"Are you sure you'll be okay?"
Finn had just come out of the washroom and glanced over to where Carole and Burt stood beside his hospital bed. He smiled a bit and walked over to where they were just about to leave. His left arm was still bandaged up from his wound but otherwise okay so long as he didn't move it too quickly.
It was already late in the morning on Sunday and they had to get back to Lima. Finn had immensely enjoyed their visit the previous Saturday; he even got to introduce them to Graham and Wayfor the evening before when the five of them went to dinner in the hospital cafeteria (if you could call the dinner there 'food', which was a stretch.) His Mom had remarked how happy she was that Finn had befriended genuinely nice kids in such a short time; ones who were conscientious and supportive of him as both a friend and colleague. Finn had to admit, after his mom had said that, he felt pretty damn lucky for it as well.
"I'll be fine, Mom. It's only another week before I come home. I'm sure I can manage with the rest of the training. The only difference is I won't be asked to do all the super-physical stuff this week."
"Considering what's happened here, I'd say you've done enough on the 'physical' side of things." Burt stepped forward and gave him a manly hug. "You take care of yourself, Finn. Don't push yourself too hard with all the bandages and such."
"I won't…can't, really. It's gotta heal before I go back to football." Finn grimaced a bit. "I don't think Coach Beiste will be too happy I missed the training camp because of the National Guard."
Burt shrugged. "Might be surprised. I doubt you're the first senior football player who went and got a summer job… and it's not like your overall physical fitness suffered here."
"We can always tell her you were injured. That's all she needs to know and I'm sure she won't ask too many other questions." Carole slung her purse on her shoulder, then turned back to him and put a motherly hand on his cheek. "I'm really glad you're okay, Sweetie. Do me a favour and don't go shooting anyone else, okay?"
Finn and Burt exchanged a quick glance and both recognized how the other's eyes tightened a bit. Neither had told Carole that Finn had, in fact, done a lot more than just shoot his foe. He had aimed, fired, and killed him where he stood, suffering only a flesh wound in the process. The tall Gleek was still coming to terms with that reality about himself; still trying to accept that he was, indeed, the type of person who could kill another human being when it was required. Before this summer, he would have balked at the idea of being able to point a weapon at someone else and pull the trigger. The knowledge that he could so easily slip into that role and take another person's life in the process absolutely terrified him.
He'd changed a lot over the course of the summer. And he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.
"I don't plan on getting in the way of any other bullets, that's for sure." Finn finally said with his lopsided smirk.
"See that you don't," Carole told him firmly before pulling him down into her embrace. "Be safe, my son. I love you."
"Love you too, Mom. Thanks for coming." Finn hugged her back as well as he could before letting her go. As he watched them move past the doors of the unit he was sequestered in, he ran his right hand over his hair and then turned towards his room to pull his stuff together. Sergeant Banks had told him last night that if all went well he'd be discharged today and return to his unit to help them finish packing up to return to Camp Grayling for the final phase of training. The deployment had gone relatively well for his squadron (minus his incident, obviously) and all out-of-state units were being released from duty as the Missouri National Guard was positive they could handle the rest of the cleanup.
Finn dressed carefully into his new combat uniform. Oddly, he was glad to be getting away from the constant care and attention in the hospital. Last time he had been over-night in a hospital was his freshman year of high school (for a lung infection of all things), and at the time he had loved how pampered he had been, with meals delivered and nurses fussing all over him. Of course, he'd only been fourteen at the time so having a bunch of fresh-out-of-college nurse interns constantly seeing to his needs was almost a dream come true. This time it just plain annoyed him. He wanted to be up and about, active and contributing to something rather than feeling like a useless blob who had to lie still and do nothing for fear of re-injury. His dressing and stitches seemed to be working the way they were meant to, and his shoulder wasn't nearly as sore as before, but then again, that may have been the drugs and painkillers talking, so whatever.
He was no longer the same, naive high school student he'd been before. Too much had happened to him, both at Camp Grayling and here in Missouri. He knew now that he wanted to work somehow in the entertainment industry. He wasn't sure if he had the abilities to be a star, like Rachel did with that pitch-perfect voice of hers (not to mention well above-average dancing and acting), but he could learn everything about what happened behind the scenes. He was already adept at song writing, if his song at Nationals and collaboration with Omeasoo were any indications (that newer song really had turned out to be wicked-awesome, even if it was country-folk). He could play drums and was pretty good at arranging music and getting his ideas for other instruments across. He was a decent enough actor, when he needed to be, if Rachel's and Mr. Schuester's judgement could be trusted. If he also learned how to use sound and recording equipment or camera equipment, he was sure he could somehow, between all three, figure out how to make a living in this field. And even though it wasn't an easy career choice, the National Guard seemed like a good job to have to bring in money until he established himself. He was sure Burt and his Mom would scoff a bit at his decision since he couldn't easily transition that education into an established company or business, but he wasn't really a nine-to-five kinda guy anyway, if high school was any indication.
After ensuring he had all his belongings and properly dressing in his uniform, Finn sat in the waiting area for his Sergeant to come pick him up. This afternoon was the designated meeting he would have with the National Guard's Investigating Officer regarding his incident, which would also include a counsellor, his commanding officer and Sergeant Banks himself. He didn't think he was going to enjoy this meeting, but it was part of his duties as a soldier to cooperate, so he'd 'muscle through' as best as he was able.
While waiting, he fiddled with the letter that was intended for Rachel, trying to decide how he was going to be able to handle seeing her again after everything that had happened. The big question to him was how exactly she was going to handle knowing he'd become a killer. Try as anyone might to reassure him it was all in self-defence, and despite him logically knowing that was the case, he still could scarcely believe he'd actually done something so extreme as take another person's life. How exactly would Rachel regard him now? Kurt had told him about her remark on how much of a country-boy he was, unsure if he would ever fit into a big-city environment like New York. How would she react to discover that rather than a country-boy, he was more of a chameleon? That he was able to adapt to whatever circumstances he found himself in, even going so far as to end someone's life, when push came to shove? Could she accept that about him? Would she still see the tall, awkward, lumbering boy he used to be, the same one who desperately pleaded with her to rekindle their romance in New York after what was, perhaps, the best date he had ever given a girl? Would she see the love he still had for her underneath everything else?
Would she still see him as him?
The trouble with his questions was that he wasn't even sure he saw him as him still. He no longer felt like the awkward, lumbering giant-boy who had little direction or desire to do anything but play Xbox, and school sports and make out with his girlfriend. That Finn Hudson was an immature, unfocused, and meandering ass if he was honest. Finn realized as he sat there, staring at the blood soaked letter, he really didn't like who he'd been. It wasn't just the last six months of his junior year he regretted, it was his entirehigh school existence.
He didn't like that Finn Hudson. That scared, juvenile boy who always ran away, was always afraid of other's opinions, was always trying to make everyone like him no matter what. He hated that guy.
He hated that guy when he compared it to the Finn Hudson after Camp Grayling. The Finn Hudson who fought hard with a group of non-football players to pull out a win against his Sergeant. The Finn Hudson who refused to take R and R when his friends needed his help in the kitchen peeling potatoes. The Finn Hudson who instinctively knew how to use his rifle and put it back together in one piece and then helped others do the same. The Finn Hudson who jumped on the chance to assist his friend Omeasoo in writing a song for his soon-to-be fiancé. The Finn Hudson who had helped to push/pull Candi and Jordan together. The Finn Hudson who, without thinking about it, had saved a woman from her vehicle just minutes before it exploded. And yes, much as he regretted it and was still haunted by it, the Finn Hudson who pulled the trigger on a gun-toting lunatic intent on hurting his wife and killing Finn.
That was the Finn Hudson he was now. He was no longer just the quarterback or Glee captain. Now he was also a soldier.
But would Rachel like that Finn? Would Rachel accept that Finn?
Truthfully he was scared of the answer. He was no longer naïve enough to think that the consequences of his actions didn't affect other people. It was kinda like when a pebble made ripples across the water when it was thrown into a pond. Would it continue that way? Would his life always come back to this crucial incident from now on? Was this the defining moment of his life?
He didn't know.
A horn honking outside indicated that Sergeant Banks had arrived, so Finn tucked the letter back into the inside pocket of his uniform and replaced his hat on his head. He carefully climbed into the vehicle beside his Sergeant and saw the big, black man give him a grin. "Feeling better, Hudson?"
Finn nodded once. "Good to be outside the hospital, Sergeant."
"Good." Banks reached behind him into the army Jeep's rear seats to pull out a clipboard and binder, then shoved it into Finn's hands. "With your injury, I can't have you doing too much physical stuff, so here's what you'll need to know to correctly answer the radios at our headquarters. We're only here for another couple days but Antho and I are getting fucking tired of always having to cover the graveyard shift. Since you can't be in the field, you're gonna be directing everything from HQ in the middle of the night. Got it?"
The quarterback grinned slightly, glad his Sergeant was taking his injury into account but still not going lightly on him and assigning duties that were just as important to the operations of the tornado relief effort. "Yes, Sergeant. I'll get right on it."
Banks nodded as he gunned the jeep and drove away from the hospital. "Good. Your first shift is at midnight. Be ready, and if you're a real lucky son-of-a-bitch, I might just make your first pot of coffee for you."
Graduation. Finn couldn't believe it.
He was now officially a trained member of the National Guard of Ohio.
True, he'd still need to perform his trade's training the following summer, but which trade he'd learn was a decision he could make later. For now, he was enjoying just basking in the glow of the party atmosphere on the base.
It was more than warm enough still for an outdoor gathering, and there was a large baseball diamond on Camp Grayling where an extremely large tent was set up, hosting the celebratory activities. Food was plentiful, drinks flowed freely (except to those underage, such as himself and his friends, but he was fine with that), and the music was pretty rockin'; the base had even brought in a live band to offer the entertainment. Finn couldn't complain, since most of their songs were either classic rock or rock versions of current Top-40 hits. He had to wonder as he listened why he never thought to do a more rock-oriented version of some of their assigned songs in junior year.
His shoulder was bugging him a bit as he sat in a chair so he decided to get up and mingle with his fellow troops. Most of them asked how he was and wished him a speedy recovery, genuine in their praise of his actions and hopes for his healing, but he still didn't really want to hear anything about it. Frankly, it bugged him to be the 'cripple' in his squadron, but there wasn't much to be done about it. Instead, he thanked them all in turn, and laughed when Corporal Antho suggested his new nickname be 'Target' (both because of the bullet wound and the cheap t-shirt Wayfor had purchased for him.) Thinking of Wayfor brought to mind that he actually hadn't seen any of his four closer friends in the last hour or so, since he was given honorary status regarding his injury and was forced to eat with the Sergeant and Commanding Officer. It wasn't exactly a bad thing, but it felt more like he was some kind of prize student being forced to endure his teacher's company.
He found Omeasoo and Marquez at the back of the tent, both of them bantering back and forth at the dart boards that had been set up along one of the back areas of the tent, still insisting one was better than the other. He watched a bit, and both of them glanced over and grinned at him, but neither offered to let him join in the game. He could spiral a football with perfect aim at almost 100 yards and (apparently) fire a rifle with deadly accuracy, but when it came to darts, he just never quite felt comfortable enough to throw them properly. Marquez and Omeasoo, however, could probably play professionally if they wanted. He waved and wandered away to find the others.
As he wandered around the tent, again just greeting other troop members and nodding to his superiors, he wondered now what was truly in store for him when he returned to Lima. Not everyone in the current troop was from there, but his little group of five all happened to be (well, okay, Omeasoo lived just outside the city limits, but it was close enough.) He wondered if they would all still be the core five friends throughout the year, until they all did their trades training…or would they go their separate ways more immediately? He really didn't want to imagine a future life without them in it somehow, so he smiled a bit and just resolved that he'd have to make sure they got together outside of the normal one-weekend-a-month training schedule.
"So, wanna dance?"
He turned behind him, slightly startled at the voice which suddenly manifested itself over his shoulder. There stood Wayfor, grinning at him like a Cheshire cat. The tall quarterback glanced around quickly. "Where's Graham? Shouldn't you be asking him?"
Wayfor rolled her eyes. "Are you still stuck in that senseless high-school frame of mind, Hudson? I'm asking you to dance, not make out with me."
Finn grinned a bit in return and nodded. "Okay, fine. You're right. But I'll warn you, even my ex-girlfriends knew better than to ask me to dance. I have all the rhythm of an epileptic octopus."
The female recruit raised her eyebrow. "Interesting metaphor. I also find it hard to believe since you've said you play drums quite well."
"Yeah, for some reason the two skills don't coincide for me," Finn returned, even as he took Wayfor's right hand in his left and wrapped his other around her waist. And fuck, did he seriously just use the word 'coincide'? What the hell was going on with his damn vocabulary that suddenly he could use these decidedly Rachel-like words like he'd known them for years? Had he grown up that much during the summer?
Wayfor delicately placed her left on his shoulder and stood there, waiting. "What?" He asked her.
She rolled her eyes. "You're the gentleman, Finn. You're supposed to lead."
"Didn't I just mention I'm not a good dancer?"
"What do you do when you dance with Rachel?"
"Let her lead; it's safer that way."
"Wow, you are completely lame, aren't you?" She shook her head and started to dance along with Finn to the band's rendition of Metallica's Nothing Else Matters. He remembered always, for some reason, linking this song in his mind back to Rachel and how, from the moment he realized he was in love with her, really nothing else seemed to matter in his life unless she was a part of it. He had tried so hard to deny the feeling that settled in his gut after she admitted to kissing Puck, but it really wasn't any use. He wasn't the kind of guy who could stay angry forever, especially when he helped to cause the whole mess with his own stupid decision to lie. He had pretty much forgiven her around the end of January, he just wasn't ready to try anything relationship-wise with her. He idly wondered if maybe he and Rachel would have been okay had he just handled things a bit differently and they had both just powered through that totally fucked up time in their lives. If they had stayed together, he likely never would have joined the National Guard and never would have had to kill Carl Waverly; he really wondered if the blood on his hands would now just scare away the love of his life for good.
He and Wayfor swayed to the music for a minute, and Finn couldn't help but notice her eyes bore into him, like she was studying a science project. Finn kept his eyes away from her gaze until finally he couldn't take it anymore. "What? What now?"
"Still thinking about her, aren't you?"
Finn rolled his eyes and shrugged a bit. "Yeah, can't help it. She's like an addiction for me. Unless I'm busy working or something, my thoughts always seem to go back to her."
Wayfor smiled and nodded. "You're in love, Hudson. It's normal for that to happen."
"Not normal for it to be clouded over, though."
His female friend frowned a bit. "Clouded over?" Finn gave her a pointed look, and immediately she understood, the confusion slipping away from her features. "You mean what happened in Joplin?"
"I...I just don't know how she'd take the news. She already thinks pretty highly of me; always has except for the time I messed up lying 'bout my v-card. But knowing I killed someone? That...that's way bigger than anything else. I mean, that's me ending someone's life, you know? How do I throw that out there and expect her to understand?"
Wayfor swayed with him some more, continuing to lead the slow dance, but her eyes were distant as she thought about things and he could see her bite the inside of her cheek. Finally, after another few seconds, she turned back to him. "There's really only one way to find out, isn't there?"
Finn nodded but rolled his eyes all the same. "I know. I know. It's like, the thinking, logical side of me knows that. But the other side of me is petrified this will just end every chance to be with her, even as a friend. And I don't want to be someone who makes her uncomfortable or upset just by being around." He blew out a noisy breath. "You're right. I am totally lame."
"You're worried. And I think I can understand that, but don't sell her short. I mean, shit, she came to you and admitted she kissed your best friend to make you jealous. Now, I'll admit, it was a dumb move on her part, but she had the courage to tell you everything and hoped you'd understand. Don't you think maybe you can follow her example a bit?"
"Big difference between the two, Wayfor." Finn shook his head. "'I kissed your friend' vs. 'I killed a man'? Doesn't seem quite the same."
"It's not," Wayfor admitted with a shrug. "But it's going to be hard to be with her romantically if you don't tell her. You can't keep a secret this big from her, Hudson. Sooner or later, you have to come clean. Didn't the whole thing about your v-card teach you that?"
As Finn was considering his response, Corporal Antho suddenly barked from the other side of the tent. "Need some help here now. Hudson, Omeasoo. Front and centre!"
Wayfor nodded and patted him on the shoulder as he walked over to where his Corporal stood, nodding to Omeasoo as the native boy came from the other side of the tent. They converged on Corporal Antho as he gestured behind him. "You two, help up Sergeant Banks."
"It's not necessary, Antho-tologist," a slightly slurring Sergeant Banks said from behind the corporal. "I'm not as drink as you thunk I am."
"No Sergeant, of course not," Antho said without a trace of disrespect. "But Chief River ordered me to ensure you got back to barracks safely. "
"And I order you to let me be." Banks swayed slightly in his seat and his eyes were unfocused. Finn and Omeasoo both watched, leery as their sergeant consumed another large swig of beer.
Antho shrugged and smiled a bit. "Sorry, Sergeant. Chief River outranks you, so I have to follow her orders first. Hudson, Omeasoo, escort Sergeant Banks back to his barracks." The two recruits glanced between each other, then eyed Banks with slightly scared expressions before Antho turned on them and crossed his arms. "I know it's Sergeant Banks, but believe me when I say you don't want to be on the receiving end of a formal disciplinary hearing by ignoring the Chief's orders."
Quickly remembering his little foray into Chief River's office and kitchen, Finn nodded once and stepped forward to grab his Sergeant by the arm, thankful the big black man didn't press the issue of remaining in the tent and instead simply huffed in disappointment his recruits didn't listen to him. He stood for Finn and Omeasoo, rolling his eyes a bit as they guided him by the arm out of the tent. Once outside, he gently shook them off. "Like I said, I'm not as dunk as you tink I am. I can walk." He stumbled a bit by missing the drop of the curve onto the road. "Sort of."
"This way please, Sergeant." Finn motioned with his hand as Omeasoo stood just a step back from the large black man. Banks gave both Finn and Omeasoo a very unimpressed look, but nodded and continued walking. Before long, he had his hands on both their shoulders, gripping with a strength Finn didn't know anyone could possibly possess, and he thanked the heavens it was on his right shoulder and not his left.
"You know, you guys make me proud," Banks slurred slightly, but was still easy to understand. "I mean, shit, you guys are the fifteenth group of recruits I've had the pleasure of training, and seriously everything this summer went great. Well, except for you, Target. You really gotta learn how to fucking duck." He laughed at the joke as he continued his slow steps towards the Sergeants' quarters and Finn managed a slight grin even as he kept from rolling his eyes at the nickname. He and Omeasoo steadied their Sergeant up the steps before helping him through the door and up another set of stairs.
The Sergeant's barracks were nicer than the recruits, for sure. For one thing, it was warmer and more inviting, with rich burgundy carpets on the floors of the hallways (instead of the rough, plain grey they had) and wood panelling gracing the walls. It smelled a bit better; more like a hotel and less like the sterile, almost hospital smell of the 'other ranks' quarters. Once they manoeuvred Banks around the corner and into the side hall, he stopped abruptly at the door labelled with his name, then pulled a key out of his pocket.
Finn watched and almost laughed at the expression on his Sergeant's face as he furrowed his eyebrows together and kept trying to push the key into the lock, but after three failed attempts, Finn nodded to Omeasoo, who gently took the key from their sergeant's hand and slid it home into the keyhole.
"Trouble with your key, Sergeant?" Omeasoo asked with humour and just the right tone of voice that no one would be able to take offense to it. Banks smiled slightly sheepishly and shrugged a bit, then pushed open the door roughly, almost falling flat on his face before both Omeasoo and Finn caught him by the arms to keep him from toppling over. Finn gnashed his teeth together to keep from crying out at the sharp stab of pain his injury was giving, but after a few short, painful seconds, Banks righted himself and nodded at both of them with gratitude.
"Thanks," he sighed as he looked around. "Looks like Marla's still busy in the mess. Normally she's here when I get in late." He threw his cap towards the desk and didn't even bat an eyelash when instead it hit the wall and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Slowly, he made his way over to his bed and collapsed. "Fuck. It's been ages since I drank this much."
"Special occasion, Sergeant?" Finn asked, picking up his Sergeant's cap and putting it respectfully on the desk in the quarters.
"My brother's anniversary."
Finn and Omeasoo exchanged a glance with each other, both a bit surprised. "You and your brother are close?" Omeasoo remarked while fetching a blanket and pillow for the sergeant out of the closet. "Like me and mine."
"How long has your brother been married?" Finn asked without thinking, only realizing afterwards that such personal information really wasn't any of his business. He cursed his stupidity and just being a blabbermouth and not thinking about what he was saying. Although he was getting better at it, sometimes his mouth ran away from his brain.
"He's not married, Hudson," Banks slurred out a bit, putting his hands over his eyes. He pulled a smaller picture off his nightstand that was sitting beside his and Chief River's marriage photo and tossed it to Finn, heedless that it might land on the floor and shatter the glass. Fortunately, Finn caught it expertly so it didn't fall. "It's the anniversary of the accident."
Finn looked down at the picture to see Banks sitting beside a slightly younger man with similar features, but in a wheelchair with his hands on his lap. The quarterback swallowed and nodded, understanding suddenly. He showed Omeasoo briefly before walking over and carefully putting the framed picture back in its proper place. "How long ago did that happen, Sarge?"
"Twenty six years," Banks responded flatly with a slightly tired voice. "Twenty six years since he made the biggest mistake of his life and got into a vehicle with me behind the wheel."
The two recruits froze in shock, both of them with wide eyes and mouths slightly open. They glanced at each other before refocusing back on their sergeant, who sighed heavily but still had his arm over his eyes as he lay on his bed. The big black man spoke again. "Some fucking idiot who was drunk off his ass came barrelling towards us. I was so fucking sure I swerved the right way, didn't even see the parked car on the road. I misjudged the space I had and - and now..." He swallowed but remained stagnant. "No fucking idea why he forgave me."
Again, before he could rethink anything, Finn's mouthed a question. "Do you forgive yourself, Sarge?"
Banks raised his arm just enough to look at Finn pointedly, almost as if giving him the stink-eye, and Finn wondered if perhaps he'd just overstepped his bounds. Banks, however, rolled his eye and covered it again with his arm. "You move on. That's all you can do."
Finn nodded in understanding, swallowing and feeling a sense of kinship with his Sergeant. No, Banks had never killed someone, but he'd (unintentionally) caused serious harm to someone he cared about deeply. In a way, it was almost worse than Finn's experience. Never again would Finn have to look at Carl Waverly or interact with his family, but in his heart he knew the man was gone forever, never to return. Banks' brother was alive, but he would forever remind the sergeant of the mistake when they were together.
Finn seriously wondered which hell would be worse.
A sudden movement at the door had Omeasoo and Finn look over and instantly come to attention. Chief River stood here, her hands on her hips as she looked at Sergeant Banks with a mixture of sympathy and disdain, all while ignoring the two privates.
"Really, Edward? After this long, you still do this to yourself?" Her tone of voice had dropped from the sharp, clipped intonation of being the Chief of the Mess to one that was, obviously, a wife concerned about her husband's welfare.
"Not tonight, please, Marla," Banks responded, not even removing his arm from his eyes. "I haven't had that much."
"Just enough to need two of your recruits to bring you back." She shook her head and grabbed the blanket and pillow out of Omeasoo's hands. "Thank you both, gentlemen. Please return to your graduation party. I'll take things from here." Although she spoke gently and politely, the tone she used was commanding and brooked no argument. Finn and Omeasoo nodded once and left quickly, descending the stairs and outside the senior ranks quarters, heading back to the party tent.
"Sad," Omeasoo spoke barely loud enough for Finn to hear as they followed the path back towards where the rest of their troop was carrying on in the celebration.
Finn blew out a noisy breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but...I get it, you know? I can see why Banks doesn't like this day. It's not easy to know you've done something horrible to someone else, even when you didn't intend to. At least his brother's still alive, but for me, it's-"
"Stop it!" Omeasoo turned suddenly and sharply, pointing a finger at Finn, his soft and gentle eyes suddenly harder than Finn had ever remembered them being before. "Stop right now. You did your duty."
The tall quarterback was shocked at the hard tone his friend had used and the sudden confrontational posture he assumed. He knew it was just Omeasoo's way of ensuring he was heard and his words got through to him, but it was so uncharacteristic of his native friend to do so that it still stunned him. After a few moments, he rubbed his hand over his face and spoke softly.
"That doesn't matter though, really. You think Carl Waverly's parents or widow care I was doing my duty? I still killed him. He's gone, and he's not coming back. And I did that." Finn shook his head and turned, sitting down on the curb of the street and putting his head in his hands. "I did that and...and it sucks!"
"Plenty of guilt to go around." Omeasoo's voice returned to the quiet tone it normally possessed as he sat down beside Finn, cross legged, on the grassy part between the sidewalk and road. "Me and Graham, we-"
Finn rolled his eyes. "You two were awesome. I mean, after all that went down with bullets flying and stuff, you guys jumped on top of him and started CPR and called for an ambulance and..." Finn shook his head, his eyes cast down. "I just stood there like a fucking idiot, wondering if I'd have to shoot again."
Omeasoo's eyes looked up to night sky and he was silent for several seconds before speaking. "I didn't want to."
Finn looked up at him sharply. "What?"
"CPR. Call an ambulance. I didn't want to do those things." Guilt and sadness were evident in his eyes and he shook his head a bit. "I never wished someone harm. Not 'till I saw her hurt." Omeasoo looked at Finn and seemed disturbed by his admission. "I wanted him to suffer. Wanted him dead. I was jealous because you shot him, not me."
The Glee co-captain sat and stared hard at his friend, his mouth open. Never in his life would he have guessed the others in his group would have had any negative feelings or emotions regarding the incident that fateful day since it was him alone who had pulled the trigger and ended someone's life; the sudden knowledge of how deeply everything from that encounter had affected his friend rocked him to the core. He never would have imagined one of their group, let alone his gentle and quiet native friend, would feel such hatred and disgust for someone that they would actually feel jealous of Finn for shooting Carl Waverly. And the knowledge Omeasoo now had of how deeply he could feel such hatred towards someone else had left a mark on him, just as the knowledge of taking a life affected Finn.
"You never think you can hate that much," Omeasoo continued, his eyes looking down to the grass in front of him but otherwise not moving. "Hurts to know I can. Hurts to desire violence." He looked up at Finn and the two soldiers' eyes met. "Thought I'd moved past that. Moved past hate and revenge and childish feelings and-"
"But it's normal," Finn responded to him, this time being the one to interrupt. "What matters isn't that you feel them, but what you do with them. You did it right, Omeasoo. You pushed them out of the way and did what you needed to do."
Omeasoo smiled tightly. "So did you."
"That's different." Finn shook his head and glanced away from Omeasoo's direct gaze. "Ignoring bad feelings to do something good for someone? You can be proud of that, man. Me? I have to live with trying to do the right thing, and then having to kill the guy instead."
"He had a weapon, Hudson. You did what you needed to do." Omeasoo shifted a bit. "Would you have raised your rifle if he hadn't pushed you down the stairs?"
Finn scoffed at him. "Course not, dude. I'm not psycho."
"I wanted to," Omeasoo admitted, swallowing a bit before sighing and looking away. "Before he attacked, even, I wanted to hurt him. Not how my elders taught me."
"But you didn't. You kept it together, man. You should remember that."
Omeasoo looked at him seriously. "You kept it together too. You didn't want to hurt him before he attacked. Why aren't you proud of that?"
"Because in the end I killed him!" Finn bit out, more harshly than he intended, his eyes and face going flat with anger. Fuck, why did he have to make this so obvious to everyone? How could he possibly be proud knowing he took someone's life away; that he wiped a living, breathing, walking person right off the planet? "I – I pulled the trigger and put a bullet through him. He's dead because of me."
His native friend didn't move or flinch from Finn's hard words. Instead, he smiled sadly. "No. He's dead because of him."
Finn shook his head, tired of trying to get it through people's heads what he was feeling and why. "You sound like my step-dad."
"Then your step-father must be very wise," Omeasoo reasoned, speaking softly again. "Your guilt, Hudson, doesn't help you. Let it go."
"And then what?" Finn turned back to his friend. "Just try to ignore this fucking hole inside of me? How do you just forget that you were forced to take a life?"
"You don't forget." Omeasoo shrugged. "You just move on…like Sergeant Banks."
Again, Finn shook his head. "Yeah, he's so fucking moved on he's crashed in his quarters and drunk off his ass."
"Only for one day." Omeasoo still hadn't moved an inch from his cross legged position, his hands dangling from where his wrists rested comfortable on his knees. "If not for tonight, we'd never have known."
Finn thought about what Omeasoo was saying. He had to admit that, no, he never would have known Sergeant Banks had a past that involved a wrong turn to avoid a collision but still cost his brother the ability to walk. Until tonight, he'd assumed Sergeant Banks was the model citizen and soldier; a man who saved lives as a paramedic by day and donned a uniform on weekends and in the summer to train others in the Guard. Everything about his sergeant seemed so rigid, formal and proper. He'd never have guessed deep down, Banks still felt guilty over something that happened twenty-six years ago, or that the big black man had picked himself up and carried on with his life, accepting (more or less) what had happened in the past and not letting it control his future.
Slowly, as he mulled over and through all the thoughts running through his mind, he realized that he had to do the same thing as his sergeant. Yes, he would feel guilty, but he needed to accept that it was there. What happened in Joplin happened, and there was really nothing to be done about it. All he could do was try to move on with his life, because despite his guilty feelings for it all, dwelling on it wasn't going to accomplish anything.
And he had a lot he wanted to accomplish in this last year of high school.
"You know," Finn turned back to his native friend and eyed him, "Sergeant Banks told me in the hospital there's this group called CISM. Stands for Critical something-or-other."
Omeasoo nodded. "Critical Incident Stress Management. I've heard. Got a pamphlet from the Investigating Officer."
"Well," Finn rubbed the back of his neck a bit in embarrassment. "Maybe it's something we can do, you know. Talk to them about everything that happened and how it kinda sucks and we keep thinking of it. Do you think...do you think it's something that could help?"
The native boy thought for a moment, then smiled in agreement. "It can't hurt. We should call once back in Lima."
They nodded to each other, then, by silent communication, both got back up and began walking back towards the party tent. While walking, Omeasoo turned back to him. "Hudson?"
"Yeah, man?"
"I'm Travis. Stop the last name shit."
Finn smiled warmly at his friend, and even though the native boy looked serious, his eyes danced in mirth as they continued to walk along the sidewalk by the road.
"Cool. Call me Finn."