“Yes, love...apparently they really can’t tell anything else for the moment...”

Finn heard the words before he knew what they went. In the darkness behind his closed eyes they made little sense. There was a swooshing, clicking noise; as if a door was being closed. For a moment he thought he might still be dreaming; although he’d had the strangest dream about running and voices and singing and running again and glass and bright red stains...But the darkness he was looking into at the moment was not his dream. Two voices started up again, one old, one new. Both were hoarse and hollow, on the very edge of emotional.

“...if I could ever go through something like that...”

“Did you hear? He found him in the corridor...carried him to the locker room himself...that’s where Karofsky was.”

“No...”

This time Finn listened properly to the words, but didn’t string them into sentences. He still felt very drowsy. But they awoke images in his mind, of the boys’ locker room at school, of Karofsky, of clinging hands. He couldn’t place the thoughts; perhaps they were part of his dream.

“...I just can’t believe about Puck...God, for someone like that to actually be related to you...”

“Do we know that it’s true, though?”

Another voice joined in, higher and haughtier.

“Yes...my dad has people he knows at the police station. He went in there earlier to find out what was going on. He said Puck was still there, with his mom. I think it’s pretty clear...”

Finn’s mind fuzzed, and then cleared. He became aware of his body. He was lying down, covered by something. The darkness was only the back of his closed eyes. The pale light of some room was coming in through them. That’s where the voices were coming from. He opened his eyes.

The light was dim, but he could see three people, sitting around a table. With his head still on its side they were at a weird angle, but from their voices and their outlines Finn thought he could recognise Rachel, Mercedes and Quinn. There was a loud snore, and flicking his eyes to the left, Finn saw Tina and Mike curled together in a chair. Sam sat next to them, also asleep. On his chest was a ghostly white object; a sling. When had that happened?

Seeing Finn shuffle on the low couch, one of the girls got up and walked towards him. It was Rachel. She reached out her hand, laying it lightly on his shoulder, on top of the blanket.

“Hey...hey, Finn.” She smiled weakly. “How do you feel?”

Finn sniffed. There was a strange smell. He wasn’t at home; he wasn’t at school. He looked around once more, confused.

“Do you want me to get someone? Your mom? Burt? A nurse?”

A nurse? Finn’s brain struggled to shift the last of the sleep, to process the situation. But then suddenly he understood. Suddenly he remembered everything.

He sat bolt upright, his head spinning. Rachel jumped, springing backwards. Mercedes and Quinn twisted to watch him.

“Kurt?”

He said, looking at her face, trying to gauge anything he might have missed. How stupid had he been to fall asleep? He couldn’t even remember lying down; but how long had he been out? How much had he missed?

“Kurt? Blaine?”

Rachel came back towards him, crouching so that she was near his face. Finn put his arms down either side of him, hands on the couch to steady himself. Her eyes were wet, but there were no fresh tears on her cheeks. She placed a hand on his cheek. Finn sensed Quinn shift uncomfortably.

“Kurt’s fine; he’s with his dad. And Blaine…well…how much do you remember?”

Finn’s mind lurched and flashed. He saw himself, telling Kurt everything the doctor had said, in the corridor.

“Um…um…he was just going for the scans. They thought it might be…might be a…’cerebral contusion’ or something?”

Something told him he’d remember that phrase for the rest of his life.

Rachel ran her hand down to his shoulder, watching it as it went.

“Well, he came back from them. And he got through the night.”

Finn shuddered; had there been a point where Blaine might not have?

“So that’s all good. And the results were ok. I mean, apparently they could be better, but he’s still got a pretty good chance. But…”

She paused. Finn’s shouts had woken Sam and Mike, who sat with Tina still resting against him. Everyone was watching them.

“The pressure…”

Rachel paused again; like Finn she could hardly bring herself to say the next words.

“On his brain; well, it hasn’t gone down, not like they hoped. So…” She glanced up at a clock on the wall as Finn processed what this could mean. “About half an hour ago, they took him up to theatre.”

Finn’s eyes lost all focus.

“Wh…what?”

“Your mom’s just been in; to let us know what was going on. She’d seen Blaine’s mom and got her to tell her what was happening. The doctors say…” her eyes rocked slightly, rolling upwards with the effort of trying to remember, “that it’s pretty routine, as far as head trauma goes. And that at the same time they can fuse the fracture he’s got…” She drew with her finger, a thin, curving line on Finn’s scalp, “here.”

When her finger lifted, Finn could still feel the mark as if it had been burnt into his skin. He mouthed wordlessly; he wanted to see his mom. He looked around the small, pale room.

“Where are we?”

“In a private waiting room.”

Her voice and face crinkled slightly.

“Quinn’s dad paid for it. You were in the family bedroom when we got here though. They moved you so you could be with us.”

Finn remembered none of it. He twisted where he sat, trying to glimpse the clock, but his still overtired brain wouldn’t convert the blurred movements into anything coherent. Cautiously lifting a hand he ran it over his face. He could use a shower and a wash; but didn’t know if he could manage it.

“What time is it?”

“Almost midday.”

Finn panicked again, and tried to get up, but the effort was too much. His legs collapsed beneath him, and Rachel had to guide him back down onto the couch.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t get a nurse?”

It was Mercedes.

“Kurt was spaced out when he woke up; but not this badly.”

“Are you ok?” Rachel asked Finn earnestly.

“I…I don’t know. I feel weird.”

“They gave you and Kurt something to help you sleep. A sedative or something.”

Finn pressed his eyes closed and opened them again, trying to get some control. But as he did so, another question entered his mind.

“Wait…what…you said something about Puck…where is he? When did you guys get here?”

Rachel looked round at the others, but when none of them spoke she went on.

“We got here about seven. As soon as our parents would bring us. Artie, Santana and Brittany weren’t allowed, yet, but we’re letting them know everything that happens. And Sam was here overnight anyway.”

Finn looked over to his friend. Sam’s head was hung, his chin resting on the top of his sling as he listened. Finn’s mind flashed back to that gun slamming against something above his head, and then to Sam staggering to sit on the stage, cradling his arm. He thought he understood.

“Your mom and Burt came to see us when we got here. I don’t think they’d been to sleep.”

“But, but what about Puck? And Lauren? I heard something…something about the police?”

Finn couldn’t understand why the friend who’d probably saved his life a day ago would choose not to come.

“You heard that, did you?”

Rachel’s voice was sweet and caring, but she glanced round anxiously again. She didn’t want to be the one to explain the story. Especially as they only had Quinn’s dad’s word to go on.

“Tell me.”

Rachel breathed. She didn’t know where to begin.

“Did you see Puck? As you guys were coming up from the quad?”

Finn thought back. He remembered grabbing hold of Kurt. Something told him that there had been some people watching, one of whom might have been Puck. He didn’t remember his face in the crowd they’d passed on going through the cordon, or amongst the police milling about between their cars.

“I dunno.” He said, lamely, blinking again.

“Ok. Well, he came up, about twenty minutes after the rest of us. And he looked really shaken, with these three police officers around him. And Lauren called him over, and his mom was there, but he was so distant, so distracted. And then the police came over and took them away to a van, to look at something, or talk about something. And then they were all just crying. But the police wouldn’t tell us what was going on; they wouldn’t let us near them. Puck was just holding his mum, and Lauren was holding him.”

Finn felt suddenly selfish. Everyone here had been through the same fear as he had. Sam and Mike had probably saved Puck’s life by attacking the man when they had, risking themselves in the process, and Puck had saved his life just before that. What had Finn done? Nothing. He’d just panicked and put everyone at risk. The whole time, all he’d been thinking about was himself. Himself and what everyone would think of him if anything bad happened. Cowering like a true coward, under that piano.

Rachel went on, playing with her hair distractedly.

“And then they just…left. They just weren’t there anymore. And none of us had any idea what was happening. The police came around and took our names and details and told us that the man had been taken away, and that we should try and write down all that we could remember. They passed out these forms, and came round with tape recorders.”

She looked him straight in the eyes.

“I can't remember ever wanting to go home more.”

There was a movement behind Rachel. Quinn had stood up and was walking over to them. Twisting round, Rachel looked almost relieved. Straightening up, she let Quinn take her place in front of Finn, but stayed, perching on an arm of the sofa.

Quinn put her hand gently on Finn’s.

“So…this morning, none of us had heard from him, or Lauren. I mean, we’d tried calling them, texting them; nothing. My dad knows people in the police department, something to do with the work his office does, and the whole journey home, and all the morning he was ranting about going down there to make sure ‘everything was being taken care of’. I don’t even know what he meant. But he was adamant. So I made him drop me here on his way. Mother wanted me to go to her house, but I said no.”

“I was already here.” Chipped in Rachel.

Quinn gave her the standard withering look of contempt. Finn couldn’t have cared less about any of it at this moment.

“But about an hour after I got here, my phone went off. So I ran outside to take it. It was my dad. And he said that the police knew what the motive was for the whole…thing.”

Finn looked at her quizzically.

“But…but the guy was a complete stranger? It was all random?”

Quinn shook her golden head.

“No. They don’t think it was planned. But he definitely chose the school.”

She took a deep breath. The words were so difficult. Even the idea hurt her mind.

“Finn; the…that man…it was Puck’s dad.”

Finn was silent. Shocked. The tiredness was knocked from him.

“What?”

“It’s true. Puck realised it in the choir room. Do you remember him after it? How he was just sitting there?”

And Finn could see it. As he’d turned to run to find Kurt. Puck, straddling that creature, fists bloody, such hatred in his face. Maybe it could be true. The bottom of his heart fell through as he realised the pain Puck must be in.

“But, but why did the police take Puck in?”

What could a son ever have done to make his father want to do something like that?

“They just wanted to talk to him. All that time he stayed behind in the choir room, he was telling them some sort of story as to why it might have happened. My dad doesn’t really know, but there’s something about a letter, and a custody battle, and all this bad blood between his parents.”

“Jesus…”

Finn’s mind could take no more. He rocked his head forwards into his hands and sat as Rachel and Quinn held his shoulders.

“So much…how can so much change on one day?”

Rachel stroked his shoulder. Even in the midst of her shock and fear, which still lingered, incongruous in the morning light, she held some hope that his words applied to her as well. Alongside her raw emotions she still felt the thrill of pleasure of the kiss he had given her before running from the choir room. He’d proved that at his deepest centre, she was the one he wanted. And now she was going to be there. Anything he needed, all the support in the world; that was what she was for. She stroked again. Quinn’s hand, across from her, was stationary.
-
Dave Karofsky was sat up in his bed, watching the door as people walked past. He was waiting for his mom to come back with a bag of his own stuff from home. The doctor had said that he’d have to stay one more night, but that he would probably be allowed home tomorrow. Dave liked the idea of going home, but not what might follow after. Going back to school. He sighed. It was going to be a nightmare.

He wondered what it was like there today. Was McKinley even open? Maybe the police were still there; marking every inch of broken glass, every spot of blood in the locker room. There were sure to be wild rumours flying around. He wondered what the rough guess at how many were dead was likely to be...10? 20? He wondered if his name was currently amongst them. Most of the kids would probably find it exciting; some weird dangerous thrill that they’d almost been a part of. It made him feel slightly sick.

He looked to his right. On the hospital nightstand was a clipboard and form. He was supposed to fill it out. It had been there when he had woken up; his mom had said the police had left it. But Dave didn’t want to look at it. He knew all the questions would be about remembering, and that was exactly what he didn’t want to do right now. All it would achieve would be to bring back the pain. On cue his shoulder twinged. He looked down at it. It was bound so tight that below the joint he could feel nothing. Or maybe that was the result of the painkillers.

He wondered about Blaine and Kurt. To be honest, he’d been wondering about them all morning. Where were they? How were they? His mother hadn’t been able to find out anything. In his own mind Dave was slightly annoyed that no one from school had been to see him; not even Kurt. Everyone must really not think that much of him.

A nurse came bustling into the room, carrying a tray of something. She looked up and smiled at him brightly. Dave recognised her as the blurry face he’d woken to, as she’d inspected his bandage that morning.

“Still up and awake are we? You really should try and get a bit more sleep you know.”

Dave said nothing.

“Do you want something to do?”

She eyed the form lying on the side, but said nothing, crossing to check his blood pressure and the dressing on his arm.

“No, thanks.”

“Not a magazine or anything? Is your mom bringing you back some homework for this afternoon?”

She laughed brightly at her own joke. Karofsky managed a weak smile.

“Ah, come on. Don’t be down in the dumps.”

She smiled again. Dave had some idea that she must spend a lot of time around little kids.

“Look. I brought something for you. It’s a bit gruesome, but some people like it.”

She turned away and picked up the tray she’d been carrying.

Dave looked at it. It was like an unfinished mosaic; but plain. All tiny pieces of clear glass, and one dark, squashed bead, laid out on a square of green paper towel.

“The doctor thought you might see it before it goes over to the police. Some of the psychiatrists seem to think it helps with coming to terms with these kinds of things.”

Karofsky’s brain was slow. What did she mean? What was she showing him? Was it some kind of game or puzzle he was supposed to complete?

He didn’t say anything, just stared at the glittering pieces in confusion.

Watching him, she pointed to the single odd piece; the large bead thing.

“Look,” she said, nudging it gently with her nail.

It rolled a short distance, before ending up on its flat surface.

“What is it? What are they?”

Her face grew worried for a second, breaking the childlike playfulness, and she slowly moved her finger to point at his arm.

“It’s the glass and the pellet. What the surgeon took from your arm?”

There was a pause. Dave was completely horrified. The nurse bit her lip anxiously.

“Sorry; I think I misjudged this one. I’ll just take them away, ok? The police’ll want them anyway...”

“No…no, wait a second.”

Dave looked at the fragments. There were so many of them. They’d been part of the school, part of the door, and then part of him. It was disgusting; but, the nurse was right, oddly fascinating. The bullet was annoyingly small for all the pain and harm it had caused. He stretched out his good hand, and then hesitated.

“Can I…?”

The nurse nodded.

“They get covered in disinfectant in surgery, so it’s only the ballistics that’s of any use to the police.”

Dave didn’t understand the word.

“The shape. How it got squished.”

He picked it up in his fingers and weighed it in his palm. It was no lighter or heavier than he’d expected. The ridges and curves of its surface were both smooth and sharp. He tossed it lightly into the air and caught it again, without pain. He put it back on the tray. It made a light tinkling noise as it dropped, rattling the pieces of glass.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. If you need anything, just let me know.”

She began to walk back towards the door.

“Wait…wait…”

Dave had to try something. The nurse turned around.

“Megan; my name’s Megan.”

She pointed to a name badge, half hidden under her long brown hair.

“Miss…Megan. Could you do something for me?”

“Anything.” She smiled her smile again.

“I want to see my friends. I want to know if they’re ok.”

“Alright, honey. Do you want a phone connection?”

“No…no. I think they’re already here…”
-
Will Schuester stood in the doorway to the choir room. Police tape barred his entrance. The floor, as far as he could see, was studded with paper markers. Bright splinters stood out against the dark black of the piano and the window ledge. There was a hole in the roof, and another in the wall. Chairs were overturned; but in the midst of all the chaos, Kurt’s jacket and bag still sat, resting on his chair as if Will had only just missed him.

Around him the school was quiet. The police had insisted on it stay closed for one more day. Will had already passed by a frenzied crew working in and around the locker room. Glass had been thrown half way down the corridor. Walking on towards the stairs, a route he must have taken a hundred times, Will had found a further corner taped off. The outline of a stain of something sat in the middle of the square. He’d read Blaine’s name on one of the paper cards there and shuddered.

Other teachers had also been allowed into sections of the school, and Will had passed Figgins on his wanderings. The principal seemed to have grown older by years overnight; although Will suspected he himself looked just as bad. After spending the night awake on Emma’s floor he hadn’t even bothered to wash. Without his kids there was hardly anyone worth making an effort for.

Passing the gutted cafeteria he had come to the choir room. But he hadn’t stayed long. Passing out down a fire escape he’d climbed back to the car park. Lines of students and snooping locals had gathered against the police lines, along with local news and radio stations. As Will passed through them he heard wilder and wilder rumours:

“Basically, I know one of the people who were sent in, and he said there was blood everywhere…it was this whole gang of psychos…”

“I heard he had a knife, and carved his name on all the walls…like the Shining…”

“I heard three people died, but it was too horrific…so the police can't say that it’s true yet…”

“No way; who?”

“Um…like, a cheerleader, a jock and this new kid…and then the gun guy shot himself so the police wouldn’t get him…but he shot like ten cops first…”

“That’s so not true; if it was you’d know their names. But I know what really happened…”

As each new voice spoke up the dynamic of the crowd shifted to surround them. Everyone was really getting his or her five minutes.