oak tree behind his house. He’s five when he learns that this death and dying business is the reason he has only a mother. He turns sixteen before he learns that even words like gone forever are not so black and white.)
----
The calendar says June, but nothing else about that day does. It’s freezing, the rain coming down in sheets and rumbling against the aluminum patio door. Finn’s face is pressed up against the glass, his breath clouding it, torn between facing the waterworks outside and those his mom has been shedding since the morning.
He knows that he is the last thing she wants to see right now, but that can change in an instant. She’ll need him, soon, and he wants to be there for her when she does.
Still, he wishes it wasn’t raining so he could leave the house and not have to be there.
(He admits he may have made a judgement in error in scraping his loose change together to buy a birthday cake from the grocery store. Especially when he eats it by himself in one sitting and throws it all up in the kitchen sink.)
----
Randy comes into their lives in a cloud of pine air freshener and green aerosol dye. He sings to Carole and encourages Finn to bang away on his drum set, and they both break a promise they made to themselves a million times before and do their best to forget a time before him.
It’s better this way, Finn tells himself. To have a mom and a Randy and a house where everyone is singing and dancing and laughing, and the urn is kept in coat closet.
And when June rolls around and Finn braces himself for the storm, it never comes. His mom spends the day out in the sun, tight denim shorts and an umbrella in her drink, while Randy sits on the deck chair next to hers and tells them about the amazing family trip to Memphis that they will never take.
It’s easily the best of his father’s birthdays.
(After Randy leaves, before Memphis and the new house and life as a real family, his mom falls apart. The following June is the worst yet.)
----
The school year ends officially in one week but Puck has already burned his math textbook in what he called a ritual cleansing by fire and declared that the summer of their lives had begun.
Finn spends the morning skipping class with Puck to grab burgers from the White Castle over by East Lima and the afternoon watching Puck convince the East Lima girls’ volleyball team that nothing would psych out their competition more than collectively dating McKinley’s resident “hot piece.”
“Uppity bitches,” Puck spits, the girls’ cackling laughter fading as they trudge into the school building, skin glistening with sun and sweat, their white shorts clinging to their asses. “Hope our chicks nail ‘em to the wall in the game next week.”
Finn’s mouth is dry and he’s only half-listening to his best friend’s angry muttering. “I’d love to nail them to wall,” he croaks distractedly.
Puck snorts his appreciation and motions toward his truck with a shrug of his shoulder. After Puck drops him off at home, Finn walks into the house as quietly as he can, toeing his sneakers off and wincing at the creak in the stairs. It’s 20 minutes before he gets the text.
Got sum1 2 score me a 6pac. Time 2 rock the fucked up bday in style.
He’s too grateful to even think about being offended.
They drive around aimlessly until dark and it’s only after they blow past the city limits that Finn turns to his friend in alarm.
“Relax, Finnbo,” he sighs. Puck brakes suddenly and the clink of bottles from under Finn’s seat fills the air.
They’re in the middle of nowhere, sitting on the bed of Puck’s truck drinking warm beer and debating whether Quinn Fabray would rather give it up to Superman or Batman.
“She’d want a real hero, a perfect guy,” Finn explains. “Quinn Fabray deserves Superman.”
“Maybe,” is all Puck has to say to that.
Finn slowly strips the label from his bottle. “When’s your father’s birthday?” he asks suddenly. He has vague memories of Mr. Puckerman. Leather cowboy boots and the stale smell of smoke, mostly.
Puck chortles humourlessly. “Fuck if I know,” he answers, rapping his knuckles nervously against the the metal siding. “September 14th,” he says quietly after a beat.
“September 14th,” Finn whispers to himself, trying to burn the date into his memory, vowing silently to return the favour.
“You’ll forget by the time you finish that beer.”
“Shut up, I won’t.”
(In a few months, on a balmy Indian summer day, Finn will wonder at the fond, knowing grin on Puck’s face as they trudge into class and pester him about what’s so funny.)
----
“Did you get the organic paper plates?”
“I got... plates,” Finn offers, weakly. He’s crouched behind the barbecue, his joints stiff and groaning under the pressure of the position. He hears Kurt huff softly next to him and he grins. “Dude, it’s not the plates that matter, it’s what on them.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow and turns back to watch his actions like a hawk.
They can hear their parents from inside the house, his mom giggling like mad as she leans against the credenza, the whole thing shaking and rattling as she tries to stifle her laughter. “Boys,” she yells loudly. “Boys, don’t think I forgot about you promising to make dinner tonight.”
Finn goes back to tinkering with the gas tank, and Kurt mutters about him blowing them all up as he lays the peppers across the grill, waiting for Finn to make fire. The patio door opens and closes, a glass one now, and Burt comes up behind them, clapping his hands.
“Where’s my burger?” he jokes, and Finn grins, turning the knob and watching the flame shoot up and burn Kurt’s vegetables to a crisp.
When they’re all sitting around the table, all four of them, Finn takes the time to breathe while inhaling his corn on the cob and looks up at his mom. She gives him a small smile, and nods her head. Burt sees it from the corner of his eye and grabs her hand, squeezing tightly before giving Finn his own crooked grin.
(Kurt’s the only one who doesn’t know about today, but when Puck shows up later tonight with a six-pack and grumbling about this “morbid as shit” day he thinks he’ll invite him along.)