A/N: OK, I am officially a very, very mean author. I meant to update earlier, but I just haven't had the time. I know that's a lame excuse, but please just accept my apology…

Secondly, this chapter is a huge change of direction. I apologise if you don't enjoy it, but it's setting up future chapters, I promise! There is method in my madness (I hope)!

As usual, I am overwhelmed by the support of my wonderful reviewers. It really cheers me up to see the little notice in my inbox, so thank you to: VoiceInMyHead, twilightersk8r, TheUltimateGleek123, Bella 1992, misery-businessx, LonelyLittleLand, JMHawthorne, Olivia94, LiveLoveLaughLife, Tayler, LittleMissCheese, OMG and Lucy-Gleek.

Chapter title? Girl, You Have no Faith in Medicine by the White Stripes.

DISCLAIMER: I'm not Ryan Murphy. No Glee for me, except on my TV…

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St Saviour's Hospital was situated on a sprawling estate in the middle of Carmel. It was a huge white building, ultra-modern in design with lots of chrome and glass. The looming, imposing structure seemed built to put patients and visitors alike ill-at-ease, to make them over-think and fear the worst. The carefully manicured lawn was planted at intervals with drooping weeping willows and cherry blossom trees which were just beginning to show delicate pink buds. The flowerbeds were immaculately kept; in fact, the neat parallel lines and right angles reflected the regimented nature of hospital life. The hospital itself was owned not by the state but by an order of nuns, and a couple of aproned novices were strolling through the grounds towards their chapel as lazy sunlight washed over the complex.

Shelby Corcoran had been visiting the hospital every day for the past three days, and today was no different. She pulled her neat blue Prius into one of the vacant parking spaces in the lot at the back of the building and climbed out. A brief glance at her cell phone told her that Beth was sleeping contentedly at her sitter's. That was something, at least. Shelby pushed her oversized shades up onto her head, waved to one of the nurses she recognised from her now-frequent visits and strode through the swishing pneumatic double doors.

The hideous hospital scent invaded her nostrils immediately, the nightmare combination of disinfectant, stale urine and old people. The smell of death. Shelby's own mother had passed away in this very hospital, and she had been ill at ease here ever since. She took a deep steadying breath and began to walk down the cold white corridor, literally quaking in her chocolate-brown ankle boots. She hated this part.

Eventually, after taking two flights of stairs because the elevator was on the fritz, Shelby arrived outside room 315. Her fist was around the door handle when she heard the hushed murmuring of whispered conversation from within. She pulled away as though she had been burned, springing back to lean against the sterile, white wall.

Less than a minute later, the door opened from the inside and two doctors bustled out in navy scrubs, wearing puzzled expressions. Shelby recognised the taller of the two, a good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a chiselled jawline dotted with designer stubble, as Dr Burke. Like her, he had been here every day this week, monitoring the situation.

"Ms Corcoran," he said when he saw her, no trace of surprise in his gravelly voice.

"Doctor, how is he?" asked Shelby frantically. She glanced between the two physicians in an attempt to decipher any hint of bad news. Both maintained strict poker faces. "Tell me!"

Dr Burke sighed with resignation. "His heart rate seems to be increasing and decreasing sporadically. However, at this time we cannot discern what effect, if any, this will have on any potential recovery."

Shelby nodded; a typical doctor's answer. "Can I still see him?"

"Of course. You know the rules though; nothing strenuous, call for a nurse if anything changes."

She nodded again. "Thank you."

The other doctor held the door open for her and she brushed carefully past him into the small private room. As usual, the single step which took her over the threshold caused her stomach to lurch sickeningly.

Jess St James lay in the railed hospital cot, completely oblivious to her presence. Her former star had been well and truly dulled by the brutal attack in his own home. His entire face was a mottled collection of bruises and a nasty welt had been stitched shut above his left eye. His hands lay outside the thin blue coverlet. One was encased in an electric blue plaster cast, while the other was riddled with wires that hooked him up to a dozen different machines which beeped incessantly. On this hand, she could see the deep, ugly marking that showed where he had been tied up. The thing that frightened Shelby the most was that what little undamaged, unbroken skin she could see was as pale as the white gown that swamped Jesse's thin body.

He had been like this for three days, unmoving and unresponsive. Shelby got the call a couple of hours after he had been admitted. Jesse's parents were travelling and couldn't make it home because of some ridiculous air traffic controllers' strike. They needed her to act as his temporary guardian until they could reschedule some meetings.

"Jesse's always been fond of you. He looks up to you," his mother had said. She was right of course, and Shelby could hear genuine emotion in her voice. But it was too little too late, and she couldn't help feeling a surge of anger towards Jesse's parents. They were never there for him, not even now as he lay half-dead in a hospital bed. They were too busy with their own careers, their travel plans and their fancy holidays, to have time to spare for their only son. In fat, as his showchoir coach, Shelby figured she had probably spent more time with Jesse since his freshman year than Mr and Mrs St James.

Shelby pulled out the chair beside his bed and sat down. Uncertain as to what she should do with her hands, she fidgeted anxiously with the thin gold band on her left wrist. The bracelet had three gold stars dangling from it, each emblazoned with a name: Beth, Rachel, Jesse. Cheesy and clichéd as it was, she couldn't help it. She did think of Jesse as her surrogate son.

"Oh Jess," she sighed heavily, leaning over the bed and taking his hand in hers. She knew every inch of his face by now, had every bruise and contusion committed to memory. It killed her to see him like this. They were so close. In all honesty, Shelby thought Jesse St James was a lot like her. He could put on the best showface of them all, cocky, self-confident and full of swagger, but behind it all he was just a lonely, insecure kid who'd had his heart broken. Despite the horrific egg-throwing incident, Shelby knew Jesse had loved Rachel deeply. She hadn't seen him so much since she quit VA and he went off to UCLA, but she was willing to bet he still held a torch for the daughter who so resembled her.

That was the problem. Jesse was an artist, a performer, and so he felt things so much stronger than regular people. And as a result, his reactions were so much more passionate…

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"You did what?" Shelby's voice was acid. She glared balefully at the boy slumped over the bar.

"I egged her," Jesse replied miserably. He shook his head of soft curls and glanced once more at the screen of the cell phone sitting next to his face. "I egged her."

He picked up his glass of gin again and was about to drain it when Shelby snatched it out of his hand and smacked him upside the head.

"Ow!" he yelped. "I thought teachers couldn't hit kids anymore. Capital punishment is a felony, you know."

"Tonight, I'm not your teacher. I'm your substitute mom. How the hell did you get served in here anyway?" snapped Shelby, casting the trashy barmaid an ugly glance. "Oh, I get it. Mystery solved."

"Shelby, stop shouting," Jesse whine, head in hands. "You're making me feel all naus… naus... you're making my tummy feel all fuzzy."

She wanted to scold him and reprimand him, but honestly the kid looked so pathetic she figured he'd suffered enough. His gaze was unfocused and his speech slightly slurred, his normally perfect curls rumpled, and his face was a mask of misery. Instead of yelling at him, Shelby gave his shoulders a quick squeeze like she always did before a performance and hauled him to his feet.

"Let's go superstar," she murmured softly. Jesse shrugged off her offer of help with a shadow of his usual proud smile and began to stagger in the direction of the door. He careered dangerously from side to side and wobbled dangerously. Shelby barely managed to catch him before he smashed through a glass display case.

"Hey Shelby," Jesse whispered conspiratorially. "Guess what?"

"What?" Shelby asked, humouring him.

"I'm drunk!"

Jesse's breath hitched in childish, pathetic giggles which only barely hid sobs. The scent of cheap beer on his breath made Shelby recoil slightly, but she tried to focus on the soft curls and features of the boy who had become her protégée. She drew his arm across her shoulderblades and planted her own hand at his waist, taking most of his weight with a slight grunt. She was thankful that a combination of dancing and gymnastics had given her hard, strong arm muscles. She nudged the lolling figure and they limped forward awkwardly, like competitors in some bizarre three-legged race.

When they reached the car, Shelby folded Jesse's form into the small Prius and leaned across the gearstick to fasten his seatbelt. Jesse gave a small moan as she clipped the belt into place and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window.

"Shelby," he said in a tiny voice. "Do you hate me?"

"What?" Shelby exclaimed.

"Do you hate me? Cos you know, I egged Rachel and she's your… your daughter. And, you know, if I was you, I would hate… me. Wait, that didn't make sense, did it? My head hurts."

Shelby smiled softly and ruffled his curls. She was glad he'd had the good sense to call her from the bar. God knows what he would have gotten himself into otherwise. "I don't hate you Jess."

Jesse opened one eye hopefully. "You don't? That… that's good. Cos I think you're a great coach Shelby, way better than that McKinley guy who looks like me. And Rachel hates me and you look like her and it would suck if you both hated me."

Shelby put the keys in the ignition and pulled away from the dingy little bar. "Rachel doesn't hate you Jesse."

She glanced at him to gauge his reaction, but her star performer was snoring softly in the passenger's seat. She smiled again and quickly turned down the sounds of Take Me Or Leave Me from RENT blasting from the radio. The journey passed with only Jesse's snuffling snores to fill the silence.

"Jesse," Shelby said softly when she pulled up, shaking him gently. "Jess come on, wake up."

Jesse glanced around sleepily and looked out the window. He turned to Shelby, a shaking hand pressed to his right temple and bewilderment on his face.

"Maybe it's the fact that I just drank my bodyweight in alcohol," he said slowly, his pronunciation still nearly perfect despite his current inebriation. "But I'm pretty sure this isn't my house."

"Hit the nail on the head there, champ," teased Shelby with a silvery laugh that sounded more than a little forced. "Your mom and dad are away, right? And your uncle told me in no uncertain terms in our meeting last week that he wasn't interested. Well, I couldn't leave you home alone. What would I do if you choked on your own vomit? I'd have no male lead. Come on kiddo, you need to sleep this off."

Ten minutes later, Jesse was settled in a nest of blankets on Shelby's gargantuan corner sofa. She had placed a basin next to him and her coffee table now held a glass of water, two aspirins and a half-empty cup of black coffee. Affectionately, she tucked the duvet up under the dozing boy's chin. It was a typically girly one, pink with gold stars, but judging by the state he was in Jesse wouldn't notice until morning. Even at that, he would probably be too hungover to care.

"Shelby?"

She turned, surprised. She was sure he was asleep but he was sitting propped up by pillows with a grimace on his face. Afraid he was about to throw up, she moved closer to him. "Yeah?"

"Couldn't you get fired for this?"

Shelby winked in an attempt to wipe the anxiety from his face. "What Principal Keller doesn't know won't hurt her. But if you keep this drinking crap up, I may have to punish you by incorporating the running man into our next routine."

"Shelby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You're awesome."

Shelby smiled and turned to leave again. A wave of fatigue washed over her and her temples pulsed. Long night.

"Shelby?"

"Yeah?" she replied again, half-amused, half-exasperated.

"I love her."

Shelby whipped around to see Jesse sitting bolt upright and looking very much like a puppy who had been kicked in the stomach. Repeatedly. His shoulders slumped and his lip quivered.

Shelby rushed to him, perched gingerly on the edge of the sofa and pushed him back down firmly. She swept his curls out of his clammy face and gave the sobbing boy a comforting squeeze.

"I know you do Jess," she murmured as his eyelids began to droop. "But you need to let the dust settle. Get some sleep superstar."

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Shelby jolted out of the memory almost painfully. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them back forcefully. Determined to stay positive, she began to rummage in her oversized patent leather handbag.

"OK superstar," she said brightly. "Today, we've got a couple of videos from your VA performances from freshman year. And I brought your copy of War and Peace. I figured maybe I could read it to you since you're always moaning about how you can't finish it. Oh, and I've got that old-fashioned cloudy lemonade you like, had to drive to Dayton to get it. And there are a couple of triple chocolate cookies in here too, somewhere. I figured you could maybe use some comfort food when you wake up…"

Oh, who am I kidding? She thought bitterly. He can't hear me. He can't hear anyone. Hell, he's only barely managing to breath without a machine.

It hurt to see Jesse like this. It hurt bad. He was Jesse St James, for crying out loud! He was the kid who performed at Sectionals with two broken toes, who had to be forcibly removed from Vocal Adrenaline practice after passing out twice due to a severe bout of flu, who could sit through an entire Wiggles concert with Rachel without committing murder. How could he be lying here, so frail and fragile?

It sucked. It sucked royally.

Worse than that, it was just plain cruel. Some bastard had come into his home and tortured him until he had practically given up the ghost. The police told her the paramedics had to resuscitate him twice on the journey to the hospital because he had lost so much blood from those ghastly marks on his arms where the sicko started carving. He was beaten to a bloody pulp and they had no idea who had done it. But the kicker, the thing that made Shelby's blood boil, was that he had been drugged. The pathetic little coward had given him no chance to defend himself, none at all. And Jesse had always despised drugs in any form. It was even hard to get him to take painkillers when he dislocated his shoulder hoisting Candace into the air…

Candace. Candace, who was dead and had absolutely no way of telling anyone who had killed her. Shelby knew the police were claiming that the girl's death was a freak accident, but she didn't believe it for a second. The logistics jus didn't fit. Candy was a beautiful girl, and so talented. Admittedly, she could be a bit hard and she had been nothing short of demonic in instigating the attack on Rachel, but whatever she had been she had not deserved to die. And now she was lying in the morgue having autopsies and rape tests and all sorts done to her, and she could never tell them who had done these unspeakable things. Only Jesse knew the answer now, and he wasn't telling.

"Wake up Jesse," Shelby snapped suddenly, not for the first time. "Wake the hell up. You hear me St James? That's an order!"

Once more tears sprang up in her eyes and she stalked over to the window. Typical Shelby Corcoran, unwilling to show emotion even to a comatose teen. She dabbed furiously at the salty tears with a silk hankie from her breast pocket and stared with fixed determination out into the grounds below. A scrub-clad nurse wheeled a frail elderly man in a wheelchair down a narrow path. A bird chirped above her. She concentrated on the glistening berries in the window box outside and tried with all her might to prevent the tears from spilling over.

There was a noise behind her, so slight she could have imagined it. But then she heard it again, the unmistakable noise of bed sheets rustling.

Shelby whipped around as quick as lightning and promptly dropped her handbag with a small scream.

Jesse was incredibly, miraculously, amazingly moving. He was clearly agitated, his knees drawn up as he twisted in panic. He was clawing at his arms with blind wildness, pulling at the wires and ripping them from his skin.

"Jesse!" Shelby exclaimed, rushing to him and jamming her finger down on the call button on the headboard. "Jess, Jess it's OK. It's OK, you're safe."

His struggles continued. His beautiful blue eyes flickered and rolled in their sockets as he bucked and fought. Shelby realised he was reliving the attack.

"Jesse," she said again, catching his hands and holding them tight. "Jesse, it's over. It's me, Shelby. You're in hospital. It's over."

Slowly, his breathing rate evened out and his chest stopped heaving. Tears glistened in his eyes as he raised his gaze to look at Shelby. With a shaking hand he removed the oxygen mask strapped to his mouth.

"Rachel."

Oh God, his voice was just a croak. He was so hoarse and his breath was a rattle.

"Jesse, it's me," Shelby reminded him. She brushed a strand of hair from the boy's face and then stroked his cheek gently. "It's Shelby."

"Rachel," he said again. He was confused, concussed, and Shelby knew that she did look uncannily like her daughter.

"No, Shelby," she corrected. "Oh Jess, you had me so-"

"Rachel," persisted Jesse. Each word seemed to cause him a ripple of pain, but that did not deter him. He tried to sit up, but the monitors began to beep frantically and he cowered, covering his ears. Terrified.

Shelby began to whisper in the same soothing tone she used to lull Beth to sleep when she was in distress. She allowed Jesse to clutch her hand, even though his grip was so tight it hurt. Wildly, she glanced at the door. Where the hell was the nurse?

"It's alright Jesse," she cooed. "Everything's fine, I promise. You're safe."

The words were meant to comfort, to coax him into relaxation. However, they seemed to have the opposite effect. Jesse tightened his already forceful grip on her hand and attempted clumsily to pull her close to him.

"Safe," he wheezed painfully, his voice distant and dazed. "Safe… Rachel… not safe… Glee… not safe…"

"Jesse, what are you talking about?" asked Shelby gently. "Rachel's fine, she's on a school trip."

"Tell… her… not safe… Please…"

He looked about ready to cry, so Shelby decided to humour him. "Alright superstar," she murmured, withdrawing her cell phone and dialling Rachel's number. "I'll call her, OK?"

There was a moment of silence as Shelby listened to the dial tone and Jesse watched her with desperation.

"That's weird," Shelby said eventually, hanging up. "Rachel always answer's her phone. But we would have heard if anything was wrong Jess, you're just confused. You had a huge ordeal, you're not thinking straight-"

"Shelby," interrupted Jesse, showing that he had in fact recognised her and was thinking perfectly straight. "Rachel… danger… all of them… said… kill…"

The word struck Shelby like a slap in the face. Her blood ran cold and gooseflesh rose on her bare arms. "What do you mean, Jesse?" she whispered hoarsely. The handsome boy pulled her to within an inch of his face, and she could read the fear there. Tears began to spill down his face.

"Glee's not safe," he hissed frantically. "Glee's not safe… killed Candy… all… die… told me… before… before…"

And for an awful moment he was lost to the nightmare once more. Ordinarily, Shelby would want to hold him tight and take care of him. But now, from what he was saying, Rachel was in danger. Her Rachel, the daughter who looked like her, who sang like her, who she had abandoned once. She couldn't do it again.

"Jesse," she said firmly, shaking him into reality again. "Are you telling me that the person who hurt you killed Candace?"

A sob. A nod.

"And they- they have some sort of plan? Involving Ra- involving New Directions?"

Another nod. "Glee's not safe."

"Jesse, are they going to kill them?"

Another nod. Another sob, louder this time, sucking all the breath from his frail frame.

"We have to call the police, we-"

"No… no time… no police…"

"Jesse," Shelby said, attempting to keep her tone level and calm while inside she couldn't stop screaming. "Jess, this is important. Who is doing this?"

Jesse St James opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. His showface was a far-distant memory as his handsome features were twisted with horror.

"Who is it Jesse?"

But this was too much for the former Vocal Adrenaline star. He had once been unbreakable, immortal, but now this asshole had shattered him. It was too much for him. He was unable to utter the name of the monster who was doing these unspeakable acts.

Shelby fished a pen and an old programme from when she had gone to see Spring Awakening on Broadway. Hastily, she handed them to the twitching Jesse. She gave him a knowing look to let him know that she believed him. Jesse was shaking badly and he dropped the pen twice, staining the blue coverlet, before he managed to start writing.

"You… you'll help?" he asked Shelby fearfully. "You'll help Rachel? And- and the others?"

Shelby nodded. "I will."

He thrust the programme at her just as Dr Burke and a cluster of interns rushed into the room. The doctor brushed Shelby aside with a brusque "You need to leave Ms Corcoran" and she fumbled to hold onto the page.

"No!" Jesse screamed from the bed, his blue eyes blazing with burning ice. "Shelby- you have to hurry… said… already… started… too late."

His words were jumbled, incoherent, but his meaning was startlingly clear. Whoever this was, they had already started their spree. God only knew how many kids were already hurt as badly as Jesse, or worse. Rachel…

"Shelby!" Jesse screamed again, brushing off the intern attempting to sedate him. "You… tell her… I'm sorry. Tell her… I tried… tried to fight… to protect her… Tell her…"

"Get out Ms Corcoran!"

"Tell Rachel… Please… tell her I'm sorry!"

"I will," Shelby promised as, before her eyes, Jesse went limp and flopped down onto his pillow. Knocked out. She rushed out of the room, tears flying freely now, and took the stairs three at a time. The second she got into her car she unfolded the programme and read the name Jesse had scrawled there. If she was surprised, it didn't show on her face. She took a moment to visualise the little psycho and reached under her seat for the aluminium baseball bat she kept there in case of an attempted carjacking.

She put the car in drive and set the GPS for Lake Witkeel.

The only thing that kept her from imagining the worst, from imagining Rachel ending up like Candace and having a closed casket and being… not there for her to call, not there for her to watch on stage and feel a little tug on her heart, was the image of that metal bat crushing that twisted little sicko's skull.

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Hope you liked this chapter… Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought! I adore Jesse, so I wanted him to have some redemption after the whole throwing-eggs-at-Rachel thing. You like?