Fic: Shapeshifters and Werewolves and Bears, Oh My! (Glee, Puck/Finn)
Title: Shapeshifters and Werewolves and Bears, Oh My! (Or, A Camping Story)
Pairing: Puck/Finn
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1600
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Summary: At least Finn and Puck have each other for protection against the natural (or supernatural) dangers that may be lurking outside the tent.
A/N: Written for my schmoop_bingo card, prompt ‘camping’. I’ve maybe used a loose definition of schmoop, but I think it’s a level Puck and Finn could be comfortable with. Many thanks to mintyfiend and redandglenda for looking over this story. Any remaining mistakes are mine. Concrit always welcomed.
Puck is in that warm place where he’s almost asleep when he’s pulled back to wakefulness by the sound of his tent flap being opened.
He opens his eyes, just a crack, but all he can see is darkness. He moves one hand, slowly, until his palm is flat on the ground, ready to spring up and run if he needs to. Puck’s seen a lot of fucking horror movies, and it’s been so long since he was a virgin that he knows he’d be the first to go if some werewolf/wendigo/vampire hybrid was on the loose. He knows the rules.
Puck holds his breath, listening as footsteps walk towards him. Something brushes against the roof of the tent, the sound of fabric brushing against the cheap polyester canvas.
Puck makes a plan in his head. When the whatever-it-is is close he’ll jump up, yelling to scare it, then charge, hopefully throwing it off balance. He’ll scramble for the opening of his tent, grab his pack and boots on the way out if he can. His yelling should wake Finn, if he hasn’t already been mauled to death in his sleep, so Puck might have backup when he grabs a log from the dying campfire and hurls it into his tent.
That should slow it down and give him (and Finn, if he’s not dead and bothers to wake up) time to get to the car and get the fuck out of here.
The footsteps stop, and when Puck peeks out from behind his eyelashes, he sees that they’re only a few feet away from him, and that whatever it is is wearing sneakers. Finn’s sneakers. Puck really hopes it isn’t some shapeshifter, that he hasn’t been sitting around drinking beer and making s’mores with some scumbag freak wearing his best friend’s face while the real Finn’s blood is soaking into the trunk of Puck’s car. Either that or something’s eaten him and stolen his shoes.
A hand lands on his shoulder, making him start, but the adrenaline that surges through Puck helps as he jumps up. He yells wordlessly and starts to charge towards the entrance to his tent. He can see the glow of the fire embers they hadn’t quite put out before going to bed and he knows he can reach them. Five more strides, maybe, and he’ll be safe.
But then something catches Puck across his chest and he topples backwards, landing painfully hard on his ass. Puck knows he doesn’t have time for the pain though, that his reaction now can be the difference between life or death and he rolls, raising one arm to defend himself and searching with the other hand for a weapon.
His hand lands on something solid, something metal and he brandishes it. His thumb hits a switch just as he realises it’s his flashlight, and the tent is illuminated suddenly.
Finn is staring down at him.
“Dude.” Finn looks like he’s about to fall over laughing. “What is up with you?”
“Prove that you’re Finn,” Puck demands, even though he’s in no position to demand anything.
Finn stares at him in confusion. “I’m Finn Hudson. Your best friend. We go to McKinley together.”
“No you idiot,” Puck says. “Something only Finn would know.”
“I have a mole on my left-”
“Something I would know,” Puck clarifies. He lowers the flashlight slightly because at least it sounds like Finn, answers the way Finn would.
“Oh,” Finn says, and frowns, thinking. “I know. When we were in 7th grade you got beat up by that 10th grader for hitting on his girlfriend. He punched you so hard you pissed yourself and-”
“Okay, okay,” Puck interrupts, sitting up. He shifts to the side and rubs at his ass, still painful from his tumble, and tries not to relive the humiliating experience that of course had to be the thing that Finn mentioned.
“What the fuck were you doing?” Finn asks. He looks amused again, and when Puck tells him Finn stifles a laugh.
“Shut up,” Puck snaps, defensively. “I was trying to save our lives.”
Finn stops suppressing the laugh and crumples to the floor, holding his stomach as he laughs.
“Oh,” Finn says. “Oh man. That- that’s great. That’s-”
“Fuck you,” Puck says meaningfully and crawls over to his abandoned sleeping bag. “What were you doing in my tent anyway?”
Finn stops laughing. “Uh,” he says. “I, uh. I went to pee. And I’m pretty sure there was a bear.”
Puck lifts an eyebrow sceptically. “There aren’t any bears for miles,” he scoffs and Finn looks offended.
“Oh, sure, that’s ridiculous. But werewolves and shapeshifters are totally a possibility in the wilds of Ohio.”
“You can’t prove they’re not,” Puck says, which is always his answer in these sort of situations. “I could’ve taken them.”
“You couldn’t get out of your tent,” Finn points out and Puck flips him off.
“Can I go back to sleep now?” he asks and Finn glances out to the rest of their campsite and pulls a face.
“What if there is a bear? And it comes back?”
“Then maybe it’ll only eat you and I can get some sleep,” Puck answers, wrapping his unzipped sleeping bag back around himself and lying down.
Finn scowls. “Well, what if the bear I saw was a werebear. Or a witch disguised as a bear? And it comes for you?”
Puck sits back up and stares at Finn. “Maybe you should sleep in here tonight,” he suggests. “For protection and shit.”
“Okay,” Finn says, too quickly, and scrambles out of Puck’s tent. Puck lies back down and listens to Finn rummage around in his own tent before reappearing with his sleeping bag trailing behind him on the ground.
Puck watches as Finn kicks off his shoes and zips up the tent, cutting them off from the dangers of the outside world. He settles down beside Puck and soon they’re both asleep.
Puck wakes up the next morning feeling toasty warm and safe. It takes him a few sleepy moments to realise that he’s wrapped around Finn, head pillowed on Finn’s chest.
“What’re you doing?” Finn asks before Puck can move. He sounds sleepy and surprised, yawning loudly in Puck’s ear.
“Um,” Puck says, still not moving. “I was protecting you. From bears and crap like that.”
“Oh,” Finn replies. He sounds grateful. “Okay,” he adds and promptly falls back asleep.
Puck stays where he is, listening to Finn’s breathing slow again. He knows he should roll back but he’s comfortable and Finn’s hand is on his waist and it seems wrong to wake Finn up by moving away. Instead he inches a tiny bit closer and lets himself fall back to sleep.
When he wakes up again, he’s alone, stretched out across the tent. The ground is cold and hard and he misses Finn’s warmth and softness and rolls over, pushing himself up.
Finn is crouched in the entrance to the tent, staring out.
“Finn?” Puck asks, rubbing at his eyes. He hopes Finn isn’t freaking out because of the not-going-to-call-it-snuggling thing because Puck has heard that it’s a totally manly thing for people to do in the wilderness, sharing body heat like that. Puck’s pretty sure guys sometimes take off their clothes entirely and climb into one sleeping bag to save each other’s lives and Puck would totally be down with doing that to save Finn, if needed.
Finn turns his head. His eyes are wide and he looks scared.
“What?” Puck asks, kicking aside the discarded sleeping bags. He moves to Finn’s side, peering out and immediately realising why Finn looks so freaked out.
The campsite is a mess. Finn’s tent has been demolished, fabric hanging off the poles in tatters. The contents of his backpack are scattered across the ground, and the campfire has been kicked aside, charred logs lying here and there.
“Fuck,” Puck says, grabbing his boots and slipping them on. He doesn’t bother to lace them, just pushes past Finn to wander out into the chaos.
Finn follows, standing closer than they normally would. Puck can’t blame him. He doesn’t know what went on here last night, and he’s not sure he wants to.
“Bear,” Finn whispers, pointing at a torn open pack of hamburgers that is now empty.
“How did a bear open up your backpack?” Puck counters, pointing at it. “You need hands to do that. It isn’t even torn.”
Finn kicks it with the toe of his shoe. “This is weird,” he says, and Puck doesn’t mock him for the way his voice wavers.
“We need to get out of here,” Puck says, nodding in agreement and trying not to sound as freaked out as he is.
They pack up faster than Puck thought possible, dumping armfuls of stuff into the backseat of his car, not bothering to pack things properly.
They’re in the car, on the road and safe, headed back to Lima and making a point not to talk about it when Finn turns to him.
“You really did protect me,” Finn says, reaching out and placing his hand on Puck’s arm.
It feels warm, comforting and Puck just shrugs, like he’d meant to do it.
“Anytime,” he says and Finn nods.
“Like tonight,” Puck continues. “I mean. In case you’re worried the bear or...whatever it was might follow us home.”
He takes his eyes off the road long enough to glance over at Finn whose eyes have gone wide again.
“D’you think it might?”
Puck shrugs. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
Finn nods and his hand squeezes Puck’s arm gratefully. “Okay,” he says. “Maybe you stay over and protect me. Just in case.”
Pairing: Puck/Finn
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1600
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Summary: At least Finn and Puck have each other for protection against the natural (or supernatural) dangers that may be lurking outside the tent.
A/N: Written for my schmoop_bingo card, prompt ‘camping’. I’ve maybe used a loose definition of schmoop, but I think it’s a level Puck and Finn could be comfortable with. Many thanks to mintyfiend and redandglenda for looking over this story. Any remaining mistakes are mine. Concrit always welcomed.
Puck is in that warm place where he’s almost asleep when he’s pulled back to wakefulness by the sound of his tent flap being opened.
He opens his eyes, just a crack, but all he can see is darkness. He moves one hand, slowly, until his palm is flat on the ground, ready to spring up and run if he needs to. Puck’s seen a lot of fucking horror movies, and it’s been so long since he was a virgin that he knows he’d be the first to go if some werewolf/wendigo/vampire hybrid was on the loose. He knows the rules.
Puck holds his breath, listening as footsteps walk towards him. Something brushes against the roof of the tent, the sound of fabric brushing against the cheap polyester canvas.
Puck makes a plan in his head. When the whatever-it-is is close he’ll jump up, yelling to scare it, then charge, hopefully throwing it off balance. He’ll scramble for the opening of his tent, grab his pack and boots on the way out if he can. His yelling should wake Finn, if he hasn’t already been mauled to death in his sleep, so Puck might have backup when he grabs a log from the dying campfire and hurls it into his tent.
That should slow it down and give him (and Finn, if he’s not dead and bothers to wake up) time to get to the car and get the fuck out of here.
The footsteps stop, and when Puck peeks out from behind his eyelashes, he sees that they’re only a few feet away from him, and that whatever it is is wearing sneakers. Finn’s sneakers. Puck really hopes it isn’t some shapeshifter, that he hasn’t been sitting around drinking beer and making s’mores with some scumbag freak wearing his best friend’s face while the real Finn’s blood is soaking into the trunk of Puck’s car. Either that or something’s eaten him and stolen his shoes.
A hand lands on his shoulder, making him start, but the adrenaline that surges through Puck helps as he jumps up. He yells wordlessly and starts to charge towards the entrance to his tent. He can see the glow of the fire embers they hadn’t quite put out before going to bed and he knows he can reach them. Five more strides, maybe, and he’ll be safe.
But then something catches Puck across his chest and he topples backwards, landing painfully hard on his ass. Puck knows he doesn’t have time for the pain though, that his reaction now can be the difference between life or death and he rolls, raising one arm to defend himself and searching with the other hand for a weapon.
His hand lands on something solid, something metal and he brandishes it. His thumb hits a switch just as he realises it’s his flashlight, and the tent is illuminated suddenly.
Finn is staring down at him.
“Dude.” Finn looks like he’s about to fall over laughing. “What is up with you?”
“Prove that you’re Finn,” Puck demands, even though he’s in no position to demand anything.
Finn stares at him in confusion. “I’m Finn Hudson. Your best friend. We go to McKinley together.”
“No you idiot,” Puck says. “Something only Finn would know.”
“I have a mole on my left-”
“Something I would know,” Puck clarifies. He lowers the flashlight slightly because at least it sounds like Finn, answers the way Finn would.
“Oh,” Finn says, and frowns, thinking. “I know. When we were in 7th grade you got beat up by that 10th grader for hitting on his girlfriend. He punched you so hard you pissed yourself and-”
“Okay, okay,” Puck interrupts, sitting up. He shifts to the side and rubs at his ass, still painful from his tumble, and tries not to relive the humiliating experience that of course had to be the thing that Finn mentioned.
“What the fuck were you doing?” Finn asks. He looks amused again, and when Puck tells him Finn stifles a laugh.
“Shut up,” Puck snaps, defensively. “I was trying to save our lives.”
Finn stops suppressing the laugh and crumples to the floor, holding his stomach as he laughs.
“Oh,” Finn says. “Oh man. That- that’s great. That’s-”
“Fuck you,” Puck says meaningfully and crawls over to his abandoned sleeping bag. “What were you doing in my tent anyway?”
Finn stops laughing. “Uh,” he says. “I, uh. I went to pee. And I’m pretty sure there was a bear.”
Puck lifts an eyebrow sceptically. “There aren’t any bears for miles,” he scoffs and Finn looks offended.
“Oh, sure, that’s ridiculous. But werewolves and shapeshifters are totally a possibility in the wilds of Ohio.”
“You can’t prove they’re not,” Puck says, which is always his answer in these sort of situations. “I could’ve taken them.”
“You couldn’t get out of your tent,” Finn points out and Puck flips him off.
“Can I go back to sleep now?” he asks and Finn glances out to the rest of their campsite and pulls a face.
“What if there is a bear? And it comes back?”
“Then maybe it’ll only eat you and I can get some sleep,” Puck answers, wrapping his unzipped sleeping bag back around himself and lying down.
Finn scowls. “Well, what if the bear I saw was a werebear. Or a witch disguised as a bear? And it comes for you?”
Puck sits back up and stares at Finn. “Maybe you should sleep in here tonight,” he suggests. “For protection and shit.”
“Okay,” Finn says, too quickly, and scrambles out of Puck’s tent. Puck lies back down and listens to Finn rummage around in his own tent before reappearing with his sleeping bag trailing behind him on the ground.
Puck watches as Finn kicks off his shoes and zips up the tent, cutting them off from the dangers of the outside world. He settles down beside Puck and soon they’re both asleep.
Puck wakes up the next morning feeling toasty warm and safe. It takes him a few sleepy moments to realise that he’s wrapped around Finn, head pillowed on Finn’s chest.
“What’re you doing?” Finn asks before Puck can move. He sounds sleepy and surprised, yawning loudly in Puck’s ear.
“Um,” Puck says, still not moving. “I was protecting you. From bears and crap like that.”
“Oh,” Finn replies. He sounds grateful. “Okay,” he adds and promptly falls back asleep.
Puck stays where he is, listening to Finn’s breathing slow again. He knows he should roll back but he’s comfortable and Finn’s hand is on his waist and it seems wrong to wake Finn up by moving away. Instead he inches a tiny bit closer and lets himself fall back to sleep.
When he wakes up again, he’s alone, stretched out across the tent. The ground is cold and hard and he misses Finn’s warmth and softness and rolls over, pushing himself up.
Finn is crouched in the entrance to the tent, staring out.
“Finn?” Puck asks, rubbing at his eyes. He hopes Finn isn’t freaking out because of the not-going-to-call-it-snuggling thing because Puck has heard that it’s a totally manly thing for people to do in the wilderness, sharing body heat like that. Puck’s pretty sure guys sometimes take off their clothes entirely and climb into one sleeping bag to save each other’s lives and Puck would totally be down with doing that to save Finn, if needed.
Finn turns his head. His eyes are wide and he looks scared.
“What?” Puck asks, kicking aside the discarded sleeping bags. He moves to Finn’s side, peering out and immediately realising why Finn looks so freaked out.
The campsite is a mess. Finn’s tent has been demolished, fabric hanging off the poles in tatters. The contents of his backpack are scattered across the ground, and the campfire has been kicked aside, charred logs lying here and there.
“Fuck,” Puck says, grabbing his boots and slipping them on. He doesn’t bother to lace them, just pushes past Finn to wander out into the chaos.
Finn follows, standing closer than they normally would. Puck can’t blame him. He doesn’t know what went on here last night, and he’s not sure he wants to.
“Bear,” Finn whispers, pointing at a torn open pack of hamburgers that is now empty.
“How did a bear open up your backpack?” Puck counters, pointing at it. “You need hands to do that. It isn’t even torn.”
Finn kicks it with the toe of his shoe. “This is weird,” he says, and Puck doesn’t mock him for the way his voice wavers.
“We need to get out of here,” Puck says, nodding in agreement and trying not to sound as freaked out as he is.
They pack up faster than Puck thought possible, dumping armfuls of stuff into the backseat of his car, not bothering to pack things properly.
They’re in the car, on the road and safe, headed back to Lima and making a point not to talk about it when Finn turns to him.
“You really did protect me,” Finn says, reaching out and placing his hand on Puck’s arm.
It feels warm, comforting and Puck just shrugs, like he’d meant to do it.
“Anytime,” he says and Finn nods.
“Like tonight,” Puck continues. “I mean. In case you’re worried the bear or...whatever it was might follow us home.”
He takes his eyes off the road long enough to glance over at Finn whose eyes have gone wide again.
“D’you think it might?”
Puck shrugs. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
Finn nods and his hand squeezes Puck’s arm gratefully. “Okay,” he says. “Maybe you stay over and protect me. Just in case.”