Title: Closer
Title: Closer
Author: alicebluegown16
Pairing/Characters: Finn, Will, implied/unrequited Finn/Will, mentions of Rachel/Finn, Puck/Quinn, Kurt/Sam
Rating: R
Summary: Finn and Will bonding over angry bad day music (the Warren mix) on a ride home.
AN: So, yeah, this is the Finn celebrates Warren Zevon's entire catalogue fic, because I celebrate his entire catalogue and it's all so perfect for Will and Finn. For the winn prompt: Will gives Finn a ride home and he finds out Will has some slightly surprising taste in music. Songs quoted/directly referenced are Closer by Nine Inch Nails and by Warren Zevon (deep breath) My Sh*ts F**ked Up, Dirty Little Religion, The Envoy, Excitable Boy, Rub Me Raw, Life'll Kill Ya, Dirty Life and Times, Basket Case, Indifference of Heaven, Hit Somebody (The Hockey Song), , Werewolves of London and Reconsider Me. And if you want to stop reading this and go check out everything the man ever recorded, I'm totally cool with that. Really, I'll just wait here. First time ever writing anything approaching a song fic, so hope this works.
When Finn bitches to Mr. Schue about Puck ditching him to hang out with Quinn (and he purposely does not use the phrase ‘bros before hos’ because he totally respects Quinn and her new found feminism and also, more than that, he respects the fact that she has sharp pointy nails of death all the better with which to claw his face off if she ever heard he’d said something like that), he is absolutely not fishing for a ride.
He’s about ninety-nine percent sure of that.
Seventy percent.
Okay, maybe fifty-fifty.
He knows Mr. Schue doesn’t need to do this. If Finn hurries, he can probably catch up with Kurt and beg for a lift. But that would mean riding with Kurt and Sam. And while he likes Sam, he really does, and Kurt’s a totally cool friend/brother type person, he’s seriously not in the mood to watch them holding hands at stop lights and argue over who loves the other more.
That’s not a homophobe thing. That’s a ‘my girlfriend suddenly decided we needed to take a break and then got pissed off and insisted if I really loved her, I’d understand why she needs some space and I’m not in the mood to be around disgustingly smug coupley people right now’ kind of thing.
So he says “yeah, sure” because the way Mr. Schue offered without even thinking about it or worrying about the possible implications makes him feel warm all over.
Not that there’s something to imply. He’s just Mr. Schue’s student.
And that voice in his head? That voice that’s all ‘lalalalala alone time with Mr. Schue. Yaaaaay!’ That voice doesn’t mean anything, okay? He’s just…he’s just happy, alright?
Because he hasn’t really been able to have much one on one time with Mr. Schue lately and he’s kind of missed it.
You know, in a strictly teacher/mentor/no homo kind of way.
Because he’s going through some shit right now and being around Mr. Schue always helps…calm him.
Or something.
Fuck.
He needs to stop thinking.
When the car starts, there’s a sudden loud jolting baseline that he can like, feel in his spine and all of his fillings and a dirty rough voice screaming, “I want fuck you like an animal.”
Mr. Schue rushes to turn it off so fast the volume knob almost snaps off in his hand.
The other man is obviously completely mortified, frantically babbling, “Oh my god, I am so, so sorry, that is just--wow, inappropriate--not that I--it just--it's just a song and this is my angry bad day mix and it doesn't actually, I would never--I mean that is--not that I believe in censorship or anything--you can um, you can pick something else or we could just not listen to music-we could talk, do you wanna talk--I'm gonna shut up now.”
Finn’s eyebrows, he’s fairly certain, are currently located somewhere in the vicinity of the back of his head.
Holy fucking shit. Mr. Schue listening to Nine Inch Nails. It does not compute. It’s like finding out that chick from The Sound of Music listens to thrasher music.
He kind of likes it.
“No, it’s...it’s actually really cool. I could-I could sort of really use some angry bad day music right now.”
A look of understanding and Finn ruthlessly wrestles to the ground the sudden flare of ‘yes, you get it, you get me, this is exactly what I need right now, you’re exactly what I need right now.’
“Alright. But I have something else I think you’ll appreciate more.”
He takes out the CD labeled, Finn notes, ABD Vol. 2 and there’s a momentary ‘Uh, there are volumes? How many bad days do you have?’
And then he remembers the last year or so and realizes that is a profoundly fucking stupid question.
Mr. Schue puts in a CD labeled simply Warren.
Soft guitar intro and then:
Well, I went to the doctor
I said, "I'm feeling kind of rough"
He said, “Hate to break it to you son,
But your shit’s fucked up.”
And oh, it’s like when you finally think of that word that’s been on the tip of your tongue or the last puzzle piece clicks into place and he has to sit back and close his eyes at the sudden overwhelming ‘Yes, how did you know’ of it all.
They sit in the parking lot and let the whole song play out.
**
On the drive home, he makes Mr. Schue play My Shit’s Fucked Up twice because the verse
That amazing grace
Sort of passed you by
You wake up every day
And you start to cry
Yeah, you want to die
But you just can't quit
Let me break it on down:
It's the fucked up shit
Just like, fucking grabs him underneath the ribs and doesn’t let go.
They don’t really talk and Finn sort of feels as if that’s a little strange, like he should possibly say something. He starts to make a joke about how it’d totally make Jenny’s head explode if they performed Dirty Little Religion, but it gets stuck on the roof of his mouth when he notices the way Mr. Schue’s gripping the steering wheel, not meeting his eyes, the back of his neck bright red, and he runs the lyrics back through his head.
I make a dirty little religion out of lovin'
I'll make a dirty little convert out of you
I make a dirty little religion out of lovin'
It's a dirty little religion, hallelujah
Dirty little acolyte
Dirty little one
You'll learn the fundamentals of desire.
Oh.
Yeah…that could…uh…that could have some double meanings.
He suddenly finds the scenery outside the window absolutely fascinating.
When Mr. Schue drops him off, he asks to borrow the CD.
“Of course. Just…just don’t listen to it all in one sitting, okay? A little Warren Zevon goes a long way, especially for a beginner.”
He promises he won’t and then does anyway.
It’s some heavy shit for a sheltered kid from Lima, Ohio and Finn knows he only gets maybe a third of all the references. It’s sex and drugs and loss. It's voodoo and serial killers and super top secret government conspiracies. It’s no one understanding you when you’re alive and dying forgotten and alone. It’s trying to find a heart of gold while living in a four letter world. It’s girls from say-one-thing-and-mean anothers-ville. It’s the kingdom of the spiders. It’s the empire of the ants.
Dude, how the fuck did this guy come up with this stuff and why hadn’t Finn ever heard of him until now?
Finn sings along to Basket Case at the top of his lungs because fuck yeah, he’s fucking been there before, he is like the fucking mayor of Been There.
Dracula's daughter, Calamity Jane
Smoke on the water, water on the brain
She's pretty as a picture--and totally crazed
My baby is a basket case
She's gonna make a madman outta me
She's gonna make a madman outta me
He thinks he kind of gets what Mr. Schue was warning about, a potential Warren overdose, when he realizes he’s crying during Vast Indifference of Heaven.
They say "Everything's all right"
They say "Better days are near"
They tell us "These are the good times"
But they don't live around here
And it’s not just crying for himself, he knows.
Because, fuck. How the fuck is he just now figuring out how much fucking work it takes to be Mr. Schue? How much shit he has to pack away in neat little boxes in the back of his mind just to function? Something twists up in his chest at the idea of his favorite teacher being angry and depressed and lost and hiding away in his car listening to music instead of being able to talk about it.
The last song plays, and Finn’s never seen a hockey game in his damn life, but he’s got his hands clenched in his lap, afraid to breath from the suspense of it all, and when Buddy, the big dumb Canadian farm boy that nobody believed in finally, finally, finally gets his one moment of glory and scores the game winning goal, it’s like every Super Bowl victory, every stand up and cheer movie moment, and the rush from winning Sectionals all rolled up into one.
Finn actually does stand up and cheer, laughing and pumping his fist in the air, falling back against his bed with a big goofy grin.
Because he gets it, he totally does, why this song was at the end. It’s a message Mr. Schue left for himself that sometimes life really, really fucking sucks, that it’s lonely and random and shitty, but there’s also this, there are these little moments of joy and they are so fucking worth it.
Yes, that is absolutely his Mr. Schue. That’s the one he knows, and the other Mr. Schue, who is way more complex than he thought and also maybe kind of a little bit broken, that’s also him and Finn’s actually more than okay with that, in fact, he kind of likes that one too.
And he needs to let him know.
Finn has an insane urge to go over to Mr. Schue’s house and thank him for this, for trusting him enough to let him see.
Shit.
Itunes.
Right the fuck now.
**
It takes him forever to find it. He spends more time on this than he ever has any Glee assignment and that’s not just because locating something even remotely hopeful is a daunting task when it comes to a singer whose most upbeat song is about a werewolf that mutilates little old ladies.
But he does find it.
When he starts to sing, he wants to kick himself for being so fucking stupid as to think doing this in public would be a good idea because Rachel is watching him with pretty tears welling up in her eyes and a look that says ‘Oh, Finn. We can never be. Why do you insist on doing this? But please, keep it up because I love the drama.’ and he falters slightly, tongue tripping over the instinct to scream “It’s not always about you.”
He wonders how Rachel would react if he ever worked up the nerve to tell her 'I don't need your pity or your fifty dollar words. I don't share your need to discuss the absurd.''
And then he spots Mr. Schue, who’s leaning forward in his seat, with his hand over his mouth, and everyone else kind of gets blurry and unfocused. It’s like they’re the only one’s in the room, like he’s singing just to him, and Finn’s glad that he didn’t just pick one of the songs off the CD, that he took all that time, because Mr. Schue knows, he knows that for him to do the extra research, this had to mean something, that he means something.
You can go and be
What you want to be
And it'll be alright
If we disagree
I'm the one who cares
And I hope you'll see
That I'm the one who loves you
The last line (And I promise I’ll never make you cry) and he wants this moment to stretch out forever, he wants to hold it close to his chest, he wants Mr. Schue to explain to him about why he chose each of the songs for that CD, he wants Mr. Schue to touch him, he wants, he wants, he wants…
“If we sing that song at Sectionals, we’ll have people slitting their wrists in the aisle.” Puck’s voice, not merely killing the moment, but making damn sure that it’s really most fucking sincerely dead.
Everyone mumbling in agreement and Mr. Schue clearing his throat and standing up, saying that yes, well, it’s a lovely song, but perhaps not quite the right…mood for a show choir performance.
Finn stares at the floor, feeling like an idiot. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it’d just been a stupid CD. What the hell did he know about all that interpretation crap? There was a reason he had a C- in English.
“But thank you, Finn.” Mr. Schue’s voice is soft and his hand is a warm welcome wieght on Finn’s shoulder. “I appreciate the effort.”
**
Hands pinning his wrists and someone on top of him, holding him down, can’t move, trapped, and that’s somone else’s dick digging into his hip, that’s some other guy’s dick, wave of panic, sick sour taste of fear. Brain screaming run, fight him, hit him, hurt him, get away, snarling, trying to wriggle free. But then there are teeth biting at his throat, and it’s like a switch being thrown, he goes instantly still and compliant. Turning his head, baring his neck, more, more, more, a desperate whine of pleasedontstop when a tongue soothes the same spot.
Hold on his wrists tightening impossibly, sure to leave bruises, voice in his ear, a threat and a promise all in one, “I want fuck you like an animal.”
Yes.
Fuck yes, he’s practically sobbing from how much he wants it, how much he wants to feel him from the inside, how much he wants to be broken apart.
“Yes, yes, please, oh god please, Mr. Schue, please…”
Then Finn’s waking up with a gasp, soaked with sweat, his sheets sticking to him with what is very much not sweat and he covers his face with a pillow and groans.
Because it’s the third time he’s had that dream this week.
Fuck.
His shit just got way, way, way more fucked up.
He really needs to stop thinking.
Next story in series: Hollywood Ending