He has to think. He has to stop thinking. He has to breathe. He has to start singing at some point, because Mr. Schue is looking at him with that wide-eyed Concerned Teacher look, and oh god, he can't deal with that.

Finn stands there, hyperventilating, trying to spit out the taste of blood and semen. It's like a phantom, especially in the regards that it's not real, and if he can just get that taste out it will be okay. He'll sing and he'll laugh and and he'll work like a clockwork toy. If he can only get his body to work again, make it breathe like it's supposed to.

"Dude, are you okay?" a voice rings out, sounding far away – it takes a few seconds for Finn to realize that was Puck. Finn's eyes follow the curve of Quinn's baby bump. That's not his. They lied to him about it, and he was so pissed off, but now he's grateful – he doesn't have a body, didn't use it with her; and if he doesn't have a body, nothing happened to it, right? Finn's not a smart guy, but even he can get the logic there.

His knees give way and he collapses onto the cold floor, still coughing and gagging. He can hear his fellow glee clubbers fretting and tittering in the background; they sound so scared and confused. He feels guilty – he doesn't want to scare them, he doesn't want to hurt them, that's why he's trying so hard to keep this quiet. To pick himself back up and make it bounce of him like plastic.

Someone is crouched down beside him, eyes wide like a wounded animal, long brown hair flipping all over the place. "Finn, Finn, listen to me; can you hear me? Oh god, what's wrong, do we need to call an ambulance?" she sounds so scared, and he feels horrible, because hasn't he done enough to hurt her already?

"Rachel, calm down!" someone snaps from his other side. "Finn, can you hear me? It's going to be okay. Calm down. Breathe. Just tell us what's wrong," and, oh god, that's Kurt on his other side; hands to his face and looking him in the eye. There are tears glazing Kurt's eyes, and Rachel is clinging on Finn's arm now, and it can't be them. Kurt and Rachel, either of them, because they want him and he feels like he's going to throw up all over their faces.

"What do we do?" some says distantly, but Finn's not paying attention. He winds up almost spread, dry heaving on all fours, every movement a surge of pain and a reminder (god, go away, get out of his head) and the position terrifying vulnerable. His eyes bleed tears and his body shakes in big girly sobs; he winds up focusing on the scars and splinters on his hands, blurry through the water in his eyes.

That bastard just pushed him onto the benches and let them go snap; Finn wound up with splinters everywhere, making him worry about infections. Karofsky just laughed at him; told him how he had sold himself over to 'homo explosion' and he might as well reap the benefits. Finn screamed and cried and begged like a baby, and the guy didn't care; he liked that and hit and kicked Finn just to make it worse. He wound up with bruises and bitemarks before the guy even got his clothes off; they wound up torn on the floor while Karofsky pushed him down, defeated his terrified fight easily. It hurt so much and the bastard smelled so bad; Finn wanted to be sick all over him. He would have if he didn't think that might make Karofsky kill him. Finn tried so hard to get away, the sight practically making him blind with how awful it looked, and he was always meant to be the bigger man, but this guy just defeated him in a millisecond. The bastard worked him until his dick actually got hard off it, and Finn just wanted to kill himself over that, and Karofsky just smirked like he'd proved something, even while Finn was begging him to stop. The bastard barely even cleaned up, leaving Finn naked in a pool of blood and come, which soon mixed in with the stench of his own vomit; every single movement more painful then the agony he was in staying still.

The petrified yelling from his fellow glee clubbers rings in his ears as he sobs, and collapses onto the floor. He passes out like that, and his hot tears begin to melt cold plastic denial.