A/N: I don't own Glee. I do ache for this great loss. I haven't written any FF in a long time and never Glee before, but I'm so shocked and sad about this news that I had to write for Cory. This is my tribute. I'd initially intended it as a one-shot, but I apparently have more to process than I'd realized.
Rachel has been staring into space for 45 minutes. She knows the flight attendant has stopped multiple times to ask her if she wants a beverage or a snack, but she doesn't turn her head. She can't. If she stops staring at that tiny stain on the ceiling above her head, then maybe this whole nightmare will come true. Because that's all it can really be. A nightmare. This - this can't be real. Every time she even begins to allow herself to think of the possibility, she can't breathe. And she needs to breathe. So she keeps staring at the stain on the wall. And she tries to ignore Kurt and Santana.
Kurt doesn't want Rachel to notice how hard of a time he's having keeping it together. He doesn't want anyone to notice, actually, but he especially doesn't want to put this on Rachel. Because as much as he knows this is his grief just as much as it is hers, he also knows that's not true either. He feels his eyes welling up in a way that has become horribly familiar, but he forces himself to blink them back. This isn't the time.
Santana can't bring herself to look at either of her friends. She closes her eyes and slouches down in her seat, hoping that she can hang on until she's home in the safety of her mother's arms before she really lets herself think of why she wants - no - needs - to be there so badly. And until then, she can't let herself think of any of those horrible names she'd always called him. Or how he was one of the only people who seemed to understand how hard things were for her sometimes. No, she can't let herself think about any of that at all. She swallows hard and doesn't open her eyes.\
Tina, Blaine, and Artie sit together in her room, but none of them speaks. She doesn't know what either of them is thinking, but since she doesn't know what she, herself, is thinking either, she's ok with that. And she doesn't want to ask because she's afraid that if she talks, she'll start to cry, and then they might, too, and that's just not something she's prepared to deal with. Of course, she's seen all of her friends cry. But not for something like this. Not for something that they can't fix. Ever.
Artie hates to be seen as weak. Hates it more than anything, and he knows he has a lot to make up for image-wise, so he always tries to seem unruffled, to seem like nothing's bothering him. But right now, for the first time in his life, he's terrified that he won't be able to do that. And he knows from the glances he occasionally catches from Tina that she knows that, too. He tries to avoid eye contact. He should be able to do this. He's gotten through a lot of bad moments, and his friends need him now. He doesn't want to have to need them. But he's afraid. Because on some level that he's not acknowledging right now - he knows he does.
Blaine doesn't know what to say. What he does know is that he's afraid to see Kurt, and this time it's not for the usual reasons. This - well, there's nothing to compare this to because nothing has ever been this awful. And he knows Tina needs him now, and even Artie, too, probably, but he doesn't know how to be there for them when all he can think of is how selfish he is. Because more than anything else, what he's feeling right now is this enormous fear that Kurt won't let him help. And right now, that's what he needs - to feel like he can help Kurt. He's ok. He doesn't need help. He just needs to help Kurt. He won't let himself think about any more than that.
Brittany and Sam always talk. They are never together for any prolonged period of time without an incessant chatter. But today, neither of them has been able to say a word. Brittany's eyes are swollen and puffy, and she chews on her pony tail as she thinks about all of the ways things are changing. But this was never supposed to be. And whenever she feels like she should say something to Sam, she looks up, but his face just makes the words stick in her throat. She's never seen his face look like this, and she's afraid. So she chews on her hair, and she doesn't say a word.
Sam knows. He knows that Brittany wants to talk to him, and he knows why she isn't. But he can't seem to get the scowl off his face. He knows it's forbidding, and he knows that's why no one has approached him since he heard the news and dropped the phone on the ground, almost stepping on it in the process. But he has to be like this. If he stops scowling, he'll start - no. He won't even let himself think about that. He needs to stay strong for Brittany. He keeps scowling.
Mercedes is unutterably grateful to have wound up on the same connecting flight home as Mike. Right now, when she's feeling so lost and confused, all she wants is a familiar face. Even if Mike can't seem to bring himself to say a word, all that matters is that someone who understands is next to her. And all it takes is one look at Mike's face - and that all-too-brief hug - to know he does. The conversations will come later, she is sure. For now, his company is enough.
Mike doesn't know how to define his mixed feelings as he sits beside Mercedes on this short flight home. Is he glad she's there? Of course - on one level. Because she does understand, he knows, it's good to have her there. But at the same time - if she understands - then that means this is real. And he can't let that happen. He doesn't know how to let this be real and still be himself. He's never had to face anything like this before, and he knows - he knows - that he's not capable of it. He just isn't. And he isn't capable of talking about it either. He's glad, at least. that Mercedes seems to understand that, too.
How doesn't matter.
This is the line that keeps running through his head as he stares at the cell phone in his hand. How doesn't matter. It can't change anything.
Puck shakes his head and his lips almost twist into a smile. Because it can't be true. It can't. Sure, they've had their arguments - might have even stopped talking for a while back with the whole getting-Quinn-pregnant thing. But they were always supposed to be there for each other. So what IS this?
Puck shakes his head again. How doesn't matter. Because this can't be true. And when he goes to the choir room, he's going to make sure to explain that to the rest of them.
Sometimes, being a teacher is too hard. This, Will thinks, is one of those times. He stares into the bathroom mirror and wonders what he's going to say. When he sees them. When they see him. When they need him to have answers that no one has - that no one ever will have. He puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe deeply. Things like this - they never get any easier. They only get harder. And as he prepares to walk to the choir room, he knows this is the hardest it's ever been. And it's going to get harder. And he still doesn't know what to say.