It doesn't hit her at first. Her mind just kind of floats there, processing what she saw. She looks past it, pretending it isn't real. That it isn't there. It isn't until a moment later that she starts crying. What does she do? The tears won't stop. Beca can feel her ears start to get stuffy, and now she can't hear the noises around her very clearly. With a sense of hopelessness and despair, she decides she needs to tell.

She'll tell someone. Anyone. She rushes through her options, not thinking clearly and therefore not choosing the best option.

Close enough.

Her heart is physically pained, constricting inside her chest with fear. She's afraid.

Beca knows her heart didn't stop beating, because in between the constrictions it tries to burst from her chest. The tears are still there, but they've stopped coming. Now they've just left sticky patches all over her face. She can feel the nasty mucus that always seems to creep up while crying, and it just sits in her nose, plugging it while running at the same time. Little hiccups and tiny noises are coming from the brunette, but she doesn't notice them until her heart does its constricting thing at the same time as the noise.

The person in front of her tries to still her, stop her spiral into madness. She chokes out what she knows to be true, hears a room full of gasps, low rumbles and high pitches screeches ringing out, most likely directed her. Asking her questions about her statement that she can't answer. All she does is point. To the laptop. To what she knows is waiting there. Some rush passed the wreckage of a human that now points up the stairs.

She goes back to her bed, emotionally and physically drained. Beca ignores everyone that tries to stop her, once again ignores the questions she can't even ask herself. She hears phones click, click, clicking urgently. She can't help. She doesn't know how.

The stickiness is gone, as is the mucus, but now her heart just beats. Hard. The thump, thump, thumping hurts her chest, and her mind is still racing, replaying what happened and what she should have done and what she has to do now. To face the reality. It can wait until morning. For now, she sleeps and dreams horrible dreams, hoping for a better tomorrow.

In her dreams, she hears the same sentence over and over.

Jesse's dead.


AN: Okay, guys, I know it may not make sense. This is something I'd written after I'd just seen something no one ever really wants to see, and I remember trying to think of synonyms for the word sad, because the word sad didn't seem to accurately describe my feelings. I don't plan on there being anything after this, but if y'all want I could probably drudge up some aftermath stuff, or what had happened before this. Maybe. We'll see. If I were to continue, it'd most likely be spy AU or something along those lines. Feel free to PM me if you want to talk more about this.