In a Hot Air Balloon with a Rusty Nail (part one)
Title: In a Hot Air Balloon with a Rusty Nail
Characters: Puck, Mrs. Puckerman, Finn, Sarah
Warnings: physical and mental abuse
Summary: He knows he doesn't deserve this, knows that Sarah definitely doesn't deserve this, knows that it's wrong and unfair, and the fact that he can't do anything about it kind of makes it worse.
PART ONE
It’s a Tuesday. Goddamn Tuesday, and he’s already messed up for the second time this week.
It wasn’t even his fault this time, though. Not that his mom cares, or anything, but it wasn’t. And he holds on to that, more desperately than he cares to admit.
“So stupid, Noah,” she hisses, the bill in her hand echoing the fuzzy crackling in his head, “mucking around in the trash like an animal. You just don’t think, do you, just barge on into situations like an idiot. I swear, you’re just like your father...”
The unfairness of it all burns a hole into his corneas as he stares hard into the wall of the drug store, waitinghopingwishingpraying for her to just stop.
He was trying to find something he could fix up for Sarah’s birthday. Puck’s good with his hands, you know, can feel the potential trying to claw its way out of the ugly, broken exterior. Kind of like himself. But yeah, he was in the junkyard looking for an old something that he could work on and give to Sarah when he tripped and fell on a huge ass rusty piece of metal. Puck can’t pronounce the word, doesn’t even know what it is, really, only that it starts with a T, but he has common sense and knew that he had to go to the urgent care place when he saw the blood.
And he thought he had enough money in his wallet to cover it but no, tetanus shots are expensive as hell and he’s under eighteen so they made him call his mom.
“You’re a leech on my life, know that, Noah?” his mom rants as they wait by the counter of the drug store. “Ever since the day you were born, you’ve taken away my money and my time and my energy. And what have you given me in return?”
She looks at him like she wants an answer. Puck opens his mouth, not sure what she wants, but it doesn’t matter.
“Nothing,” she says, glaring at him. “I’ve sacrificed my happiness for you and all you do is make my life miserable.”
Puck stares down at the floor. It’s usually best to do that, to just let her yell at him. He’s pretty sure she sees it as submission, and she’s usually less likely to take her anger out on him when she doesn’t think her authority is being questioned.
But no, not this time, because she snaps her fingers right in front of his face.
“Are you totally incompetent?” she asks. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”
It’s not his fault, he repeats to himself as he forces his eyes to meet hers. It’s not his fault. He did nothing wrong. It’s not his fault.
Her eyes are cold.
“I have to pay for Sarah’s prescription and now on top of it I have to pay the bill for your absolute stupidity. What a waste of my hard earned money. What. A. Waste.”
Puck swallows thickly and looks down at the floor, studying the ugly carpet pattern. He has to concentrate to not look at the clock, counting down the seconds before the prescription is ready and they can leave, so he counts instead the woven fibers of the carpet.
“I said look at me!”
His mother grabs his arm, then, with her fingernails digging into his skin and oh god acrylic shouldn’t hurt that much but fuck it hurts. She wrenches his arm and hisses into his ear, “go outside before you make me do something we’ll both regret.”
What she means is that if he doesn’t get out of her sight she’ll start whamming on him but, you know, can’t have that in public. Can’t ruin Nina goddamn Puckerman’s reputation.
She digs her nails out of his arm. And he’s probably being a melodramatic pussy but it hurts.
“Go,” she snaps. “Go sit on your lazy ass in the car.” She turns away from him, clearly done with her son.
Puck’s sure people are looking at him, sure they’ve heard what awful shit she’s been saying to him, sure they saw her being her evil bitch self and so he hurries through the store, face burning.
The clerk at the counter, an old lady, looks at him for about a second longer than she should. And he knows that the look on her face isn’t suspicious, like she’s trying to decide if he’s shoplifting. No. She’s looking at him with that fucking annoying expression of pity. So people did see that. He resists the urge to flip her off by rubbing his arm as the automatic doors let him out into the cold.
Dammit, it’s cold outside. He tries to get in the car but it’s locked and he’s freezing his ass off. He would go back inside but he doesn’t want to get his mom angrier than she already is.
He hates her. God, he hates that bitch.
Puck thinks about just walking away and not stopping at his house or Finn’s house or Quinn’s house or any of his buddies’ houses, just walking until he gets to a place where no one knows his name or what he’s done or what’s been done to him and he can just be Puck.
The pure yearning for this stupid idea fills his bones with such an intensity that it’s almost impossible to breathe for a few seconds.
He would have been gone years ago before if it wasn’t for Sarah. Because Sarah’s the only good thing in his life, and he’s pretty damn sure that he’s the only goodish thing in her life. Which is sad as fuck because he’s not. A good person, really. At all. But yeah, he can’t leave Sarah alone with the Bitch because his mom hates him more than Sarah and if he leaves she’ll focus all that evil bitchness on Sarah and he doesn’t want to turn on the evening news (not like he watches that shit, but still) and see a story about a whackjob mom beating a little girl to death because her big brother wasn’t there to protect her.
Puck sighs and sits down heavily on the curb. It’s below freezing and all he’s wearing is a short-sleeve shirt and he’s pretty goddamn sure his mom knows she locked the car.
He hates her.
Puck hopes to god no one has the pressing urge to go to Lima’s Walgreen’s at 8:30 at night. Because they’ll wonder why this stupid ass kid is sitting on on the curb without a coat and then they’ll probably see the bruises and shit on his arms and they’ll probably start asking questions and he hates questions.
But nope, he hears a car pull into the parking lot, probably a few spots down, and the car door slam shut. Shit.
“Puck!” he hears. He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s Finn. And he doesn’t know if it’s better for a complete fucking stranger to see him like this or for his best friend to see him like this.
The footsteps get closer and he looks up to see Finn, his cheeks red from the cold.
“We’re out of aspirin,” Finn says by way of greeting. “And I’m starving but we don’t have any food at home so I volunteered to make a Walgreen’s run.”
“Cool,” Puck mutters, and goes back to studying the pebbles on the asphalt and the way the white paint of the divider line is fading away, leaving little islands of white in the black asphalt sea. He reaches down and puts a pebble on an island.
Finn shifts awkwardly.
“Is there a reason you’re sitting outside Walgreen’s?” Finn finally asks.
Puck jerks his head to the store. “Waiting for my mom.”
He waits for the questions about why he isn’t inside waiting and shit but then instead there’s a little sharp intake of breath, he hears it, and Finn steps forward, really too close for comfort.
But Puck says nothing. He knows what Finn’s looking at. His stomach churns.
They both stare at the four sluggishly-bleeding crescent-shaped gouges on Puck’s forearm, the hand-shaped bruise near his wrist where she grabbed him so tight in the car coming here he thought the bone would break.
“You know we have a spare room, right?” Finn spills into the air, his words as hesitant as the frozen white air rolling out of his mouth. “And Mom loves Sarah.”
Finn may not be smart but he sure as hell isn’t dumb, and even though he’s never gone and outright said it Puck is pretty damn sure he knows what goes on at the Puckermans.
“Yeah,” Puck says softly. “I know.”
Finn frowns. “You sure, man?”
Puck doesn’t say anything. But he glances up at his friend, and the look of gritted-jaw outrage on Finn’s face, outrage for him, kind of rips something inside of him and he’s mortified as fuck to feel hot moisture springing up inside his eyes.
Thank god he’s able to blink it away before he starts bawling because he kind of fucking feels like he's about to but Finn probably noticed still and probably thinks he’s a fucking pussy for getting beat up by a woman who’s like seventy pounds lighter and a foot shorter and then for crying about it.
But there’s a reason he thinks Finn is such a great guy and yeah true to Finn form he leaves it alone and kind of turns his head so Puck can wipe his eyes without Finn seeing.
“Is your mom going to be staying awhile?” Finn asks. “I could at least drop you off at your house. I’m not that hungry.”
That’s really fucking tempting, because he’s cold and he has to piss and he would really like to not see his mom for the rest of the night. But his mom’ll flip shit if he’s gone when she comes out.
Puck shakes his head. “I’m good.”
He’s not.
Characters: Puck, Mrs. Puckerman, Finn, Sarah
Warnings: physical and mental abuse
Summary: He knows he doesn't deserve this, knows that Sarah definitely doesn't deserve this, knows that it's wrong and unfair, and the fact that he can't do anything about it kind of makes it worse.
PART ONE
It’s a Tuesday. Goddamn Tuesday, and he’s already messed up for the second time this week.
It wasn’t even his fault this time, though. Not that his mom cares, or anything, but it wasn’t. And he holds on to that, more desperately than he cares to admit.
“So stupid, Noah,” she hisses, the bill in her hand echoing the fuzzy crackling in his head, “mucking around in the trash like an animal. You just don’t think, do you, just barge on into situations like an idiot. I swear, you’re just like your father...”
The unfairness of it all burns a hole into his corneas as he stares hard into the wall of the drug store, waitinghopingwishingpraying for her to just stop.
He was trying to find something he could fix up for Sarah’s birthday. Puck’s good with his hands, you know, can feel the potential trying to claw its way out of the ugly, broken exterior. Kind of like himself. But yeah, he was in the junkyard looking for an old something that he could work on and give to Sarah when he tripped and fell on a huge ass rusty piece of metal. Puck can’t pronounce the word, doesn’t even know what it is, really, only that it starts with a T, but he has common sense and knew that he had to go to the urgent care place when he saw the blood.
And he thought he had enough money in his wallet to cover it but no, tetanus shots are expensive as hell and he’s under eighteen so they made him call his mom.
“You’re a leech on my life, know that, Noah?” his mom rants as they wait by the counter of the drug store. “Ever since the day you were born, you’ve taken away my money and my time and my energy. And what have you given me in return?”
She looks at him like she wants an answer. Puck opens his mouth, not sure what she wants, but it doesn’t matter.
“Nothing,” she says, glaring at him. “I’ve sacrificed my happiness for you and all you do is make my life miserable.”
Puck stares down at the floor. It’s usually best to do that, to just let her yell at him. He’s pretty sure she sees it as submission, and she’s usually less likely to take her anger out on him when she doesn’t think her authority is being questioned.
But no, not this time, because she snaps her fingers right in front of his face.
“Are you totally incompetent?” she asks. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”
It’s not his fault, he repeats to himself as he forces his eyes to meet hers. It’s not his fault. He did nothing wrong. It’s not his fault.
Her eyes are cold.
“I have to pay for Sarah’s prescription and now on top of it I have to pay the bill for your absolute stupidity. What a waste of my hard earned money. What. A. Waste.”
Puck swallows thickly and looks down at the floor, studying the ugly carpet pattern. He has to concentrate to not look at the clock, counting down the seconds before the prescription is ready and they can leave, so he counts instead the woven fibers of the carpet.
“I said look at me!”
His mother grabs his arm, then, with her fingernails digging into his skin and oh god acrylic shouldn’t hurt that much but fuck it hurts. She wrenches his arm and hisses into his ear, “go outside before you make me do something we’ll both regret.”
What she means is that if he doesn’t get out of her sight she’ll start whamming on him but, you know, can’t have that in public. Can’t ruin Nina goddamn Puckerman’s reputation.
She digs her nails out of his arm. And he’s probably being a melodramatic pussy but it hurts.
“Go,” she snaps. “Go sit on your lazy ass in the car.” She turns away from him, clearly done with her son.
Puck’s sure people are looking at him, sure they’ve heard what awful shit she’s been saying to him, sure they saw her being her evil bitch self and so he hurries through the store, face burning.
The clerk at the counter, an old lady, looks at him for about a second longer than she should. And he knows that the look on her face isn’t suspicious, like she’s trying to decide if he’s shoplifting. No. She’s looking at him with that fucking annoying expression of pity. So people did see that. He resists the urge to flip her off by rubbing his arm as the automatic doors let him out into the cold.
Dammit, it’s cold outside. He tries to get in the car but it’s locked and he’s freezing his ass off. He would go back inside but he doesn’t want to get his mom angrier than she already is.
He hates her. God, he hates that bitch.
Puck thinks about just walking away and not stopping at his house or Finn’s house or Quinn’s house or any of his buddies’ houses, just walking until he gets to a place where no one knows his name or what he’s done or what’s been done to him and he can just be Puck.
The pure yearning for this stupid idea fills his bones with such an intensity that it’s almost impossible to breathe for a few seconds.
He would have been gone years ago before if it wasn’t for Sarah. Because Sarah’s the only good thing in his life, and he’s pretty damn sure that he’s the only goodish thing in her life. Which is sad as fuck because he’s not. A good person, really. At all. But yeah, he can’t leave Sarah alone with the Bitch because his mom hates him more than Sarah and if he leaves she’ll focus all that evil bitchness on Sarah and he doesn’t want to turn on the evening news (not like he watches that shit, but still) and see a story about a whackjob mom beating a little girl to death because her big brother wasn’t there to protect her.
Puck sighs and sits down heavily on the curb. It’s below freezing and all he’s wearing is a short-sleeve shirt and he’s pretty goddamn sure his mom knows she locked the car.
He hates her.
Puck hopes to god no one has the pressing urge to go to Lima’s Walgreen’s at 8:30 at night. Because they’ll wonder why this stupid ass kid is sitting on on the curb without a coat and then they’ll probably see the bruises and shit on his arms and they’ll probably start asking questions and he hates questions.
But nope, he hears a car pull into the parking lot, probably a few spots down, and the car door slam shut. Shit.
“Puck!” he hears. He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s Finn. And he doesn’t know if it’s better for a complete fucking stranger to see him like this or for his best friend to see him like this.
The footsteps get closer and he looks up to see Finn, his cheeks red from the cold.
“We’re out of aspirin,” Finn says by way of greeting. “And I’m starving but we don’t have any food at home so I volunteered to make a Walgreen’s run.”
“Cool,” Puck mutters, and goes back to studying the pebbles on the asphalt and the way the white paint of the divider line is fading away, leaving little islands of white in the black asphalt sea. He reaches down and puts a pebble on an island.
Finn shifts awkwardly.
“Is there a reason you’re sitting outside Walgreen’s?” Finn finally asks.
Puck jerks his head to the store. “Waiting for my mom.”
He waits for the questions about why he isn’t inside waiting and shit but then instead there’s a little sharp intake of breath, he hears it, and Finn steps forward, really too close for comfort.
But Puck says nothing. He knows what Finn’s looking at. His stomach churns.
They both stare at the four sluggishly-bleeding crescent-shaped gouges on Puck’s forearm, the hand-shaped bruise near his wrist where she grabbed him so tight in the car coming here he thought the bone would break.
“You know we have a spare room, right?” Finn spills into the air, his words as hesitant as the frozen white air rolling out of his mouth. “And Mom loves Sarah.”
Finn may not be smart but he sure as hell isn’t dumb, and even though he’s never gone and outright said it Puck is pretty damn sure he knows what goes on at the Puckermans.
“Yeah,” Puck says softly. “I know.”
Finn frowns. “You sure, man?”
Puck doesn’t say anything. But he glances up at his friend, and the look of gritted-jaw outrage on Finn’s face, outrage for him, kind of rips something inside of him and he’s mortified as fuck to feel hot moisture springing up inside his eyes.
Thank god he’s able to blink it away before he starts bawling because he kind of fucking feels like he's about to but Finn probably noticed still and probably thinks he’s a fucking pussy for getting beat up by a woman who’s like seventy pounds lighter and a foot shorter and then for crying about it.
But there’s a reason he thinks Finn is such a great guy and yeah true to Finn form he leaves it alone and kind of turns his head so Puck can wipe his eyes without Finn seeing.
“Is your mom going to be staying awhile?” Finn asks. “I could at least drop you off at your house. I’m not that hungry.”
That’s really fucking tempting, because he’s cold and he has to piss and he would really like to not see his mom for the rest of the night. But his mom’ll flip shit if he’s gone when she comes out.
Puck shakes his head. “I’m good.”
He’s not.