Dedicated to Cory Allan Michael Monteith (May 11, 1982 - July 13, 2013). Forever in our hearts. Thank you for touching my life and so many others with your beautiful soul. Rest in peace.

Chapter Warnings: Violence, mentions of non-graphic sexual assault, possibly offensive language (including slurs)

Chapter Five: Assign From Heaven

One week and three days. The halls of McKinley were rowdy as usual, as though nothing had changed, no one was gone, but Finn knew that it had been one week and three days since something had changed, since someone had gone — well, more like one week, two days and thirteen hours up until this lunch hour where Finn was sat in the choir room listening to the incessant chatter of his friends when all he could do was sit silently and try not to lose himself in his own head.

Mr. Schue's back was turned to them as he wrote something on the whiteboard, and Finn swore he could hear the squeak as the marker hit the cool surface, even through the ear-shattering noise from his classmates. It was Finn's first day back at school, and he knew what would be written on that board — some crap about grief, dealing with loss, some bullshit comfort about his brother. When would they realize that he didn't need their half-hearted agony? When would they understand that laughing and forgetting about Kurt only to turn around and cry when they saw Finn was worse than forgetting entirely?

Hate rose inside of him, swirling around his chest, killing everything that used to see the good in people, that used to appreciate their words and affections, when his mother's words filled his head: Everyone grieves differently, sweets. And so, as Mr. Schue turned around to reveal Monday's well-meaning but hurtful assignment, Finn clung to those words and caught his breath, looking around at his friends. They loved him, and they loved Kurt. They were not the enemy. He turned back to the board.

The assignment wasn't about pain or mourning. As Finn's eyes drunk in the letters, the edges of his mouth turned up.

Memories.

Mr. Schue set the marker down, leaning against the wall. "I know this has been a difficult time for all of us," he began, gaze wandering across the bleachers without singling out Finn, "but instead of dwelling on the hard parts, this week's assignment is to remember the good parts."

Instead of leaving them with that, the teacher sat down on the piano bench, wiggling his fingers over the ivory keys. "This is one of my favourites," he announced. Finn didn't know whether he was talking about the song or the memory. Maybe both. A familiar tune filled the room as everyone fell silent, listening to the nostalgic melody accompanied by Schue's gorgeous tenor.

Mr. Cellophane. The song Kurt auditioned for the New Directions with. A song Finn often heard his brother sing in the shower, the sweet voice carrying through the house. His throat tightened and tears welled in his eyes, but the tiny smile on his lips widened. Humming along gently, he allowed the tears to fall down his cheeks. As the last chords rang out, Rachel reached over and wiped them away with her thumb.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered brokenly into his ear, resting her forehead on his arm. She repeated those words, muffled by his sweater, and he let her say them, knowing that nothing he said could console her and that she would just have to forgive herself in time. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Finn caught Schue's eyes, thanking him with a small nod. The teacher smiled solemnly, resuming his position in front of the board.

"Your task is to prepare a song and perform it this week. You can do solos or group performances, but try to stick to the theme. You have the rest of the lunch period to get started." He made to leave but paused. "Oh, and guys? Don't be afraid. This is an important one."

Finn watched in awe as he left. How had he managed to dedicate the entire assignment to Kurt without once saying his name? How had he managed to make Finn feel supported without singling him out? He sat there for a moment as the others sprung to action, just thinking. Teaching Glee was about more than songs and music, more than costumes and choreography. It was about using those things to impact people.

He turned to Rachel. "Do you want to sing with me?"

"I think you should do a solo," she replied, rubbing his shoulder. "If anyone here has something meaningful to say, it's you."

"What about you?"

"I'll think of something." She stood up, glancing at Mercedes across the room before pecking Finn's cheek. "Good luck."

"You too," he muttered, watching her prance over to her sometimes-friend.

It was Monday, so he had five days to come up with something and perform it. At least he had something to keep him busy while he waited in the hospital waiting room for something he wasn't sure would ever happen or something he never wanted to happen. He grabbed his phone and searched through his list of songs. The entire contents of his downloaded music passed by, but nothing caught his eye.

Frustrated, he tossed his phone back into his bag and fisted his fingers through his hair. Why couldn't he just pick a damn song? Nothing seemed right, felt right. Nothing could do justice to his relationship with his brother. Nothing had such great memories attached to it that he could put all of his pain into singing it and still come out smiling.

Nothing in his phone, that is.

He shot up abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. As he headed for the door, Artie stopped him. "Where are you going, man?"

"Home," he replied, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he left.

Artie's voice followed him into the hallway. "What about calculus?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "Fuck that."

He was, at most, three feet away from the microwave. Three feet. There went that excuse for why he was mindlessly picking at the cold leftover pasta that he'd made for his dinner date with Emma. To be fair, Will had already eaten about a third of it before he even noticed it was cold, and at that point, he was well past caring.

His girlfriend, however, gave him a different impression. "William Schuester," she chided, button nose folding in a way that made him want to squeeze it. "Why in God's name are you disrespecting that linguini? If you get indigestion, I won't even feel sorry for you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

Her lip found its way between her teeth and settled there comfortably. "Okay, fine. I would feel a little sorry. But that doesn't mean I didn't warn you!"

"Okay, okay." He lifted his hands in the air in surrender, only to glance back down at the Tupperware container and back at her pointedly. She rolled her eyes and laughed softly, gesturing for him to put his arms down and pick it up.

As he turned to the microwave, a soft "goofball," made him smile, and he shifted so he could see the lightness on her face. When he turned back, Sue was at the machine, shoving in what looked like an empty glass container and setting it to ten minutes.

What. The. Hell.

She smirked, leaning against the wall, looking obnoxiously smug in her red tracksuit. "What? You snooze you lose, Weepy the Vest Clown."

Breathing deeply through his nose, Will sighed, fists balling at his sides. "Ten minutes? You aren't even heating anything."

"You don't know that. Could be food, could not be food." She sipped her coffee. "Schuester's cat."

He blinked, tiredness exuding from him. "I have no idea what that means, and I honestly don't give a fuck."

"Of course you don't, that joke was much too sophisticated for you, Macaroni Hair."

Coach Beiste interrupted, glaring at her. "Come on, Sue. Everyone's had a tough couple of weeks."

She raised an eyebrow mockingly. "And why is that, She-Hulk?"

"You know why!"

"No, I really don't. I'm fine as a fiddle. Dandy as a… dandelion?"

Beiste's nostrils flared as she stared the cheerleading coach down in the teacher's lounge. "How can you be so… happy? Nothing is okay! Nothing!"

Sue set down her mug, eyes narrowing. "I never said I was happy, numbnuts. Just that I'm fine. Try to get that through that pumpkin-shaped skull of yours."

"Don't you care at all?" Beiste roared. The room had gone silent and somehow seemed emptier than it had just minutes before. Teachers were a lot of things, including clever. "We're supposed to take care of them! It's our job!"

"Our job is teaching them." She shrugged. "Maybe this was just one of his lessons."

The slap that followed resounded across the four walls of the small room. Sue clasped her cheek, covering the reddening skin. Eyes wide, the football coach backed up, cradling her hand and the tingling fingers.

Will shook his head, pressing the stop button on the microwave. "You had that one coming, Sue. For a long time."

"Look," Beiste began, "I'm sor-"

"No, don't be," she replied, stretching her jaw. "I'm impressed. Never thought you put that pair of balls to use."

The coach reddened. "You know what, I take that back. You're a cold-hearted bitch, Sue Sylvester. How could you even say that about Kurt?"

She sighed. "Ok, listen up and listen good because I will never say this again. I didn't mean what I said."

Will placed a hand on Beiste's shoulder. "People grieve in different ways, Shannon. This is her twisted-to-hell way of coping with the guilt."

Sue leered at him. "Speak for yourself, Cory Matthews. I don't feel guilty about anything, ever, and certainly not about this."

"How?" Beiste asked, anger ebbing away from her voice, replaced by genuine curiosity and perhaps a little envy. "It eats me up every night. I can't stop seeing his face when I close my eyes. How do I let go of the fact that I was the last person to see him? That I could have… stopped it? Saved him? Why can't I?"

"Because your estrogen-lacking, hormonal jock brain can't comprehend that what happened to Porcelain was not your fault?" Sue supplied sincerely. She may have been a lot of things, including a cold-hearted bitch, but she had always had a soft spot for Kurt.

Will nodded. "She's right. She's not gentle, but she's right. It wasn't your fault, Shannon."

"Thank heavens, Butt-Chin is finally making sense."

"It was mine," he completed.

Sue groaned loudly. "You're all a bunch of idiots."

"No, it was my fault. I gave him the solo for sectionals earlier that day, but he wasn't happy. He seemed different than our Kurt. Sad. I should have known something was wrong."

"Me too," Emma added, shifting uncomfortably and taking quick, sharp breaths. "I'm their guidance counsellor. It's quite literally my job. I failed Kurt."

Slamming her hand down on the counter, Sue shouted, "Will you all shut up? You're talking like he hurt himself. He. Was. Attacked. Do your little pea brains understand me? Attacked. Meaning the only person who is at fault is the person who attacked him. Make sense?" Quieter, she continued, as if more to herself than to them. "You couldn't have known. You couldn't have."

A moment passed before Will could gather himself enough to respond. "Sue's right. We couldn't have known, but we could have looked out for him better. But what's done is done, and all we can do is do better in the future. We love our jobs, and this is a big part of them."

"Some people like to pass the blame around, and some prefer to keep it. Like a football, or something. I don't know." Sue averted her eyes, but Beiste could sense the sincerity. "I, for one, think blame is a stupid concept and whoever invented it should be castrated with a butter knife."

Will winced. "Yeah, okay, Sue."

Her expression shifted, comforting to deadly. "Speaking of castrating people with butter knives… did they ever figure out who did this to Porcelain?"

Karofsky was in his usual place when Finn returned to school two days later — surrounded by the football team, blocking a row of lockers that probably belonged to the mathletes. Blood running red hot through his veins at the sight, Finn tuned them out, focusing on the gentle melody in his ears that always made him grin. Kurt's iPod weighed down his pocket as he headed to class.

Every seventy minutes, the interaction repeated itself like clockwork. Finn, flanked by the Glee club, would pass by the jocks, lazing around as though they had nowhere to be. By the time the final bell rang and they all met in the choir room for after-school Wednesday rehearsal, Finn was sure he knew every word to the song, every note in the melody, and every flourish he wanted to add to make it more him. He knew it like the back of his hand, and he was ready to perform.

"Mr. Schue, I'd like to go today," he announced as the teacher settled in.

Schue glanced up at him and grinned. "Sounds good. Anyone else ready?" Rachel and Mercedes exchanged a look before their hands simultaneously shot up. "Duet?" They nodded. "Great. Finn, you're up first."

The boy stood, making his way over to the band and handing them their sheet music before dragging a stool to the center of the room and sitting down on it. Clearing his throat, Finn steeled himself. "I know this assignment is supposed to focus on good memories, and for most of you this wasn't one, but for me, it was. Not because of the circumstances, but because of the outcome." Already feeling tears in his eyes, he pressed his feet against the stool to keep himself from running away. "Maybe it's superstitious, but if I sing it too… maybe things will turn out the same."

Turning in his chair, he signalled to the band to begin playing and looked up at the bleachers. Taking a deep breath, Finn opened his mouth to sing. "Yeah, I'll tell you something," he sang, soft yet heavy with a love only made stronger by misguided hate. "I think you'll understand…" As he progressed through the adapted ballad, his gaze wandered across the faces of his friends, lingered on his girlfriend, before dropping to the floor in an attempt to mask the tears welling in his eyes.

"I want to hold your hand," he finished, so quiet by the end that only he could hear. The teens didn't clap when he was finished, nor did they hoot and holler and clap each other's hands and backs like they usually did when one of their own sang for them. This time, they put their heads down and, in a miracle, none of them said a word.

It had been one week, six days and seventeen hours. No matter how many songs they sang, hope only ran so far. There was going to have to be a moment where they realized he wasn't coming back... so why not let that be right now?

In the pin-drop silence, Finn's mind raced — not only inside his head but through the city, to the hospital and back to the choir room. But, while it was loud up there, the physical space around him could not have been more silent. That's why everyone heard when it was interrupted by a snicker from the open doorway accompanied by a loud "fag."

Finn's eyes flew open, and all he could see was red.

There must have been a quote out there to explain the troubled boy, some insightful comment by someone who dedicated their life to making insightful comments, but all he could say about Karofsky in that moment of violence was that he was… well, a fucked-up son of a bitch.

And so he screamed that in his face as he sprung from his chair and out of the room, flung accusations and struggled to shove him up against the nearby lockers — after all, Karofsky had no problem doing the same to Finn's friends, his girlfriend, his goddamn brother. Besides, he couldn't stand the irony of the man who'd sexually assaulted his brother calling Finn a gay slur. For what, having emotions? He'd take that any day. Balling his hand into a fist, he blindly threw it into the neanderthal's face, feeling something crunch beneath the weight... a horrifying pain shot through his arm, but the howl of pain from Karofsky's lips was well worth it.

Several swings slammed into the side of Finn's face, uprooting a cry from his throat as he fell onto his side, clutching the wound with another wound. His left eye ached and fell shut of its own accord, and he felt it swell instantly under his palm. Through his other eye, he watched as Puck and the other guys swarmed Karofsky, their attacks smudging together through the involuntary tears seeping from his swollen eye and falling into his other. He watched blurrily as Mr. Schue tore them away from one another with unexpected strength.

Rolling in pain, Finn barely registered the sight of Quinn and Santana holding back a hysterical Rachel who was attempting to reach him. Despite himself, he smiled softly at her, and her cries quieted. He couldn't tell when or how the fight ended, only when Rachel finally crouched by his head and ran her fingers through his hair. Schue sat him up, quizzing him about his injuries.

The teacher sighed. "Shit, I think he broke his thumb. I'm going to drive him to the ER. You guys should all go home. Rachel, Mercedes, you're going to have to perform your song tomorrow."

Rachel kissed the top of Finn's head. "I don't care if we ever perform it. Can I come with you guys?"

He concealed his surprise with a look at Finn. "It's up to you, buddy."

"Go h...h-home," Finn choked out through his teeth. His ragged breaths made her wince, and she held him closer. "I'll be f...f-fine. Might take a while. Will s… will s-stay with Kurt."

She sighed and nodded, pressing one last peck to his cheek before helping their teacher haul him up. "Call me when you see a doctor," she pleaded as everyone made their way out to the parking lot. The teacher gave her a reassuring smile.

Mr. Schue opened the passenger door, and Finn slid in, offering his friends a soft, sad smile. That smile stayed on his lips until they pulled out of the parking lot and were far out of sight, at which point he let it slowly slide off until all that was left was a straight line disrupted by a thin, bloody gash.

"Six weeks," instructed Dr. Anderson as he jotted something down on a piece of paper. "Keep the cast on. Come see me regularly for x-rays so we can make sure the bones are in place. The stitches in your lip should dissolve on their own, but I'll take a look at them when you come in. I've written you a prescription for some pain medication. Take only the instructed amount, no more."

He handed the paper to Carole, who only glanced at him to thank him before returning full-force to her son. Feeling a buzz in his coat pocket, Cooper sighed, pulling it out as he watched the interaction. As he looked down at his pager, the doctor froze. He looked up, eyes wide for only a split second before he controlled them, and turned to Finn. "I'll be back soon. Sit tight," he called out as he grabbed his stethoscope and raced for the door. They barely acknowledged him.

Once he was gone, Carole sat in the chair opposite to Finn, not saying anything. She rested her head in her hands, but Finn could see her back quivering. "Mom," he whispered, head fuzzy from the anesthesia. "Please, don't cry."

"How can I not, sweets?" She looked up, and her olive-green eyes were bloodshot. Still, somehow, Finn thought they were lovely and imagined having eyes like that instead of his father's brown. But even though he thought his eyes were boring, he did know a girl with the most beautiful brown eyes in the entire world...

He sighed, staring down at the blue cast on his arm. "It's just my thumb, mom. I'll be good to go in less than two months. And the football thing, that's not even a big deal. I'll catch up when this thing comes off." Yes, he had been disappointed when Dr. Anderson informed him that he would have to take time off, but he was otherwise occupied anyway. And every time he had to play with him ... well, he just couldn't focus.

"Honey, just look at your face! It's all banged up. I can't stand to see you like... see you like..." She trailed off, but they both knew what she didn't want to say — she couldn't stand to see him like Kurt. But all he had was an injured thumb, a split lip and some bruises. All he'd had to do was wait in the ER and go through some x-rays. All he'd lost was a few hours. Kurt... Kurt had lost everything.

Finn's watch chimed gently from the table where he'd taken it off for the cast. He glanced down at the face — midnight. He'd lost track of how long he'd been at the hospital, but it must have been a while. Midnight... it had been more than two weeks now since he'd lost his brother. Hadn't he read somewhere...

"I had to do it," he announced absentmindedly. Finn wondered where Karofsky was in that moment, whether or not he was just as damaged, if not worse. "I couldn't let that monster have another second. He doesn't deserve it."

"Finn-"

"No, you know what? This is fucking stupid," he decided, anger seeping quickly and substantially into his voice. Carole watched, concerned, as he shot up from the table and paced around the room. "Why haven't the police done a goddamn thing? They've had all the time in the fucking world!"

"Finn, listen-"

"I don't believe a second of their bullshit! They say that I don't know anything for sure? That all I have as proof is a few slushies and a lot of dumpsters? They say they can't do anything until Kurt wakes up? Well, they need to grow the hell up and realize that that might never fucking happen!"

The room fell silent, and Finn's heavy breathing took up most of the space. His neck relaxed, head falling forward as he tried not to collapse into a mess of tears and blood. When he lifted his gaze... it landed on Burt, stood imperfectly still in the doorway.

He froze. "Burt, I-"

"What's his name?" Burt demanded quietly. His voice was low, like a hidden sword attacking a man's weakest spots. Finn stuttered, mind reeling as Burt approached. "Finn, tell me. The kid who hurt both my sons. Tell me his name."

The reason Finn hesitated at that moment was not that he didn't want to tell Burt, or that he had any doubt that he was right. He didn't want to protect the monster or to keep him from Burt's undeniable rage. No, the reason was that it was difficult for him to say his name even one more time. But he did... because there was no fucking way he was missing that showdown.

He took a deep breath. "His name... his name is Karofsky. David Karofsky."

Before either of them could say or do anything else, a familiar nurse rushed into the room, holding the door open without explanation. Carole shot up, confused. "What's going on, Harry?" The nurse, Harry, seemed to remember himself and hastened to clarify.

"It's Kurt," he whisper-shouted, eyes lighting up with indiscernible emotion. "He's... he's waking up. But-"

Burt was gone before the man could finish his thought. Carole moved to go with him, but Finn caught her arm, somehow functioning as though the news hadn't quite sunk in. "What is it?" he pressed the nurse, holding onto his mother's side. "But what?"

"It's good that Burt is there. Hopefully, it will help the boy and soften the confusion. But I have to warn you, it's not a pretty sight. Not like you see in movies and television."

"Thank you," Finn added, "but I have to go and be there." Carole nodded her agreement, at a loss for words. The nurse complied, gesturing for them to follow him. They did.

Carole went in and sat in a chair beside Burt — well, more hovered over than sat. Finn, however, stayed outside the room, clutching the window with fear as he watched the chosen professionals coax his brother back, Dr. Anderson right at the centre. Through the chaos, none of them noticed the curly-haired man sneak out of the room — except for Finn.

He clearly wasn't a doctor — he wore pants and a grey knit cardigan over a dark red shirt and... was that a bow tie? Finn's eyes narrowed, but he only caught a short glimpse of his face, eyes hidden behind light glasses. Who was he, and why was he in Kurt's hospital room?

Finn forgot all about the man, however, when he heard a crash. He turned back to the window to see Kurt thrashing slowly, as though he imagined himself to be flailing but could really only move with exorbitant effort.

When he leaned in closer, though, the sight that broke his heart was thin tears falling from Kurt's still-closed eyes, pain on his broken face, and the choked sound of him suffocating on oxygen as he breathed for the first time in what seemed like forever.

But even through all this, Finn cried because he finally let himself believe it — it was Kurt. That was Kurt. He was moving, albeit slowly, breathing, albeit ineptly, but he was there. He was doing it.

Kurt.

A/N: My update schedule is fairly irregular, so follow my Instagram account naya_warbler for sneak-peeks and updates on updates, as well as artwork and edits! This story is also on AO3 under the same title under the username NayaWarbler. Stay tuned for more chapters, and I hope you enjoyed. Hearing from readers usually gets me more motivated to write ;)