"Hey, Hummel."

Kurt glanced up from the copy of Vogue he was currently thumbing through. "Puckerman?" He asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Chill, Hummel…I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Clearly, I am." Puck detected a faint hint of sarcasm in the other boy's voice.

"Which is why you're in a hospital."

Kurt slammed the Vogue down on the table. "Puckerman…" he growled in a strangely deep register.

Puck gave him an odd look. "Damn, your voice can go low."

"Shut up." Kurt crossed his arms huffily. "But seriously, why did you come here?"

Puck shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "I told you, I wanted to make sure you're okay…I mean, you know, we're not really that close, but still…you're in Glee, so you're my sort of my friend…right?"

"…right. Sure. Whatever you want." Kurt warily unfolded his arms.

"So, if you're alright, why are you still here?"

"They want to monitor me overnight."

"That sucks. I hate hospitals."

When Kurt next spoke, it was eerily quiet. "Me too."

Puck looked at him questioningly, but the smaller teen didn't elaborate. "When I was younger, eleven or something," Puck began, shuffling his feet awkwardly, "my sister got pneumonia. It was really bad, and we didn't have much money. My mom was still missing my dad, and she couldn't hold a steady job. Still, it got bad enough that we had to bring my sister here, to the hospital. They took care of her for the first couple of nights." Puck noted that Kurt was leaning forward slightly, listening to the story, and continued on. "Then, they started asking for the money for everything…the treatment, the medicine, the bed she was in. And…like I said, this was back when we were really short on cash. My mom told them she couldn't pay."

"So what happened?"

"They just threw us out. My sister was still sick, but they threw us out anyway. I mean, sure, she got better, but really slowly." Puck leaned against the wall, raising his eyes to meet Kurt's and shrugged once more. "So why do you hate hospitals?" He questioned, expecting the generic 'I just do' answer.

"My mom died here." The answer was quiet, and Puck immediately felt a cold aura permeate the air of the room.

Keeping his eyes trained on Kurt, he made his way over to the cracked plastic chair next to the bed. "How'd she die?" He asked, his voice unnaturally gentle.

"Cancer." Kurt blinked rapidly, and Puck realized with dread that he was fighting back tears. Maybe talking about this was a mistake.

"Sorry." He muttered, not sure what else to say.

"It's fine, its not like its your fault in any way." Kurt discreetly wiped a hand across his face to dry his eyes. Just as Puck was sure he wasn't going to talk anymore, he began to speak again, his voice, as quiet as it was, filling the tiny hospital room. "It's just…it's really the worst way to die, isn't it? Sure, she had a chance to say her goodbyes, get things in order, but in all reality, all that time, she was suffering, and we all knew she was going to die." Kurt's eyes met Puck's briefly, then he looked away again. "I know it's not much better, but sometimes I wish she had died in a car crash, or something like that, instead. There's not so much waiting, waiting for something you don't want. It's quick, easy. Just a second of pain, but up until the end you have a real chance at being happy." Kurt glanced back up at Puck. "Does wishing it had happened that way make me a bad person?" He asked quietly.

Puck shook his head. "Nah. It makes sense." He remained silent another moment, as Kurt tried to wipe away more tears. "You really miss her, don't you?"

"Oh, no. My own mother? Hardly, Puckerman." Puck almost grinned in relief that the sarcastic, biting Kurt was back, dispelling the awkward, tense atmosphere.

"Well…don't worry, you won't be missing me at all tonight."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Cryptic statement you got there."

"Dude, it means I'm keeping you company."

"Why me?" Kurt muttered, raising his arms to the sky in a gesture of mock prayer.

"Because you're lucky," Puck smirked.

"Don't you have homework to do or something? I mean, I know you're Puck and you don't really do homework, but aren't you trying to actually pass classes so you don't go back to juvie?" Kurt questioned.

"Um, yeah, about that…" Puck raised a hand to run through his mohawk. "I'm sort of suspended until further notice."

"What?" Kurt sat up suddenly, sending the copy of Vogue crashing to the ground. "How did you manage that this time?"

"…I sort of might have beaten up Karofsky."

Kurt gaped at him. "When?"

"Right after the paramedics took you away."

"Why?"

Puck smirked. "Nobody messes with my teammates, right?" He reached down, picking the Vogue up off the floor and tossing it back onto the bed.

Kurt let a small smile grace his face. "Right." He settled back onto the fluffy pillows behind him. "Thanks."

Puck raced through the halls, searching desperately for the glimpse of a letterman jacket. He skidded into the locker room, a feral smirk growing on his face as he saw his target. "Karofsky!" He bellowed.

"Puckerman, what the hell?" Karofsky barely had time to finish his sentence before Puck's fist smashed into his face. Karofsky stumbled back, cupping a hand to his nose. "Dude, what's your problem!" His voice was thick from the blood that came dripping from his nose.

"You need to stay away from Kurt?"

"The little fairy freak?"

Karofsky let out a half moan, half shout as Puck's fist collided with his face once again. Puck gathered a fistful of Karofsky's shirt, dragging him closer. He forced the other jock to look him in the eye. "Don't call him that," he breathed, a fist raised threateningly. He released Karofsky, who stumbled back, a hand still clasped over his bleeding nose.

Puck turned to leave, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face, when he heard a shuffling noise behind him. He swirled around just in time, shoulder-checking the meaty jock into a locker. "Remember, stay away from Kurt," he spat, slamming the locker room door behind him as he left.

He didn't care that he could hear Coach Beiste coming out of her office, heading for the bleeding jock leaning against the lockers. It had been worth it.

Puck smirked at the boy in the bed. "Anytime, man."