Disclaimer: I do not own Recess I do however own my own creativeness.

Everything was blank to me.

All I could hear was my feet, slapping against the sidewalk as I raced as fast as I could to Fingers' house. The cold wind rushed into my lungs and made it hurt to breathe and half way through the journey; I had to stop for a coughing fit.

Blood rushed into my head; forcing me to stagger backwards. I lifted my head up, my eyes squinting from the grey sun. Even though I knew I had to get to Fingers' house soon, my body was reluctant. It was almost like an invisible thread was yanked around my brain and was pulling me back to school, back to Spinelli. That was when I realised how much I cared about her. Ever since we were little I have been protecting her; always making sure that I never ripped her off, or that no one else did either. During the last three years, I realized how much effort I was making to make sure nothing wrong ever happened to her. I would save her from every situation possible where she might hurt someone or herself, and how does she repay me? By running off with TJ Detwieller, the worst choice for her.

I wiped my forehead with my jacket sleeve and snapped myself back to the real world, no matter how badly I wanted to stay in the imaginary.

It was a matter of minutes before I arrived at Fingers' house, and it was still exactly the same as I saw it last time. The neighbourhood had always creeped me out; old be-speckled ladies peeking at you through their netted curtains, children kicking a ball around while only moving their foot, staring forward the whole time. My eyes drifted over to the front door and surveyed the dirty handle and the chipped wood. The house was not very well kept on the outside, it looked more like a drug-dealers den than a home for a family. I could not help but compare it to my own house and how it was deprived of all of the comforts of childhood. Hustling was my life; everyone on the playground knew that if they needed something, I was the man to get it for them. No one ever took into consideration how I felt.

I swallowed hard and grabbed the door handle, my instincts were telling me not to knock, just to go in.

Oh, my, god.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widened. What the hell had happened? Everything was wrecked. Tables were strewn across the room, glass lay all over the floor and the back door to the ally behind the house fluttered in the wind. I stroked my hair back with a shaking hand and glanced anxiously around the house. Nothing moved, it was as still as the playground during summer. My eyes wandered across the living room; slash marks in the sofa made out my worst fear. I brushed back the thought and concentrated on finding Fingers. I crept upstairs, fearing that the person who had obviously attempted to kill someone was upstairs holding Fingers as a hostage.

Waiting for me.

Was it a trick? Had someone else paged me just to get me there? What if they saw me from the window and were preparing their weapons? My nerves rose in my throat and I stopped on the stairs. Nothing ever made me stop like this. This wasn't a controlled stop when you are told so by a teacher, this was fear stop. For I felt something in my fingers, it was cold. I bit my lip, and slowly pulled my hand away from the banister, and forced myself to look at the liquid dripping off them.

Blood.

That was when it happened. I felt faint; I never liked the sight of blood. Ever since I was little it has always been my ultimate phobia. I gasped as the crimson liquid trickled over my hands, I couldn't help but whimper. My nightmare was interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. My head jerked up and I flattened myself against the shadows of the corner. I tried to crane my neck to see who and what was going on, but it was impossible without being seen. Suddenly, an idea struck me. I pulled out the case Spinelli got me, and reflected the corner onto it. I grinned to myself, in a situation as desperate as this one; I could always rely on Spinelli to pull me through. My eyes squinted out the reflection.

Fingers!

He was staggering, his hand clutched to his chest and stumbling against the walls of the corridor. My eyes darted away from the case as I decided it was safe to help. I rammed the case back in my pocket and ran to Fingers; catching him as he fell to the ground. He looked up at me and smiled weakly.

'H…K,' he whispered, coughing up blood. Despair filled my heart and I pulled off his jacket to revel several stab wounds.

'Fingers, no…don't leave me!' I said, tears now brimming my eyes. Clutching his hand to my chest, I begged him to stop bleeding.

'I always believed in you HK, you were like a brother to me,' he said, his chest heaving from pain. I could hear him swallow the blood.

'You were the same to me,' I whispered, my hand now clenching his, holding onto the life which I now knew was being dragged away from me.

'Take care of yourself, and-' he stopped, choking on his words. I begged him to continue and I held him against me, willing for some of my life to be passed to him.

'-kill him,' he muttered. My eyes widened, my heart raced and I dug my nails deep into his hand, despair filling my entire body, I wailed out for him to come back to me. I nodded at his request and felt his hand drop.

Gone.

I couldn't do anything. I couldn't breathe, think, speak or move. My entire mind was wrapped in confusion and nothing was making sense. No matter how hard I tried to absorb what had happened, and find out the bastard who killed him, I was…silent.

I finally managed to blurt out a breath and as I clutched him against me one last time, thanking him for everything he ever did for me, I made a vow.

I'm going to find the bastard who did this to you Fingers, and when I do, I'm gonna kill him. Stab him 3 times in the chest, and then, my work for you is done.