Thinking back on it, Puck could definitely see what Jesse saw in Rachel, that strong structure, the large heart she had, as the girl cried for her recently deceased friends. Admittedly, Puck was underreacting, if he thought about it honestly. His best friend of many years was now dead, her child left in the care of someone as incompetent as himself and his other dead best friends’ self-centered BFF. If it wasn’t happening to him, he was sure that he would find a large amount of irony in the situation.

“A little insane, yeah,” he murmured, rubbing a large palm over the heated skin of the back of his neck, his mohawk just a little longer than usual. Puck leaned back against one of the far walls. “I dunno, San doesn’t really think anything through–” he started, watching Rachel’s back as she paced, “–but it’s hard to imagine that Q didn’t but no thought in this.” Puck grimaced at his misuse of grammar, hoping that Berry wouldn’t catch it in her hysterics. He had sincerely begun to try and fix his horrible Lima accent and terrifyingly inaccurate grammar since they’d left Ohio, people only judging him more when he couldn’t speak professionally within the force. Puck was a trained fire-fighter for God’s sake, he should know how to avoid saying “ain’t” all of the time.

Trying not to overthink all of his actions, he punched out a quick, “Would’ya stop walkin’ around so much? Y’er makin’ me sea-sick.” The nausea wasn’t coming from Rachel’s pacing, he argued against himself, but Puck wasn’t willing to admit that he was starting to feel a little gross from the whole situation in general. The crescents on his arms burned.

“She doesn’t have anybody if we don’t do somethin’ for her, and I ain’t lettin’ my baby girl go into the hands of Judy. She’s a nice lady, really– even kind of hot if you put a bag over her head – but she really messed up Q, and I’m not lettin’ that happen to Sof.” Puck slowly took a few steps toward Rachel, genuinely feeling a bit weird at trying to comfort her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’re what she’s got, and we’re gonna have to do, even if we don’t get along.”

Rachel had returned to wearing away at the carpets with her brisk pacing when she heard Puck’s snappy request and froze immediately. Under different circumstances she would’ve continued doing what she was doing, even more so just for good measure. But this was different. He was doing the strange kind of coping, and Rachel was worried that he could snap at any moment. And yet, he was still trying to comfort her. She couldn’t help but place her hand on top of his. “I agree. And she’s been drinking more and more... and who know’s what’ll happen now that...” She couldn’t say it. That meant that it was real. Rachel Berry would go her entire life without saying that Quinn and Santana died if that’s what it took to keep it from being real. 

Wincing, Puck let Rachel move freely from his arms. Maybe alright hadn’t been a good choice of words, he thought as he swallowed. His chest felt tight, the pressure on his rib cage reminding him of how he felt after a particularly difficult work out. “As alright as it’s gonna be, okay.” Puck sighed, running a hand through his mohawk, wanting nothing more than to grip and pull at the strands there, “We…we just gotta think about this for a minute.” Hoping that Rachel ignored the wetness to his own tone, gravel building in his throat with each passing moment, he continued, “They wouldn’t want you bein’ all upset.”

The words sounded false, even to his own ears, but before he could say much more, Rachel’s talented, warm hands reached for him again. Instead of shrugging her off or trying to cop a feel under her shirt like he would normally do, Puck slipped his own hand to Rachel’s arm, doing his best to be strong for them both. Rachel’s emotional state made him uncomfortable– he couldn’t lie about that – but there was no way he could be anything less than what he considered helpful. By that, he meant that he would not push Rachel away or grab her wrists as her fingernails made crescent slices into his bicep. A small hiss escaped him nonetheless.

Recovering, Puck pulled Rachel close once more, large hands cupping her smooth jaw. “Hey, hey– look at me – at me, okay? We’re…uh, we’re gonna figure this out,” he promised, knowing damn well that the little girl who was currently in their care needed them now that she no longer had two of the best women Puck had ever met in her life.

Despite his better judgement, Puck slid his arms around Rachel, not caring that her sticky, dark mascara would ruin his white v-neck and bleed through the cotton. Berry must have known that Puck wasn’t good with words– right? She knew that he couldn’t spit poetry like she could, make the situation better.

After the silence between them, heavy breathing and tears shed, managed to settle a little more, Puck added softly, “Who am I kidding– they would want us to cry for years over them. ‘Specially San,” he choked a laugh, the end curling into something warm, now tinged with bitterness he couldn’t help but feel. 

God. This was the second time today that she was too wrapped up in her own feelings to think of anyone but himself. Puck was hurting just as much as she was, but he was doing double the work trying to keep it together for the sake of them both. And Sofia. The mere thought of the beautiful, innocent, unassuming now parentless little baby could send her into another fit of hysterics. She managed effortlessly not to give him her signature “shut it, Puckerman” side glance when he tried to assure her their friends wouldn’t have wanted them to be upset, because god he was really trying here. 

Rachel did however, do a double take when she heard something of a hiss escape his mouth. Crap. She was literally digging her claws into him. She’d imagine doing just that on many, many occasions. Such as the time Puck thought it’d be funny to flip her over into an empty trash can him and the boys were throwing frisbees into, or the surplus occasions that he’d pinch her ass the second someone took a group photo. The brunette imagined there’d be venom behind her actions, and retaliation right after. However, she was subconsciously digging her nails into him for comfort, and Puck was actually letting her.

The actress instinctively scrunched her nose as Puck forced her too look at him, an action that brought into perspective how terrible she must’ve looked right now. She nodded in agreement, more for the sake of him than herself, as her smooth skin rubbed against his calloused hands. Suddenly, Rachel found herself in the familiar spot where his chest muscles met. “Well if I keep it up at this rate, she’ll be getting exactly what she wants.” She mumbled into his v-neck, a trace of laughter in her voice, as she instinctively traced comforting circles across Puck’s back with her tiny hands.

Puck stood frozen as everyone and everything moved quickly around him. For once, he had no sarcastic response, no joke to lighten the mood in an inappropriate way, no words at all, it seemed. Seeing Mrs. Fabray clutch at Rachel like the world was crashing down on her shoulders made him want to turn and leave the room, but he found he couldn’t do much of anything. 

Santana was dead.

The words sounded still, nearly as lifeless as his best friend apparently was. Chest heavy, he opened his mouth to talk when the twiggy officer in front of him began talking again, “We are making arrangements, at the moment, and if we can do anything, anything at all, please–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Puck seethed, jaw tight. Knowing full well that there were too many cops in the room to actually show the aggression he wanted to without getting arrested himself, he clutched his hands tightly at his side. “Unless you can– can fix this, shut the fuck up.” Seeing the usually well-composed Rachel Berry crash and crumble underneath the weight of the news herself, Puck felt the urge to protect and comfort her as well. Despite being in front of Kurt and Finn, even Quinn’s family and a few detectives, Puck took the few short steps he needed to in order to press Rachel against the wall, covering her with his chest. He would later deny the affection if the Hudson-Hummel duo brought it up, but Puck knew how devastated Rachel must have felt in that moment– she was always so much more emotional that Puck was. The odd thought made Puck wanted to smile through the anger and sadness he felt. Those darker feelings seemed to be numb at the moment though, the need to protect much more prominent in his mind. 

Turning his head, Puck glared daggers at the officer trying to come closer to Rachel– P…Pete? Patrick? He sneered, clutching Rachel tighter to him. A quiet thought whispered through him despite his mood, “What…what about Sofia?” Swallowing thickly, Puck searched Mrs. Fabray’s face, then the detective and officers. Kurt was giving him that, ‘Uhm, Noah, you’re an idiot’ look, so he must have been missing something fairly important. “She’s alright isn’t she–” he tensed, but the twiggy man held up a palm.

“The Fabray-Lopez daughter is perfectly fine,” he was quick to assure. Puck hated this guy, hated him. In another time, he was sure he would have thrown the man into a dumpster, maybe punched him in the face for his ‘I’m too good for you’ looks he’d been casting toward their group the entire time they’d been here. “As…as her godfather, and you, Miss Berry, her godmother, you are…” he paused to grimace, “technically her guardians at this moment.”

Inhaling deeply, Puck tried to stay calm. At least for the girl in his arms, he promised himself. He wanted to punch a wall– he wanted to drive his old ford off of a cliff like he’d thought about when he was 17– he wanted to cry. But, he thought, biting his tongue, he knew that if he started crying now, he was not likely to stop. Puck swallowed thickly. “I…” 

He didn’t want to discuss this in front of these people. Kurt and Finn gave him pitied looks, and Puck knew that after this, he was going to have so many video game sessions with Finn in order to get his mind off of…of his best friends death. The weight of the words didn’t seem to register in his mind quite yet. “C’mon, Rach.” Closing his arms around Rachel like a protective sheath, he dragged her into the spare bedroom that he’d stayed in so many times before, the atmosphere instantly calmer now that there were no longer crying moms, police officers, and blaring red and blue lights streaming in through the windows. 

“It’s uh…” a deep breath, “it’s gonna be alright, okay?” Puck knew he wasn’t great at comforting anyone, but it was almost natural to keep Rachel pressed close against his chest. Long fingers, made to play piano, ran through beautiful dark hair, the softness of it no longer surprising him. He buried his nose there, deeply inhaling at the only person who could possibly know how he felt.

Thankfully, for the sake of Rachel’s pride, Puck was apparently having the same exact instinctual reaction that she did. The tiny brunette allowed Puck to help in keeping her body from going limp, her mind too completely consumed with wrenching pain that it couldn’t bother to think of focusing energy anywhere other than her heartbreak. She couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that the firefighter was now acting as a shield, protecting her from the burning gaze of everyone in the room as she watched her breakdown completely in his arms.

Rachel was positive that her temporary protector’s shift was becoming more and more covered in mascara and salty tears, but such casualties no longer mattered now that her best friend was no longer in the world. The Broadway star’s entire hierarchy of living was destroyed with the loss of Quinn and Santana. She felt a surprising ping of satisfaction as she listened to Puck cuss out one of the men in the room, an action that would normally warrant some sort of side remark from her. Rachel had a feeling no one hated those officers more than she and Puck did.

All movement of oxygen in her body halted the second she heard Puck mention their goddaughter. Sofia. How could she be so caught up in Quinn that she forgot about the most important little girl in the world. She began shaking at the thought of loosing her baby girl too, thankful as all hell for the tight grip Puck was holding her in. Her face was buried in Puck’s chest, so she couldn’t see what was going on, which was probably for the best. The pained looks on everyone’s face were enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. The actress heard the man’s words as if they were a foreign language. There had to be some mistake.

Before she could protest, or even respond, Rachel was guided into the spare bedroom by Puck. It was clearly a good move on his part, because any sort of sentence she tried to form would more than likely come out as a blubbering mess. “Alright?!” Rachel sobbed into his chest incredulously, preparing to list off all of the reasons everything was far from alright, before deciding against it and wrapping her arms around him even tighter. She stayed like that for a few moments, struggling immensely before pulling away, standing on her own for the first time since she heard the news, and taking in her surroundings.

Hazily, Puck knew that it must have been late in the evening, the darkness surrounding his bedroom, the open curtains not shedding any light on his four walls. Still, that did not stop his head from pounding– did not stop the soreness of his throat after being around smoke for the last few days. The phone ringing, which Puck realized had been the source of his awakening in the first place, did not cease for long after it went silent. The obnoxious sound started again and Puck fished underneath his pillow to find it. When his fingers finally closed around the metal-plastic mold, he thumbed for the “answer” button on the glass panel before him, his bleary eyes unable to read who was calling him this late on his day off. “’Ello?” 

The person on the other line seemed to pause at the rough tone to his voice, but the quiet did not continue long before Finn’s voice filtered through the speakers. “Puck– you need to get to Santana’s– right now– please, I–.” For a few long moments, Puck tried to be patient with his friend who was repeatedly moving into and out of static, proving further that Finn was just leaning in and away from the microphone. “Something’s wrong–”

Dread filled the pit of his stomach, the wetness in Finn’s tone making his muscles clench in trepidation. “What’s wrong? What happened–” Finding an unknown strength within him, Puck rolled out of his messy bed, teeth grinding in a way that made his jaw sore. Finn was not one to get emotional over nothing, the big goof never really understanding when something was truly upsetting. “–is Santana okay?”

Puck dressed himself as Finn continued to fidget and talk to others across the line distractedly. In a burst of anger, he growled out, “Finn.” Mumbling apologies, Puck could hear Kurt talking in similar tones in the background. Kurt was involved. The dread worsened, his rib cage almost painfully tight. “I’m on my way.”

Shoving his phone into his jean pockets, his discarded the belt, shoving on his old running shoes and darted out into the hallway and down the stairs to the parking lot. Puck considered for a minute that it would be faster to take his bike, being able to weave in and out of traffic, but he decided against it, knowing damn well how dangerous it was to ride when he was ‘emotionally compromised’ as Berry would say. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the thought of her, turning the key in his ignition; if Kurt was there, then Rachel was already notified, he was sure. Traffic did nothing to calm his nerves, and when Puck pressed play on his Guns N’ Roses, he found it just made him more agitated. A tired rage trembled through him, fingers gripping the steering wheel in a way that he was sure was cutting off the blood to his long fingers.

When the house he spent so much time in finally came into view, his anxiety dropped out into full-on fear, the large quantity of cop cars and multiple ambulances making his legs shake as he threw the car into park. The one day he wasn’t on-duty, he thought. Jogging to the scene, Puck saw Rachel’s back, tight and perfect posture, just outside of the door. Anger split him when he saw a cop put his hands on her. They might not have gotten along, but she was still his girl, and nobody touched his girls. “Berry?” He questioned, putting a worried hand on her shoulder, her eyes wildfire, which he was sure reflected in his own dark eyes. “What the fuck is going on? Let us in–” 

Puck assumed that the “Mr. Puckerman,” from the guys’ mouth was supposed to calming in some way, but it only enraged him further. With a harsh, well-tuned shoulder check, the man moved to the side in a blind surprise, and Puck pushed Rachel forward and through the doorway as the police officer righted himself. “Do you know what’s happening?” He croaked, dragging them toward Mrs. Fabray, that beautiful head of blonde hair noticeable from any distance. He almost wished it was Quinn instead. His stomach tightened. 

On my day off, Puck repeated to himself.

For the first time in her high strung life, Rachel actually felt something other than disgust upon being touched by Noah Puckerman. Relief. The unsettling sense of comfort crashed over the tiny brunette the second his hand touched her shoulder. He wasn’t messing around with her, preparing to pick her up and toss her somewhere he and Santana found hilarious, he was sharing in same hysterical confusion that was plaguing her. In another first, Rachel was bit her tongue while Puck used brute force on the other man, because this time it was to their advantage. “I- I have no clue.” Rachel stammered as she took his queue in rushing towards the house, her breath and words collaborating in an unnerving waver. Rachel rushed across the front steps she was so used to bouncing up, some would say overly excited to see her best friend tell her so she could tell her just about every detail of her day. Today the short trudge up the walkway seemed to take years, as it did when you were traveling towards the grave unknown. Shaky hands met the doorknob but Rachel pushed on it with such might that she practically stumbled into the house.

“Hello! Mrs. Fabray! Kurt!” Rachel’s anguished voice rang through the large home, bordering on mansion. As the normally composed Mrs. Fabray came even more into focus, mascara streaked across usually rosy cheeks, Rachel’s stomach dropped lower than she had previously believed possible. Without a word being exchanged between Rachel and her best friend’s mother, the other woman rushed her way to Rachel, all but collapsing in her arms. “My Quinn…. oh….. Rachel… my Quinn.” Bile rose in the back of the actress’s throat as her worst fear began to come to fruition. Weakly atting a manicured hand on the back Mrs. Fabray’s blonde head her knees instinctively bent to accommodate the woman who was now sitting on the ground and weeping. Brown orbs snapped up to meet Finn’s gaze, her words temporarily caught in her throat, stuck between fury and sorrow. “Someone tell me what’s going on!” She snapped at her friend, unaware to the fact that she was now fisting Mrs. Fabray’s shirt material. The room watched as Finn opened his mouth and began to hesitantly speak, before he was cut off by the man in the suit. What was the meaning of this imbecile? “We- we were supposed to isolate you and Mr. Puckerman until you were formally briefed but….” After gathering that he was not dealing with your run of the mill “loved ones” the lawyer was now a ball of nerves. No one in the foyer looked like they were moving without some sort of explanation