The Panic Room

By: VanillaSlash

Rating: T—for two, and two... for T.

Warnings: Some swearing, mentions of possible character death, homophobia, school shooting, violence.

Disclaimer: I do not own. I only pwn.

Additional Notation:

All Warbler names are according to Wikipedia, which is clearly never wrong. In fact, if Wikipedia so said that Glee did not exist, we would not be here right now. Lolith verily.

Chapitre I:

Spider Trap

Wes swears then and there that never again will he be able to play Call of Duty without freaking out exactly the same way he is now, feeling Kurt's rapidly rising and falling chest pressed to his back and Blaine glued to his side as the three take refuge in the school café.

Everything is silent.

And somehow that makes Wes even tenser. He can feel Kurt hyperventilate right in his ear and Blaine—goddammit, his best friend Blaine—spasm with anxiety as the two cling to each other for dear life.

They won't hurt you, they won't hurt you, they won't hurt you, Blaine is mouthing against the slender throat of his boyfriend, and Wes respectfully averts his eyes as Kurt practically climbs into his best friend's lap, pressing their bodies impossibly close.

"We can't stay here," Wes finally speaks, and he's proud that his voice only wavers once. "The café is in the center of school and there are too many entrances. We're sitting ducks if we stay."

Blaine meets his eye, and it's almost enough to make the Warbler Council head flinch away because the only other time Blaine's look at him like this was after an intense nightmare just after Blaine had transferred here and they'd become very close indeed. The only difference is that now he's got Kurt—"I really think I love him, Wes, I just... I'm so scared…"—tucked under his chin, staring up at Wes with that same helpless look that pleads for him to do something; but twice as terrified because Kurt, who was all Blaine had ever wanted since before the two had really even met, is also in danger.

"Where should we go?"

Wes opens his mouth, gaping at them while trying to assemble the answer when they hear it:

A crack that's terrifyingly not far away at all—a few halls down at most—like a gunshot.

Because it is a gunshot.

All three of them press together as they hear screams from the floors above them—but not their floor. No one has been shot. Not yet.

"Move!" Wes hisses, pale-faced as he tries to shove the other two into motion.

Kurt tumbles from between Blaine's legs with a thud that shakes Wes's eardrums, but Blaine is on him immediately, tugging Kurt to his feet and yanking him along as he and Wes flee left, towards South Hall, panic blinding him to the racket they make in their escape and the sickening reality that South and East halls were full of mostly-locked doors at this time of day.

"Come on," Wes growls, jiggling a nearby unisex bathroom doorknob desperately, shooting harried looks back at the direction they've come from. "Come on, we need somewhere with a lock on the inside!"

"The choir room," Blaine's voice hisses.

Wes glances back at him over his shoulder and has to do a double take because the first time he can't distinguish which one's Blaine with Kurt wrapped up in his arms.

"I think… I think I'm going to marry him one day," Blaine sighed, a ridiculous grin spreading across his face. His phone was out, and Wes didn't have to see the screen to know that he was reading over his text history from Kurt.

Still, this was news to Wes, whose mechanical pencil led snapped audibly at the announcement. He sat and stared for so long that it ended up being David who had to lead this particular conversation.

"Wow, Blaine, congrats," David said.

And that was fine; David really was more sensitive to other people's emotions—and, okay, he got a lot of practice with Wes, who could actually be really evil when the urge struck. But Blaine was one of those people that fell in love with the idea of love—not necessarily the person.

So Wes just shined it on: "Use protection until you mutually decide to have gay babies," he advised, ducking the pillow Blaine retaliated with.

But he didn't believe it; not really.

It was nearly three days past that mark when Blaine showed up in David's and his room, eyes red and heart so obviously aching. They knew he'd disappeared to Lima for reasons unknown, and he never did say why. He looked small: small like the first day his soon-to-be best friends found him wandering lost in North Hall, overwhelmed and with no clue where the mathematics block could even possibly be.

Beside Wes, David set his book down in concern. "Blaine?"

Blaine looked terrified. "Oh g—oh god, I'm in love with him."

And Wes believed him.

They'd made it to the chemistry classroom when it happens.

Unfortunately, the only reason they can get in in the first place is because Jeff managed to blow the lock clean off during a rather exciting acids lab. Wes makes a mental note to kill him for it later.

They haven't run into anyone else the entire way there; the hall remains unnervingly quiet and Wes can feel an unwelcome, paranoid pressure rising in the back of his head. Nevertheless, he closes the door and slumps against a nearby desk as the stress rolls over him.

He's thinking of all the paths they can take to get to the Warbler's rehearsal room—thankfully it has a lock and will certainly be open—when he notices.

The doorknob is turning.

And when it slips open, Wes doesn't hold back.

Wes is not a violent person. He's controlling and a leader—but only because he expects others to follow his lead to the point that it's everyone else who feels stupid if they fail to. So his own surprise to find his fist colliding with the intruder's face is probably only second to the intruder himself, who utters a long, loud stream of colorful curse words at the abrupt pain.

It ends with: "—fucking hell, Wes!"

"David," the Asian boy gasps, and that's when they all truly notice each other and feel a mutual sharp shot of relief.

His best friend's uniform is all out of sorts. Sweat dampens the collar and the tie is nowhere to be seen. But otherwise, he's okay, and Wes nearly feels his stomach drop out with relief because if he's been terrified for Blaine and Kurt—and, okay, himself, he's not really afraid to admit that—then he's been exactly—paralyzing—that for David.

David slumps against the wall, clutching his bruised eye. "Shit, am I glad to see you… with the one eye I have left."

"Sorry."

Blaine and Kurt are talking; are gripping David in an intense show of relief that Wes can't allow himself—not yet, because there will be time for that later; because he'll get them out of this.

David finally forces words out in a whisper with Blaine's nails digging painfully into his bicep but he doesn't notice. "What's happening?"

Wes stares back in frustrating helplessness that doesn't suit him at all. And, really, what is he supposed to say that David doesn't already know? The reason why all of Dalton lies in this ambiguous limbo-lockdown? Maybe address Kurt and Blaine, who have been unnervingly silent in a way that Kurt and Blaine really never are.

He settles for something simple.

"Don't play stupid with me, David."

And it's final.

The unspoken confirmation is the last thing David wants to hear, because, on some level, he does already know. His dark grip falls from his face, and both eyes (one already swelling) focus on Wes with such intensity that the Asian boy can't help but flush a little because, seriously, was this really the time for that?

"Oh," David breaths at last. And yeah, Wes knows he knows. Wes also knows that David wants to get closer, but his own tense glare warns that the outcome won't be nice if he does, because Wes can't deal with those thoughts on top of everything else.

Those chocolate eyes dart to him and snap back to Blaine's face so fast that it practically didn't even happen. "Where did you guys come from? I haven't—haven't seen anyone. There were footsteps—and that shot in East Hall—but it was so fast and—"

It's fast and sudden. There's absolutely no transition; one minute the lights are on, and in the next, it's total blackness. The iced-over windows offer the dimmest of help and a swell of chaos seems to rise in the school.

People—up one floor, down three halls, everywhere—are letting our startled curses. Someone runs right past their classroom hiding space, and there's a sharp, foreboding sense of anonymity that settles in them all. Friends are out there, fleeing each other, invisible to each other. But there's something else out there too; and that keeps them dead silent until the footsteps and sounds fade away.

Hot panic rises in Wes's stomach. He feels nauseous. I can't do this I can't do this—fuck, I can't do this!

But out loud, he says: "If they messed with the power, they're in a different hall than before."

Kurt sneers. He's close enough for Wes to see the flash of his teeth. "…Great. They're moving around the school."

"I'll check to see if the coast is clear," Blaine announces firmly, his shadowed figure straightening with a bit of unbalance but largely ignoring Kurt's attempts to tug him back.

"Stop being ridiculous, Blaine, it's better if we're not wandering around aimlessly!"

"Not aimless," Blaine dissents, kissing Kurt swiftly.

Normally Wes wouldn't mind the serious PDA, but with David in the room, it's a little bit more than he's strong enough for. He stands too.

"I'll check towards the other end of the hall to be sure."

"No!" David says in a noise level closer to a normal conversational volume than the feverish whispers they'd been using. He quickly adjusts his tone. "I'll go with Blaine."

"No you won't."

And if Wes sounds quietly furious, it's only because he's entitled. Because Blaine is hurling himself into danger because he loves Kurt, and David, no matter what he thinks, does not love Wes.

Finally, David subsides. "I'll stay with Kurt."

Wes nods tightly, stepping after Blaine.

It's hard avoiding Blaine's speculative gaze in the loosely lit hall, glowing by only the windows' light, but Wes knows he has to if he doesn't want to see the intense bewilderment and pity shining there. Certainly Wes doesn't want the pity—there's nothing to sympathize for! And he tells Blaine as much.

"Are you and David having a fight?" Blaine speculates anyway.

Wes considers telling him to save his sympathy instead for Kurt, who is more unfortunate than he had realized having to deal with Blaine's obliviousness, but graciously (barely) refrains. Wes tries to shake him off while craning his neck slowly to squint around the corner, finding a deserted hall going north-west, but Blaine has worked himself into a well-meaning state and begins:

"David really cares about you—"

"Do you think I'm worried about that!?" David not caring is the last thing he's worried about; the chocolate-skinned boy has made himself quite clear. He's decisive in a way that Wes is not, passionate in a way that Wes can't be, and in lov—in feelings in a way that Wes refuses.

The problem is that Wes has always been very careful with himself. He thinks very highly of himself and respects himself with every ounce of his blood. So to risk himself and the comfortable life that he's built up around him for someone else? It's not even an option.

"You're tensing around each other," Blaine says slowly. "David—"

"Will you check your side, Blaine?" Wes tells himself that it isn't guilt he feels as Blaine stares and then walks away; it's not guilt because Blaine is being nosy and kind of deserves it. And he doesn't turn away from Blaine and walk back towards the classroom because he thinks that Blaine might really look at him and suddenly recognize that same difference in Wes that he has in himself. The difference that shines when he looks at Kurt and that surfaced when Blaine realized just how desperately in love he was.

If Blaine looks Wes in the eye right then, Blaine will know everything; and Wes wouldn't be able to take any of it back.

Kurt has his reasons for acting the way he does. Wes just hasn't guessed them for now, lingering outside the door with a hand brushing the doorknob and the two of them talking quietly inside.

"I don't want to die a virgin," he hears Kurt confess, seeing him clutch David's sleeve through the crack; David crushes him in a hug unhesitatingly.

"You won't. I promise. This will all be over soon, and you and Blaine will have thousands of gay babies and name every third one after me or Wes," David says roughly into his ear. He pulls Kurt even closer because this is the guy that Blaine wants for the rest of his life if all that Katie Perry is anything to go by, and David will protect whatever his best friend wants to his death.

Hopefully fate won't call him on that, though.

Quite suddenly, Blaine pops up behind Wes. "The hallway's clear. We should go."

"Right."

Before they can, and with all the expectancy of (skipping metaphors) none at all, an ear-shaking shatter splits the air in two followed by a ground-trembling crash. It's too much to pin a distance on, and David is probably so far gone that he doesn't stop to try. So the next thing Wes is treated to is the chemistry lab door banging open—practically in his face—and David really crashing into him with a look of dread and panic that quickly switches with intense relief when he sees Wes sprawled out, groaning on the stone floor under him.

Wes is noticeably less pleased. "David, you're in my bubble."

The tall boy winces. "Sorry."

Someone is yanking impatiently on his collar. "Go, go, go!" He recognizes Kurt's hiss and scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over David again. The dark-skinned boy remedies this by taking Wes by the waist in a gesture of unnecessary intimacy, and together they're all darting down the corridor.

Footsteps are crashing overhead and a door slams a world away, but as Wes's sides start to burn—still being whisked along by David—they suddenly pull around a last corner, and there's the Warbler's room. Wes doesn't think he's ever been happier to see it in his life as he grabs the handle and yanks.

It's heartstoppingly locked.

The Asian boy hears himself swear furiously as turns on his heel, eyes darting desperately around the hall for an idea which turns out to be unnecessary. Low murmurs waft from the closed threshold, causing David to finally jerk his hand back in surprise.

"Wes," a voice breathes from behind the heavy oak, and they can hear the tumblers clamoring inside the first lock, but a thud and muffled swear come before the second one does.

Now it's Thad's deep, demanding voice leaking through the crack of the door: "If you are Wes, I asked you something you didn't want to answer last night. What did you tell me?" the senior barks.

No less than five different voices uttered five different furious curses.

"They're in fucking danger, Thad!" Wes can pinpoint Nick's outraged voice and a scuffle breaks out on the other side.

"We're all in fucking danger!" Thad's voice hisses with authority. He redirects to Wes: "Answer the question."

"I told you… that I always did," the Asian boy replies primly, smoothing the lapel of his blazer anxiously and glancing around under three pairs of probing eyes. The hall remains abandoned, but he still doesn't plan to stay out here, and he doesn't have to.

The Warbler's choir room door is yanked open viciously and the four missing member are hauled inside with efficiency as the door is firmly shut behind them; the two locks are set and a chain leashes the door.

Wes doesn't even break stride. "Who's missing?"

"Who isn't?" Thad gripes, clutching the back of an armchair anxiously. His voice is slightly less strained, however; perhaps finding a better grip together with the reunion of his fellow Council.

"A bunch of the guys were supposed to have a study group in the library—"

"There was a gunshot," Nick interrupts tensely.

"Has anyone gone for help?"

"Have you noticed the five foot wall of ice outside?" Wes snaps back.

It's not untrue. The snowfall nearly comes up to the first-floor window of the room—a product of nearly a week of snowfall that hasn't shown any inclination to let up. It's a death wish to venture out the five miles down the road to town.

"Fine. 9-1—?"

"Do you have your phone on you?" A pointless question. Cell phones are strictly banned outside the dormitories during the weekday.

"I'm sure someone called," Thad says uneasily.

"This is like that movie," Trent hisses in revolted reverence.

"What—?"

"With the fucking axe!" He's nearly beside himself. "The psycho running around the hotel with a fucking axe and the creepy little ki—there's always a creepy little kid—!"

"If I may intercept your butchered rendition of perhaps the entire Shining plot," Kurt scathes from where he is, "you aren't really helping."

"Oh because you're doing so mu—"

"Watch what you say next to him, Trent." Blaine's shoulders are tense. It's clear whose side he'll jump in on should things escalate to a fist fight. Over Trent's shoulder, Nick trades threatening glares with Blaine. Without really realizing it, the two parties are gravitating towards each other with agitated energy.

David immediately jumps forward. "Knock it off, now!" he warns, a raised finger pointing at each of them in turn at he speaks back and forth. "We're all tense, but we will have order here!"

"I liked them better falling asleep during Warbler meetings," Wes tells when David settles in beside him. A few boys stare gimlet-eyed at the Council table where the two are seated, but no one has ambition enough to protest, considering Wes all but rules the group with an iron fist.

"It's not how I thought they'd lose their grip."

"In a crisis, you see the parts of people that they'll never let you see. The raw parts that they haven't worked through yet…" Wes smiles grimly. "We haven't seen anything."

David lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I don't know, Wes, something's weird, don't you think that? Why hasn't anyone come? Someone must have a cell on them or be in the dorms or something."

Wes's coal-black eyes shift askance. He takes in David completely, considering everything he says and calculating everything that could come from it.

There's brilliance in Wes's eyes.

And utter adoration in David's.

There is a morbid lack of Wavid around here, my fellow people.

؏Aurora