Takes place Senior Year

pure Puckleberry

A/N: I'm trying to force myself to write more to push out of a writing funk, so some of these pieces are a little rough. But I liked this idea, and I love Puckleberry, so I ran with it.

reviews always welcome, even the not-so-nice ones

Puck loved Halloween—hell; he loved any day that was dedicated to making the conservative chicks of the world walk out their doors in too-short skirts and outfits dubbed "sexy devil" or "naughty nurse". Halloween was the night that everyone let down their guard and he was able to sneak in and get some.

He had the whole day planned out. Obligatory classes (damn system—aren't you supposed to get school off for holidays?), filled with drinking in the multitudes of legs walking down the hall; taking Sarah trick or treating, which usually ended around nine with a shitload of candy; and then a costume party with Finn. Downside of these parties is that chicks can hide fugly faces behind a mask; upside is a costume makes it easier to get into a girl's pants than alcohol (which would also be present). Weird, but totally true in his experience.

So far the day had not let him down: Santana wore a ridiculously short red mini-dress with horns and a pitchfork, with Brittany trailing her wearing tight black leather pants and cat ears; Quinn was less impressive, going the typical "Modest Angel with a Halo" route, but he'd seen a sexy pirate, a sexy fairy, and even a sexy mental patient (never let it be said that Chelsea Hill did not have a kinky imagination). After dinner he'd gone the rounds with the squirt for three hours, and come out with a decent amount of candy and phone numbers by sexy MILFs answering the door in hot barmaid or evil queen costumes.

And now it was time to live it up. He pulled up to Finn's house and honked his horn twice, watching as the Frankenteen lumbered over to his truck and slid in.

For a moment they both looked at each other incredulously.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

Finn fidgeted in the passenger seat. "I'm a vampire dude; it's cool," he replied defensively, adjusting his cape as he buckled up.

Puck snickered. "You look like a fucking douche," he told his friend.

"What about you? What kind of costume is that?"

Puck smirked. "Galaxy Mario man—modified." To emulate his hero, he'd grabbed a pair of black jeans and thrown on a deep red tee that showed off his guns. Plus, he'd added a utility belt his sister had made (shut up, it was cool), complete with a bag of Starmen and fireballs.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever seen," Finn retorted, shaking his head.

"No way man; Mario is totally badass," Puck countered. "Just wait and see—the body count is going to be huge by the end of the night."

Upon arriving they made their way into the living room. They waved to Brittany, still dressed in a cat costume, and Artie, wearing mouse ears with a gray shirt, who pulled away from each other's faces long enough to wave back before gravity sucked their tonsils back together, then joined up with Mike, Tina, and Mercedes (as a ninja, Sailor Mars, and a twenty's era chick) for drinks.

As the night wore on, and Puck became progressively more drunk (what with keg stands and drinking games, how could he not?), he began wandering around in search of some tail. He was definitely not going without tonight, not with all the hotties running around. He'd made out with a couple chicks, but he had gotten bored with them—not really hard since he'd had 'em all before. He was looking for something new, something awesome.

And then he saw her—the pink flowing dress, the wavy hair, the tiara. He knew that God was sending him a sign, because, right over by the ice chest, grabbing a water was fucking Princess Peach. Fuck all if he didn't need to act now.

He sauntered over to her, growling gently in her ear, "Hey Peach—it's a-me: Mario," and grinned wide when she froze at the sound of his voice.

But then a voice replied "Noah?", and Puck had to do a double take, because now facing him, eyes wide with surprise, was Rachel fucking Berry.

"Berry?" But it couldn't be—girl was too tall to be Berry; and the hair color was all wrong (strawberry-blonde locks were a far cry from her dark chocolate ones), and… "What the fuck?"

He grabbed at her hair, paying no mind to her gasp. It felt wrong: not silky like her normal hair—kind of starchy or burned. He pulled, and a wig fell into his hands.

"Noah!" Rachel snatched back the wig, then reaching down and over to collect the tiara that had rolled away from her. As she bent down, her floor-length dress came up enough for him to see four-inch heels.

Ohhhh.

She glared at the mohawked boy in front of her. "Do you mind explaining why you felt the sudden urge to assault my costume?" she demanded from him, and he swayed with his newfound knowledge (and drunken condition).

He tilted his head in sudden clarity and grabbed onto Rachel's arms, staring intensely into her eyes. "Berry, you gotta marry me," he told her in complete sincerity.

Rachel's eyes practically popped out of her head in surprise; of all the things she'd expected him to say, that was nowhere near one of them. "Wh-wh-what?" she finally managed to sputter out.

"Marry me Berry," he insisted, dragging her over to the kitchen table and sitting so he could look at her without wobbling. "God's been doing nothing but sending me signs since I joined Glee—first with that dream of you coming through my window sophomore year; then last year locking me in a fucking Port-O-John for twenty-four hours until I promised to be nicer to Jews; and now throwing us together in the same party in fucking matching Mario Brother's costumes—"

"Mario Brothers?" Rachel repeated bewilderedly.

"Yeah," Puck explained. "Me as Mario, and you as Peach—they're goddamn soul mates Berry, and if that's not a sign from fucking God that we should get married and have a bunch of hot Jew babies, I don't know what is." He paused, gazing fixedly at this amazing girl, this girl he'd done nothing but admire since junior high (though he'd never admit it), and fell to one knee, pulling out one of the shiny gold stars his sister had made for him (another sign, no doubt) out of his little pouch and pressing it into her hand. "Rachel Barbara Berry—marry me."

Rachel looked over at Puck, then down at her costume, then back at him again before smiling gently in sympathy as she patted his hand. "Noah," she told him softly. "My costume tonight is a representation of Glinda the Good, from the Broadway production Wicked—preferably with Kristen Chenoweth."

Puck had trouble understanding Rachel Berry on the best of days when he was dead sober—he didn't think he had much of a chance when he was smashed out of his gourd. What he did catch, however, was that her costume was not Princess Peach, and that he'd just made a damned fool of himself.

"Shit," he murmured, crawling to his feet and staggering away from the kitchen, down the hall. He threw open the bathroom door and hurled into the toilet: a combination of mixing liquors and utter humiliation.

He was pretty occupied with that for awhile, so he didn't notice at first the once again brunette midget that had followed him in and was now stroking his back soothingly, humming a wordless melody that was only half-drowned out by his groaning.

When he'd retched out everything in his stomach, he turned around slowly and let his face fall into the tiny girl's lap, only lifting it to down half the water bottle she handed him.

Puck could feel himself succumbing to sleep, so he just allowed his head to loll to the side and gripped her dress a little tighter in his hands.

"I still think you're perfect as Peach," he drunkenly slurred—might as well go for broke now.

As he drifted off, he saw out of the corner of his eye her tiny hands fingering the shiny gold star he'd handed her earlier and could've sworn he heard a smile in her voice.

"I can live with that," she whispered softly.