Broken part 8
Ladies and gents and assorted sexual identities, meet Mrs. Puckerman. Try not to hate on her too much.
Title: there's bars on the windows, if there were a fire we'd burn up for sure
Author: Nytegoddess
Pairing: this is quite possibly the slowest burn of PucKurt ever.
Warnings: more Stoically!Hurting!Puck, yay!
Author's Notes: Okay, that little piece I wrote and then didn't do anything with is now a 12k+ monster that is eating my brain. And I love it. Now if Cambion!Puck would stop tempting me with hot ritual!sex, maybe I could finish it...
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
The Impala practically roars out of the school parking lot and Kurt grips his seatbelt a little tighter when Puck blows through the railroad crossing without slowing down.
“Okay, you need to either slow down or let me drive because I cannot die in Lima, Ohio, still a virgin, having never met Adam Lambert.”
“You’re not going die today, Hummel.” Puck snaps out but he eases off the gas pedal all the same. His knuckles are white where they’re gripping the wheel and his voice is rougher than normal, like he really wants to growl but is trapped by his humanity. It’s a little frightening and, if Kurt’s being perfectly honest, hot as hell. Puck fishtails around a corner and glances over at Kurt’s sharp intake.
“You have somewhere to be after school?”
“Uh, I usually just-Bicyclist!-just go hang out at the garage or the house. Seriously, speed limit here is thirty, you’re double that, slow it down.” Kurt’s braces himself on the dash as they rocket around another turn.
“Good. We’re taking a field trip.” Puck’s deathgrip on the steering wheel relaxes a bit and Kurt’s thankful to see the speedometer drop down closer to forty. “And speed limits are more like guidelines, anyway.”
Kurt doesn’t protest, choosing to see Puck braking while going around the next curve as a sign of victory. He doesn’t recognize the neighborhood they’re in, a slightly rundown subdivision of cookie-cutter two-story houses of faded blues and greens, sleds in the driveways and dogs on the porches. Noah’s slowing down the farther into the suburb they go, all his reckless energy burned off in the drive and Kurt risks a question.
“You wanna share the destination of this field trip? Or is it a surprise?”
Puck slows down even more, until they’re practically crawling down Penny Court, trundling past middle-class Lima like tourists, before he answers.
“My mom works until seven on Thursdays. I thought I’d grab some stuff while she’s gone. I can take you home if you want, though. I should have asked if you minded coming along, I just…” He trails off with a shrug and a glance out the window. Kurt looks at him for a minute before turning the heater on.
“It’s cool. I’ve never seen your house before.” He keeps his tone light, making the fact that Noah pretty much just admitted he didn’t want to do this alone seem like nothing and Puck shoots him a grateful look.
The house they finally stop at is a Victorian style, done in grays and greens, with a swing on the oak tree. Puck pulls up in front and turns off the car, sitting there with his hands on the wheel, making no move to get out.
Kurt listens to the ticking of the cooling engine, counting the number of ‘Beware of Dog’ signs he can see, listing his song choices for the ballad project, planning his outfit for next week, until it becomes starkly obvious that Noah’s not leaving the car by himself. Kurt squares his shoulders and hits the release on both of their seatbelts before getting out and walking around to lean against the driver’s side.
“Take your time, Noah.”
Noah’s deciding something, apparently, because he takes another few seconds before nodding to himself and getting out of the Impala. He makes no move to go inside, though, instead leaning against the car next to Kurt, brushing the smaller boy’s slim shoulder with his own muscular one. Kurt resigns himself to waiting in silence for Noah to muster the willpower to walk into the house and start packing up his life, so he’s caught off-guard when Noah suddenly speaks.
“I hung that swing, you know.” He gestures with his chin towards the massive tree in the front yard with it’s tire swing covered in snow. “I was fourteen, and Ruthie was just turning three. She loved the swings at her school so, for her birthday, I decided I’d give her a swing of her own. Saved up my allowance and bought the rope, found the perfect tire down at the scrap yard.” Noah sighs and buries his hands in his coat pockets.
“Finn came over to help me hang it. We spent hours climbing that damn tree, jumping on the branches to make sure they wouldn’t crack, tying all the knots we could think of ‘til we found one that’d hold. We were just finishing up when I fell.”
Kurt glances again at the tree, estimating it’s height and not liking his conclusion. “What happened?”
“My foot slipped off the branch, just an accident. I landed on my head, practically split it down the middle. Wound up with thirty stitches for my trouble.” Noah’s voice gets softer as he looks at the tire. “Ruthie saw the whole thing. She never went near that tree again. Didn’t even try the swing. All that work for nothing.” He shakes his head and pushes off of the car, striding up the walk like he could force sixteen years of memories away by sheer willpower. Kurt follows behind, hesitating briefly at the door. He wasn’t invited, exactly, but being here was clearly getting to Puck and while he may not have understood his feelings, Kurt wanted nothing more then to spare Noah what pain he could.
He takes just a few steps inside when he realizes Puck hasn’t made it past the living room, is in fact frozen in place, back rigid and shoulders tense, hands balling into fists at his side. Kurt steps up and around the immobile jock and sees the tired looking woman with Puck’s eyes glaring at them both. She gives Kurt a glance, taking in the skinny jeans and leather jacket, and her jaw tightens when she realizes he’s wearing a corset.
“Let me guess, this one of your choir friends?” Her voice is raspy, like she’s been crying or drinking or both. Puck doesn’t make a sound and the silence grows until Kurt breaks it.
“Hello, Mrs. Puckerman,” He pauses, trying to lower his voice as much as he can, something he usually only does when he’s visiting his grandparents in Montana. “My name is Kurt Hummel, I’m-”
“How dare you come back to this house and bring one of them with you.” Mrs. Puckerman dismisses Kurt with a sharp wave of her hand, all of her focus on her son, as she practically vibrates with anger. “What, it wasn’t enough to lie to me, to go behind my back and do something you knew I’d disapprove of, now you think you can just waltz back through this house and to hell with the consequences? I told you, as long as you’re a part of that stupid Glee club, you are not welcome under this roof.”
Kurt’s feels a tremor run through Puck and for a moment he thinks he’s going to have to attempt to hold the bigger teen back from charging the vengeful woman in front of them. Thankfully, all that Puck releases is his voice, although from the strain in his tone, it’s nowhere near what he wants to say.
“You can relax. I’m just here for my stuff. And yes, Kurt,” Puck says pointedly, “is in Glee with me. He’s helping me move. Give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your sight.”
Puck heads for the stairs, Kurt following behind like caricature of his shadow, eyes unseeing as he not for the first time realized he was damn lucky his father was so great. The sound of footsteps behind him are the only clue Kurt has that the drama is far from over and they make it into Puck’s surprisingly mostly clean bedroom before Mrs. Puckerman starts in again.
“What about football? Are you going to quit the team if Glee gets in the way? Do you remember football, Noah? You should because it’s your only chance at getting anywhere.”
That does it. Puck whirls around, narrowly missing knocking over a shelf of trophies.
“What do you think’s gonna happen with football, Mom? Huh? If I’m lucky, I’ll play for some crap semi-pro team for a few years until I blow out my knee or take too many hits to the head. And then what? I’ll be just another washed-up loser who used to play ball. Glee is different. I really want to do this.”
“Noah-” Mrs. Puckerman sighs, rubbing at her neck like the conversation is paining her. Noah interrupts and Kurt stares at him, at the fierce desire in his face and the pleading in his voice for his mother to understand.
“And we’re good, Mom. Damn good. We could actually go somewhere with this!”
“Now you listen to me!” His mother jabs her finger into Puck’s chest, a lifetime of bitterness in her expression. “No one ever got out of this town on music, and neither will you. So you wanna throw your life away on some pathetic show choir, fine. But you won’t be doing it with my blessing.”
Kurt is paralyzed, caught against the closet door and if he weren’t feeling like a damn voyeur, the irony of that fact would be killing.
“Maybe you’re right, Mom.” The anger drains from Noah’s body just as quickly as it erupted, his voice going cold. “Maybe twenty years from now, nobody will care about New Directions and if we won or lost. Maybe I’ll be just like every other idiot who never got out of Lima. But I’ll be able to look back at this and say I was a part of something special. I was a part of something that mattered. If wanting that means you want me gone, then fine. I’m gone.”
Mrs. Puckerman stepped back like Noah had slapped her, shock evident on her face. Something flashes in her eyes for a split-second before they turn into the malice filled green orbs Kurt used to see before he wound up in a dumpster.
“Get your crap and get out. And then I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Title: there's bars on the windows, if there were a fire we'd burn up for sure
Author: Nytegoddess
Pairing: this is quite possibly the slowest burn of PucKurt ever.
Warnings: more Stoically!Hurting!Puck, yay!
Author's Notes: Okay, that little piece I wrote and then didn't do anything with is now a 12k+ monster that is eating my brain. And I love it. Now if Cambion!Puck would stop tempting me with hot ritual!sex, maybe I could finish it...
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
The Impala practically roars out of the school parking lot and Kurt grips his seatbelt a little tighter when Puck blows through the railroad crossing without slowing down.
“Okay, you need to either slow down or let me drive because I cannot die in Lima, Ohio, still a virgin, having never met Adam Lambert.”
“You’re not going die today, Hummel.” Puck snaps out but he eases off the gas pedal all the same. His knuckles are white where they’re gripping the wheel and his voice is rougher than normal, like he really wants to growl but is trapped by his humanity. It’s a little frightening and, if Kurt’s being perfectly honest, hot as hell. Puck fishtails around a corner and glances over at Kurt’s sharp intake.
“You have somewhere to be after school?”
“Uh, I usually just-Bicyclist!-just go hang out at the garage or the house. Seriously, speed limit here is thirty, you’re double that, slow it down.” Kurt’s braces himself on the dash as they rocket around another turn.
“Good. We’re taking a field trip.” Puck’s deathgrip on the steering wheel relaxes a bit and Kurt’s thankful to see the speedometer drop down closer to forty. “And speed limits are more like guidelines, anyway.”
Kurt doesn’t protest, choosing to see Puck braking while going around the next curve as a sign of victory. He doesn’t recognize the neighborhood they’re in, a slightly rundown subdivision of cookie-cutter two-story houses of faded blues and greens, sleds in the driveways and dogs on the porches. Noah’s slowing down the farther into the suburb they go, all his reckless energy burned off in the drive and Kurt risks a question.
“You wanna share the destination of this field trip? Or is it a surprise?”
Puck slows down even more, until they’re practically crawling down Penny Court, trundling past middle-class Lima like tourists, before he answers.
“My mom works until seven on Thursdays. I thought I’d grab some stuff while she’s gone. I can take you home if you want, though. I should have asked if you minded coming along, I just…” He trails off with a shrug and a glance out the window. Kurt looks at him for a minute before turning the heater on.
“It’s cool. I’ve never seen your house before.” He keeps his tone light, making the fact that Noah pretty much just admitted he didn’t want to do this alone seem like nothing and Puck shoots him a grateful look.
The house they finally stop at is a Victorian style, done in grays and greens, with a swing on the oak tree. Puck pulls up in front and turns off the car, sitting there with his hands on the wheel, making no move to get out.
Kurt listens to the ticking of the cooling engine, counting the number of ‘Beware of Dog’ signs he can see, listing his song choices for the ballad project, planning his outfit for next week, until it becomes starkly obvious that Noah’s not leaving the car by himself. Kurt squares his shoulders and hits the release on both of their seatbelts before getting out and walking around to lean against the driver’s side.
“Take your time, Noah.”
Noah’s deciding something, apparently, because he takes another few seconds before nodding to himself and getting out of the Impala. He makes no move to go inside, though, instead leaning against the car next to Kurt, brushing the smaller boy’s slim shoulder with his own muscular one. Kurt resigns himself to waiting in silence for Noah to muster the willpower to walk into the house and start packing up his life, so he’s caught off-guard when Noah suddenly speaks.
“I hung that swing, you know.” He gestures with his chin towards the massive tree in the front yard with it’s tire swing covered in snow. “I was fourteen, and Ruthie was just turning three. She loved the swings at her school so, for her birthday, I decided I’d give her a swing of her own. Saved up my allowance and bought the rope, found the perfect tire down at the scrap yard.” Noah sighs and buries his hands in his coat pockets.
“Finn came over to help me hang it. We spent hours climbing that damn tree, jumping on the branches to make sure they wouldn’t crack, tying all the knots we could think of ‘til we found one that’d hold. We were just finishing up when I fell.”
Kurt glances again at the tree, estimating it’s height and not liking his conclusion. “What happened?”
“My foot slipped off the branch, just an accident. I landed on my head, practically split it down the middle. Wound up with thirty stitches for my trouble.” Noah’s voice gets softer as he looks at the tire. “Ruthie saw the whole thing. She never went near that tree again. Didn’t even try the swing. All that work for nothing.” He shakes his head and pushes off of the car, striding up the walk like he could force sixteen years of memories away by sheer willpower. Kurt follows behind, hesitating briefly at the door. He wasn’t invited, exactly, but being here was clearly getting to Puck and while he may not have understood his feelings, Kurt wanted nothing more then to spare Noah what pain he could.
He takes just a few steps inside when he realizes Puck hasn’t made it past the living room, is in fact frozen in place, back rigid and shoulders tense, hands balling into fists at his side. Kurt steps up and around the immobile jock and sees the tired looking woman with Puck’s eyes glaring at them both. She gives Kurt a glance, taking in the skinny jeans and leather jacket, and her jaw tightens when she realizes he’s wearing a corset.
“Let me guess, this one of your choir friends?” Her voice is raspy, like she’s been crying or drinking or both. Puck doesn’t make a sound and the silence grows until Kurt breaks it.
“Hello, Mrs. Puckerman,” He pauses, trying to lower his voice as much as he can, something he usually only does when he’s visiting his grandparents in Montana. “My name is Kurt Hummel, I’m-”
“How dare you come back to this house and bring one of them with you.” Mrs. Puckerman dismisses Kurt with a sharp wave of her hand, all of her focus on her son, as she practically vibrates with anger. “What, it wasn’t enough to lie to me, to go behind my back and do something you knew I’d disapprove of, now you think you can just waltz back through this house and to hell with the consequences? I told you, as long as you’re a part of that stupid Glee club, you are not welcome under this roof.”
Kurt’s feels a tremor run through Puck and for a moment he thinks he’s going to have to attempt to hold the bigger teen back from charging the vengeful woman in front of them. Thankfully, all that Puck releases is his voice, although from the strain in his tone, it’s nowhere near what he wants to say.
“You can relax. I’m just here for my stuff. And yes, Kurt,” Puck says pointedly, “is in Glee with me. He’s helping me move. Give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your sight.”
Puck heads for the stairs, Kurt following behind like caricature of his shadow, eyes unseeing as he not for the first time realized he was damn lucky his father was so great. The sound of footsteps behind him are the only clue Kurt has that the drama is far from over and they make it into Puck’s surprisingly mostly clean bedroom before Mrs. Puckerman starts in again.
“What about football? Are you going to quit the team if Glee gets in the way? Do you remember football, Noah? You should because it’s your only chance at getting anywhere.”
That does it. Puck whirls around, narrowly missing knocking over a shelf of trophies.
“What do you think’s gonna happen with football, Mom? Huh? If I’m lucky, I’ll play for some crap semi-pro team for a few years until I blow out my knee or take too many hits to the head. And then what? I’ll be just another washed-up loser who used to play ball. Glee is different. I really want to do this.”
“Noah-” Mrs. Puckerman sighs, rubbing at her neck like the conversation is paining her. Noah interrupts and Kurt stares at him, at the fierce desire in his face and the pleading in his voice for his mother to understand.
“And we’re good, Mom. Damn good. We could actually go somewhere with this!”
“Now you listen to me!” His mother jabs her finger into Puck’s chest, a lifetime of bitterness in her expression. “No one ever got out of this town on music, and neither will you. So you wanna throw your life away on some pathetic show choir, fine. But you won’t be doing it with my blessing.”
Kurt is paralyzed, caught against the closet door and if he weren’t feeling like a damn voyeur, the irony of that fact would be killing.
“Maybe you’re right, Mom.” The anger drains from Noah’s body just as quickly as it erupted, his voice going cold. “Maybe twenty years from now, nobody will care about New Directions and if we won or lost. Maybe I’ll be just like every other idiot who never got out of Lima. But I’ll be able to look back at this and say I was a part of something special. I was a part of something that mattered. If wanting that means you want me gone, then fine. I’m gone.”
Mrs. Puckerman stepped back like Noah had slapped her, shock evident on her face. Something flashes in her eyes for a split-second before they turn into the malice filled green orbs Kurt used to see before he wound up in a dumpster.
“Get your crap and get out. And then I don’t ever want to see you again.”