Chapter Text
The long, monotonous hum of the bus engine had become a familiar lullaby, occasionally punctuated by the rumble of the road beneath its tires. Inside, a soft, intimate bubble of affection enveloped Kurt and Blaine. Kurt, nestled comfortably against the plush, slightly worn seat, turned his head, his gaze sweeping over his boyfriend with a warmth that completely eclipsed the cool, air-conditioned cabin. Blaine, equally relaxed, had a gentle smile playing on his lips, his eyes sparkling in the dappled sunlight filtering through the window. With a tender gesture, Kurt reached across the small space between them, his fingers finding Blaine's and intertwining with them. "Aren't you glad you came with us?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur, rich with contentment.
Blaine's smile widened, a clear answer in itself. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting Kurt's cheek before his lips met Kurt's in a feather-light kiss, a sweet punctuation to the unspoken sentiment. "Yes, I am glad," he affirmed, pulling back just enough to meet Kurt's eyes, then settling back against the seat, his hand still firmly clasped in Kurt's. His smile, though, held a hint of a playful sigh. "I didn't realize this trip would take so long though. My lower back is starting to feel it." He stretched subtly, a small grimace flitting across his face.
"We'll get there soon enough, my love," Kurt chuckled softly, the sound a low vibration in his chest. He glanced at Blaine, his eyes full of tenderness, before leaning over to rest his head on Blaine's shoulder, finding that familiar, comforting spot. The world outside the window seemed to blur into an insignificant backdrop to their quiet moment.
Across the narrow aisle, Rachel Berry watched the pair with a wistful, adoring smile. She squeezed Finn Hudson's large hand, which felt surprisingly soft in hers. "Oh, they're so cute together, don't you think?" she breathed, her gaze still fixed on Kurt and Blaine, a hopeful, dreaming quality in her voice. She turned her head, her dark eyes seeking Finn's for confirmation, for shared sentiment.
Finn looked genuinely confused, his brow furrowed. "Who?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, his attention seemingly elsewhere until Rachel spoke.
Rachel rolled her eyes with an exasperated, yet fond, sigh, nudging him sharply in the side. "Kurt and Blaine, Finn! Honestly, are you even paying attention?"
Finn didn't offer a proper reply, merely a shrug of his broad shoulders, his gaze drifting back to the passing scenery, which was quickly turning from sporadic fields to dense, tall trees lining a winding, uphill road.
Rachel sighed again, this time more deeply, her gaze lingering on Finn. She had intended to use this quiet moment to talk to him, to finally articulate the swirling thoughts and anxieties about their future after graduation, a conversation that had been brewing within her for weeks. But the words, poised on the tip of her tongue, suddenly caught in her throat. The entire bus shuddered violently, a sickening lurch that threw her slightly forward in her seat. A collective gasp rippled through the vehicle. "What was that?" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with sudden alarm, her grip on Finn's hand tightening reflexively.
"Maybe we hit something?" Finn suggested, his voice uncharacteristically tentative, his eyes wide. "Or swerved really hard to avoid hitting something?"
"How would that-?" Rachel was cut off abruptly as the bus lurched again, this time with a terrifying, grinding groan of metal and a sickening tilt. Through the window directly beside her, she could see the ground rushing up towards them, an impossible angle, the world outside spinning. Fear, cold and immediate, seized her. "Oh, my god! Finn, we're going to crash!" she shrieked, her voice thin with terror.
From a few rows back, Puck's familiar, cocksure voice cut through the rising panic. "Calm down, princess. We aren't going to crash." He sounded entirely too nonchalant.
"Didn't you just feel that? Or see? We almost tipped over, Puck!" Rachel cried out, her voice cracking. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
"The wind picked up, that's all. We'll be fine," he insisted dismissively, but even his voice lacked its usual conviction, a faint tremor betraying his bravado.
The bus, however, vehemently disagreed. It shook violently, like a wounded animal, lurching to the side once more, the left tires lifting completely off the asphalt. A terrifying screech of tortured metal filled the air, a sound that grated on every nerve. Rachel heard someone - definitely Tina, her high-pitched cry unmistakable - scream as the bus continued its relentless, horrifying tilt. The world outside, through the windows that were now almost parallel to the ground, became a blur of green earth and blue sky, spinning wildly.
Then came the crescendo: a deafening cacophony of screeching metal, shattering glass, and terrified screams that tore through the cabin. The windows exploded inward, raining jagged shards of glass over everything. The bus, unable to maintain its precarious balance, finally tipped fully onto its side, the impact a bone-jarring blow. It wasn't over. With an agonizing, drawn-out groan of twisting steel, the bus began to roll down the steep embankment it had been climbing, a tumbling, crushing beast of metal and human bodies.
Rachel cried out, a raw, involuntary sound, as her body was slammed sideways, violently impacting the unforgiving armrest between her seat and Finn's. The force threw her across the aisle, her body landing heavily on top of Finn's. Disoriented, breathless, and stunned by the sheer violence of the event, she lay still for what felt like an eternity, the ringing in her ears the only sound for a few agonizing moments. Dust, thick and acrid, filled the air, stinging her eyes and lungs.
Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head, her vision blurry through the haze of dust and shock. The interior of the bus was a twisted, chaotic nightmare. Seats were ripped from their moorings, luggage was strewn everywhere, and the once-orderly rows were now a jumbled mess of metal and debris. Her gaze, still unfocused, swept across the devastation until it landed on a figure, eerily still. Her breath hitched. Artie. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, were empty, staring blankly, his body hanging limply from the seatbelt that had held him in the now-inverted seat.
"Oh, Artie..." Rachel's voice was a choked whisper, barely audible over the roaring silence in her ears. She clapped a trembling hand over her mouth, a desperate attempt to stifle the sob that threatened to tear through her. She tore her gaze away, unable to bear the sight, her eyes frantically searching, dreading what else she might find. Her gaze fell upon another slumped form. Puck. He was sprawled awkwardly across Quinn, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, his face as pale and empty as Artie's. A cruel, bloody gash had opened on his temple, dark, glistening blood matted in his usually perfectly styled hair, running in a sluggish crimson stream down the side of his face. She whimpered, turning her head away sharply, fresh tears, hot and stinging, now streaming down her dirt-streaked cheeks. She couldn't look anymore. She wouldn't look. The thought of seeing anyone else, any more of her friends, silent and broken in the wreckage, was unbearable.
But even as the grief threatened to consume her, a colder, more primal fear began to surface. What now? They were stranded, overturned, in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Did anyone know where they were? Had anyone witnessed the crash? Would help arrive in time to save the survivors, the ones who were still clinging to life in this metal tomb? A cold shudder ran through her, more chilling than the shock. She was alive, but for how long? And at what cost?