A Collection of Glee Oneshots 3

Finn (Puck)

Puck got out of bed and stumbled into the living room. He went through his liquor cabinet, digging through until he got the whiskey bottle. He had finished a bottle the day before, but always kept an extra buried in the back for emergencies.

Puck knew he was spiraling, but he couldn't help it; his best friend was gone. Finn was dead and Puck had been there when he died.

It had been about a month or so since the accident, but Puck didn't know how long exactly because all of the days blurred together.

Puck hadn't been able to attend the funeral - partly because of his own injuries and partly because he wasn't ready to see everyone. Seeing everyone would make it more real.

Puck took the cap off the whiskey bottle and took a big swig of the liquor. He used to recoil at the drink, but he was long numb to it.

It had become his routine to wake up, drink until he passed out, and then repeat the cycle.

To a fault, Puck loved the solitude and being alone. His phone had broken during the crash, and he hadn't bothered to get a new one, and no one came looking for him.

That in itself was dangerous because it meant that Puck could be as stupid and as reckless as he wanted to because the one person who was always there to check on him or help him was the one person he would never see again.

After the accident, Puck could only think of the crash. He remembered the conversations he and Finn had the day of the crash, and he kept replaying the day over and over and over again in his head.

Alcohol was the only thing that kicked it out of his mind, so that's what he had to do.

Well, alcohol and drugs.

At first, it was just cigarettes, which Puck had never actually given up. Smoking cigarettes quickly led to smoking weed, which then led to pills.

Puck didn't even know what he was taking. All he knew was that it was like candy. He loved getting high. It made him feel free and invincible.

Oddly enough, it made him feel Finn's presence. He felt close to Finn when he was high, and when he had enough, the alcohol brought him down.

Way down.

When Puck was drinking, he showed typical symptoms of being intoxicated, but he also became emotional, which was very unlike him. He was extremely depressed and upset.

And the cycle would continue.

Finn's death is your fault.

Why did you drive home in the dark?

You should've listened to Finn.

It should've been YOU.

Puck's mind tortured him with those thoughts, hitting him hard, especially the survivor's guilt. Why wasn't it him? Why did his best friend die so he could live a life? And what kind of life was he living, drinking and doing drugs while wasting away in a hotel room?"

As devastated as he was, Puck was also pissed off. Puck had always considered himself a man of faith, though maybe not in the most traditional sense, but he was pissed at Finn for dying, he was pissed at God or whoever for taking Finn, and he was pissed at the world for leaving him behind.

Puck took another large gulp of whiskey, soaking his thoughts in booze, trying to wash away the pain and sadness that surrounded Finn's death.

It was an impossible task. When the bad feelings washed away, there were floods of memories that came popping in.

Puck had almost fifteen years of memories with Finn. In fact, they had been friends for so long that Puck didn't even remember life without Finn, who he considered a brother.

The memories came in when Puck least expected them. There were memories from sports teams and glee club and fights and parties and games.

Majority of the memories Puck and Finn shared were beautiful, and the not so beautiful ones were long gone from Puck's recollection.

So Puck drank and did drugs. In his experience, that was the only way to cope with loss and tragedy and trauma and heartbreak — all things he was experiencing, but couldn't express or discuss.

Which is why Puck was glad he didn't have to answer to anybody. He drank his whiskey and laid on the couch, preparing himself for when he passed out.

No one cares about you.

"And it's a good thing, too." Puck answered his thoughts aloud. "'Cause then I couldn't sit here with my whiskey."

Puck chugged some more whiskey and put the bottle down. He looked at it, visually marking how much he had drank so far that day.

Puck picked up the bottle again and brought it up to his lips. He was about to take another sip when he heard a knock on the door.