Would You?

All previous disclaimers apply.

Author's Note: I know Puck gets OOC in this chapter, but he's just gotten the chance to change everything. Please be forgiving. Artie will explain more later about why he knows so much about what is going on! Please review if you have time! T.H.


He jerked awake suddenly to the sound of his mother pounding on his bedroom door and telling him that if he didn't get up he was going to be late for school. School. He moaned from the back of his throat, miserable. He wasn't sure that he was ready to face school yet. When he tried to imagine walking the halls that Kurt would never walk again, playing football on the field without being able to catch a glimpse of the familiar form, and sitting in Glee with the others his mouth went dry and his throat closed uncomfortably, stopping a sob he hadn't expected in his throat. He closed his eyes tight and brought his hands up to cover his face. The sob caught for a second time and he froze. He moved slowly, afraid of disturbing anything, changing anything, pulled his hands from his face and opened his eyes.

"What the…" He sat up and stared down at his hands, unmarred and perfectly clean. The last time he'd seen them one had been wrapped in gauze that blood was still visible on and they had both been covered in dirt from pounding on Kurt's grave. He closed his eyes again, furrowing his brow and trying to remember what had happened after he had gone to the cemetery.

"If you had the chance to do it over, would you?" He whispered, trying to remember it all, "Seven days…Ma!"

He was out of his bed and out of the room in an instant. The door slammed against the wall when he opened it, but he didn't care as he ran down the hall and into the kitchen. His mother was looking through her purse and trying pull a piece of badly burned toast from the toaster at the same time. It was a long standing tradition of the Puckerman household that Rebeka Puckerman would try to cook her children a hot breakfast every morning and that she would, inevitably, fail miserably. She had the best of intentions at heart, but the woman could burn water. However, every morning she tried and every morning both of her children smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and thanked her for the attempt. The wasted food and time were never mentioned by any of them. As such, Miriam was seated at the small round table, finishing off her breakfast of cold cereal and milk happily and quietly. It all looked so remarkably normal.

"Ma, what day is it?" He demanded as he crossed the room to her.

"Oh, Noah!" She exclaimed in surprise when he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

"Noe!" Miriam squealed, "Gross! Go put some pants on!"

Puck looked down and realized he was only wearing his boxer briefs. But that didn't matter. He looked back up at his mother, his hands still on her shoulders. She looked scared for only an instant before an expression of realization crossed her face and then morphed into an expression of concern. She set a hand to his forehead.

"Noah, are you feeling alright? You don't seem to have a fever. Should Miri and I not go tomorrow?"

"What? Mama!" Miri whined, "I've been waiting for weeks! You promised!"

"Miriam, be quiet. Your brother's sick!"

"I'm not sick, Ma," Noah interrupted what was sure to become yet another hissy fit screaming match from the two ladies of his life, "I just need to know what day it is!"

"Noah, it's Thursday."

He just looked at her.

"Thursday the twenty-second." She elaborated.

"You and Miri are leaving for the camp right after school tomorrow. You'll be gone until next Sunday! Because you won't come back next Friday when you hear that someone at my school got hit by a car and I won't have to go to a funeral next Monday for Kurt! Yes! It worked! I have all the time in the world. Yes! Yes! Yes!" He couldn't help but jump up and punch the air.

"Pants, Noe! Please! I'm going to have nightmares!" Miriam squealed again, covering her eyes.

"You…are the best little sister ever!" He pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head, then whirled on his mother, "And you are the best mother!" He picked her up in a hug and spun her around before setting her down and turning to dash back into his room.

"Noah!" His mother called after him.

"I know!" He called back from the hall, "We have to talk. And we will, Ma, I promise! But not right now! Everything's fine and I'm not doing drugs. Search my room if you have to! I gotta go!"

He took five minutes in the shower, longer in front of the mirror to make certain he looked like a stud –which should never have even been a question in the first place because he always looked like a stud- and was out the door in his best pair of jeans and his tightest black shirt. The jeans had been a gift that Kurt had given him without a word two months before. He'd never worn them. Now that he thought about it, Kurt had always been doing things like that. Buying him little things, making sure the foods he liked were at the house for before or after they had sex even though Kurt never touched the type of food Puck liked to eat. When Puck had been sick on one of their normal days Kurt had come over and taken care of him, even going so far as putting on the sports channel. Just to be close to him. Noah stopped his car in the school parking lot and leaned his head against the steering wheel. Kurt had tried to express love in so many different ways and Puck had ignored every single one. Kurt had never said anything. But, he wouldn't. It wasn't Kurt and that was something that Puck liked about him. The final image of Kurt's life flashed before his eyes.

"Love…you…"

Puck's heart clenched and the pain that shot through him, so bad it was almost physical, made him gag. It wouldn't happen. Not this time. He swore it to himself even as his eyes teared up and the taste of bile was in his mouth. No matter what happened, it would change. And he would start by changing himself and making Kurt happy. And when next Friday came Kurt would not be anywhere near that parking lot. He always felt better when he had a for sure plan and he jumped out of his car feeling energetic, buoyant, and not like he wanted to throw up anymore. He craned his neck as he walked toward the school, trying to catch a glimpse of small fashionable boy. It wasn't real until he could see Kurt for himself. He froze when he spotted him. His skin was pale and smooth as it had always been and his hair was perfectly styled, as it always was. He wasn't covered in blood, wasn't grey, wasn't dying. He was alive! Puck's heart stuttered as he looked and could do nothing but look. Kurt was at his locker, smiling, talking animatedly with Mercedes. All Noah could think of was wrapping Kurt in his arms and kiss the sense out of him. And why the hell shouldn't he? What the fuck did anyone else thought matter? Why shouldn't he just stride right over there and…

He had almost made the decision to move when Artie ran into him. Literally ran into his leg. And when Noah looked down, and Artie's brow was arched, he knew it was on purpose. He was ready to punch the boy for interfering, whether he was in a wheelchair or not, when Artie's expression changed. He was looking at him with eyes knowing and far older than they should have been. For a moment Puck was reminded of the being he had thought was Artie the night before and he realized now couldn't have been. There was something so inhuman about whoever had confronted him the night before and brought all of this on that could never have been part of Artie, no matter how wise his eyes were. Puck watched, nearly mesmerized, as Artie pulled the sleeve of his sweater up over his wrist. Puck's eyes went wide and he touched a hand to his chest, just over his heart where he knew the same symbol was scarred into his skin as if someone had burned him and it had healed long ago. The skin was white and the symbol was clear. Three stars connected by lines, a triangle. Puck's mouth fell open and he simply followed when Artie nodded toward the empty lab that hadn't been used in nearly a year due to an accidental explosion in one of the chemistry classes. No one had been hurt, but the school hadn't gotten the money yet to fix it up again. It was a popular place to make out as long as you didn't mind the sulfur egg smell of the room. They were in the classroom for nearly half a minute before Artie spoke.

"I never thought it would be you."

"Wait…What?" Puck's brow furrowed in confusion.

Artie rolled his eyes and looked at Puck like he was an idiot child, "When I woke up this morning and it was…this morning I was glad because I knew it had to be about Kurt. But, I never thought it would be you They would choose to change things. And why the hell did They choose you anyway, Puck? You hate Kurt. You used to toss him into dumpsters and push him into lockers." Artie wheeled right up to him. If he weren't in a chair, Puck knew he would be right in his face. He wasn't one to back down from a challenge from anyone.

"First of all, Abrams, who the hell are They? The only one I saw at the graveyard last night was you. You told me I could change things and it was you who got up, walked into the fog and…I'm sure you said more shit or whatever and this morning I woke up in my bed and it's a week ago and you don't remember the graveyard at all? That's fucked up." He poked Artie in the chest and was surprised when the boy didn't back off, but just slapped his hand away.

"No, you didn't see me last night, Puck. They appeared to you in a form you would understand and would lead you to someone who could help you through this. Didn't even ask me how I feel about it." Puck believed the look on Artie's face was the closest he had ever seen to a sneer as he looked Puck up and down. Puck felt small under the scrutiny and didn't like the feeling. He backed off a step so that he didn't have to look down at Artie and crosses his arms.

"Okay, great, whatever," He shrugged, "So, who the hell are They and why the hell do you remember when obviously no one else does?"

"It's not important. I'll explain later. What's important now is your connection with Kurt. Why did They choose you to change his murder?"

"The fuck it's not important, Abrams! I…" His mind finally caught up with everything Artie said and he stumbled and had to catch himself on the edge of a lab table, "Murder?" His knees went weak and wouldn't support him anymore. The grief came first and surprised him with its intensity as he slid into a sitting position and covered his face with his hands before scraping them over his hair. His voice came out in a whisper, "Kurt was murdered?"

Artie's hand, when it came down, was warm on his shoulder and his voice was much softer than it had been previously, "You seriously didn't know? It was all over the news. They called it a hate crime. Someone took credit for it, but didn't give names. Not even a group agenda. They just wanted people to know that they'd taken out the little gay boy."

"He wasn't hurting anyone!" Puck was glad when the anger came and he had the energy to push himself to his feet. He paced the room, trying to work through the rage that was working its way through him, making him see red, making it difficult to stay still, "He'd never hurt a fly! He…He's so innocent and good and someone just snatched his life away like it was nothing! Why? Because he's gay? What the fuck kind of excuse is that? He's the best person I've ever met! Who gives a shit who he falls in love with? Fuck!" He turned and punched the painted brick wall, glad for the pain that shot up his arms as his knuckles split. He punched again and again until his arm was numb. Only then did he realize that warm, angry tears were making their way down his face. He wiped them away with a quick, angry jerk and set his head against the cool wall for a moment. The brick felt good against his skin and helped cool him down. The anger had been the only thing keeping him up and he slid to his knees again, then turned to lean his back against the wall.

"That's why," Artie said quietly, breathing out on a sigh of disbelief. Puck's eyes opened slowly to look at him. He'd almost thought the other boy had left, but Artie was still right there, looking at him with understanding eyes, "Jesus. I never would have known. I mean, I saw your face when you saw him alive just now and everyone heard how you fell apart after he died. They said it took four people to drag you away from him when the paramedics wanted to put him in the body bag. We all saw you at the funeral. You looked like hell. And your mom told Mr. Schue that she was worried because you hadn't eaten since that day but, we all just figured it was guilt or something. You deserved to be guilty. You were such an ass to him. But…it's more than guilt, isn't it? You wouldn't cry for him if it was only guilt. You love him, don't you?"

Puck didn't respond, not sure that he could trust his voice, not sure if he would agree or deny purely on instinct if he tried to speak. He took a moment. If Artie was here to help him, he would have to tell him something. And maybe if he could admit something to Artie eventually he could say it to Kurt. Really say it. Kurt would need the words without hang-up, so he had to make a start now. He spoke quietly when he finally found him voice, admitting things he'd never even said out loud when he was alone, "We started sleeping together because no one else would sleep with me and I was practically gagging for some action. He was good. Best I'd ever had, truthfully, but I didn't think it was more than that until I was holding his hand and he was dying on the pavement."

Artie saw right through his difficulty and shoved it in his face. "And now you're going to…what?" Artie scoffed, "Change your ways? Hold Kurt's hand in the hallways? Be the perfect boyfriend?"

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to make him happy." Puck said quietly, knowing every word was true, hoping he had the strength to follow through on them, "If he wants to come out, we'll come out. It he wants to stay in the closet that's what we'll do. I watched him die, Abrams. I felt his body go cold. What the fuck does any of this high school shit matter compared to that? Compared to him? I won't watch that again. I can't. He deserves to be hppy. If I can do that, I'm going to."

"So...he's what's important now?" Artie asked slowly.

"Yeah," Puck sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, "I guess you could put it that way."

"Jesus Christ, Puck!" Artie suddenly shouted. Puck's head jerked up so fast his neck hurt. But Artie was smiling. "You might just be able to pull this off! I'll help you if I can. The first thing I can tell you is not to run up and freak out on him. Remember, he doesn't know he died. No one remembers that but you and me. You have to change things gradually or you might scare him off. You have a week to make him happy if that's what you've got in mind to do. One week. Got it so far?"

Puck nodded. Artie seemed to know what he was talking about and he needed all the help he could get it he was going to pull this off.

"I'll tell you more later," Artie said flippantly as he wheeled himself toward the door, "But, I'm not going to be late to class for you." He raised an eyebrow when Puck didn't move, "Well? You should probably go to the nurse for your hand."

Puck got up, looked at his bloodied knuckles, and slung his bag over his shoulder. Trying to save Kurt's life…trying to find a way to tell Kurt how he felt about him…taking advice from an Abrams who obviously knew a lot more than he was saying at the moment… Puck wondered as he walked out into the hall just when the hell his life had gotten so complicated and fucked up and why he had let it. He spotted Kurt, walking toward him arm in arm with Mercedes and felt his heart stutter when the image of his smiling, happy, alive face was overlaid with one that was slack, covered with blood and lifeless. That was why he was going to allow his life to remain complicated, he knew, to keep that smile on Kurt's face. To keep him alive. How had Artie put it? Kurt was what was important now. He was all that was important now. Puck walked to the nurse's office with a smile on his face.