"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you past."

"My sons are in there," Burt snarls, trying to shove his way through the barrier of policemen. To tear past the yellow tape and run up the stairs to the school and look for Kurt. And Finn. He just has to make sure they're safe, that they're okay. It's his job. And he can't do it from the sidelines. "Let me through!"

An officer strides over, taking in the scene before speaking calmly, "Sir, we cannot let you into that building right now. I understand you are worried about your child's safety-"

Burt shrugs the some of the policemen off him, straightening his baseball cap as he glares at the officer, "If you won't let me, why don't you all do something? Why are we just waiting here?"

"Sir, as of now, the situation is static. We can no longer hear guns being fired or any commotion at all. If we enter that school right now, we may startle the gunmen and who knows how many more lives will be lost. The hostage negotiator is on her way, and hopefully we can solve this as quickly and safely as possible. Can you let us do that?"

Burt hesitates for a second before asking carefully, "But what are you going to do if the gunmen start up again? Are we just going to leave those children to die?"

"Of course not, the minute we hear a single gunshot, I'll give the order for my teams to enter. I promise. We know what we're doing Mr. Hummel."

Burt nods briskly and turns away, walking back to where the other parents stand watching and waiting. Carole squeezes his shoulder reassuringly when he approaches, but her eyes glitter in the red and blue lights. Hearts thud, hands clasp together tightly, and breaths quicken as each minute passes. There are sounds of arguing somewhere, but Burt just shuts his eyes and holds Carole tightly against his chest.

"They'll be okay," he whispers to her, "They'll be okay."

It had felt like a punch.

A powerful punch to his gut. He was okay. Just a punch. But then the warm stickiness was trickling through his shirt, matting it uncomfortably to his skin. He'd closed his eyes because he didn't want to really see what the others saw, to see the damage, to see what it was. Didn't want to make the reality that he'd been shot something tangible. But he did eventually, only to see Kurt's blue eyes watery and terrified.

And he had stayed awake. Blaine Anderson had fought those tendrils of black creeping into the corners of his eyes and his mind.

But there was running. And moving. Conversing voices. Kurt was holding his tightly in his arms and he'd felt his legs turn to jelly and the weight that was being put on him just kept getting heavier. And heavier.

And Blaine Anderson was getting too tired to fight those tendrils anymore.

Blaine exhales slowly as he feels Kurt press their foreheads together. He can feel his breath, smelling faintly of mint as it always does, brush against his lips. His eyelids flutter, he can hardly keep them open. Kurt's cool finger slides gently across his sweaty cheek. "Blaine," he whispers, "we have to go." Just the thought of it makes Blaine's knees weaken, but Kurt supports him. "Hey Blaine," he keeps whispering, "You're going to be okay, I've got you. I love you....."

Kurt's hushed whispers continue but Blaine can't focus. It's getting harder to breathe. His lungs feel like they're running out of oxygen. He tries to inhale deeply, but it hurts and he has to stop.

It hurts to move.

It hurt to breathe.

Stop, stop, stop.

Make it all stop.

A hot iron scorches his left side, burning from the inside. The dull throbbing from his ribs spikes as he takes a step and breathes. Every inhale hurts in his chest. He closes his eyes as he tries to find a breath again. But his lungs hardly inflate. It's like they're squeezing, constricting him tightly, making him a prisoner within his own body. Breaths are agonizingly painful and terribly short. Every one is like a knife twisting in his lung. He coughs, and wishes he hadn't as one cough sparks another and another and his body is ignited with the most excruciating pain he's ever known and it inks spots onto his vision.

His world seems to get erased, his vision disappearing quickly as his body catches up with what has happened. His eyes shut and he loses track of the world around him, sinking into darkness.

Reality appears in blurry, rapid flashes.

Being lifted into arms. Finn.

He's weightless.

Burning in his side. 

Kurt holding his hand tightly. He tries to squeeze back but reality slips away again.

His eyelids flutter.

Kurt.

The squeak of shoes against the floor.

Pain.

Kurt isn't holding his hand anymore.

The splash of air as a door is thrown open.

More voices now.

He's getting set down. The floor is cold. There are gasps around him. Blaine tries to open his eyes, but he can't.

Kurt is talking to him. He can't understand what he's saying.

Kurt.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

And then nothing.

"Blaine! Blaine!" Kurt yells. No need to be quiet anymore. The gym is crowded, people talking and sobbing. The floor is littered with splashes of blood. They are all seated, crouched into the floor, trying to make themselves smaller targets. The gunmen walk between the groups, some confident, others not so much, fiddling with the firearms in their hands. But nothing matters anymore. Because Blaine's in his arms, and his eyes won't open.

"Blaine, please," Kurt faintly realizes that he's crying and he can't stop the tears from streaking down his cheeks. "Blaine. Wake up. Please, please wake up." His voice cracks, as he whispers to the boy in his arms, "Don't leave me."

Mercedes has a hand on his shoulder, "Shh boo. He's just asleep," she hushes gently, unable to stop a tear from trickling down. "He's just asleep, Kurt. He's okay. Just asleep."

Kurt tightly cradles Blaine's limp body in his arms and leans his head back against Mercedes. She rubs her hand in soothing circles across his back.

Everyone's exhausted.

Rachel still presses her hand against the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow as much as possible. Even in the emotional and physical exhaustion that makes Kurt's world a haze, he manages to be impressed by her diligence and her determination, two of the best qualities of Rachel Berry.

Minutes tick by. The room quiets as each minute passes, until there are only hushes whispers, silent cries and gasps, low groans of pain. At one point Josh yells into a phone before stalking out of the gym, leaving the alert staring after him with confusion.

And still, the minutes tick by.

Tick.

Tock.

An hour passes.

And then another.

Finn has taken over from Rachel, pressing his hands firmly against the large stain on Blaine's body. Kurt's arms haven't weakened their hold on him so he can feel instantly when Blaine shifts.

Kurt blinks in surprise and looks down at his boyfriend's pale face. He groans softly and Kurt strokes his curls gently, past caring about the sweat, blood, and remnants of gel that stick to his fingers. Blaine groans again, and Kurt looks around cautiously, eying the gunmen with apprehension. "Blaine, are you awake babe?" he whispers.

Blaine only groans again, his eyes fluttering open. Kurt's heart surges at the sight of his boyfriend's beautiful hazel eyes, and he smiles softly.

Eyebrows twitching in confusion, Blaine's eyes flit around the room, or at least, as much as he can see of it. He doesn't understand what's happening. He opens his mouth to ask Kurt, to make sure Kurt's okay, that everyone's okay, but he can't find enough air to whisper, let alone speak.

But reality comes crashing down violently when he remembers the gunshots in the school. The chained doors with no way out. The gunmen.

Panicked, he tries to sit up but Kurt holds him back, pressing him down gently. With a concerned look painting his face, Kurt hushes him, "Don't move. You're okay. We're okay now. I'm here."

Blaine exhales softly and winces as he tries to move his head. The burning pain is almost gone, replaced by a constant ache all over his body that increases with each passing second. He can feel the hot blood on his body, sticking to his skin, making him uncomfortable. Instead, he tries to focus on Kurt stroking his cheek softly, his fingers like ice against his burning skin. Blaine closes his eyes softly, but opens them again every so often, to make sure that Kurt's still there.

Kurt smiles at that, and bending down, he whispers softly in his ear, "I love you-"

There's commotion in the room and Kurt straightens out, sharp eyes glancing about the room, narrowing at the source of the problem. Tom, one of the football players has suddenly stood, his hands wet with the blood of his girlfriend. He looks distraught but angry, and Kurt bites his lip. This can't be good.

"So what's your plan?" Tom snaps to Jacob Ben Israel, who tries to appear menacing with the gun in his hand, but fails pathetically. "Is this it? What do you plan to do? Just keep us here for the rest of your lives?"

Jacob eyes Brett worriedly, who starts walking over slowly to help, but Josh gets there first.

He smiles, "Is there a problem, Tom?"

Tom swallows but continues, rage clouding his judgment. "You're all cowards! You think that doing this is going to make you brave? It isn't. Let us go. Don't pretend you know what you're doing. You're all still children pretending to be men."

"We know what we're doing," Josh snarls.

"No you don't."

"Tom, shut up," one of his teammates orders, reaching to pull him down but Tom just shrugs him off.

"Look, I'm sorry for anything we did to you. But this is just high school. Get over it. You still have the rest of your lives. Just let us go, and maybe the cops will let you off easier. Don't be stupid."

"We're not stupid," Brett growls, moving to stand beside Josh, "And we're not getting over it. You all have to pay-"

"Haven't we paid enough? Look around you and see what you've done!"

Josh straightens out and glares up at the football player, "NO! You ruined our lives. People actually will notice now. They will actually do something. And if we have to kill you assholes to save ourselves then fine."

"So is that your plan? Just kill us all? Then what are you waiting for? Go ahead. Do it."

"Tom, sit down," a Cheerio hisses.

Tom just laughs, "No, I'm not. They killed Becca. They killed so many. And they're just cowards. They can't do anything now, if they wanted to kill us they would have done so already." Looking proud at his intelligent conclusion, Tom stands taller, looking down at the two gunmen. The two losers. "So what are you going to do now? You gonna shoot me dweebs?"

Josh looks down at his shoes, before looking back up, a grin plastered onto his face as he speaks matter-of-factly, "Yes."

And with that, he fires his gun into Tom's chest, the Cheerios around him screaming as the football player falls like a rock onto them.

Kurt tightens his hands around Blaine's body, cradling him tighter to his chest. Blaine's eyes flutter open, concerned at the commotion, and Kurt mumbles reassurance softly into his curls. But inside his mind goes into overdrive.

Shit, shit, shit.

Soon after, all hell breaks loose.

Screams rattle against the walls as the windows shatter and the doors come crashing down. Helmeted men with bullet proof vests come rushing in, ushering the students nearest to the doors outside to safety. Gun shots ring out, snapping the heavy air into small pieces.

Like the rest of the New Directions and the other students, Kurt hits the floor instantly, covering Blaine's body with his own. Blaine cries out in pain from being jostled, but Kurt only presses down on him tighter, flinching whenever a shot rings above them. Blaine's breath comes in shallow pants against his neck, his ribs aching at the pressure of Kurt's body on top of him. Worry for his boyfriend claws at his dissipating consciousness, but he can't move. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on breathing and the feeling of Kurt against him.

Please, let it stop, let it end.

 Kurt's hand finds his boyfriend's, and he laces their fingers together, squeezing Blaine's hand tightly, the familiar gesture relieving some of the tension in Blaine's body. We're going to be okay, the gesture whispers, we're going to be okay.

Kurt can feel Blaine's rapid heartbeat underneath him as the gunshots get louder and closer, and he pins Blaine tighter to the floor, heart squeezing guiltily at the younger boy's small cry. Kurt shuts his eyes, trying to control his breaths to reassure Blaine, but it's a lost cause as Blaine can feel Kurt's body trembling with fear. He squeezes Blaine's hand tighter. 

Underneath him, Blaine feels the fire that scorched within him flare up again, its tongues licking the insides of his battered body. The painful ache grows and grows, with the pressure on his chest making it harder and harder to breathe.  But he dare not move or struggle in fear of Kurt getting caught in the firefight up above. Soon, the black tendrils return, and he fights futilely to bat them away. The excruciating pain paralyzes him and he squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back against the hard linoleum. Blaine can faintly feel Kurt kissing his exposed neck softly, just a whisper of intimacy in the deafening world around them.

Kurt feels Blaine's grip on his hand weaken until it falls away, but he still grips his limp hand tightly, as if letting go will make Blaine disappear.

And Kurt can't lose his Blaine.

Because Blaine is the lightning to Kurt's persistent storm, that staccato beat to his soprano call, his sunshine when the world turns dark, the little flame that dances beside his own, and Blaine is every flickering star that glitters in Kurt's mundane and uncertain world. Blaine is everything Kurt has ever fought for, and even as the world tumbles down around them in a haze of smoke and thunderous noise, he's never going to let him go. 

Kurt hardly notices when the world above him quiets before there are arms tugging him gently to his feet, ripping him away from Blaine. Shaking his head violently, he struggles against the officers that pull him back. "Son, the paramedics will take care of him. But we need to give them room to work and get to the wounded. Come on."

But Kurt can't. He continues to struggle, "No, no, no, I'm not going to leave him alone again. No!"

"Come on Kurt," Finn says into his ear, voice strained, his hands tight on his stepbrother's shoulders. With Puck's help, he's able to lead Kurt away.

Kurt tries to control his breathing, wiping away the tears that pour down his cheeks. He gasps for air as he sees his hands stained with Blaine's blood. The crowd of students all around him walks in various stages of shock and grief. Suddenly the group thins and Kurt stumbles forward through the doors of the school. Through the doors and into the world of flashing red and blue lights, calling voices, loud sobs, and blaring sirens that wait for him.

And as Kurt steps outside, the fresh air striking his face sharply, he looks around but can't seem to focus on anything. The world falls into a blur, the cacophony of sounds orchestrating a symphony of silence.