gleebles A/N; Hey guys! I'd like to apologize for the length and choppiness of this chapter. It's setting up things for the next couple of chapters, and I'm back in school, so I don't have much time to write! The next chapter will be better, I promise!

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Enjoy!

Chapter Three
"Drop The World"

My word is my pride,
But wisdom is bleak and that's a word from the wise.
Served to survive, murdered, and bribed,
And when it got too heavy I put my burdens aside.

"Hey there, Mercedes," Will smiled brightly as one of his favorite students entered his office. Mercedes smiled back briefly and gestured to the empty seat in front of his desk.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked.

"By all means," answered Will, signaling emphatically. "You don't have to ask me that."

She lowered herself into the chair and wiggled uncomfortably.

There was a quiet pause, but Will waited patiently.

"I'm glad you're here," he offered, but she only quirked her lips in response and dug in her backpack for her bagged lunch.

They ate in silence for some time before she finally spoke up.

"Sorry I haven't been to Glee club," she murmured softly. "It's…I've been doing okay, but there's something…the room…"

"I understand," Will nodded. "You don't have to explain anything to me. You come back whenever you're ready."

She gave a genuine grin this time, and then she glanced back at the choir room.

"I might be here later today."

"Really?" he perked up. "You sure?"

She nodded.

"I've been thinking about it, and I think it's time to come back."

Will felt his heart throb in his chest and reached over to touch her hand. She returned his squeeze.

"Mr. Evans!"

Santana glanced to her right and watched as their algebra teacher, Ms. Boyd, gave Sam a significant look.

Sam was in the back of the classroom, crunching loudly on a bag of chips. Everyone that sat near him glared at him crossly.

"What?" he responded rudely, and Ms. Boyd's eyes widened.

"That's no way to talk to a teacher, Mr. Evans," she warned, and he rolled his eyes. "Also, there's no eating in my classroom."

"I didn't have lunch," he responded, and now everyone was watching him in both irritation and in awe. Ms. Boyd was a older woman who wasn't meant to be crossed and, if the look on her face was any indication, Sam wasn't going to walk away lightly.

"And why is that?"

"I was in Principal Figgin's office," he parried back easily.

A nasty smirk spread across Ms. Boyd's wrinkly face.

"Where you'll find yourself after school as well, Mr. Evans."

Sam rolled his eyes again, and Santana's eyebrows furrowed. This wasn't the Sam she knew.

"Now put your snack away."

"Actually, I think I'll finish it," Sam impolitely answered and tipped the bag into his mouth.

"Detention!" Ms. Boyd's face was turning purple with offense. "For the rest of the week!"

"Joke's on you because I already have detention for two weeks," Sam laughed.

Every face in the room turned to Ms. Boyd, ready for her response, but none came. She and Sam seemed to have engaged in a stare off where she glared and he gazed back uninterestedly.

"I'll see you after school," she finally exhaled softly, and the class resumed.

Santana turned her attention back to the front, but watched Sam from the corner of her eye.

"Sam!"

He turned around in the hallway and sighed.

"What do you want, Santana?"

The Hispanic cheerleader caught up with him, and they started down the hallway.

"I need to talk to you about something."

They turned a corner, and Santana grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him into a classroom.

"What the hell?" he called loudly and jerked his arm back. "What is your problem?"

"Look," Santana breathed angrily. "I know what you're going through. I know you're upset and frustrated and feeling guilty—"

"You don't know what I'm feeling—" Sam fumed.

"—but you need to stop lashing out at people."

Sam scoffed and then glared at her.

"The last person I'm going to take anger management advice from is you."

"Exactly," Santana nodded obviously. "That's why you can trust me when I say that you have a problem."

"I don't have a problem," he seethed and then pushed passed her into the hallway.

"What's up guys!" Puck grinned as he entered the choir room. "I've got great news!"

Kurt, Finn, Brittany, Sugar, and Rachel all looked up at him.

"You found a heated seat gaming chair?" Finn anticipated.

"Marc Jacob's opening a new line?" Kurt hoped.

"There's a new, effective diet and exercise plan for obese cats?" Brittany wondered.

"My daddy bought a new company?" Sugar predicted.

"You found more people and we can compete at Regionals?" Rachel guessed.

"Uh…no. Sorry." There was a group sigh. Puck continued only slightly deterred, "But it's even better!"

"Doubt it," Rachel huffed moodily.

"Shut it, Berry," Puck ordered and then grinned widely. "I'm throwing us a huge ass party!"

There was a pause.

"That sounds like fun!"

Everyone turned to Kurt in surprise. Puck looked the most dubious, and he tried to deduce whether Kurt was sarcastic or serious.

"I'm being serious," he insisted and everyone waited for him to say more. "I think it'll be fun for us all to, you know, loosen up a little and have some fun for a change."

"Yeah, see?" Puck immediately took in his only ally, as unpredictable as whom it was, and quickly rolled with his plan. "Those were my thoughts exactly. Who else is in?"

"We don't need to be worrying about a party," Rachel narrowed her eyes dangerously at Puck. "We need to be preparing for Regionals!"

Kurt turned to Finn and gave him an encouraging nod.

"You know what," he spoke up after a bit of prodding. "I think Puck and Kurt are right. We need to let loose a bit."

Rachel turned to Finn and gave him an exasperated look.

"It'll be fun, Rachel," he promised just as Will walked into the room.

Mr. Schuester started talking, but Rachel became enveloped by her own troubling thoughts.

Yes, it was nice that people were starting to become more positive. After all the horrible things that had happened a month ago, it was time for a change in atmosphere. However, they still only had six people on board for Regionals, and if Regionals didn't happen, New York didn't happen.

These bothersome reflections were effectively wiped from the brunette's mind the second Mr. Schuester mentioned the competition.

"What songs do you have planned?" he wondered halfheartedly, knowing the response he would get, but attempting at some ambition within the group. He briefly wondered about Mercedes, thinking that she usually had good suggestions, but noticed that she hadn't showed up, despite her promise. He pondered if she had lied to him or if she'd lied to herself, thinking she was ready to come back when she actually wasn't.

"Well I have a lot of ideas!" Rachel jumped to her feet and joined Mr. Schue in the center of the room. "You guys?"

Everyone stared at the pair in doubt.

"What is it?" Mr. Schue wondered.

"Regionals just seems like…" Kurt trailed off, but Puck finished it for him.

"It's not happening," he stated plainly.

This was the reaction Will had been expecting, but he attempted to push through it.

"It'll happen guys," he encouraged. "I know it will."

They all reluctantly nodded to appease their choir director, but the doubt resonated in each of them. Finn glanced up at the ceiling and stared at the tile where a bullet had pierced it only a month ago.

Artie shot at the zombies fiercely, jabbing the A button speedily.

"That's right mothafuckaaa," he half-sang. "Yo ass is grass."

There was a shrill ringing, and he jumped in surprise. The game paused and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. It read, Mike Chang.

There was a moment of stillness and silence as Artie stared at his phone, torn.

Then, he declined the call, turned off his game, and climbed into bed.