Puck's fingers scratched over the strip of his scalp where his mohawk used to be while he looked up at Mike. "He... He probably needs it, dude. It was... It was the most horrific thing I've ever seen. Walking out of a wedding, fucking thrilled as hell to be there, thrilled as hell with where their lives were going. We'd danced for hours, some of us were half-drunk, despite Kurt's best efforts to keep it all classy. And then the classic bitch fight over the bouquet, and they were ready to go... Have hot, passionate honeymoon sex for fuckin' hours on end... You know. Klaine priorities. And then next thing we knew, those fuckers were shooting at us, and Kurt was..." He didn't say the word, having a hard enough time just thinking it. Having Blaine here like this, arriving in the same fucking clothes, covered in the very same blood? It was like reliving the whole thing all over again. Puck had rushed to Blaine's side, trying to sort through the blood and the adrenaline rush to figure out if Blaine was hurt, too, until they were telling him to step out of the way so they could treat the patients.

Puck was crying so hard it was like he couldn't catch his breath. It hurt so much seeing Blaine like this all over... Reliving this part of his life that he'd just as soon have forgotten. Fuck he wanted so much to go back to before... Before Kurt was dead in the real world. Before Blaine was dead. Before any of these horrible things had happened, and even as Mike tried to reassure him, Puck just sobbed harder. His arms wrapped around the jacket in lieu of being able to wrap them around Blaine, and he held onto it for dear life. All he could offer Mike was a very weak nod. He had to hold onto hope that, when Blaine and Kurt saw each other again, things might just be okay again. But even that wasn't helping him with the sensation of sheer aching agony in knowing what Blaine had just seen.