A/N: Wow-over 500 reviews! Have I mentioned I have the best reviewers in the world? I do. I really do. Love you guys!
Warning: Language.
PART 25
Burt shrugged out of his coat and laid it, still warm from his own body heat, over David. Strong hands moved quickly, pulling the fabric across the still unconscious teen and tucking it in. He covered Dave's hands with his wool knit cap. Last, Burt wrapped David's bare feet in his thick muffler.
Satisfied that he had protected Karofsky as best as he could from the cold, Burt called Beiste and asked her to bring the first aid kit and blanket down from his truck. He lit an emergency glow stick to signal his location for her and the rest of his group. While he waited for Beiste, Mercedes and Fedir to arrive, he called 911. Busy. Swearing, he tried again. This time it rang and went through to a recording saying all of the dispatchers were handling other emergencies at the moment.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Burt swore again as he angrily disconnected the call.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." Coach Beiste murmured under her breath when she saw Dave and quickly crossed herself. "Is he-?"
"Hanging in there." Burt muttered, punching 9-1-1 on his phone for the third time. And, for the third time, not getting through. "Goddammit!"
David sighed, breath ghosting in the frosty morning air. He couldn't see. Couldn't speak. A hazy memory of Kurt whimpering against his shoulder flickered on the edge of his consciousness. Followed by searing pain. Then nothing until now. He thought he had lost Kurt but then a warmth settled over him and he imagined the smaller boy huddled against him.
"Mishka's alive."
Fedir's voice sounded shaky over the cell phone. Zarya covered her mouth with a trembling hand to quiet her relieved cry. Still, the noise was enough to wake Kurt. Shaking off the last of his lethargy, he quickly struggled into a sitting position, alarmed by Zarya's tears.
"Is it David?"
She nodded once, still listening to Fedir on the phone. Voice choked with emotion, Zarya took Kurt's hand in hers, unable to speak.
"Is he-?" Kurt asked anxiously.
"..alive…" She managed, fearful that she had misheard Fedir's words.
As the warmth from Burt's coat cleared the cold from David's body, it also cleared the numbness that had dulled his injuries. His body ached. He shifted, trying to get comfortable. Strong hands pressed him down and he panicked, sure that Luke and Zimmerman had returned. He struggled, fighting through the pain, determined to keep them from getting to Kurt. The sudden movement sent a jolt like lightning burning through his left leg.
David screamed.
Kurt paled when he heard Dave's yell.
"Fedir." Zarya's grip on the phone tightened. "Fedir, what is going on?" She listened, nodding to herself. "I understand." She handed the phone to Kurt. "They are trying to help but Mishka is fighting them. Mercedes wishes to speak to you."
Kurt nodded as he took the cell phone. "Mercedes?"
"We found Dave."
"I heard him scream. What's wrong?"
"He's really messed up, Bay-Bay. Your dad's trying to keep him calm but it's not working. I think—I think maybe he would listen to you. Think you can talk to him?"
"Will he answer me?"
"Kurt, he can't—" Mercedes broke off for a moment. "Kurt, he's not gonna be able to answer you. But he might hear you."
Kurt closed his eyes, wondering what in the hell Luke and Zimmerman had done to his boyfriend. He felt Nana Zarya's arm settle in a comforting hug around his shoulders.
"Let me know when you're ready."
He heard movement, his dad's voice and Coach Beiste's in the background, and then Mercedes again.
"Ready."
"David."
Hearing Kurt's voice, Dave tried again to struggle through his pain and break free of the hands holding him.
"David, don't move."
He hesitated, trembling from his efforts and weak from the abuse his body had taken. He moaned against the gag still bound against his mouth.
"Stay still."
Dave bit back another scream.
"It's okay, I'm safe." Kurt heard what he thought was a relieved sigh. "I'm safe." He repeated softly, tears damp against his lashes. "You saved me."
Dave sagged back onto the tarp, exhausted, feeling the fog of unconsciousness closing in. Just before he drifted off, he could have sworn he heard Kurt singing quietly in his ear.
"It worked." Mercedes was back on the line. "You did it."
"Put my dad on the phone."
"Kurt? You okay? You need anything?"
"Promise me you'll stay with David. Please, Dad. That's the only thing I need right now."
"I promise. Is his grandmother around?"
Kurt glanced over at Zarya. "She's right here. Why?"
"Just wanna let her know what's going on."
"You're keeping something from me."
"Kurt, we need to get your boy to a hospital. I just wanna check with Mrs. Karofsky to see where she wants him to go."
Kurt considered. "That's all?"
"That's all, kiddo. Get some rest. I'll see you soon. Now let me talk to her."
"All right."
Kurt handed the phone back to Zarya, listening closely for any sign that his father may have been less than truthful with him. Nana Zarya, mindful of Kurt's attention, was careful in her responses. Burt explained his plan to carry Dave up the riverbank and to a nearby parking lot with the hope that they could get a helicopter to land there and take him to a trauma center. Zarya questioned him about the necessity of moving her injured grandson. Satisfied with his answers, she assured Burt that she would see to the arrangements on her end and hung up.
"I'm coming with you."
Zarya arched her eyebrow, eyeing Kurt coolly.
"You are staying here."
Kurt grabbed the bed rail to lower it. Wordlessly, Nana Zarya reached over and clasped the handcuff onto his wrist. Shocked, Kurt rattled the cuff, uselessly trying to free himself. He gaped, open mouthed at Zarya.
"Oh, no, you didn't!"
Zarya's lips twitched, pleased at her own cleverness.
"I believe I did."
She walked out, feeling Kurt's angry glare at her back.
Several minutes and several conversations later, Zarya had a better appreciation for Burt Hummel's frustration. It seemed all of the emergency rooms in Cleveland were at capacity and refusing to accept any more patients. Air ambulances not already loaded with injured passengers were being refueled or still en route from outlying counties. A few clinics were willing to treat minor wounds but weren't equipped for the kind of trauma David had suffered.
Finally, Nana Zarya had intercepted Det. Metz as he left the Quiet Room. He promised to see what he could do. Zarya watched him walk away, worried that precious minutes were being lost.
The door to the Quiet Room opened again, startling her. Even more startling was suddenly being face to face with her son, Peter Karofsky.
Furious, she grabbed his arm.
"Did you know?"
Her grip tightened as she forced him back into the room to confront him.
"Answer me!"
Peter lowered his eyes, shamed by the pain in his mother's face. Pain his son had caused.
"He said he had a caviar proposal he wanted to discuss with David."
"You believed him?" Zarya asked sharply, incredulous.
"No." Peter's answer came quickly as he met his mother's eyes, pleading for understanding, compassion. He shrugged helplessly. "But I hoped…" His voice trailed off into silence, drowned out by ambulance sirens and the droning t.v. news as the aftermath of Gleb's actions continued to play out.
Grief and regret etched her son's face and Zarya realized there was nothing more she could say that Peter had not already come to realize on his own. And paid a terrible price for his newfound wisdom. She sighed. The long hours of worrying and wondering had left her drained. There had been enough suffering tonight. What was done couldn't be undone. Nana Zarya understood it was time to begin the healing process. For everyone.
"There are worse things, Piotr, than to be blinded by hope."
Zarya drew her son into her arms and even now Peter felt comfort in her embrace.
"There is the loss of a child." Zarya continued softly. "Even a wayward one."
Det. Metz returned to Zarya with mixed news. Lima Memorial was a Level II Trauma Center and they were willing and equipped to take Dave. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to arrange for a helicopter yet. The best he could do was offer a police escort for an ambulance that would be ready in half an hour.
"Lima is three hours away by car."
"We'll run lights and sirens all the way."
Peter Karofsky slipped unnoticed from the Quiet Room while his mother and Det. Metz discussed David's transportation. He had seen the news reporter in the emergency room lobby and had an idea. It wouldn't be easy, but it was the least he could do to try to make amends for Gleb's destruction. He waited until newswoman was off the air before grabbing her arm.
"Let. Go."
"I have a proposition for you."
The newswoman looked him over and laughed. "One, you're not my type. Two, you're twice my age. And three, sorry, but I don't have daddy issues to work out."
Peter's lips thinned in displeasure at her arrogance. She jerked out of his grasp and walked off, heels clicking sharply on the pavement.
"What d'you want?"
Peter Karofsky turned. A tired, middle aged man was watching him, eyes bright with interest.
"It doesn't concern you."
The man shrugged. "It might."
Peter scoffed. "Not unless you have a helicopter."
The man sipped his coffee, unruffled. "Just so happens, I do."
Peter gave the man a second look, realization dawning. "You're the traffic reporter."
The man smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Yep. Joe Wells."
"I was going to offer her an exclusive interview."
Joe's interest was piqued. The newswoman had been given an anchor spot promised to him and he had been looking for a chance to scoop a story from her ever since.
"I'm listening."
"My nephew…one of the boys who was missing…has been found. But he's badly injured. The hospital is full." Peter gestured helplessly. "All of the city hospitals are full."
"Where you wanna take him?"
"Lima Memorial. They've already agreed take him. If we can get him there."
"This exclusive interview—it's with the boy?"
"No, with me."
Joe laughed, skeptical. "Yeah? And what's so exclusive about interviewing a victim's uncle?"
"I'm the father of Gleb Karofsky…the gunman."
Joe yelped as he spilled coffee on his hand. He licked his lips nervously as he looked around, hoping no one else had heard.
"The police haven't released the gunman's name."
"They were waiting until I had confirmed my son's identity."
"I'm not gonna go easy on you—when I interview you."
Peter glanced back his mother, the ache of guilt weighing heavily on him.
"I did not ask you to."
Joe held out his hand and Peter shook it briefly.
"Deal. Let's go get your nephew."
Azimio Adams lay in the hospital bed admiring the pencils he had manage to throw up into the acoustic paneled ceiling. He had just finished lunch, listened to music and now waited, bored, for his dad to show up for afternoon visiting hours. It wasn't long before Mr. Adams appeared with a weary looking Finn Hudson close behind.
Finn managed a smile for Az and fist bumped him, genuinely glad to see his teammate looking well.
"What's up, Hudson? You look like shit."
Finn ran a ragged hand through his hair and glanced worriedly at Az's dad, not sure where to begin. The look wasn't lost on Azimio.
"Is it my leg?"
"Your leg's fine." His dad was quick to reassure him. " It's Dave Karofsky. He's here."
Azimio didn't need to think about his answer. He'd been thinking about his friendship with Karofsky for the past week.
"S'okay, dad, he can come in."
"Az, he's here as a patient." Finn said.
Azimio looked to his dad who nodded in confirmation. After a moment, he shook his head, laughing.
"How'd the dumbass get fucked up? Puckerman finally lose his shit and take him out?"
"The guys who jumped you got him, too."
Azimio's smile faded.
"How messed up is he?"
Finn snuffled as he ran his shirt sleeve roughly across his face. Az realized then that the quarterback had been crying. He felt a small flicker of panic. Shit wasn't supposed to go down like this. Karofsky was supposed to stop by, apologize, Az would give him a hard time about and then they'd be cool.
"Dad?"
Finn nodded to Mr. Adams, relieved to let him take over.
"They couldn't save his eye."
"…fuck…"
"They're not sure about his leg. The bone broke through his skin. It could get infected."
"Is he gonna die?"
"I don't know, Azimio."
"Hudson?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell Karofsky…" Azimio swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "-tell that asshole if he dies, I'll fuckin' kill him."