He saw it every night in his dreams, Kurt lying in a pool of blood near the bathroom stalls, his eyes cold and misty as the life drained out of him and Blaine screamed, screamed as loud as he could, but nobody was coming to help, why was nobody coming, where was everybody till he couldn't breathe anymore and woke up with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear. They say life goes on. And it does, my god, it does. The New Directions have already started choosing their competition songs, things are a little snippy between Jake and Ryder again, and the dented locker wall had been repaired, smooth as it ever was. And yet, everything stood still. When he was awake, Blaine didn't feel the effects of the shooting so much. He could laugh with his friends, sing and dance in glee club as usual, and take Tina out shopping to the mall. He could see traces of the fear, yes – in his parents' eyes as they fearfully watched him leave home every morning, in Brittany's eyes every time she refused to go to the bathroom alone, taking at least another girl with her. It was in the strained piano notes and Coach Sue's empty office. But it wasn't so bad. Blaine could almost pretend that things were normal again. He couldn't afford that luxury in sleep. It was always Kurt. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt who was bleeding out, Kurt who was whimpering in pain, Kurt who was dying, his hands reaching out to grasp Blaine's collar as he pulled him closer and begged for help. The worst horror of the nightmare – he couldn't do a thing. Every single time. He watched his love bleed out on the floor, the red seeping out from under his stylish jacket till it coated the whole floor. Red. Red. Red. He had stopped wearing red now. Too much.