Reaching over the window ledge he could just lean himself out far enough to see down to the ground below. Shadowy figures were crouched down there, tensed, armed; to Finn’s confused mind they looked more like an army than a rescue force. But they must be here to save them; must be. He watched nervously, not knowing what to do now his initial burst of action had escaped him, as one figure beckoned to the others, leading them slowly away around the corner of the building, towards the football field. There was a noise, someone swearing, behind him to his right, but Finn didn’t care, he’d been right and they were going to be ok. He smiled slightly to himself.

But then there was another noise; a click and a sliding sound. And the window ledge under Finn’s arms exploded in a storm of splinters.

He slipped on the plastic chair, veering to one side as he overbalanced, feeling the weight of his whole body tense beneath him, as terrified screams erupted from behind him. But suddenly Finn felt his course to the floor change; he felt himself tackled by some huge force in midair, and flung in the opposite direction, crashing to the ground and rolling, being pushed, being dragged, rolling again...more sounds, more vibrations, like fireworks, seemed to come from above him at all times, sparking and raining down a shower of bright powder.

Finn was aware of coming to a halt. He opened his eyes, wondering when he had closed them, and found Puck’s face, panicked, tense, eyes wide and wild, just inches from his own. They were lying just behind the drum kit, to the left of the platform, out of view of the others. Suddenly Finn’s mind cleared and he rolled desperately over, trying to stand up and reach the others, but Puck forced his head down. Finn’s head jarred against the floor, and he could no longer tell if the girls were still screaming, or whether the noises were only echoes inside his mind.

But then there was another bang, and another crackle of splintering wood, accompanied by a jarring chord from what Finn guessed was the piano. He tried to get up again, but once more Puck held him down, ducking his head and crawling against him; forcing the two of them together into a bundle behind the instruments. Finn no longer struggled when he saw the look of fear and horror in Puck’s eyes. He held his breath, craning is face up to the ceiling and tried not to think as a second of silence stretched out into the room. Then, ghostly and sickeningly slowly, Finn saw the long protruding barrel of a gun emerge onto the white titles of the ceiling, inches above his own face. Puck, kicking backwards with his feet, tried to move away into space that wasn’t there as the gun came to rest precisely between his eyes.

“Found ya...” hissed a sickening voice, “found you all...”

Puck’s eyes crossed on the tip of the barrel. Above himself, Finn saw a single, disembodied hand close on the rigid trigger of the weapon.

But then another bang sounded behind the group of them, along with a shout, two shouts, and two sets of running feet. And Finn saw the hand twist slightly in its movements and pause. Then, slaammm, the drums were shoved backwards with the force of an impact, and the gun above Finn rocketed forwards, colliding into Puck’s head. Finn watched in slow motion as Puck raised his hand automatically, never uncrossing his eyes from the gun, a puckered ring of pink emerging on his forehead then, as the gun shook violently, staring in panic at something Finn could not see, behind his own head. The kit trembled again and there was another scream. Puck, his eyes shifting over Finn’s shoulders, suddenly ducked to the ground as the gun swung in a wide circle, slamming against something to Finn’s right and releasing another shot which exploded into the wall at the far end of the room.

Whatever the weapon had hit, it now rebounded, drifting again across Finn’s head and Puck’s prone figure.

And suddenly Finn was moving again. The actions cleared in front of him as simple as daylight, and with both hands he seized the gun from underneath, shoving it upwards into the ceiling with all his might. He felt the pull of the gunman force against his wrists but he held on, pushing higher, rising unsteadily, still facing away from whatever had happened. Suddenly, pain erupted through his clenched and clawing hands as his fingers were torn by the heat and vibration of a shot which disappeared into the ceiling. Finn cried out in pain, twisting instinctively into himself; the gun hinged down onto his shoulder. And with a wrench it abruptly came free. Free. Dead and limp and heavy in Finn’s shaking hands. It slithered and fell through his fingers, greasy with sweat, until he managed to find a grip. And it stopped, and the weight sank in his arms. Finn stared, blinking, at the deadliness in his hands. He felt sick.

But suddenly Puck was up, up and in front of him, then past him and clambering around the drum kit, and Finn turned. At eye level the room looked empty, no one except himself was standing, but on the floor, what had been a metre away behind him only seconds earlier, writhed three people, Sam, Mike and...and him. Their arms and legs beat against each other, Sam holding one arm awkwardly, Mike’s lip dribbling blood onto his chin, all three trying to rise to their feet, all trying to gain the upper hand. And then Puck passed into Finn’s vision, and bent, throwing an arm into the man’s lithe, large body, driving his fist into a snarled angry face.

“You bastard!”

Puck’s cry rose above the shouts of the other boy’s, ringing around the room, breathless and disgusted.

“You fu...mother...son of...”

Blow after blow landed, until the man’s struggles almost stopped. Puck reached down to the man’s shirt collar, seized it, lifted him, then twisted and threw him back to the floor, crouching to dig his knee into the man’s back, grabbing each arm and wrenching the hands into his own. Painfully and awkwardly Sam and Mike rose. In the distance they heard more shouts, more running feet. One by one the girls, Lauren and Brittany holding Artie between them, staggered up from behind the piano, tears streaming down all their faces. Still blinking, Finn saw through the half light the wires and hammers glinting and tangled in the exposed insides of the grand; saw Tina running forward to embrace Mike, saw Sam turn and collapse to sitting on the floor, his forearm held gingerly against himself, his hair tangled and strewn, his eyes closed, saw himself turn and awkwardly place the gun in the very corner of the room, facing away from everyone. His hands suddenly felt too light.

And then, for the second time, he felt himself struck from the side, and felt arms slide around his waist, a face pressed into his chest. He looked down, expecting the blonde hair of Quinn, but it was dark, a dark brown. Rachel held him in all the naturalness of fear and relief, her tears soaking into his shirt. Behind them, tearfully and resolved, Quinn sat and clasped Sam to her, rocking the two of them together on the steps, her eyes stuck to the back of Finn’s body and Rachel’s intertwined hands.

Onto this scene, with Puck still pinning the creature to the floor, tears rolling down even his stubbled cheeks, Lauren’s hands on his back, the door opened once more and a stream of police flooded the room. Sam choked back tears of pain, and Mike wiped the blood forcefully from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, Brittany placed Artie back in his chair and curled into his lap. Santana stood still behind the piano, unmoving until a uniformed hand was placed on her arm and she was gently steered away. In the corner Finn slowly stroked he back of Rachel’s hair, feeling it cool and soft under his aching, bruising fingers. They were safe.

He drew Rachel’s hands from behind his back and kissed her, quickly, impulsively. Then turned and ran to the door in six paces, driving his way through the police, seizing one or two by the sleeves, pulling them after him. They cannoned into the corridor and towards the staircase. Kurt.
-
Kurt's heart was pounding so loudly that he didn't hear his own reply.

"Blaine…"

Blaine's beautiful eyes were gazing up into his; barely open, eyelashes quivering and flickering, but open.

"I…" his mouth parted again, tongue dry and thick, "I heard you…"

Kurt's mouth creased as he held back tears and shone a watery smile. He tightened his grip on Blaine's hand.

"And I could…could feel you…"

Blaine's free arm quivered and rose a few inches, his hand turning slowly towards his own head, gesturing.

"Kurt…"

His voice broke painfully.

"Sshhhh," soothed Kurt, running his thumb over Blaine's cheek. Karofsky turned away in embarrassment, felling like the intruder.

Blaine seemed to notice the movement in the darkness, although he didn't look up.

"Kurt…are…you're ok, aren't you?"

Kurt gave a breathy laugh, smiling again.

"Yeah, I'm ok, silly. You're the one who ran out looking for trouble…"

This time it was Kurt's turn for his emotions to get the better of him. He choked, eyes streaming once more, holding for all his worth to Blaine's warm hand.

"Why did you do it? Why?"

Blaine considered the question, eyes half closed, for a second.

"Does…does it make any s…sense if I just…just say…
I love you?"

To Kurt it made all the sense in the world.

One more shot rang out above them and all three boys flinched. Kurt's stomach clenched in second fear; how the hell had he let himself forget his friends? He listened. This time it sounded like there were no screams, but he could no longer hear the running feet of the police officers. Kurt shuddered. Karofsky edged slightly back towards the pair, grouping back together.

"Listen," he said in a low voice, eyes fixed in all seriousness on Kurt.

"We have no idea what is going on up there. For all we know Finn, Sam, Rachel and the others, they all left the building an hour ago and are all waiting for us outside, yeah?"

Each name was like an icicle sliding down into Kurt's chest. Karofsky reached out his good hand and lightly touched Kurt's shoulder.

"Don't jump to conclusions."

"Kurt?" muttered Blaine.

"Yes?"

Kurt replied, turning his gleaming eyes back down on that vision of a face. Blaine's eyes were fully closed now and he scrunched them in pain as he tried to lift his arm again. Once more the fingers flicked towards his head, and this time Kurt saw they were coated in dry blood.

"It…it hurts…"

"I…I know."

Kurt's insides felt like they'd be ripped in two, as panic twisted around fear.

"The…the…the people, the people that help, they're on their way Blaine, ok?"

His words scrambled on his tongue and lost all sense.

"Ok…" was the sincere, innocent reply, like a child's trusting belief in a fairytale.

Kurt's mind raced as to what he could do. An echo of more running came from overhead, then began to move away, towards the stairs, growing in volume.

"Kurt? Did I…did I say that I love you…?"
-
"Kurt? Kurt! Kurt?"

Finn's voice echoed along the empty hallways, as he sprinted, leaving the police he didn't have hold of behind him. Those two whose hands he had seized ran beside him, clawing at his arms and trying to slow him down, shouting, but he would not stop.

But then they tore to the top of the stairs and Finn looked to his right. The cafeteria was a ruin, tables overturned, broken glass littering the floor. Through the open doors he could see clear through to the windows on the far side, overlooking the quad. All but one were smashed, ribbed with fissures and cracks radiating from pinprick holes. Water was dripping onto the floor from overhead somehow, the sound magnified in the quiet. Finn had stopped, staring at the sight. Was Kurt somewhere in among that mess?

"Son!"

One of the two officers spoke up, a man, middle-aged, still trying to free his hand from Finn's vice grip, his other hand coming to rest on Finn's shoulder to try and hold him back should he decide to run again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

A voice on his other side spoke up, a woman this time.

"Love, come on. You've obviously had a huge shock. Let us take you outside, ok? Your parents are probably sick with worry."

She too placed her free hand on his arm, but stroked it sympathetically.

"Come on, come back with us."

Ordered, pacing footsteps came towards them from behind. Finn glanced round. More officers were following them down the hall.

"No."

He almost shouted it, staring at the floor now.

"No; I need to find my brother."

The woman's eyes creased in concern; she looked at lot like his mum when she did that.

"Your brother?"

Finn felt the man's grip tighten on his shoulder and saw him mouth something secretly to the woman over his head.

"You know something?"

This time he did shout, accusingly, spinning around, wheeling the woman after him as he turned to face the man. The second group of police had reached them in the corridor now, and stood watching slowly. The older man looked Finn in the eyes for a moment, and for the first time Finn realised he had a gun holstered at his waist, poking out from beneath his vest. He didn't reply, but turned slowly to the leader of the second group.

"Where was the call from?"

The helmeted man spoke with respect, he was obviously this man's junior.

"Downstairs sir. We were almost there when the orders changed."

"And is this building secure now?"

"Yes sir, as far as we can tell."

"Ok."

He turned back to Finn, wrenching his hand from his grasp.

"You can come."

He lifted his own vest over his head and passed it around Finn's shoulders, forcing him to let go of the woman's hand as well.

"But go slow. No more running off."

He turned back to the small group.

"Where did the call come from, again?"

"The boy's locker room, sir. They need the area secured for the medical team."

Finn's mind began to rock again at the words. The senior officer's eyes flashed at Finn again.

"Alright, let's go. Form out across the corridor."

He turned to Finn again.

"Do you know the fastest way there?"

And Finn turned on his heel and cannoned through the open door to the stairwell.
-
Blaine's eyes were still closed, though he and Kurt continued their whispered conversation in the quietest tones. Kurt was desperately trying to distract him from any pain, any fear.

"So..." he mumbled, still tearful, "I guess this is a dinner you owe me?"

The corner's of Blaine's mouth rose.

"Nice try. Ev...everyone knows on the third date you split the bill...or the boy pays...which is just too confusing..."

Karofsky was watching them now, no longer feeling such awkwardness. In fact he had to admit that the strongest emotion within himself was jealousy; how had Kurt managed to find such happiness, after all the pain Dave had put him through? They were so close, not in the way any of the football jocks were with their girls, mindless and uncaring about anything other than sex and trophies. No, they were properly in love, it was all over them. His arm twinged. Leaning back he saw the spear of light from the door suddenly shadowed, and in two more seconds heard the sound of running feat, pounding down the corridor, and a breathless voice.

"Kurt?"

Once again the broken shards of glass squealed as they were drawn over the floor, and then, for the fourth time, the door was thrown open.