Hey, everyone! I know. I know. I should be posting more of the blind!Puck verse, but I felt like I was neglecting my Puck/Kurt readers, so this got posted instead. As always, please review!

WARNINGS:Abuse (not committed by Puck or Kurt)

Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, S2 would have gone a hell of a lot differently.

This Ain't A Fairytale

A lot of people think his dad abused them, but he didn't. He never touched them. He was never around long enough to hurt them physically. None of his mom's boyfriends ever raised a hand to any of them. There was one that punched a wall once and his mom told him to get out before he'd gotten his hand out of the hole he'd made.

"Because one day, it won't be the wall and we all deserve better than that."

His mom was strong. She cried when his dad left for good. He remembered the way she held her swollen stomach. Sarah never met their dad. She was lucky. He never got a chance to disappoint her.

They both loved him, though. When he told them he like boys the same way he liked girls, Sarah asked why he was being so serious. His mom was silent for a long time before she kissed his head and walked out of the room. He didn't get kicked out, but things got tense. She wasn't homophobic like the people in school. She just didn't understand.

When he met John, he thought it would clear the air with his mom. John was Jewish. That was supposed to make things better, right? Sure, he was twenty-one, but he was almost eighteen. His mom looked like she wanted to call the cops and for a minute, he thought she would. Then John held his hand and she sighed. They didn't talk about his boyfriend. They didn't talk at all anymore.

He and John were together six months when they got into a fight. Puck didn't even remember what it was about anymore, but John's arm had swung out and slammed into the wall. A picture hit the floor and the glass shattered.

He remembered his mom's words as he stood there, eyes wide and trying not to shake. Knew he should walk out that door and never look back, but his mom was wrong. If you can control your anger, the wall never has to be exchanged for skin. So he stayed. He stayed and he tried not to shake every time a fist put a dent in the plaster.

The first time it hit his face instead, he ended up on the floor.

John was on him in a second, anger gone as he apologized. Said he was sorry. That he loved him. That it was a mistake.

He didn't mean to. He'd just miscalculated the distance.

It happened again a month later. Then a couple weeks. A week. A few days. Every day.

By the time they hit their one year anniversary, Puck knew the feeling of bruised ribs and he could pop his shoulder back into place without screaming. And he still stayed. He stayed because John loved him. He knew he did. So he got angry sometimes. He was a senior in college. He had a lot to think about and he was stressed.

He covered up the bruises as best he could, but he saw the suspicious looks his friends sent his way. He threw out the pamphlet on abuse Quinn said she "forgot" in his car. It wasn't abuse. Puck didn't know what it was, but it wasn't abuse. Anyone that said it was was a liar.





Kurt was the one that wouldn't give up. Most days, he sent at least one email with a video or an article about people getting killed by their spouses. Puck never opened a single one. He just sent them right to the trash.

"There was a time you thought you were falling in love with me. Remember that? The summer after sophomore year? We spent that whole time together, sneaking around, and you know what? It was the best summer I'd ever had, but I ended it when school started back up. You hadn't been ready to tell people, but I pushed. I made my mistakes in that, but I never hit you, Noah."

Puck closed his eyes against the memory. The sad look in Kurt's eyes as he said it. The way he'd taken his hand lightly.

"I loved you too much to ever hit you."

"You didn't love me enough to stay."

John had shown up in time to see them. Puck didn't leave the apartment the next day. Tried to pretend John hadn't broken a rib with his foot or called him a cheating whore for hours. Tried to pretend he hadn't whispered don't when his boyfriend pulled down his pants. John just wanted him to remember whose boyfriend he was.

He knew as he thought it that it was a lie, but he couldn't bring himself to call it what it really was.

"He loves me."

He tried not to cry as he knocked on Kurt's door, an arm around his middle and bruises blossoming on his neck. Tried to keep the tremor out of his voice when Kurt opened it and breathed his name, horrified. Noah. He was never Noah with John. He was always Puck or, more recently, whore.

"He doesn't love me."

Kurt bit his lip and placed a gentle hand on the unbruised cheek. Stroked away a tear that had managed to escape and shook his head. "No, he doesn't."

The End