Prompt: Mike calls Rachel to help him with Puck. He's crying and emotionally distraught.

His hero, Brett Favre just missed his first game after 297 straight starts. Puck is inconsolable.

"Fuck you, Chang. Dude's been playing football since before you were a sperm!"/a href

AN: I don't always post my fills to the puckrachel drabble meme over on LJ on my ff account because they're typically short little blurbs and I can find them easily in the delicious account if I really want to see what on earth my little twisted mind comes up with from time to time. But every now and then I really freaking love a fill I write and want to make sure I hold onto it and share it with everyone who sadly isn't playing in the awesomest sandbox ever with the rest of us so it gets posted here. Enjoy!

"TWO HUNDRED NINETY SEVEN!"

This was bad. Mike knew it was going to be bad and had almost not come over to Puck's place to watch the game tonight because that's how bad he knew it was going to be. But he also knew that if he didn't come over, no one would be there to keep vigil on Puck's suicide watch which clearly was a real thing as Puck wailed out the number again.

"Dude, his hand was fucking purple, did you see that? I mean, there's no way the dude could start," Mike rationalized to his friend for the fiftieth time since the inactive list had been announced.

"Nineteen seasons. Two comebacks. Super Bowl winner. Pro Bowls. A sexting scandal with a hot as shit chick. MV FUCKING P. And all for what? Three short of three hundred fucking games so he could hand the title over to some fucking… fucking… MANNING?"

"Yeah man, I know. It sucks. I mean, with the dome coming down last night, I thought he might pull through."

"That was a fucking act of GOD right there man, and for what?" Puck sniffled (SNIFFLED?) and shook his head, looking down at his own right hand as if it were purple and immobile, too.

This was starting to get uncomfortable for Mike. He was bad enough with crying girls, but a crying dude? That was some messed up shit right there that he was so not down with. He was running out of things to say and soon he was worried whatever he did say would be the wrong thing and end up with Puck taking his feelings out in the physical way of punching Mike repeatedly.

(It had happened before – when Ohio State lost to Texas in the Fiesta Bowl two years ago. Telling Puck that Colt McCoy was a God of a quarterback was apparently the wrong thing to say and Mike learned that the black and blue way.)

"Listen, man. Farve is real fucked up and maybe this is just a sign that it really is time for him to retire."

"Fuck you, Chang. Dude's been playing football since before you were a sperm!"

And that's when the tears came. Not some little things that Puck could wipe away and Mike could ignore. But there were sobs. Like when his grandpa died and his uncle got wasted before the funeral level sobs.

Mike watched in horror, slowly scooting away on the couch and wondering how the hell he was going to handle this one. He quickly (as in a split second later) came to the realization that he could not handle this one and needed backup. Stat.

Finn wouldn't know what to do, hell, he was probably in the fetal position in his dad's chair acting the same way. Santana would just bring a video camera and hold this moment over Puck's head for the rest of his life and then put it on a video screen and hang it over his grave. Quinn would say he's not her problem anymore, Sam was too new to the group, Artie was too wrapped up in keeping Brittany focused on the idea that Santa was real, Mercedes scared Mike, Tina was with Mercedes tonight so he wasn't going to interrupt that for the aforementioned reason, Kurt wouldn't get it, and Matt had moved away.

That left one person and she actually was the best option.

Changstar: Rachel? I know it's a school night and its finals week but I am facing an emergency and I need your help at Puck's place right now. Not even kidding.

Okay, so maybe his text was slightly dramatic, but the biggest badass at school was currently sobbing, pointing at his hand and at the TV intermittently before going back to crying again. Mike wasn't sure what more needed to happen to qualify as an emergency.

The drama worked because his phone beeped in reply almost immediately.

Rachel Barbra Berry*: I will be right over.

No less than five minutes later, there was pounding on Puck's front door that Mike was convinced couldn't be Rachel because it was way too loud and she was way too small to make that much noise. He was proven wrong when he opened the door and Rachel rushed in, carrying a large white briefcase looking thing.

"I brought my first aid kit because I wasn't sure what sort of emergency you were facing and I could not remember what night Noah's ridiculous fight club was but I assumed the worst."

Mike sighed, putting an arm around Rachel and turning her to face the family room where Puck had now curled up into a ball on the couch, hugging his old Green Bay jersey to his chest. "You didn't assume the worst. THIS is the fucking worst."

"Language, Michael," she scolded softly, shrugging off her puffy winter coat before rushing to the couch and sliding into the spot next to Puck that Mike was more than happy to relinquish to her. She stared with wide eyes for a few moments before reaching a hand out and running it over Puck's mohawk, "Noah? Noah I'm here now, what's wrong?"

Puck didn't answer, just shifting from laying one direction on the couch to laying the other so his head could rest on Rachel's thighs. If it weren't for the crazy amount of tears and snot involved, Mike might have thought that Puck was really the sexual genius he claimed to be because Rachel was wearing a skirt and Puck's face was inches from the promised land on bare thigh.

Rachel's head popped up to look at Mike with panicked eyes, either because she thought Puck was dying at the moment or because of his proximity to her bajingo (shut up, Scrubs was the shit).

"His hero is Brett Farve. He fu – I mean, he messed up his hand real bad and couldn't play tonight which means for the first time in two hundred ninety seven games, he's not starting. He's been upset all night but after halftime he just… lost it," Mike shrugged, hands gesturing as he explained the story before letting them fall helplessly to his sides. "I didn't know what else to do but you're really good with this kind of stuff and with him and, I dunno, maybe you can fix him? Make… THAT stop?"

The panic seemed to fade away as Rachel listened to him talk. Finally she gave a resolute nod and whispered to Mike, "I need you to get me some tissues." She then began to stroke Puck's hair again as she started to speak to him, "Noah, I know how hard it is to see that your hero is actually fallible. I remember when Kristin Chenowith lost both the Tony and Drama Desk for her remarkable portrayal of Galinda slash Glinda in iWicked/i and was so downtrodden that she left the show for a less than remarkable role, if I do say so myself, on the critically acclaimed iThe West Wing/i. I was so upset for her misfortune I could hardly drag myself from bed for a solid week to attend fifth grade. But you just have to remember that these things are beyond not only our heroes' control, but they are far beyond our control and we have to continue to support them no matter what and hold tight to the life lessons we have learned from them."

Mike came back with a roll of toilet paper by then (there weren't any tissues in the bathroom and fuck you if you think he's even touching that box next to Puck's bed with a ten foot pole) and handed it to Rachel who scrunched her nose for only a slight moment before unrolling some and starting to wipe the tears from Puck's cheeks. Once his face was dry, she unrolled another little bit before putting it to Puck's nose and softly instructing him to blow. It was really rough on Mike to not crack up at the loud honking noise that came out or the disgusted look on Rachel's face, but things were getting better and he was absolutely positive that laughing would only make things worse.

"I guess you're right, Berry," Puck finally conceded with one last sniffle, rolling onto his back and looking up at her, "It just sucks. He was the fucking man and he wasn't supposed to have shit like this happen. Not to him."

Rachel ran her hand down Puck's cheek and gave him a slight smile, "While I think this may be deeply rooted in some of your issues regarding your lack of father figure, short of giving you my therapist's number, I think the best thing you can do is to cheer yourself up by going on youtube and finding some highlights of this man you hold in such high regard and remember the good times. That's what I did until the incomparable Chenowith returned to the Great White Way in iPromises Promises/i this year."

"Will you watch with me?"

"Of course, Noah."

Mike cleared his throat, reminding the two people on the couch that he was still there, "Okay, so, you're not going to slit your wrists or something douchey like that anymore, right dude?"

Puck gave a big sniff before clearing his throat and sitting up straight again, "Yeah. Nah man, I'm good now. Thanks."

"No problem. I think I'm gonna head home. Play some COD and try to forget that, ya know, THIS happened."

Puck stood up, reaching his fist out to give Mike a bump, "Yeah man, we're just gonna watch some highlights and Chang, if you ever tell anyone – "

"Dude. I want to father children some day. No way in fuck I'm telling anyone ever," Mike said seriously before looking around Puck to Rachel, "Thanks for saving the day, Rach. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Quite happy to help, Michael," she said in a cheery tone. Rachel's was the last voice Mike heard as he walked out of the Puckerman home, "So Noah, why are all the players on the TV in purple or white but your jersey is green?"