A/N: This is the worst written chapter ever. Not because it's shitty, but I just...I can't do it yet. Not properly. My aim for this chapter was to write it from a fan perspective, from my perspective. I want to write quite a bit in this A/N. To give you my story, or whatever. Because at a time like this, it's really important that we all stick together and support each other.

I'll let you read first, but be warned, it is about death and coping but it's very disjointed and very.. detached, I guess.

Kurt Hummel lost his mother when he was eight years old.

Being eight, there wasn't a lot Kurt understood. He knew that when he grazed his knee, it took time to heal. He knew that if he wanted to get to school on time, he had to catch the seven-thirty bus. He especially had perfected tying his shoes.

He knew about life and death, mostly. He knew how children were made. That it took nine months for them to come out.

But it was the 'not gonna be around anymore' from his father that didn't really sink in.

And maybe it never did sink in. Not properly, at least. He woke up every morning, wishing it had all been a dream. Believing, it had all been a dream, until of course, he went downstairs and remembered that she wouldn't be cooking him pancakes. That she wouldn't be singing in the shower, and she wouldn't walk him to the bus stop.

But for those five seconds of unprocessed thought, between asleep and awake, she was alive.

…

Kurt Hummel lost his brother when he was nineteen years old.

Being nineteen, there were a lot of things that Kurt understood.

The fact that Finn Hudson wouldn't be around anymore wasn't one of them.

He hadn't seen him for a while – he was off in the war, fighting for the country. The police showed up at nine in the morning, and from Carole's screams, he immediately knew that the worst had happened.

Finn Hudson was dead.

He was so far away. Untouchable. Unreachable.

And Kurt hadn't seen him in a while. He barely knew him these days – they didn't really talk, and the most he got from him was videos of him goofing off.

…

Kurt was numb.

He stared at the obituary – a confused frown on his face. Finn Hudson was dead. His head shook once, then twice in disbelief, before the tears built in his eyes and fell in rivers down his face. They pooled in his cheeks, dripping from his chin, until he was sobbing, and there were arms around him in comfort.

But numb stayed for a few hours.

He spent a long time outside, trying to convince himself to stop crying, to stop sobbing and being an uncontrollable mess. But it didn't work. Hours passed and Finn had been gone for over twelve hours, and yet the little phrase circling his head didn't seem real.

There was no way that he was gone.

No way.

He had seen a video of him only a few days ago.

The tears moved to his bed, dripping onto his pillow.

Kurt once read that when you cry, only seventeen tears were released. He almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. He'd shed more than seventeen tears in a minute.

His chest felt hollow, his body heavy and his eyes stung from crying.

He didn't understand how life could be so short. How one day someone could exist, and the next day not.

Kurt didn't know Finn that well. Not really. He'd seen a side of him, had a crush on him briefly – but there was no development further. They were step-brothers, and that was more or less the extent of their relationship.

So why did Kurt feel like his whole world had shattered into oblivion, and that nobody could pick up the pieces?

On the second day, Blaine came over and held him as he cried.

He was better. As long as he didn't think about him.

There were distractions in place to keep his mind off the situation, but songs, pictures and even saying his name threw him off, and left a shell of the man in his place.

On the third day, he finally spoke.

"I have no memories with him." He breathed, barely as loud as a whisper.

Blaine glanced over, an eyebrow up.

"I have no proper memories. No deep and meaningfuls. Just…him being stupid." He sobbed out, tears leaking from his eyes again.

Blaine gave him a small smile. "Was Finn really a deep and meaningful kind of guy?" he asked gently.

Kurt considered his, before shaking his head and crying into the corner of his arm.

Blaine moved over, wrapping his arms – a protective barrier separating the world and the grief Kurt was feeling.

"I don't know how to deal with this." Kurt whispered. "We weren't close…I can't sit around drinking and telling stories about him because I've barely got any to tell. I can't…get closure because there's nothing to draw it from!" he whimpered.

Blaine rubbed his back gently. "But you have stories." He said softly. "You have memories, no matter how mundane they are. Everything you knew of him was a part of him. That's what matters."

Kurt swallowed hard, his head on Blaine's shoulder, drenching his shirt. "I miss him."

…

It was hard to move on. It was weeks and months of talking to family and friends, piecing and remembering his life – his good times and his bad.

But even then, Kurt still had that minute before he remembered. That minute of hope, and love and joy.

He cherished that minute.

He cherished the stories. The love, and the fondness that came from the stories about him trying to pull of something he wasn't any good at. Because that's what Finn was about.

That's what Kurt would remember.

That's what kept Kurt going.

In Memory:

I wasn't Cory's biggest fan, but I didn't hate him like I hated Finn. But I saw the news on my Twitter timeline just as the news was breaking out. Like Kurt, I had a few minutes of disbelief, and then it was confirmed that it wasn't a hoax and I burst into tears. I cried for a few hours, and then I stayed up all night watching happy things and trying to forget. The next day I was still upset though.

Hell, I'm still upset now. It's impacted me in a way that I didn't think it would. I've been attacked and barreled over by this grief, and I can't imagine what 'obsessed fans' are feeling right now. (And I say that in the fondest way possible - like the way I feel about Chris and Darren). Cory was a hero and a champion. A role model and a amazing, hilarious guy.

He auditioned using tupperware. He's not the best singer, and certainly not the best dancer, but he gives me hope, because he took the chance and made it. By drumming on tupperware. He's great.

It's hard. I sent a message to one of my friends (actually I sent many messages, but here are the important ones)

"I don't know how to deal with this because there isn't anyone I knew that was close to him or even knew him. I can't sit around drinking and telling stories because I didn't know him. I saw Finn, or goofing off in a behind the scenes. I saw him staged and guarded, because that's all you ever are on camera. There is no way to get closure from this departing, and therefore moving on is going to be the hardest thing until the cast start talking, if ever."

So yes. It's hard. Cory lives in our hearts, and we have Glee, and that one episode of Supernatural, and a whole bunch of other ways to remember him.

It's also really hard for other people to understand and sympathise with things like this. It hits hard and it hurts in a very different way to how other people would react.

Some people won't and don't understand what we're going through. But I want to tell you guys how much I am here. If you need to talk, and have nobody else, my PM box is ALWAYS open. I also have kik and twitter under the same name - JeffnaBoots. If you're having trouble, don't hesitate to text me or anything. I will always have time and you're not bothering me at all. (Unless I'm asleep but I'll reply as soon as I wake up)

It's been a rough week, and it's not going to be easy. But we can get through this together, guys.

Find your closure, whether it's Glee marathons, or artwork, or music, or screaming or anything. But find it - I think it's really important that you do.