A/N: The accident described in the last chapter was in fact based off of a real accident that took place near Tembi, Greece, in 2003 that resulted in the deaths of at least twenty-four people. Most of those deaths occurred on the school bus that was struck by the accidentally-released load of a passing timber truck. Sheets of plywood collided with the school bus with enough force to cut it almost in two, and killed more than half of the bus's passengers, all between the ages of 14 and 16.

When this accident occurred, I was living in Thessaloniki, about 75 miles away from Tembi. I knew one of the boys who died on the bus - I didn't know him well, but he was a friend of a few of my classmates at the school I went to in Pilea, and so I saw him fairly often. I hope that this story can pay a little bit of tribute to him. And, if any of you ever happen to visit that part of the world, the shrine with all the victims' names and faces is still there, so please go and light a candle for them.

Crash Test Dummies

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"I'm sure there's a lot of things in your life that you could find to be angry about."

~Gideon Largeman, Garden State

..

Shortly after arriving at the Hudson-Hummel house, Tina decided that she really didn't like funerals. She could handle wearing black (she was used to that), she could swallow the terrible catering and she was okay with sitting off to the sidelines and keeping a low profile. What she didn't think she could handle was the odd-looking painful twist in everyone's faces, the quiet sniffles in the background from the older people in attendance and the many pairs puffy red eyes. It was strange, though… Tina had noticed over the course of the several funerals she'd been to over the past few days that the only dry eyes always belonged to those people that had been closest to whomever the funeral was for. Personally, she hadn't cried since Seattle.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Santana, dressed completely in red, plopped down on the couch next to her and handed her a slice of key lime pie without so much as asking her if she wanted it. Tina accepted it wordlessly, but only held it on her lap. "You're s-supposed to w-wear black," she told the Latina, who was eating her slice of pie with angry, jerky bites, as if the pie had been the thing to kill off half of their core group.

Santana didn't answer for a second, but stopped chewing, giving Tina a look that was half contemplative and half furious. Eventually she shrugged. "Kurt picked this dress out for me for Prom last year. I figured it'd be a tribute to him. If you have a problem with it, you can kiss my ass." She took another bite. "And give up the stutter already. It's fake and we all know it. Jesus."

Tina said nothing in response, setting her untouched plate on the coffee table in front of them.

Santana sighed. "Sorry," she said, trying but not really succeeding in sounding soft.

Tina didn't meet her eye. "It's f-fine. I'll see you later." Smoothing out her skirt, Tina stood up and headed off towards the buffet in the kitchen in the hopes of finding something to eat or drink that wouldn't make her nauseous. Mercedes was at the counter, too, piling a plate high with at least two of everything. She glanced up when Tina approached. "It's not for me," she said with a slight forced smile. "Just trying to get Finn to eat something. Bye." Mercedes turned around and disappeared into the hallway, heading for the stairs.

Tina grabbed a ginger ale from the beverage counter and headed slowly back to the living room, feeling a like she should be doing something a little more physical than migrating back and forth between rooms. She returned to her seat next to Santana, who looked surprised that Tina had come back. "That didn't take long," she said.

Tina shrugged. "Nowhere else to go."

"Finn, you need to eat something," Mercedes said in lieu of a greeting as she shut the door to Finn's room behind her.

"No, thanks," he said hoarsely, his head resting against his fist. He was dressed in a rumpled black suit and a blue-striped tie and sitting slumped in his desk chair, looking unusually short.

She sighed and dropped the plate of food onto the desk beside him. "You can't hide in here forever, you know."

He swallowed. "Well, what am I supposed to do? How the hell am I supposed to go down there?"

Mercedes sat down on the corner of the bed closest to his chair. "You just have to. I did."

"Yeah, well, you seem to be doing fine," he said bitterly, turning to look out the window.

"Don't you dare," she snapped. "I lost just as many people as you did, so don't you dare tell me I'm okay."

"You lost a few friends, big deal. My brother and my girlfriend—"

Mercedes launched to her feet and deftly slapped Finn across the face. He barely glanced up as she pointed a finger at him and spoke in a low tone. "If you do not snap out of this and accept that we all are in pain right now, then so help me God I will kill you myself."

He shrugged and turned back to the window. Mercedes shook her head, crossing her arms and turning to pace the floor once. "You're a selfish ass. Puck's still in a coma, I've gone to six funerals this week, and Mike's funeral is this afternoon. Do you honestly think that you're the only one going through anything?"

Finn exhaled slowly, chewing on the cuticle of his middle finger. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm stuck."

Mercedes looked down at her feet, her arms falling back to her sides. "So am I."

"I just… there's so much pressure, you know? People think I'm a leader, but ninety percent of the time, it's Kurt and Rachel telling me what to do. And they're both gone now, and Burt's pretty much catatonic and my mom's going insane trying to make him feel better and I'm left on the sidelines feeling like I should be doing something more than wanting to kill myself."

Mercedes stayed quiet, waiting to see if Finn was finished with his word-vomit.

Instead, he turned to her, making eye contact for the first time since Mercedes had come looking for him two hours ago, and only said one sentence. "Tell me what I have to do."

She shook her head, trying to push down the rock in her throat. "You're asking the wrong person."

Tina and Santana remained in uncomfortable silence as the rest of the mourners milled about the house. Kurt's father was yet to be seen, but Tina had noticed Carole repeatedly disappearing into the garage for a few minutes and then returning with a fresh stream of tears. Eventually, Lauren sat heavily on the cushion on Santana's other side.

"What, you're on a diet suddenly?" Santana snapped, commenting on the absence of a plate of food in Lauren's hands.

Lauren only rolled her eyes in response, clearly not in the mood for Santana's routine insults.

Santana sighed. "How's Puck doing?"

"Still on life support," Lauren replied. She was the only one who had made time to visit the hospital between the funerals. "The whitecoats still don't know when he'll wake up."

"Just like him," Santana drawled. "Sleeping through everything from math class to wakes."

Tina's eyebrows snapped together. "I don't th-think you can b-b-blame him for anything right now, S-Santana."

Santana was about to retort, but a commotion from the front door drew their attention away. Carole was standing at the door, keeping it half-closed and tearfully saying, "I really, really don't think it's a good idea for you to be here. Please. Please, just leave."

Before she could close the door completely, Blaine strode up quickly and crowed "Dave! Great to see you!" as he shoved past Carole and swiftly punched Karofsky in the jaw. Carole gasped as Blaine and Karofsky tumbled onto the porch, the repeated sound of fist meeting flesh intermittent with grunts as Karofsky tried to push Blaine off him.

The three girls on the couch all stood up and rushed over towards the door, many of the mourners crowding around behind them. Abruptly, Mr. Schue pushed between Santana and Tina, snaking his arms around Blaine's chest and bodily lifting him off of the other boy. He didn't let go and kept his grip around the Warbler as Karofsky coughed and wiped blood off of his nose and cheek, pulling himself to his feet.

Karofsky gave Blaine a strange look, his face contorted into an unreadable expression. Then he swallowed and said to Carole, "Sorry I bothered you," before turning around and walking back to his car.