October 4th, 2010
Finn doesn't want to be quarter back this year.
It's just another thing on a long list of things that have changed...things that suck.
So Puck has been promoted to the role of QB by their new football coach. Coach Bieste is kind of a bitch. She doesn't care that...well, that everything that has happened, happened. She doesn't care that Brittany is dead. She doesn't care that Mr. Schuester is missing. She doesn't care that Quinn...
Quinn.
So she doesn't care that today would have been Brittany's birthday and she doesn't care that half the team is on the verge of tears all day or that there is a candlelight vigil tonight at six. She makes them run anyway. Wind sprints and then a five mile jog.
Maybe she's one of those sadists who think if you keep your body occupied, your mind won't have time to dwell on dead cheerleaders or missing Spanish teachers or...or...Quinn.
That shit doesn't work because his mind is still going there even though he's running harder than he's ever run before. His mind still knows that Brittany is dead in the ground and that the chances of Quinn not being dead are slim to none.
He runs harder.
He runs past Karofsky and Azimio and Mike Chang and then pumps his legs harder.
Even Karofsky and Azimio have changed. They stopped tormenting the dweebs and Hummel. They've stopped talking shit about Glee club and Cheerios. They show up to class and keep their mouths shut.
Everyone keeps their mouth shut. Everyone walks on egg shells. There are no more pep rallies, no more dances, no more field trips.
Figgins tried to keep everyone involved. Thirty kids showed up to the first pep rally of the year and half of those left by the end of it.
He stopped trying after that.
Puck hasn't been to Spanish class all year. He walked by the first day and saw some blonde haired chick standing at the front of the classroom taking attendance. She looked up and smiled. He gave her the finger and walked away. She didn't tell Figgins. He still hates her. Hates her for standing where Schue stood. Where he should still be standing.
A few Cheerios run by him going in the opposite direction. There is a pretty Sophomore with green eyes and blonde hair leading the pack. An image of another girl with blonde hair and green eyes invades his mind and his eyes sting.
He hides his face and runs faster - his feet pounding on the pavement as his heart pounds in his chest. He can't hear Azimio, Chang, or Karofsky any more. The cars blur as they pass by and he realizes it's because there are tears in his eyes.
He swipes them away.
He doesn't cry. He is Puckzilla.
He's about to turn around, run back in the opposite direction. Return home. Something on the wood line catches his eye and he slows his legs a bit as he passes. A red and white lump. Garbage?
He turns to run back. Something isn't right. He can feel. He slows to a walk, breathing hard – sucking in air greedily. The chill in the air burns his lungs.
The tears that were in his eyes are still stinging.
He stares at the lump and he isn't sure what compels him to move forward but he does. He's only a couple of feet away when he realizes that the lump of red is a person laying face down in the dead leaves. The body mostly obscured by the overlaying branches in the woods.
A person in a white t-shirt and jeans that are drenched in blood.
A person with curly hair...Mr. Schuester.
He screams. An animalistic, guttural scream that rips its why from his lungs. He drops to his knees and crawls forward. He reaches his hand out to turn the body – he needs to see.
He can hear Azimio, Chang, and Karofsky now. They're behind him and one of them, he's not sure which, is screaming to call the police.
The police can't come until he sees because he knows that whatever happened to Schuester must have happened to Quinn and...and...
He grabs the blood covered shirt and tugs the body towards himself. When he sees the green eyes of his Glee coach open and blink slowly at him, he screams again.
He's alive.
He's alive even if barely.
...Maybe Quinn is alive.
He moves forward, closer to the man on the ground, and grips his hand. It's freezing and sticky with blood but he holds tight, "It's okay, Mr. Schue. Help is coming. Hold on. Hold on!"