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After Midnight

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Rachel hugged her chest, sitting on the floor behind the restaurant counter and listening to the shouts from countless people outside. Santana and Dani were crouched next to her, Dani gently dabbing at a cut on Santana's forehead with a napkin. The patrons were long gone, all running into the fray like lemmings. The wall above them glimmered in the firelight from the burning debris outside, punctuated by shadows as people darted past.

"Do you think this is a terrorist attack?" Rachel asked, staring at her shoes.

Neither Santana nor Dani answered her.

"You know we can't stay here," Dani said quietly.

"I don't want to go out there," Rachel shook her head.

Dani dropped the napkin onto the ground, rolling back to sit on her heels. "We can't just hide back here forever. We don't know what this is. The safest place to be is home."

"You live in the opposite direction from us," Santana said.

Dani shrugged. "So I'll go home with you guys. I'd rather be there than in my shoebox apartment with my deodorant-hating roommate anyways."

"How are we supposed to get home?!" Rachel demanded, fighting tears. "All the cars stopped, a helicopter crashed literally right outside, and our phones won't turn on! I don't think the buses or the subway are an option!"

"Then we'll walk," Dani insisted flatly.

"That'll take hours!"

"Well, what do you expect to do?!" Dani snapped, throwing her hands up. "Just sit here until help arrives?"

"Be quiet, both of you," Santana ordered. "Rachel, Dani's right. We need to go home."

"So now you're just going to side with your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, because she's right," Santana spat. "Listen, compared to a lot of people out there, we're okay. When the ambulances come, they're going to have more people to worry about than us. We can walk, so let's walk."

Rachel huffed. "It's dangerous."

"Then stay here if you want." Santana brushed off her knees and stood up; Dani followed suit.

"We should take the Williamsburg Bridge," Dani said, tugging nervously on her hair. The light from the burning wreckage outside flickered off of her and Santana's skin, leaving Rachel in the dark on the floor. "It's a little further but I don't want to take the tunnel."

Santana nodded and turned to Rachel. "Are you coming?"

Rachel sighed, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I wonder if Kurt's okay," she said softly.

Santana pressed her lips together. "Rachel, please come with us."

After another moment's hesitation, Rachel gritted her teeth and stood up with them. She didn't want to be outside, but she really, really didn't want to be alone. "Okay," she said. "Okay, let's go."

The broken glass crunched beneath their high-heeled boots as they made their way to the front of the restaurant, Rachel gripping Santana's hand like a lifeline. Dani was the first to step outside, cautiously looking up and down the street for any signs of immediate trouble. The remains of the helicopter lay diagonally in the street, nearly upside down and in flames, so hot that they could feel the waves of heat rolling off it from where they stood. One of the blades had broken off and spun through the air, stabbing straight through the windshield of an empty car just a few feet away.

"I think everybody's cleared out of the block," Dani said over her shoulder. "Come on."

The three of them ducked out of the restaurant, leaving the shattered windows and spilled salt shakers behind. Too afraid to let go of each other's hands, the three of them meandered through the stopped cars, overturned buses, and debris littering the road, and together they headed southeast.

Blaine's vocal chords felt as though they were scraped as raw as his hands and arms, and the dizzying nausea had anything but subsided. But the ringing had faded from his ears now, and his brain was scrambling to make sense of the clamor of people shouting and running in the opposite direction or frantically calling for help.

"Cooper!" Blaine screamed again, wincing in pain as his throat protested. Maybe Cooper had answered, maybe he hadn't; Blaine wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to hear it if Cooper responded.

The smoke rolled away from the wrecked plane fuselage, clogging the air and turning it foul. Blaine coughed, his eyes watering, and called for Cooper. There was no response beyond the roar of the burning plane.

He stopped short in his tracks, suddenly recognizing Cooper's leather jacket a few yards away in the darkness, lit only by the fire in the fuselage. The air rushed out of his lungs in half a second, and he broke into a run, dropping to his knees. Cooper was lying unmoving on the pavement, one arm limply stretching out in front of him like he was reaching for help. From the ribs down, Cooper's body had been crushed by a car thrown away from the explosion, and a trail of blood was idly dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"Cooper?" Blaine said as loudly as he could muster, his voice cracking. He shook Cooper's shoulders. "Coop. Cooper, wake up!"

Panic squeezed into Blaine's chest, his ribs almost cracking under the pressure. He jumped back onto his feet, throwing his entire body weight into the exposed underside of the car in an attempt to make it roll off of Cooper's legs and torso.

"It-it's okay," Blaine promised aloud, slamming his weight into the car a second time. "I'll get you out, and we'll go home." He slammed the car again, and again, and again. "Somebody help me!" he screamed over his shoulder, his muscles straining to push the car away.

No one heard him, and Blaine desperately beat the car until his knuckles had bled all over his hands and his shoulders were bruised black and blue.

Santana's feet were aching with every step by the time they reached the Williamsburg Bridge at the south end of Manhattan. They'd gotten lost three times (it was difficult to navigate in almost total darkness) and narrowly escaped several lootings — people taking advantage of the power outage, chaos and lack of law enforcement — and all the walking and running had set Santana's feet on fire. She was sure Rachel and Dani felt the same way, though neither of them complained beyond a slight wince every time they took a step. After all, they'd been traveling for almost two hours (Santana thought so, at least, but couldn't tell for sure) and they were only about halfway to Bushwick.

Stepping onto the bridge, Santana shivered in the cold breeze wafting up from the East River, and felt Dani and Rachel instinctively huddle closer for warmth. Santana craned her neck for a moment to look through the bridge's rails at the black water below, reflecting nothing, and saw the faint outline of a motorboat floating aimlessly downriver.

"What I wouldn't give for a heated blanket right now," Dani muttered, her teeth chattering. Santana wished she'd brought a sweater with her to work that morning.

"My feet hurt," Rachel remarked faintly, sounding as if she didn't expect anyone to hear her.

Santana had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes as she reached up to rub warmth into her arms. Rachel would be the first to whine about it.

But holy hell, Santana's feet really did hurt.

The breeze buffeted their clothes and hair as they trekked across the bridge, making their shoulders shake in the cold until they stepped onto the solid ground of Brooklyn. Rachel stopped suddenly, forcing Dani and Santana to halt as well.

"Okay," Rachel said, leaning down to unzip the red fake leather boots. "I can not walk in these for another mile."

Santana held up a hand. "Whoa, so you're just going to walk through Brooklyn with no shoes at all?"

"I already have massive blisters and I'm pretty sure I also developed plantar fasciitis in just the last hour," Rachel countered, balancing on one leg and lifting her foot to yank the boot off. "No shoes is better than these."

"Well, then no crying when you step on a rusty nail or some junkie's old syringe," Santana shrugged.

"I'll be fine," Rachel insisted, tugging off her other boot.

"Burt, you've been trying to turn on your phone for the last two hours," Carole said, stepping out onto the porch with a burning candle in her hand.

"And I'm going to keep trying until I can get ahold of Kurt," Burt replied flatly from where he sat on the porch steps.

Carole sighed and sank down to sit next to him. "Burt, this is probably just a fluke that happened here. I'm sure New York is fine."

"I'll believe it when I see emergency services from Columbus drive into town."

Carole pressed her lips together, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders in the chill. She set the candle on the step beside her.

Burt let out a huff, giving up on his phone for the time being. He rubbed a palm over his forehead in agitation.

"I bet Kurt's just fine." Carole reached over to consolingly squeeze his knee.

"There aren't any planes, Carole," Burt said quietly. "I've been watching, and not a single plane has flown over. There's no cars, no planes, no phones… This is more than just Lima."

Carole swallowed audibly. "Do you think it's a terrorist attack or something?"

Burt shook his head. "I don't know. It just… it feels wrong. It's not just a blackout."

Carole stared up at the blackened sky, lit only by the stars. At least the stars were still there. "Everything will be better tomorrow," she said. "I'm sure of it."

Blaine beat the car until his muscles were numb and he could no longer lift his arms, then sank to the ground, his chest heaving. Cooper didn't move. Blaine leaned back against the underside of the car, exhausted, and he looked upwards at the stars, praying for a rescue helicopter. He wasn't that far from home, but he didn't want to leave Cooper behind.

"Blaine?"

Blaine's head snapped up so quickly that it hurt his neck. Will Schuester was standing a few feet away, his face streaked with soot and his clothes dirty.

"Blaine, oh my God, are you okay?" Will knelt next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I-I, uh…" Blaine blinked, suddenly feeling like he was about to cry. "I'm fine."

Will looked down, seeing the open wounds on Blaine's hand and forearm. "Come on, we need to get you home."

"I'm not leaving."

Will's eyes flickered to Cooper, his mouth pressing tightly shut when he recognized Cooper's face. "Blaine, you need to get home. Come with me, I'll take you."

"No, I — I can't—" Blaine shook his head. "I'm staying."

Will's hand tightened around Blaine's upper arm, pulling him to his feet. Blaine dug his heels into the pavement.

"Let go of me!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I'm not leaving!"

"Blaine, it's not safe here—"

Frantically, Blaine beat his hands against Will's chest and arms, leaving sticky, bloody prints all over his teacher's shirt. "Let go!"

Will seized Blaine's bruised shoulders, looking him directly in the eye. "Cooper's gone, Blaine! There's nothing you can do!" he shouted. "You need to go home!"

"SHUT UP!"

Will refused to let go, still pulling him away from Cooper's body. "Blaine, I promise, someone will come and get him, but for now you need to go home."

Blaine screamed as Will dragged him along the road, fighting him every step of the way. He scratched and hit and kicked as much as he could, but his limbs were already fatigued and his teacher was much bigger than he was. Eventually, Blaine couldn't scream anymore, his throat feeling torn to shreds, and Will pulled him out of town and into the dark.

As the three girls headed deeper into Brooklyn, it only grew darker around them. The moon wasn't up and the only lights they could see were the stars overhead and the occasional candle or kerosene lamp in a window. They huddled close to stay as warm as possible, but the cool spring night raised goosebumps on their exposed arms and legs and even though their breath wasn't fogging, their skin was icy to the touch.

"I'm fr-freezing," Dani said through chattering teeth.

"Where is everybody?" Rachel asked, clutching her boots in her hand.

"Probably looting or hiding at home," Santana replied absentmindedly, squinting at the street signs. "Come on, this way." She turned down a smaller street in the vague direction of Bushwick.

"Screw it," Dani said, stopping in her tracks. "I can't wear these anymore either." She reached down and unzipped her boots.

"Told you," Rachel muttered. Dani ignored her.

"Holy crap, the ground's cold." Dani gave herself a shake as her bare feet pressed into the pavement. "Still, better than before." She tucked her boots into the crook of her arm so that she could hold them while blowing warmth into her hands.

"God, this city is so creepy in the dark," Rachel said as they resumed walking.

"Everywhere's creepy in the dark," Santana remarked. "Especially when you're surrounded by abandoned cars."

"I feel like we're in the beginning of The Walking Dead."

"Dani, don't say that!" Rachel gasped. "I'm freaked out enough as it is."

"If there are redneck zombies on their way to eat us right now, I'm going to be pissed," Santana drawled. "I do not need to fight off Hungry Boo-Boo from eating my brains."

Rachel grimaced at the mental picture. "Where do you think Kurt is now?"

"He's probably on his way home," Dani assured her. "Just like us."

"He'll be there when we get—" Santana was abruptly cut off as Rachel shrieked, lurching forward and barely catching herself on Dani's shoulder.

Dani pulled Rachel upright. "Whoa, you okay?"

"I — I…" Rachel stammered, her teeth gritted and her voice shaking. She was putting all of her weight on her right foot, holding the left a few inches above the ground and clutching Dani for support. "I think I stepped on a piece of glass."

Santana swore under her breath, resisting the urge to say I TOLD you this would happen. She reached over and gripped Rachel's other arm to support her. "We're not going to be able to see anything here."

"I don't feel good…"

"Shut up," Santana snapped, glancing around the street for anything to help. A little further up the block, there was a convenience store with its windows smashed in. "There's a store up there that might have bandages. Come on."

"What, are you going to steal bandages for me?" Rachel asked through clenched teeth, trying to breathe evenly as Dani and Santana supported her weight. The three of them hobbled up the road, weaving around the abandoned vehicles.

The front of the store was wide open, the windows and door destroyed. "Santana, we can't steal from—" Rachel started as Santana left her clinging to Dani, stepping through the window.

"Hey, people have been looting beer and TVs and iPods all damn night," Santana argued, already inside the store. "I think a little First Aid won't be such a big deal."

"Get some water too," Dani said, shifting Rachel's weight against her. "Okay, Rachel, I need you to sit down for a minute so I can put my boots back on."

Rachel nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and holding her breath as Dani lowered her to the sidewalk. She whimpered as her injured foot lightly scraped the concrete. Dani brushed her feet off and quickly zipped her boots back on, then helped Rachel work one of her boots back onto her undamaged foot.

"What do you want to do with this one?" Dani asked, holding up the right boot.

Rachel shook her head, wincing. "Just leave it. After tonight, I don't want to ever see these things again."

"The feeling's mutual," Dani agreed, tossing the boot to the side before turning to call over her shoulder. "Santana, you find anything?"

"Yeah," Santana replied from the depths of the shop, invisible in the shadows. "People are idiots; all they ever steal is booze. Plenty of good stuff left. I haven't found any First Aid though."

"My foot really hurts," Rachel said, her jaw held tight. She was trying not to cry. "I think I hit a tendon or something."

"You'll be fine," Dani promised. "Once we get home we can light up some candles and treat it."

Rachel let out a pained huff of a laugh. "A candlelit medical treatment? How romantic."

Santana re-emerged from the shop then, carrying two full plastic bags. "I couldn't find any bandages, Rachel, so you'll have to wait until we get home," she said. "But I got water and pretty much the entire stock of Power Bars, so who's hungry?"

For ten minutes, the three girls allowed themselves to sit on the sidewalk and rest, eating energy bars and re-hydrating. They silently watched the sky above, all three of them hoping a plane would fly past, signaling that they hadn't been left completely alone.