A/N: Wrote this in June. I still like it, so I decided to post it. I don't know what the term for such a short story is – it's a good seven times longer than a drabble. But it's finished and it's staying that way. Filled for Glee Angst Meme. First, last and only fill for that meme, I think. We'll see.
Last night when we were alone, you threw your hands up. Baby, you gave up, you gave up.
It's late at night and Puck's gotten seventeen calls already. He knows it would probably make sense if they all got together and arranged actual search parties, but everyone's panicking too much for that.
Kurt left for the mall early in the day. He didn't come back. His car is still in the parking lot. Finn was the one who found it there.
The entire Glee club, half of the teachers, and Mr. Hummel and Ms. Hudson are frantically looking for Kurt.
Could we fix you if you broke? I can't believe how you slurred at me with your half wired broken jaw. You popped my heart seams on my bubble dreams, bubble dreams.
Of course it would be the dumpster. It's empty except for a body laying in it. Puck's cursing up a storm and jumping into the dumpster, praying Kurt isn't dead.
He isn't, but it's close. Kurt's saying something, but he's so badly messed up and there's so much blood in his mouth that Puck can't understand him. Puck is incredibly grateful that he paid attention in health class when they covered first aid and carefully rolls him onto his side so Kurt won't drown in his own blood. He wonders how long Kurt has been here. Probably a few hours.
It's breaking Puck's heart. Kurt's so small, defenseless – yeah, Puck messed with him, but Kurt's like a puppy or something. Puck could never actually hurt him. Karofsky's a different matter. He's going to pay later, and he's going to pay in blood.
Baby, raise a glass to mend all the broken hearts of all my wrecked up friends.
He's covering Kurt with his hoodie and trying to keep him warm without hurting him further. Kurt finally manages to speak.
"I'm going to die and I've never even been kissed." Puck tries to tell him he's wrong, he won't die, but there's so much blood and Kurt is so cold...
Puck's not gay. Never will be. But who has to know? If he does this one thing... It might not change anything but maybe at least it will make things easier for Kurt. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't do this.
He leans his head down and presses his lips to Kurt's softly. He can taste the blood, and it hurts him like it's his own.
Oh, friend you've left me speechless.
Puck wants to do something, say something, but he can't. He called the police at least fifteen minutes ago; where are they?
He wonders how they can hate him so much, then he remembers how he used to be, how little he understood, and he's determined that the first thing he's going to do when he can is get someone into this school to lecture on acceptance and diversity.
Could I give it all up for you? Could you give it all up?
Kurt's breathing is shallow and he's not getting any warmer. Puck doesn't care that he's crying. This is bullshit, and it's not fair.
And then he's giving Kurt rescue breaths, because his ribs are broken and he's too scared to give compressions that might puncture something.
I'll never write a song, won't even sing along.
Every time he sings, he will think of Kurt like this – pale, bloodless, lifeless. He's going to have to quit Glee, because there's no way, no way he'll be able to take it. There will always be an absence in that room.
Will you ever talk again? Oh boy, why you so speechless?
He's begging Kurt to start breathing again, to say something when the police pull up finally. He's screaming at them when they carefully lift his body out of the dumpster, though he knows that the half hour probably wouldn't have made that much of a difference.
Some men may follow me but you choose "death and company". Why you so speechless?
At the funeral, Finn is in ruins. Apparently his last words to Kurt were less than kind.
Puck can't stop feeling the press of Kurt's lips against his own.
He wonders whose guilt is worse.