fic: But Still The Days Seem The Same
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Puckum/Suckurt (Kurt/Sam/Puck)
Warnings: Mentions of Suicide.
Rating: PG-13? R? Idk man I talk about suicide but I don't go into detail about it.
Summary: Sam didn't expect to wake up in a strange apartment shortly after he'd killed himself. He also didn't expect to be missing his ex-girlfriend so much. So when he hears that she's new to the afterlife, he enlists the help of his only closest friend to find her. Based around the movie Wristcutters: A love story.
A/N: Wrote it in one sitting and refused to re-read it to edit it. So if it sucks, it's because the thought of reading my own writing makes me queasy. Also, I really do love Quinn, but I just needed someeeoneeee to fill the role of Sam's ex. So apologies if my mistreatment of her offends. Only having fun!
Dying didn’t hurt as much as he had expected it to. Frankly, he had imagined fire and brimstone, whippings for the rest of eternity. All of that jazz. He didn’t imagine falling asleep and waking up in another town that looked too much like his own, and yet not enough.
He isn’t totally sure he meant to kill himself, but he guesses somewhere inside he did. Why else would he have taken those pills? He just wanted to stop thinking about his ex girlfriend for one night. Just one night without her face in his head, telling him she’d moved on. He guesses he probably shouldn’t have taken more than two pills. Four at the most, really. Maybe the whole bottle was a little much.
It’s not like he’d really had anything going for him back home. Too many student loans that were threatening to catch up to him. An ex-girlfriend who’d left him for his best friend. A major he hated (why the FUCK had he picked Classical Literature and Languages. Who honestly gives a shit about Ancient Greek literature?). And a cat.
Yeah. Maybe he misses the cat.
xxxxx
So there Sam had woken up. In a bed, in an apartment he’d never seen before, with a mohawked man staring down at him. Upon being told where he was, a world for all of those who’d committed suicide, he promptly leaned over the bed and thrown up.
“You’re cleaning that up, man. I don’t know who took care of you when you were alive, but dude, I am not your fucking keeper.”
His name turned out to be Puck. Sam isn’t really sure what it stands for, but he guesses it doesn’t really matter. Nothing does anymore.
His life is exactly like it was before the pills. Except life is a little grayer. A little sadder. The flowers don’t bloom here. It’s never quite sunny enough. There are too many gray watery clouds in the sky and you can’t see the stars. The internet is slow, and the cable goes out more often than you can imagine.
He still can’t get Quinn off his mind. And really, he thinks, of course that would be his punishment. To always think about the girl he just wanted to forget.
Death is funny that way, he guesses.
So he gets himself a job, working alongside Puck and an Irish fellow named Rory at the local bar. Life’s basically the same. He works. He goes to school. He lays in bed hates his life (or is it death? What does he even call this).
And he hates it. Oh how he fucking hates it.
xxxxx
“What happens if you try to kill yourself again?” Sam asks the room, staring up at the ceiling. He’s not expecting an answer. Puck usually tries to occupy himself with music and girls. Tries to take his mind off of their death by filling it with sex.
The mohawked man snorts from a room over, “Nothing, loser. This is purgatory. We’re stuck. Forever.”
The answer bothers Sam in a way he can never really explain. Forever? That’s an awfully long time. An awfully long time to be stuck in a world without stars.
xxxxx
He takes the next week off of work. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
He misses Quinn. He misses his cat. He maybe even misses Finn a little bit, even if he stole his girl.
Sam really wishes he could shut off his brain. But fuck if death will let him rest. Not even for a little bit.
When he finally goes back to work, Rory, who’s permanently blue and breathless from his suicide, tells Sam that a girl named Quinn had stopped by. Headed east. Blonde and beautiful. And Sam knows it’s her. He can feel a tug in his chest, and he just knows that it’s her.
He wonders if she killed herself to be with him.
“Puck. Puck, dude.” Sam is gripping at the man’s sleeve, like an anxious puppy. “Quinn is here. She’s here!”
Puck just gives Sam that bored look, and quirks an eyebrow. So?
“She went east dude, come on, we have to find her.”
“We?” Another quirk of the eyebrow, asking Sam when he got involved in the blonde’s romantic conquests.
“Dude…do you really have anything better to do?” Sam gives him the puppydog look. One he knows nobody can resist.
Puck glances around the bar, and shrugs noncommittally. Standing, he spins the keys around on his finger. “You owe me.”
Sam wishes he could smile, because he would be glowing. But, he guesses that’s another thing about purgatory. Smiles are rare, if they happen at all. In his months here, he’s only seen one person smile. He guesses it’s a level of happiness thing, but he doesn’t really care. He’s happy, and Puck just snorts and rolls his eyes, and the next thing they know they’re cruising down the interstate, the wind in their hair.
Maybe she missed him as much as he’s been missing her. Maybe she finally realized what a loser Finn is. Maybe he’ll smile for her.
xxxxx
On the third night of drinking beers, listening to David Bowie, and driving 90 down the empty interstate (Sam sees now that most people don’t leave the place they wake up in. He sees that very few people own cars. He sees that these people are content to spend their eternity in purgatory doing the exact same shit they did when they lived. Fuck that.), they pick up a hitchhiker.
He’s soft and lean, his hair coiffed ever so perfectly, and dressed far too nicely for someone in suicide-land.
“Where ya headed?” Puck barks at the boy as he enters the car.
“Where are you headed?” he retorts, his voice full of confidence and higher than Sam had been expecting. It was nice though. He could get used to hearing it.
Puck pointed in the vague direction of the sunrise and shrugged.
“Sounds good to me,” the boy purred from the backseat, before making himself comfortable, stretching his thin body out on the seats. “My name’s Kurt. And you boys?”
“Puck,” he grunts out, then juts a head toward Sam. “Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Don’t call me that.” But it’s too late, it’s stuck with Kurt, and he knows it.
“So, Sammy boy, what’s got you two headed that way,” a finger pointed ahead of them, long and thin. Sam wonders if he played piano when he was alive.
At Sam’s silence, Puck rolls his eyes and answers for him, “Finding Sammy’s ex-girlfriend. She canceled her subscription to life, like, week ago.”
Sam sees the brunette nod sagely in the backseat, “And you’re just along for the ride?”
Puck chuckles, “Maybe a little adventure. A change in the monotony.”
Sam makes eye contact with Kurt in the rearview mirror and raises a single eyebrow. He can’t form words. He doesn’t know why. But he hopes the message comes across.
“I’m looking for the people in charge of this world. Like, the king. Or the president. Or fucking space aliens. Somebody’s got to be here monitoring everything, and I want to find them.”
The car lapses into a deep silence as the two boys in front process that information, until finally Puck just shrugs, “As good a reason to hitchhike as any.”
But Sam wants to know more, so he finally says something. “Why?” Yeah, that classical literature major sure did make him eloquent as fuck.
Kurt stares bitterly at Sam through the rearview mirror, “Because I don’t belong here, Sammy. I didn’t kill myself.”
Sam kind of regrets asking that question, because now he just wants to ask more.
xxxxx
They stop at diners every morning for breakfast. Puck always gets pancakes, Kurt gets scrambled eggs, and Sam gets French fries in maple syrup.
Always.
Yet every time, a little bit of each other’s food ends up in the other’s plate, until finally everyone can agree that French fries totally belong in maple syrup.
xxxxx
They stop at every roadside souvenir store they can find (and it surprises Sam that they find so man. For a world in which nobody really travels unless they have to, he wasn’t really expecting to find any; much less stores that sell postcards saying “Wish you were here, having a blast!” Where the fuck is here? And how are you having a blast? And who are you even sending that to? Sam has too many questions and no one can answer them.) and Kurt has a weird habit of trying on every strange hat that he can find, and buying way too many of them.
Puck managed to nick himself a camera (because of course he couldn’t pay for it like everyone else.), and the entire thing was filled with pictures of the boys trying on cowboy hats, and feathered boas. (It’s really embarrassing and Sam hopes Quinn never sees this).
xxxxx
They got lost in the woods for three days because of some back roads Puck had found (“Dude, they’re totally going to get us there faster. It’s just a scenic route. Enjoy the view, you pansies.”).
None of them are really bothered by this.
Puck has always wanted to see a bear. And, Kurt had apparently found the perfect camping hat a few nights before.
So they spend those days climbing trees and Kurt taught them how to light fires with twigs. He holds Sam’s hands in his own and helps the boy in making a fire. Sam’s belly feels warm, but he’s not sure it’s just because of the fire.
Puck sees a bear on the last day of their woodland adventure. He promptly discovers the way out of the woods soon after. The bear had apparently stolen his sunglasses. Sam and Kurt decided not to ask.
xxxxx
They memorize the entire David Bowie cassette Puck’s been playing in his car. They sing along obnoxiously to Changes.
Kurt drapes his arms over Puck’s chest and croons in the mohawked boy’s ear.
Sam sticks a head out the window and sings to the houses they pass by.
He isn’t jealous when he looks over and see’s Kurt’s lips hover a little too close to Puck’s skin.
xxxxx
They find an empty field, full of half dead flowers and skittish rabbits, but it’s still beautiful in Sam’s eyes. They lay there, staring up at the grey sky for hours, just staring.
“I wish there were actual clouds. So we could find shapes in them,” Kurt murmurs, his hand pointing upwards, trying to trace shapes in the grayness.
Sam finds his hand pointing upwards too now, swaying dangerously close to Kurt’s.
“I wish there was sunlight,” Puck says after a beat of silence. He’d never been one to bring up his life, and it surprised Sam. “I used to go swimming every day in the sun. I liked the feeling of the warmth on my skin. It’s…I can barely remember what it feels like.”
“Then why’d you do it,” Kurt whispers, his hand still swaying gently.
Puck groans in frustration, shrugging, looking up at the pale grey sky with a furrowed brow.
“I was a loser. I couldn’t make my family proud of me. I couldn’t make myself proud of me. I was failing at everything I did. I…I saw this as my only choice, really. At least here, I have you two. And people at the bar. People treat me like I mean something.”
There’s a frog in Sam’s throat, and he doesn’t know what to say. Puck isn’t a loser. Puck agreed to travel this weird world with him. Puck is his best friend. Puck is…
Sam’s arm sways and bumps into Kurt’s gently. He lets his fingers run softly over the skin of Kurt’s wrist. He doesn’t know what it means.
“So what are you really looking for out here,” Puck nods his head toward the direction of the sun and cocks an eye at Kurt.
Kurt shifts in the passenger seat to stare at Puck. “I told you. I’m looking for the people in charge. I didn’t kill myself.”
The words leave Sam’s lips before he knows what he’s saying, why he’s saying it, “Then what happened?”
Kurt stares blankly for a beat, then murmurs softly. “I tried to numb the taunting with something a little stronger. My first time trying heroin didn’t go as expected.”
Sam’s throat is dry and he can’t take his eyes off of the back of Kurt’s head. The silence in the car is thick, and not even the soulful lyrics of David Bowie can change what just happened.
xxxxx
The find a lead at a diner. Someone saw Quinn. Someone claims to have been her neighbor at one point. Sam feels himself glowing again. And it’s like Kurt and Puck no longer exist. Just Quinn and Sam. Kurt runs a finger down Sam’s arm and suggests getting her flowers.
“She is the love of your life, right?” There’s something in his voice that Sam can’t pick up. But he isn’t sure he likes it.
The three boys gather wilted flowers and tie them together with ribbon. Even the ribbon is faded in this world. A sick pink color, unhappy and gross, but better than nothing.
xxxxx
The address turned out to be a false positive. She’d moved. Sam feels like puking. But at the same time, he’s not sure it’s how he really feels or how he thinks he should feel.
He pukes all the same.
xxxxx
Somewhere between the false positive and the next diner, the flowers disappear. Sam doesn’t care.
“We just keep going east, right man?” Puck urges, and Sam can tell he’s trying to keep him from caving in on himself. “She’s bound to be out there.”
It’s not about Quinn anymore. Not really.
He glances at Kurt, who’s trying on a new hat, of course. It’s in the shape of a rooster, and on Kurt, it’s oddly cute.
He stares at Puck, who’s just staring at him. His eyes look hurt and Sam can’t tell why.
Sam doesn’t know what to think anymore.
“Yeah, she’s got to be out here.”
xxxxx
Puck finds a beach that night. It’s the most beautiful thing the boys have seen in days. Sam knows it will never compare to real beaches. The waves aren’t as big, the water isn’t as blue, and the sand isn’t as warm.
But Puck is smiling. An honest to fucking god smile, and he knows Puck has never seen something like this the entire time he’s been here.
The mohawked boy is the first to dive in. He races toward the beach, ripping off his shirt and pants as he gets closer, until he’s finally in the water. And he’s smiling, and laughing, and goddamnit, does it hurt Sam. He just wishes he knew why.
Sam grabs at Kurt’s arm, pulling the leaner boy towards the beach when the boy sputters, embarrassed. Sam jumps into the water, his shirt and shorts long forgotten, and he’s diving and pulling Puck below water with him.
“Come on, dude.”
Kurt hovers near the water, eyeing it suspiciously, “I can’t swim.”
Puck and Sam share an identical look, “We can fix that”
xxxxx
The boys each have an arm around Kurt’s waist, holding the lean boy afloat as they patiently teach him how to balance himself. How to float. How to move his arms and legs. Until one after another, they let go, and Kurt is swimming along on his own. He’s practically glowing, he’s so happy. But his lips can only form a half-smile.
Sometimes Sam hates this world.
Sometimes.
Watching Kurt and Puck splash at each other, Sam thinks he could get used to this.
xxxxx
They make camp on the beach. Puck lights a fire with utmost precision, and Kurt is glowing with pride that Puck remembered how.
Sitting around the fire, Kurt’s got an arm wrapped around both boys, pressing them together.
Sam feels warm again, and he knows it isn’t the fire. It’s Kurt’s hand on his forearm, it’s Puck’s bare shoulder pressed against his own. His head is whirling and he wants to puke.
xxxxx
He doesn’t know when they fell asleep, but he wakes up to Puck’s arms wrapped around him protectively, and his own arms wrapped around Kurt.
He shimmies out of Puck’s grasp, and sees the boy pull Kurt into his arms when Sam leaves.
He pukes by the side of the road. It’s hot and burning in his throat, and it always tastes like those pills. Always.
“Sam?”
The voice makes him jump. It’s girly. And familiar. And when he turns he sees a familiar shock of blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, and he pukes again.
She hugs him despite that. And it’s really her. It’s really Quinn.
“Quinn…” He’s looking at her. Really looking at her. And he can see a long jagged slash around her neck. He wants to pretend he never saw it, so he looks into her eyes instead. They’re tired.
“I missed you.”
xxxxx
She’s been living at a camp. A weird lady named Sue had built the camp, and somehow people had found their way to it.
Quinn doesn’t know why she traveled this far.
She was looking for Sam, just as he’d been looking for her. But she’d gotten a little farther than he had.
xxxxx
Sue likes to wear white. A lot. Specifically, a white tracksuit. It fits her, in a weird way. Though it didn’t stop Kurt from giving her fashion tips.
xxxxx
“I can’t believe I found you.”
The way she fawns over Sam is making him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know why. This is how he always wanted this.
“I was so sad when you died.”
And Sam realizes that it’s always about her. When he died, it was about her. She didn’t off herself for him. She did it for herself. For her to get more attention. So she wouldn’t be lonely anymore.
“I didn’t know how to keep going without my Sammy.”
There are only two people allowed to call him that. A beach obsessed sex shark, and a hat crazed boy. She is neither of those.
“Can I tell you a secret Sammy? I’m going to split my soul from my body soon.”
Sam politely excuses himself from her company. Apparently death drove Quinn a little crazy. And…and maybe it made him realize she’d been crazy this whole time.
Besides, what could she possibly even mean by that?
xxxxx
Sue likes watching the three boys. She likes talking to them. She calls Sam a Malibu Barbie and ruffles his hair. She watches the way the boys lean into each other when they talk. She watches the too close lips whispering into each other’s ears. She sees the looks they give each other, they way their eyes light up when another enters the same tent. She patiently takes Kurt’s fashion advice, she talks to Puck about David Bowie and KISS, and other bands that Sam had never really paid much attention to before meeting Puck.
Sue likes them. None of them know why. She sure doesn’t seem to like anyone else, hissing at Quinn and Rachel every second she can get. She is everything that is right in this world, and the rest of them are everything that’s wrong with it. But Sue still likes them, and she proves it by sitting with them every night by the fire and telling them stories of when she was alive. Nobody knows why she does. Sam wonders if she even knows herself.
xxxxx
Sam finds Kurt and Puck fishing. Puck’s hands are holding Kurt’s tightly into position on the rod, showing him the exact way to toss the line.
Kurt notices him first, and flashes him a grin. A grin. Kurt’s smile is bright and big and everything Sam had thought it would be. Puck’s smiling now too. These smiles are for him. These smiles are his. These boys are his.
He feels shaky, and ready to puke again, but he steadies himself and walks over to the boys. His hand slides over Puck’s own and the three of them hold on to each other and catch a color changing bass.
Puck leans into him and kisses him. His lips are hard and the kiss is rough. It tastes of whiskey and cigarettes, of beach dreams and the promises of a bright future, of sunlight and salt water.
Kurt gives an indignant humph, and the next thing Sam knows Puck has pulled away, and Kurt’s soft, sweet lips are up pressed against his own. Kurt tastes of hope and fire. He’s soft and wet and before he knows it, he’s catching his breath and watching the two boys kiss.
His two boys kiss.
His.
xxxxx
The boys wake up to panic.
The camp is a wreck and Quinn is bleeding out on the ground. People are standing over her body, arms outstretched as if over a fire. As if trying to feel her soul.
There are men and women in white outfits telling people to leave. To run away. Camp is over.
People lift Quinn’s body (is it a body? Sam wonders if Quinn is still alive in there. Puck had said they couldn’t die. But maybe he was wrong) and placing it in a white van.
And suddenly Kurt isn’t by Sam’s side anymore. There’s an empty Kurt-shaped space between Sam and Puck, and they see him run up to the van. Sue is there.
These are the people in charge. Sam knows that know. And Kurt is…
Oh.
Kurt gets into the van before Puck and Sam realize what he’s doing. And as they chase after it, they hear Kurt beg them to wait.
“I’ll be back tonight. Just wait!”
So they do.
xxxxx
It’s nearly the next morning when Sue appears beside the boys, and murmurs her condolences.
It seems that they had indeed made a mistake. Kurt hadn’t killed himself. And he was going home.
xxxxx
Sam and Puck don’t cry. They don’t. That’s not something guys of their caliber do. Of their awesome standing. Their sick reputation.
At least that’s what Puck says.
Sam’s pretty sure they both cry that night.
xxxxx
“So where to, Sammy?” Puck’s voice is hoarse and his eyes are red. But he grabs Sam’s hand and knows that they’ll try to make it okay. They’ll try to keep on living (is that what they’re calling this now? This stint in purgatory? Is this living? Sam doesn’t know anymore) despite the obvious empty space.
There are a bunch of hats in the backseat of Puck’s car.
Sam’s stomach churns and he pukes again.
They’ll have to continue without him. They have each other, right? That’s all they need, right?
In the car, Puck squeezes Sam’s hand tightly. Every squeeze is an apology. I’m sorry he left. I’m sorry she was crazy. I’m sorry if we can’t make this work without him. But we can try.
xxxxx
Somewhere in the depths of the office building that is the people in charge’s headquarters, an angel in a white tracksuit sifts through the files of the recently deceased.
In her hands she already has the files for one Noah Puckerman, and after much deliberation, she’s holding the file of Samuel Evans as well.
With a smirk, she holds the files over her lighter.
xxxxx
The next time Puck and Sam blink, they are no longer in purgatory.
Sam finds himself in a hospital bed. The walls are bleached a sickeningly bright white that hurts his eyes, and the room smells like potpourri. The wide open window shows the sun shining bright outside, and clouds that are taking the shapes of animals.
He gets up in a rush. He can’t help himself.
He’s alive. He’s alive.
He runs right into Puck. The boy is shaking and crying, and before he knows it they’re kissing. They’re clutching at each other’s hospital gowns desperately trying to make sure the other is real.
An annoyed huff comes from behind them, and as they turn, the biggest smile crosses all of their faces.
Kurt wraps his arms around Sam and Puck, and Sam feels warm. They’re smiling and the smiles are real and bright and they feel better than the sunlight.
And as Kurt presses a soft kiss to his lips, and Puck wraps his arms around the two, Sam knows this is all he’ll ever need. He’ll never get sick of thinking of this moment.
