"Been wanting to do that for a really long time," Blaine said with a stupid grin on his face, shaking off the pain that must've radiated in his hand. "Of course, maybe I should be thanking you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have met Kurt in the first place. But then again, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in such unbearable pain right now I can't even deal with it and if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't know what I'm missing more than anything right now, and…and…" Blaine crumbled into sobs finally, and Carole wrapped her arms around him, shushing him.

Kurt wished he could do the same as Mr. Karofsky awkwardly apologized for his son and left with him.

"This is supposed to help?" Kurt exploded at Rube. "This is torture. I can't just stand by and watch the people I love in pain like this. I have to do something. There is no way I'm leaving here without letting them know I'm okay."

"It's against the rules, kid," Rube said. "We have to stay dead to the living."

"Did you all have to attend your own funerals?" Kurt asked. "How did you all stand it?"

"I spelled my mother's least favorite word on the fridge," said George, who'd finally emerged from the buffet table. "Good times."

"Don't listen to Peanut," Rube said. "This one here should really be the poster-child for how NOT to be a reaper she broke that rule so often."

"Fuck you, Rube," George said.

"Generally, rules and I get along," Kurt said, looking frantically around for something, anything that he could do to let them know he was here. "I operate under the assumption that they are there for a reason and I fail miserably at being sneaky. I vomited all over a fabulous pair of kitten heels that belonged to Ms. Pillsbury the one time I got falling-down drunk my sophomore year and I promised myself I'd never do that again. My one attempt at rebel-dom resulted in a rousing rendition of U Can't Touch This in the library of my high school, and when my boyfriend and I first met, I was spying on his school and, to quote Blaine, 'I stuck out like a sore thumb.' It doesn't go well for me when I don't stick to the rules, so I stay in line, but this time? This time…I don't have a body so I don't really care what the consequences are. I have to do something. Can't you just tell them I'm okay? That I'm here?"

Rube just shook his head.

"That moving the letters on the fridge thing," Kurt said, turning to George. "How's that possible? Did you have a body already?"

"No," George replied with a shrug.

"How'd you manage it?"

George just shrugged again. "Just sort of…you know…made it happen."

"Like a Jedi-Mind Trick," Mason said.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but whipped around and made a beeline for the door in the kitchen that lead to the garage where he heard soft music playing.

Paul McCartney's voice rang out from a small boom box his dad kept in the garage.

"Hey Jude

Don't make it bad

Take a sad song

And make it better…"

The door opened and Finn was in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Mom's been wondering where you are," Finn mumbled.

Burt nodded and took a swig of the beer he'd apparently been nursing.

"Look, I know you're not twenty-one yet and I have a feeling your mom would have my ass in a sling for this, and don't expect this to be a regular thing or anything, but I know what I did when I was your age and I know I was way older than twenty-one when I had my first beer, so…want one?"

Finn nodded and Burt bent over and handed Finn one from the cooler and popped it open.

"Thought you were hidin' out in your room," Burt said.

"I was," Finn said taking a sip. "Mercedes kind of kicked my ass."

"Good girl," Burt said with a grin. There was a long pause. "What was he doing when he…when it happened?"

Finn let out a shaky sigh. "Sleeping," Finn said. "I don't think he felt anything."

"Good," Burt said, still not able to look him in the eye. "His mom…she was so out of it by the time we finally pulled the plug that she didn't feel anything either. They had her on all these drugs and she'd forgotten who I was, and that was bad enough but when she finally she forgot who he was, that…that was a hard day. Then this song came on the radio and I dunno, it made it easier somehow. But now I hear it, and it's just so damn empty now, you know? God, Finn, everything's just so goddamn…empty."

Finn was silent for a long moment, looking awkwardly at the floor.

"When you were in the hospital, he sang I Wanna Hold Your Hand," Finn said, unable to look Burt in the eye. "He told us about the time you made chicken that first Friday night after his mom died."

"Oh my god," Burt said, shaking his head. "I can't believe he remembered that. It was rough…those first few weeks, and it was just me and him and I sure as hell didn't know what I was doing. I knew how to be a Dad, but I didn't know what to do with Kurt because for the most part Elizabeth was the one who handled everything…" Burt trailed off again. "I don't know if I can do it again, Finn…figure things out again.

"So…we'll figure it out," Finn said. "Eventually."

Kurt had to get out of there.

"I c-c-can't take it anymore," Kurt said.

"But they're just about to put out a new thing of potato salad!" George whined. "The mustard kind!"

"Don't care. I'm leaving."

And he did.

The Reapers could only follow.

Finn expected things to change when he came back to school that first day after the accident, but he hadn't expected the stares.

He hated it.

He was used to attention; that was what being the quarterback meant. People knew who you were and cleared out of your way in the hall as you passed. But now, it wasn't because of his position on the team, it was because of what happened. He wasn't someone to be admired anymore. He was someone to be pitied.

He tried to get on with the day, find a rhythm in the new routine, but every time someone else shot him a glance, he couldn't.

Their ghosts were everywhere. There were so many graves that were dug far too early, and all Finn could do was shake his fist at the sky and scream 'Why?' at the top of his lungs.

Going home after the accident was hard, but there, it was just Kurt's memory to deal with. He could still smell the mixture of Kurt's hair and skin-care products when he walked past his old room, which he still couldn't pass by without peeking in, even a week after the funeral, just on the off-chance that Kurt was still there, that this had all been some kind of long, drawn-out horrible nightmare.

But this was one nightmare that wasn't ending any time in the foreseeable future, and for the first time in his life, Finn understood why Kurt never believed in God.

Figgins had given the surviving Glee members (as well as Mr. Schue) a week off from classes so they could attend funerals, but he had to go back and finish the year, although he didn't really see the point in doing so.

People who were smarter than him, people with more talent than him, people with more dedication than him—people like Rachel and Kurt—had put everything they had into honing their talent and getting good grades so they could go places in life, and where had it gotten them?

Six feet under.

Finn thought he saw Mike at one point walking by on his way to Spanish class the day before. He'd known it was impossible. He'd been to Mike's funeral. He'd been to all their funerals, but still, when he wasn't in his usual seat in Spanish, it was a tough blow.

He wasn't sure, but he could've sworn he saw Quinn sitting in the bleachers one night when he took to the field to kick the ball around for some space to think.

Once, he thought he caught a whiff of Rachel's perfume.

He knew he wasn't crazy. Rationally, he knew that he was seeing those things because he wanted to see them so badly, and each time Finn almost convinced himself it was going to be okay, that things were going to be back to normal, something would send him reeling all over again.

None of them were ever coming back, and it was finally hitting home.

Going back to the choir room that first time had been the hardest, though. It was supposed to be loud and joyous, but that first day back, it was like another visitation. Only, this time, they weren't paying their last respects to the individuals or consoling their family members, they were preparing a final farewell to the group as a whole.

Finn let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he entered the choir room for the first time. Brad the Accompanist was at the piano bench waiting for them, and although his expression was neutral, Finn thought he wanted to say something, but didn't quite know what would be appropriate.

There had been a lot of that this week…of people not knowing what to say. Finals were over at Dalton (not that he'd been able to concentrate on them), and that's how Blaine was sitting one seat over from Tina, but neither seemed aware that the other was in the room. He had shaved and his hair was gelled back, but he didn't seem like himself at all. He was so still and so…disconnected from the world that Finn wondered if he'd even noticed that he was in the room. Finn put a hand on his shoulder and engulfed him in a bear hug.

"I can't believe it's only been a week," Blaine said finally. "I can't even imagine what it's like for you guys. You were ithere/i. How's Mr. Hummel doing?"

"He won't leave Kurt's room unless my mom makes him. She tried to get him into counseling, or at least find him a support group, but…" he trailed off, and waved his arms dismissively.

"It's so weird. Being here without him. He's your brother, Finn. Of course it's appropriate for you to sing at the memorial service, but I don't even go here. I'm not…you guys are a family, and I'm just…"

"Hey, Blaine…Finn began. "We're kind of down by over half. We need all the voices up there we can get at the service in a couple of days, and as far as I'm concerned, you might still be at Dalton, but that's just a technicality. You're one of us, man. It wouldn't be iright/i if you weren't here. And by the way, just so you know, if you miss another Friday Night Dinner, my mom's gonna be pissed."

Tina wouldn't look up from the spot she had fixated on near her feet. Mercedes walked in, took her usual seat, glanced around the room and then moved away from the crowd off by herself. Santana stormed in next, rolled her eyes and sat down on the opposite side of the room from Mercedes.

Lauren showed up last. "This is so freaking awkward," she drawled.

Finally, Mr. Schue entered, looking, weary and lost and…old. Emma Pillsbury trailed closely behind him, looking for the first time like she didn't belong.

It was a good five minutes before Mr. Schue could even open his mouth to speak. Under the circumstances, Finn understood why Ms. Pillsbury was there to address the group, but it seemed wrong somehow.

"First, let me just say thank you," he began, his voice shaking, unable to look any of them in the eye. "All of you. Being back here, in this room, after all that hap…happened" he sucked in a deep breath and let it out again to regain composure. "It's not…easy. But we're a family. So thank you. I know this is difficult. I uh… I don't know what else to say."

"So…" Mrs. Pillsbury began awkwardly. "I know this must be an extremely difficult time for all of you and I just want to start by telling you how unbelievably sorry I am that this happened. I'm here to comfort you guys, but honestly, I'm at a loss. I wasn't there. I don't know what it was like. I haven't shared your experience. The pain is so clearly written on the faces of every single one of you, and I just want you all to know that…"

"That what?" Santana snapped. "That it'll get better? That time heals all? Listen, Bambi, I know you're here to spout some kind of lovey-dovey Dr. Feelgood bullshit…"

"Santana, that's enough!" Will demanded.

"Let her finish, Will. She needs to let it out." Emma said.

"Nothing you can say is going to change what happened. Nothing you can say is going to bring them back. Brittany was the one who helped me. Brittany was the one who made me feel better. Now she's gone. What am I supposed to do now?" She trained her icy glare on Mr. Schue. "And if you say 'sing about it' I am out of here so fast your head's going to spin."

"Nobody's forcing you to stay," Finn said.

Santana got up, folded her arms, narrowed her eyes at Finn, started to say something, but turned around and marched out.

"Santana!" Will called after her, but she wasn't having it.

"Someone should go after her," Emma suggested, scanning the remaining members of New Directions now for volunteers.

"She doesn't want to be here, we're not going to force her," Mercedes said.

Lauren rolled her eyes and got up, headed for the door. "I can handle her. She's gone all Lima Heights Adjacent on me before and I'll just toss her against the lockers again if I have to."

"What do we do now?" Mercedes asked when Lauren left.

Finn had no clue, but somehow he knew Mercedes wasn't just talking about the next five minutes, because the same question was ringing in his head, too.