Work Text:
Noah "Puck" Puckerman doesn't really know how he cam to own a bar in NYC successfully. He was not just a Lima Loser. His ma told him he could leave Lima—she could handle it. So he left. He left to chase her and his dreams (but mostly her). He couldn't find her though, in this city so big. He kept singing and playing his guitar in bars, but only one kept asking him back, The Storm on 9th Street. AFter one of his shows the owner asked to speak to him. He was pale, and thin, too thin. "You seem a nice young man," he told Puck.
Puck didn't know how to respond. "Yes, sir?"
"I am dying. Will you take care of my baby when I'm gone?" He seemed so serious.
"You mean the bar? I don't know how to run a business!" Puck exclaimed. He was incredulous. He didn't even really know this man.
"We'll start off slow. You can start off at the bar. But, you okay to go in my will? You okay to go on the title to the property? Good." The man had hardly given Puck time to nod his head in answer.
Noah "Puck" Puckerman doesn't know that the man he got to know in those next months, the man he went to for advice, was his father. He didn't know he inherited his father's bar. His father didn't want him to know. Just seeing his son happy, with the promise of a better life was more than enough for him to die happy.