Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot to this story and my OCs. The rest all belongs to Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk, the various songwriters, and to the writers of any joke that may not be mine.


Most evil geniuses concoct their evil schemes in a laboratory or a dark tower far from the specter of society. The miserable moronic masses out of their way, they could plot to carve their place in history, possibly as the plotter of its domain. Jack Harmon was not afforded this luxury, despite the other luxuries he had had in his life, so he plotted in the basement of his home.

And he wondered how he got roped into helping the Mohawk Jew when the very thought of the annoying man-whore's very existence being blinked out gave him a feeling that resembled joy. Still, when Mohawk Jew was unconscious, he was good company than upright and speaking.

'How do I get into these messes?' Jack thought, returning his attention back to the sheet music. 'Oh, well, soon Pregnoid or Rachel will pick him up and he'll be out my hair."


The night had started out as it usually had for Jack Harmon. He had been cast out of the local television studio for trying to place his Top 10 Ways to Make a Better Ohio on the air, was insulted by Howard Bamboo, of all people, from Sheets and Things, and a pigeon had taken a shit on his car's window. In other words, he was having a really bad night. The kind of night that would make the average man listless and looking to inflict vengeance upon the first person that crossed their path.

And, while he was not an average man, Jack Harmon felt the need to inflict senseless vengeance upon the first person that crossed his path. That was when he caught sight of the Mohawk Jew from glee. He seemed to be running for his life, or whatever qualified as a life for the irritating man-whore.

Puck raced out of the alley, his large arm connecting with Jack, pushing him back against the hood of his car. Jack's well-maintained hair almost landed in the pigeon shit. That was usually a slight that called for a good old-fashioned smiting, but the panic that Puck seemed to be in got the barely shorter boy's attention.

"Finally got busted, eh…?" Jack paused. 'What was his name again? Rachel told me this yesterday. Irrelevant.'

Puck turned and realized that it was, in fact, the one guy he swore he'd never cross in a dark alley. Not that he was afraid, Noah Puckerman feared nothing, but this guy had that whole Dexter vibe going for him and that was enough to jangle the nerves of the normally fearless Puck.

"Who's chasing you?" Jack asked. "The cops? The federales? An angry husband who found you cleaning out more than his pool?"

Puck looked down the alley, Berry Boy's car was blocking his way out.

"I need your car," Puck said.

"So, we can add grand theft auto to the list of charges?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Puck questioned, his eyebrow cocked.

"I never try to be funny," Jack countered, "it just comes naturally."

"Just give me your damn car!"

Jack craned his head around the side of the alley where Puck had emerged.

"Or," he said. "Just thinking outside the box here, I can go out there and check. What's the chaser look like?"

"Big, ugly, and really pissed off."

"You were chasing yourself?"

"Do you wanna keep your teeth or not, Harmon?" Puck asked, his fist shaking violently at his rival.

Jack raised his hands defensively.

"I'll go look. You wait here until I give you a signal," he said, turning and walking down the alley. 'If he was still chasing him, he would've found him with all that yelling."

Jack stepped out onto the sidewalk, looking around for the tall, ugly, pissed off guy Mohawk Jew had described to him.

'If I find this guy, maybe I should give him the Mohawk Jew,' he pondered to himself. 'I could watch him get his ass beat, have a good laugh, and tonight wouldn't be a total waste. Where is this guy? Or maybe this is just an excuse to get McClaine for himself?'

Jack was about to turn and stop the possible theft in progress when he heard a strangled and angry voice.

"Puckerman!" it called out, obviously angry about something, possibly missing dinner if the sound was any indication of its weight.

Jack turned and got his answer. It was as if Jabba the Hut had sprung off of the screen and turned human, retaining the Hut-like shape. Jack almost threw up in his mouth a little.

'This must be the guy,' Jack thought. 'Who was he calling for again?'

"I'm gonna rip that little son-of-a-bitch apart!" the man-thing exclaimed.

"Must be the Mohawk Jew," Jack said to himself. "Excuse me, sir, if you're looking for someone, I saw him go that way."

Jack pointed down the alley, his voice was cranked up a couple of decibels, hoping that Puck would think that he was tricking the man-thing. The man-thing stared at Jack, unsure if the young man was hard of hearing or crazy. Jack continued to point down the backstreet, while the man-thing proved a good case for the implementation of Social Darwinism.

After five tense and agonizing minutes of trying to direct him down the alley, Jack gave up.

"Follow me," he whispered, stepping into the alley.

The man-thing followed Jack, still looking like Finn during a math test. Jack entered the intersection of the alley, looking around for Puck.

'Please let him be here. Please let him be here. Please let him be here!'

Jack got his wish, telling the creature behind him to stop for a second.

"I think you lost him," Jack said to Puck. "Now follow his lead so I can get back to thinking in peace."

No sooner did Puck follow his egotistical teammate's instructions did the creature strike, punching him square in the stomach. Jack's snort of laughter was enough to tell Puck he had been duped by the psycho once again.

New Directions' resident badass dodged the next punch, tumbling back from the force of the man-thing's prodigious size. He dodged another attack, falling backwards onto Jack, landing on the ground.

"Get off of me!" Jack shouted, shoving Puck's frame off of him.

This only served to get Jack a punch to the gut as the man-thing's fist missed Puck and collided with him. The creature from Lima, Ohio grabbed a piece of metal from the trash that littered the backstreet.

He swung at Puck, who was barely able to move out of the way. Jack rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath, his watering eyes focusing on the fight that was being waged around his car. Puck dodged the metal again, the object smashing the passenger side door.

Puck ducked this time, scurrying under the man-thing's legs, no easy task considering. That time, the metal cracked a window.

"McClaine," Jack cried, biting his lower lip to distract himself from the feeling of anguish kicking at his innards.

Puck grabbed a garbage can lid, swinging it at the creature. The lid imprinted the man-thing's head into the metal oval, causing him to stop his attack for a second. This gave Puck the time to punch him in the stomach, winding his larger opponent.

The creature fell to his knees and Puck struck again, cold-cocking him in the mouth. The massive body of the man-thing fell to the ground. Puck was fairly sure he felt the ground shake when the thing landed.

"And that's what you get when you fuck with the Puckasaurus!" he said triumphantly.

"Yeah," Jack said, standing up, "and do you know what happens when you fuck with John McClaine?"

"What?" Puck asked, turning around to confront Jack.

"You get fucked up," Jack declared, his hand moving faster than the human eye.

He jabbed Puck in the stomach with his taser, zapping his nemesis until he hit the ground. Jack hobbled to his car, ready to leave them both when he felt something tugging at him. He looked around to see if there was someone else in the alley with him.

'You can't just leave him here,' said a voice that sounded remarkably like Quinn's.

'Noah may have his faults," Rachel's voice was next, 'but he has a good heart. Maybe one that's bigger than all of ours.'

Jack growled. He was going to have a long talk with both girls about this whole humanizing thing they were so intent on doing to him. Jack scooped Puck up, dumping him into the backseat of his car.

'I hope he doesn't give McClaine lice,' he thought. 'He's done more than enough to him.'


Nearly 30 minutes later, Jack had returned home. He hadn't even tried to find Mohawk Jew's house, that would take too long he would probably catch some sort of venereal disease if he went anywhere near his neighborhood.

'I should call the Pregnoid, or maybe Rachel' Jack thought as he unloaded Puck from the car. 'They seem to care about him. And this will be my good deed for the century.'

He moved up the pathway to the front door, the lights in the living room on and the TV still buzzing.

'Dad must be home.'

Jack moved toward the door, propping Puck against the frame while he looked for his key. Jack unlocked the door, dragging Puck into the house and into the neutral zone that separated his father's office and the living room.

"Dad," he called out, "I'm home."

Kristopher Harmon, a handsome, average size man with white hair, looked up from the couch, his glasses askew on his face. He had been sleeping before the sounds of his only child's distinctive voice were heard.

Kristopher stepped into the neutral area, titling his head at the sight of his son carrying an unconscious kid, possibly one of his fellow students.

"You finally started bringing your victims home, eh?" he asked, a trace of sarcasm cutting through his voice.

Jack laughed. "No. I still take them to that abandoned factory where can dispose of the mess."

"So, what happened?"

"Ah, ran into some trouble," Jack explained. "This is the one that likes to bone married woman. I think a husband caught him and decided to work him over."

"So, how'd he end up getting tasered?" Kristopher asked, folding his arms.

"You're very good at spotting those," Jack complimented. "He was also party to a series of injuries to McClaine."

"Bad ones?"

"You know," Jack began, "when I tasered him I thought they were bad. But, it doesn't seem that bad, just a dent in the passenger side door and a crack in the same side window."

"Does mean we have a guest?" Kristopher asked, moving toward the kitchen.

"No. I'm gonna call his baby mama and she can deal with him," Jack said, navigating himself and Puck into his basement room.

"If you need anything," Kristopher called out to his son.

"I know," Jack replied from the bottom of the steps.


Almost an hour later, the phone call had been made and Puck was beginning to stir. Jack armed the taser again, just in case his enemy got jumpy.

"Where the hell am I?" was the first question Puck asked as he shot up from Jack's couch.

"In my secret lair," Jack quipped, looking up from his sheet music. "And you interrupted me during a crucial moment."

"Whatever," Puck muttered, trying to get his bearings.

"I wouldn't move around that much if I were you," Jack stated. "The taser volts should be settling in a couple of minutes. Then you can move all you like and get the hell out of here."

"Not until I kick your ass!" Puck exclaimed, his tone threatening.

Jack raised the taser again. "Please give me a reason to use this again. Please," Jack said. "I've had a shitty night and this has been the highlight. So, please, make my night."

Puck settled, leaning back onto the sofa, his head still groggy.

"Not that I care," Jack's voice ripped through the silence again, "but what were you doing in that alley?"

"Why were you there?" Puck countered.

"Simple," Jack said. "I had errands to run. You, on the other hand, were busy screwing future welfare mothers or banging old ladies. I'm not sure what your M.O. is anymore. I just know that you were probably out causing trouble."

Puck screwed up his face, this guy really was a complete tool. He looked back at Jack, seeing the ego with legs pushing a glass toward him.

"You're probably thirsty," Jack said. "Take it. And don't worry, my father poured the drink, I didn't tamper with it."

"How do I know that's the truth?" Puck asked, apprehensively taking the glass.

"Because if you don't drink, I'm liable to pour it back into the container and since I wouldn't risk hurting my father, you can bet that I wouldn't touch it in any malicious way."

Puck looked at the drink, it seemed safe. He sniffed it, no suspicious smells. He gingerly placed the glass to his lips and took a sip. Nothing happened.

"So, was it the wife fucking thing that got you in trouble or not?" Jack said. "Because if that guy was doing it with high school girls, I might go back and make sure he can't do it again."

"No," Puck said. "It wasn't neither."

"It wasn't either," Jack corrected.

"Whatever," Puck growled. "That asshole was watching my mom undress. Whacking off to it and everything."

Jack wasn't sure how to react to this revelation. One part of him wanted to congratulate Puck on finally using his dumbass aggression for good, another part wanted to throw up in his mouth, he had seen Puck's mother, and there was small, very small part of him that wanted to go back to the alley and beat the crap out of the guy himself.

"Then he got what he deserved," the vigilante response, that was the safest bet. "I called up the Pregnoid, she and Buick are coming to get you."

"Why'd you do this?"

"Taser you? Because you annoy me."

"No," Puck said. "why'd you help me after you obviously wanted to see me get my ass kicked?"

Jack sighed. "I didn't want to help you. I would've been happy just leaving you there with the peeper and the rats," he explained. "Had I done that though, I wouldn't have found out that you have a soul. I think that under these circumstances, and with regionals coming, we should call a truce. No more pranks, no more insults, no more violence."

Puck looked at Jack. Was he serious? A truce? Puck studied his enemy's face. The others were counting on them, fighting wasn't going to help them beat Vocal Adrenaline and save glee for another year.

"Truce," Puck said. "And no more tasers." He quickly added.

Jack nodded.

"You'll forgive me if I don't shake your hand," Jack said venomously. "It's not that I don't trust you, I just don't trust you."

"Same here," Puck retorted with just as much venom.

They both reacted when they heard Jack's father open the door.

"But, after regionals," Jack cautioned, "this truce is over. And I'm opening the biggest bag of freak on you during the summer."

"I figured you would, Jack-Ass," Puck said, a emphasis on the "Jack."

"Ooh, real original," Jack mocked.

"Better than Mohawk Jew," Puck said, moving up the steps.

"Trip and die," Jack muttered under his breath as Puck disappeared up the stairs.

Jack returned to his music, perhaps the night wouldn't be a total waste.


A/N: Another story completed and another character has entered Jack's world and come out alive. Feel free to tell me what you think, tell me the good, the bad, the ugly, and the indifferent, I'm open to any good and/or helpful suggestions you guys have for me.