Author's Note: I started writing this and got a little carried away, so it's kind of long. I plan for it to be five parts - five hours after, five days after, five weeks after, five months after, and five years after. And all of the chapters are probably going to be 5000+ words. Rated T for suicide and language. I hope you like it! Sorry if the formatting is off; Document Manager was being really annoying. All of the closings above 'Later' are supposed to be strikeout, and there were some centering issues. I hope it looks okay; if not, just imagine. This is a little bit AU because Lauren isn't in the club; I don't think I can write her yet because we've seen so little of her. Other than that, it's canon up to A Very Glee Christmas.

Pairings: are all over the place. It's mostly going to be an angsty ensemble friendship fic. I'll probably add some Puckleberry (I can't help it).

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, any of the songs I use, or any of the real world references I might make.

and then the walls came falling down

To whoever's reading this:

Look, I'm not the kind of fucking pussy that writes down my feelings, all right? I don't roll that way. But I don't know… this seemed ceremonious or something (Berry word). Like, everyone who does this writes a fucking letter, right? Yeah. So. I thought I kind of owed you all a letter or something. Don't bother sitting down – this won't take long. Like I said, I'm no pussy. I'm not going to go on and on and try to get you to understand, because you fucking won't. Hell, I don't think I even understand, you know?

Okay. So here goes. Bye, I guess. Kind of a belated bye, because probably, by the time you read this, I'll be dead. And I'm glad about that. You probably should be too. Whoever the hell you are, I probably wasn't the greatest person ever to you. I wasn't the greatest person ever to anyone, really. God, I was a jackass. And that sort of leads up to the point of this letter: I wanted to say that if anyone blames themselves for this, fuck you. Because I'm not fucking crazy, I know that this is one-hundred percent me. No one forced me to swallow a whole bottle of ibuprofen (yeah, I'm taking the pussy way out. Sorry. Never liked guns). This is all me. I'm the one who feels like shit, and it's no one's fault but mine, okay? And by doing this, I'm mostly trying to help other people from feeling like shit, because I kind of have a habit of hurting people. So don't feel sad or anything. Get over it because, once you think about it, what is there to move on from? This is better.

Breaking point? I know you're all gonna ask that. I don't think I had a breaking point. I don't think I ever broke. I just wasn't whole to begin with. Not to sound fucking poetic or anything. But you know what I mean. Hey Mom? Forget about me. I was always the worst thing to happen to you. Sarah, I'm sorry that things turned out this way. I know you cared. That was the problem. You shouldn't care about me. Quinn, tell Beth, if you ever see her, that I loved her. I loved her too fucking much. I don't think I loved you, Quinn, just Beth. I'm sorry. You're better off with someone else anyway. Whoever reads this, tell Berry that I'm sorry for all the shit I put her through, and beat the shit out of anyone who hurts her again, okay? 'Cause I'm not exactly there to punch those fuckers in the face anymore, and I do care about her. So tell the glee club to stop fucking bullying her all of the time, all right? I don't want her to end up like me. Tell Finn I'm sorry too. He knows. I've given him a thousand apologies before, just make sure he remembers them. Tell San I'll miss the hell out of her, because I think she was probably my best friend. I hurt a fucking ton of people while I was here, there's not enough room to apologize to all of them, but I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

So I guess I'm never getting out of Lima, huh? For the first time in my life, I'm okay with that.

Sincerely
From
Love
Later,

Noah

When Tina hands her the letter, Rachel grabs it with shaking hands and reads it all the way through without really understanding any of it, except for one thing:

He signed his name as Noah.

Five Hours After

The job falls on Will to tell them.

He's roaming the hallways as usual, trying to figure out a powerful, emotional song for the glee club to sing at regionals and expecting Sue to walk up to him at any moment and criticize something about him, probably his hair. Same old, same old. He's debating between Hey Jude and I Don't Want to Miss a Thing when, speak of the devil, a glowering demon in a track suit makes her way over to him, pushing innocent bystanders out of the way and into the lockers. Will is about to tell her that she needs to behave herself, but then he looks into her eyes and stops; instead of the fire that usually incinerates her pupils whenever she shoots an insult in his direction, her eyes are black, and he knows what that means. It's the same look she has whenever she's talking about her sister, the look that means that the world is a nasty, tough place and she knows it. When Sue has this expression on her face, it means that things are serious, and that's so much worse than a knock at his gelling skills.

"William," Sue says, nodding at him somberly. "You should go talk to Figgins."

"Why –"

"Just go!" she barks before turning and stomping away. Will stands there a moment, dumbfounded, and then snaps back to reality and strides down the hallway towards the principal's office.

As he walks, he wonders what could be going on that would make Sue so emotional – well, as emotional as Sue ever is, anyway. Maybe something happened to her sister? He dismisses the idea instantly – she wouldn't have him go down to the principal's office for that. Maybe one of his students was hurt? When he thinks that, he starts jogging down the hallway, ignoring the weird looks the high schoolers are giving him. He's not sure what he'd do without his kids.

Will pushes open the glass door and is immediately struck by how grim Figgins looks. "Sit, William," the principal orders, folding his hands and placing them on the desk. Will pulls out a chair.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" he asks. "Because Sue told me to come here, and I was just wondering –"

"William," Figgins cuts in. There's a brief hesitation before he says, agonizingly slowly, "Did you notice anything… bothering Noah Puckerman?"

Will pauses to think about it, and then his blood runs cold. "J-just… just that one time in here, when he yelled at us. I just thought it was typical teenage behavior." His eyes lock with Figgins'. "Why?"

Figgins shifts in his chair and stares at his desk. "He tried to kill himself this morning."

And, just like that, Will freezes.

His first reaction stems from his protective side – he needs to stop the kids from feeling what he's feeling right now, he needs to get to Puck and help him, he needs to he needs to he needs to – but then, all of a sudden, he stops panicking about everyone else and just feels, well, angry. That Puck would do this to them. After all that Puck's done in the past, that he'd even think about hurting them again. He wants to scream.

(And, somewhere inside him, he's kind of glad that it's Puck instead of someone else.)

"-have to tell them about this," Figgins is saying when Will tunes in again. "Be gentle, William. They're only children."

"Yeah, well, so was Puck." Something occurs to him then. "Wait a minute – you said tried?"

"He's in a coma right now. They're unsure whether he will wake up or not."

Will stops for a moment, to process this. "Well. I guess that's better than the alternative."

Figgins nods vigorously. "Glee club is about to start, William. You had better hurry to the choir room – they're going to want to hear this from you."

He lets out a contemptuous snort. "They're not going to want to hear this at all." But he's out the door without another word.

Santana walks into glee club, talking and laughing with Brittany. As the rest of the kids file in, she glances up; Puck isn't there. She notices right away because she's become so attuned to the mohawked boy, to her best friend, that she knows it's him just by the sound of his breath. Well, he isn't breathing in this room right now. He's not here. She shrugs it off as another one of those Puck-cuts-class days (she kind of wishes he had asked her to join) and takes a seat beside Brittany, mood turning stormy as Artie wheels up beside the blonde cheerleader.

Five minutes pass, and everyone in glee club is chatting away, paying no attention to the absence of their teacher. Because she doesn't exactly want to watch Brittany and Artie make out beside her, Santana focuses her gaze on the door. It's strange that Schue isn't here yet. He's usually on time and prepared.

But when Schue finally walks in – ten minutes after glee is supposed to start – his hair is disheveled and he's red-eyed, and he walks too fast, giving off an aura of extreme distraction and pain. Santana rolls her eyes – how many times are he and that redhead counselor going to break up? – and faces front. Schue nervously shuffles his papers and clears his throat, and Rachel shushes everyone.

"Guys –" Schue says, then seems to think better of his words. Santana and the rest of the glee club watch as a battle rages on inside the teacher's head. At last, he opens his mouth again. "Guys, I have something to tell you, and – well – you're not going to like it."

A collective groan rises up, almost like song. "Is this about regionals?" Rachel asked, suddenly horrified. Schue laughs bitterly and shakes his head. He looks so tired, so scared… Santana's stomach clenches. What if something's actually going on? She doesn't think she could handle it if she didn't have glee club after school. Glee means extra time with Brittany, glee means self-expression, glee means – as much as she hates to say it – that she actually feels happy when she gets home from school, instead of empty, the way she used to feel. But she can't put any of this into words (reputation and temptation control her), so she just stays quiet and side-glances at the blank expression on her best friend's face.

"No, no, nothing like that…" Schue grins, but it's a pained smirk. Santana recognizes it instantly – it's the expression that your face makes when your emotions are all topsy-turvy, when you don't know what to think anymore, when you hurt so bad that it can only come out in inappropriate laughter and smiles. The other glee kids look somewhat disturbed. Their teacher runs a hand through his hair and says, "I – I just don't know how to say this, guys."

"Get to it, Mr. Schue," Mercedes complains.

Artie cuts in, "Yeah, just say it."

Schue sighs. "Guys, Puck – Puck's in the hospital. He tried to kill himself today."

There's shocked silence.

Brittany looks to her left, and then her right, confused. Artie appears betrayed, and his hand has left hers to hang limply at his side. Santana is furious; Brittany subconsciously scoots closer to her boyfriend. But she can see the tears in Santana's eyes, and she becomes even more confused; San never cries. Not for real. Sometimes she does to get what she wants, but the last time Brittany saw San cry like this was when they were twelve. She doesn't remember why, she just remembers Santana's sobbing, and the way they held hands and said nothing for three hours.

"Is he okay?" Finn asks. Brittany glances over and it's like she's seeing Finn for the first time. He's gripping the chair in front of him, knuckles white, and he looks like he understands but he doesn't want to. He looks like he needs to cry but he doesn't want to.

"He's in a coma," Mr. Schue says, voice barely creeping above a whisper.

Brittany doesn't get why everyone in the room is so freaked out. She had a grandfather who was in a coma once. He slept for a couple of months and then he woke up. She guesses that maybe they'll just miss Puck while he's sleeping, but sleeping makes people feel better, so it's a good thing, really. Brittany leans over and tries to tell Santana this, but the expression on her friend's face stops her.

Rachel runs out of the room (no one's really surprised) and no one speaks. They just sit there. Brittany shifts nervously, wishing someone would just break the silence so they could sing. She likes singing. Singing makes her feel happy inside. Everyone around her just looks so sad… singing would make it better. She knows it.

And oh God she wasn't expecting this, she definitely wasn't expecting this, and it hits her like a punch to the stomach, and it hurts worse than anything else she's ever experienced. The concussions and sprained ankles and ex-boyfriends and hell, giving birth, they can't ever compare to this.

Sam tries to hug her but she shakes him off because she really can't stand to look at him right now. The closeness of anyone else just reminds her – this is her fault. If she hadn't gotten rid of Puck the second she saw Sam, if she hadn't given Beth away, if she'd even talked to him once or twice after it happened – things would be different now. She knows it. This is her fault.

Quinn puts her hand on her stomach, like she always does when she feels like… like… don't think about that and is shocked beyond words when she only feels empty inside. It's always that way. Always. And it still surprises her that she doesn't feel the flutter of kicks anymore, the stretched skin that meant the baby that had become so familiar to her, the baby this boy – this man – had given to her. Now he might be dying, and the baby is gone, and she's never felt so alone her whole life.

So when she's the second to leave the room, walking instead of running, no one's really surprised either. Because Quinn had a connection to Puck, a living, breathing connection. And somehow, that made them family.

Quinn knows that she's lost the only family she ever actually had a chance to have.

Rachel skids to a stop in front of his locker and breaks into tears, so many tears. She's not the type to do anything halfway. All or nothing. Grief is included in that.

(Because damn, she thinks maybe she'd been in love with him.)

She unintentionally screams a little and starts running her hands through her hair, hitting lockers, anything – her hands need to move. She needs to move. She can't just stand here when something so terrible is happening, she has to move but she has no idea what to do. Her knees give out and she falls against the lockers, hugging her legs to her chest.

A panic attack. That's what this is. A panic attack. She's read about them before, and she knows that she's having one. Her lungs aren't taking in any air, she's hyperventilating, her chest hurts, she doesn't feel real – not anymore. He was always the one to keep her tethered to reality, and without him, she's floating. Like one of those balloons that people let go of and then they just drift away, becoming nothing but a distant memory and a speck in the sky.

She digs out her phone and punches in speed-dial four – Kurt. After voicemail, her dad, and her daddy, respectively. Her sobs keep coming as the phone rings, and she tries to quell them, but her efforts are futile. When Kurt picks up the phone, he gasps. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"K-K-Kurt," Rachel stammers. "I – I just needed to talk to you."

"Why?" She can almost hear his frown over the phone. "Do I need to have a talk with Finn when I come home for the weekend?"

It's so far from the truth that she laughs, almost in hysterics in a matter of seconds. "No, of course not, it isn't about him. But I'm ecstatic that you're c-coming home… I - I need you, we need you..."

"You're scaring me, diva. What's going on?"

"It's just… It's just…" She starts to laugh harder. "Puck attempted suicide today."

Rachel hears a clang as Kurt's Droid hits the ground, and waits for him to pick it up. "Wh-what?" he exclaims. "Elaborate. Now."

"I don't know," she whispers. "He's in a coma. Mr. Schue said. But I don't understand why."

There's an awkward pause before Kurt finally says, "I do. I think. You get to a point eventually where you know there's only a few ways out. Someone like Puck would be much too proud to confess that he needed help. So this might have been his only remaining escape."

"Oh, Kurt…" Rachel breathes. "Is that why you left?"

"Yes," Kurt says simply, and even though Rachel thought her heart couldn't break anymore, it has.

Footsteps approach down the hallway. "I have to go," Rachel says. "I'm sorry. Someone's coming."

"See you soon," Kurt murmurs before hanging up.

Artie doesn't know what to do with himself.

Mr. Schue had told them that they could all leave, that practice was canceled today. It was obvious that the teacher was agonizing over what he could have done to prevent this – they all were. But Artie wanted to scream that if they had only opened their eyes, they would have seen that something was off about Puck. Artie – being the kind of person who keeps making mistakes – had never done anything about it. He had assumed that his friend (because, as inconceivable as it used to be, that's what they are – were: friends) would get over it eventually, once things calmed down a little bit and Beth was nothing more than just another teenage mistake.

(That's what this is, right? Not getting help for Puck? That's one big fucking teenage mistake.)

So Artie rams his wheelchair into the wall of the choir room repeatedly. Everyone else has left already, some in tears, others with a steely resolve that he can only be jealous of. It's not the first time that he's wished to be as badass as Puck, but it's the most important time. Being a badass would definitely help in this situation. Instead, he's just striking the wall again and again, just like he always does when he doesn't know what to do.

Some people run a mile. Some people punch a pillow. Well, when Artie has so much anger inside of him that he wants to explode, he acts like a human battering ram. And he does, he has so much anger that he just doesn't know what to do with it all. He's angry at the others, angry at himself, angry at society, angry at the world.

Most of all, he's angry at Puck.

What kind of person just quits like that, just gives up instead of trying to push through? How could he have been so selfish to just leave everyone else behind because of his own problems? He had to have known the pain that he would be causing them. What kind of person would even think of hurting everyone he loved?

How could he have believed that things would never get better? Why didn't he ask for help? Questions rage through Artie's mind, and it makes him sick that he might never get the answers for them. Which is also Puck's fault.

God, and here everyone was, thinking that Puck had changed. They were wrong, Artie knows. They were so beyond wrong that it isn't even funny. Puck used to throw slushies at Rachel and throw Kurt into the dumpsters and lock Artie in the porta-potties. Puck used to laugh at them, every single one of them, and make their lives into one big living hell. He was a bully in the truest sense of the word. He thrived off of others' pain. He was the worst person any of them had ever met. But then he had to go and join glee, stop throwing slushies, get in over his head and come out of it as the kind of person who would defend any member of the club to death. He was so different and he seemed to genuinely regret what he'd done.

And then he had to go and hurt them in the worst way any of them could ever have been hurt just by fucking killing himself.

The last time Artie felt this bad was the car accident. The physical pain, the anxiety, and the dread for the future left him a complete mess. He thinks that this is sort of like the car accident – the same, crippling feeling, like someone just hit him head-on; the flames and fear that went up everywhere; and the betrayal, oh the betrayal, but this time, he hasn't been betrayed by his body. The traitor here is Puck.

That coward. That fucking coward. He had to go and hurt everyone else just because he was in pain. Well, Artie's in pain, too. And you don't see him swallowing a bottle of pills or a bullet.

And then he starts crying, and he's not sure who it's for. It's not for Puck. He hates Puck. It's not for himself or the other glee club members or anyone, really. He loses his grip and his hands slide off of the wheels, leaving him with his head and chair pressed against the wall, tears tumbling onto his suspenders.

He's crying because, honestly, he's always been more badass than Noah Puckerman.

Sam isn't really sure how to be affected by this.

He wasn't close to Puck, not at all. The only thing they have in common is Quinn, and that's hardly a thing that they could have talked about. The two barely spoke, and Sam is still new to the glee club – everyone else knew him a lot better. So it doesn't feel right to act over-the-top sad, not when Finn's across the parking lot trying to take it like a man and Quinn is nowhere to be found. Mercedes is bawling her eyes out and Tina has reverted to stuttering and he doesn't have the right to a reaction, he just doesn't. He didn't know Puck. He didn't really care about Puck.

But.

Sam knows what it's like, to look in the mirror every morning and think you're not good enough and you deserve to die. He knows what it's like to actually want to die, when everything's too hard, when he gets so hungry that he eats the whole refrigerator and then pukes it back up. He knows what it's like to completely, one-hundred-percent hate yourself.

And that's kind of what gets him. Because this could have been him, just as easily. He wonders, suddenly, how the others would have felt if the tables had been turned.

So instead of sad, Sam's grateful; because of Puck, Sam will never even consider killing himself again.

Tina can't believe it.

Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one of the group, the one who could get through anything? She's talked to Puck a few times, mainly because of glee, and because Mike and Puck are (were? Oh, screw it – she's not going to be that person, the one from all the suicide stories, who stresses over past and present tense) good friends. Puck was always just there. They weren't best friends or anything (she doesn't even think they were friends – she doesn't have many of those) but she always admired him. Well, after the bullying stage, anyway. He had gone through so much. She never agreed with the way that the others blamed him for babygate; it was every bit as much Quinn's fault as it was his, and he should have had a say in the baby's future. Tina looked up to Puck for the way that he stayed strong, even as he gave up his baby, even as he watched the girl he loved fall for someone else. It was amazing how he came back from juvie almost unaffected – she used to think that, anyway.

If nothing else, it's just a reminder, isn't it, that behind every smile is a story, and it isn't always a story that you want to hear.

She remembers one time, last year, when she had been sitting by the lockers, head in her hands, after glee practice. It was right after their bake sale, so she was still in the wheelchair, and she wasn't exactly crying or anything, she only felt like it. Her best friend had just rejected her after learning that she'd been faking a stutter for years. At that time, it felt like the biggest tragedy that ever could happen to her, and she was slowly breaking inside. It wasn't anything she could explain – she just hurt, everywhere. And she knew she had a pretty good life – that made it worse. She felt so guilty for feeling this way, and seeing Artie laughing with his (their) friends during rehearsal made it so much worse.

The squeak of wheels made her lift her head up, and she saw a mohawk before anything else. "You okay?" Puck asked, seeming kind of uncomfortable. "I mean, I'm not good with feelings and all, but, no offense, you look like shit right now."

Tina laughed and rubbed her eyes. "H-how… how could I take that offensively?"

He smirked. "So… you gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"I fake my stutter," she spilt rapidly. Puck's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't give any other indication of surprise. "Just – just stupid reasons. The point is, I told Artie yesterday. And I think that I might have lost the only friend I have." Tina half-smiled. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't think we've even had a conversation before…"

"Sure we have. I asked if I could use your chains to strangle Finn once. You said no."

She giggled. "Well, I didn't want you to ruin his voice. We need him for sectionals."

Puck rolled his eyes and moved to wheel away. "I doubt that," he said. "But look, don't go around thinking you're friendless. You're pretty cool. Just show it." And with that, he left, leaving Tina feeling a lot better about herself.

She suddenly wonders where that boy went. The one who she was always jealous of, because he oozed confidence, while she hid behind a pretend condition. The one who was great at making other people cry but, sometimes, could be good at making people laugh.

And she wonders if he only just left, or if he left a long time ago and she didn't notice it.

"I have to go, I have to go now," Kurt keeps saying. He's shoving clothes into a suitcase and talking to Blaine, but he's obviously just talking to himself and using his boyfriend as an excuse to not sound crazy.

"Hold up. What the hell is going on, Kurt? You're not telling me anything," Blaine complains. Kurt continues to repeat his frantic statements as he adds a pair of white skinny jeans to his bag. Sighing, Blaine strides over and grabs onto Kurt's wrist, pulling him away from his packing. A furious expression forms on Kurt's face; he tries to shake Blaine off, but his grip is strong.

"Look, you just put in a red blazer and a green V-neck. That's not the Kurt I know. Now tell me. What's going on? Is everything okay with your family?"

Kurt shakes his head, eyes starting to swim with tears. "No… I mean, yes. They're okay. But everything's not okay, Blaine… it's just not." He grabs onto his boyfriend's shirt and starts to sob into it. Blaine awkwardly pats him on the back (what the hell is going on?).

"Kurt, what happened?" Blaine begs. He hates seeing Kurt like this. Tears aren't his strong suit; he doesn't deal well with crying boys. Kurt is no exception, but there's something about him that, whenever Kurt seems less than happy, makes Blaine feel like he's watching one of those commercials with the abused animals on it. It's his eyes, Blaine thinks. They get really wide and shiny, and then the tears start falling and Blaine gets flashbacks of puppies in casts and cat close-ups. That makes it so much worse than regular boys crying, because Blaine loves animals.

"Blaine, it's… well, one of my fellow glee club members. From McKinley. Puck, the strong, hunky one? He… God, he tried to kill himself." Blaine is surprised at first by how coherent his boyfriend is when he cries, but then the reality of his words starts to sink in, and he pulls away.

"God, Kurt… wait. Wasn't this the one who –"

"Threw me in dumpsters? Yes. But he and the rest of the glee guys defended my honor before, Blaine. I can forgive, and I can't forget that. He was my brother's best friend… he was something more than that to my best friend… I just have to be with them right now, I have to go, I have to go now…" And, just like that, Kurt is back to muttering his repeated sentences under his breath and throwing clothes everywhere. Blaine stands back and stares at him and thinks that, maybe, his boyfriend is a much better person than he ever could have imagined.

When Quinn sees Rachel, she launches herself into the brunette's arms without even thinking about it.

Rachel stands completely still, arms at her sides, either too surprised or too unwilling to return the hug. "What are you doing, Quinn?" she asks softly.

Quinn pulls away and leans against the lockers, ridges digging into her back. She likes the sensation of pain (that's always been the problem, hasn't it?) and pushes harder, enjoying the fire that slowly begins to consume her backbone. "I don't know," she confesses, folding her arms. All her life, she's been told about the importance of body language by her father (that bastard), and she knows that hugging her arms to her chest like this, with a defeated expression on her face, only shows a lack of confidence. Quinn Fabray always has to be confident. She's been told that a thousand times, by her father, by her mother, by herself. She can't bring herself to care anymore. Everything that made her feel good about herself is gone. "I just thought that… maybe… you'd be the only one who would understand? We're so alike," she adds desperately.

"How?" Rachel says, but her voice is dead, uncaring, bitter. It scares Quinn a little bit. She's never heard the self-absorbed diva like this… she's never heard anyone like this. Grief can be terrifying on people, she knows, but this is worse than that.

"W-well, I mean, we both were kind of in love with him, we both cheated on Finn with him… I want things so bad and so do you, you're just more intense about it… we're almost the same person, really."

"Really?" Rachel shouts, so angry and resentful that Quinn subconsciously takes a step back. "We're so much alike, is that what you're saying? I have never slushied anyone with intentions of malice. I have never attempted to make anyone feel terrible about themselves. I have never fed off of my comrades' pain the way that you do! I have never made someone want to die… I hope not." The last part comes out as a whisper, and, in typical Rachel Berry fashion, she starts to storm off, wiping angry tears from her cheeks.

"Wait! Berry –"

"Don't call me that!" Rachel screams, whirling around and seething. Her face is bright red and she's sobbing freely now, and it only takes Quinn a second to realize her mistake.

"Sorry… Rachel. Please. I'm just… so scared, that this was my fault, that he… he killed himself because of me, because of Beth… because I was so horrible to him about the whole thing. God, did I do this?" Quinn squeaks.

Rachel stomps forward and slaps Quinn across the face.

"Don't be so selfish," she snarls. "Don't try to make this yet another situation starring Quinn Fabray, and no one else, because this isn't about you, you – you – bitch!"

And her words are like a knife to the chest, and Quinn watches as Rachel sprints away.

"Finn!"

Finn turns around slowly, still rendered immobile by the devastating news that keeps ringing in his ears like an overplayed song on the radio: Puck tried to kill himself Puck tried to kill himself Puck tried to kill himself. Mike is running to catch up with him, looking completely pissed off, but who doesn't? Finn and Mike are friends. So he just assumes that Mike wants to… talk about this, or whatever. (Puck would fucking hate that. He was never big into feelings and talking and shit.)

That's why Finn is completely unprepared when Mike's fist collides with his eye.

"Ow! What the hell, man?" Finn yells. Mike swings again, this time catching Finn in the stomach and knocking him over. Tina starts crying; Mercedes screams; Sam runs into the school. Finn fights back, kicking Mike's knee and throwing his fists everywhere. He's never been the best at defensive fighting – when he initiates it, he does okay, but when Finn is attacked, he's reduced to flailing and hoping that his hits meet their target. A crushing blow makes Finn's nose start to bleed. The blood tastes normal, like fighting, like every day high school drama. He smiles, because this is an opportunity to forget, and when he punches Mike, he pretends that it's Puck that he's hitting.

"Stop!" a voice calls, and suddenly Mr. Schue is pulling Mike off of Finn and Sam is helping Finn to his feet. A black eye is already starting to form on Mike's face, and Finn can feel the blood rolling from his chin onto his polo shirt. He spits and glowers at Mike challengingly. The other boy fights to escape Mr. Schue's grip.

"He was your best friend! Your best friend. Why the fuck didn't you know that something was going on?" Mike roars.

"Why didn't you?" Finn answers loudly. "You were friends too!"

"Guys, come on," Mr. Schue pleads. "None of us knew this was going to happen."

"He should have," Mike says. He shakes Mr. Schue off and walks away, Tina running after him.

"Finn, it's not your fault," Sam says, offering him a tissue. Most of the glee kids are standing around in awe, shocked beyond words that the normally quiet, gentle Mike could have jumped Finn like this.

"I know," Finn insists, then, "God, why did he have to do this to me? He got my girlfriend pregnant, Rachel cheated on me with him… he'd already ruined my life enough! Why this? Why now?"

When no one could answer, Finn got into his car and drove off, only making it a mile before having to pull over and weep into the steering wheel.

This is only the beginning.