A/N: Hey everyone, I know a lot of you are probably waiting for me to update my normal stories again, and I know that I posted a rather long "yeah right, that's not a drabble" in the last chapter. But I was inspired to write this, and I felt like I couldn't put it off.

I wrote this in February, and sat on it since then. I considered and reconsidered not posting this at all, because of the content. But I'm posting it now.

Quick shout-out to MadSoullessQueen for helping me get through proofing this.

Many of you know that I don't put warnings at the beginning of a chapter or story (for the most part) unless it's warranted. This time, it is. Normally, I'd put this at the end, talking about the inspiration for the story and so on, but it needs to be in the beginning this time.

This is your trigger warning.

This story was inspired by (and written as a way for me to cope with) the tragic Parkland School Shooting in Florida on February 14, 2018. I'm sure you can guess where this is going. This story is about a school shooting. If you feel you can't read it, I understand. It was difficult for me to write it in the first place. You're not obligated to read this, and feel free to hit the back button if it's too much for you.

I didn't write this to try and play off the suffering of those involved. My intention is not to be insensitive to the real victims of this shooting, or any others that have happened this year alone. My heart goes out to those who are suffering in the aftermath of this tragic event, and I hope they're able to get the counseling and help they'll need to get through this.

This was simply my way of coping with my own thoughts and emotions concerning this topic.

If you want to be on the safe side, go to my AO3 page and check out the tags on it there.

Prepared
Lucy x Freed
Lucy & Sting
Rated M

She loved Monday mornings. While most of her coworkers sat around the teacher's lounge during their planning periods, lamenting the end of their weekends full of postponing grading papers, Lucy was full of energy. She was always smiling when she arrived on campus, and Mondays were her absolute favorite. Because every Monday, she was able to see her seven different classes full of students, and ask them how their weekends had gone.

And every Monday, she was free from monitoring the first lunch period, which allowed her to sit and enjoy her homemade lunch with her husband, Freed. As the head of the Social Studies Department, he usually had meetings during the second lunch period, when she was free. But on Mondays, they made time to eat together.

And that day would be no different. There was still one whole period left before lunch, and even though she didn't really like eating it at 11:30 in the morning, it was a necessity.

Lucy smiled while standing in the open doorway of her classroom, watching the students mill about in the hall. The hollow, metallic clang of lockers slamming shut was something she'd long grown accustomed to in her eight years of teaching high school. Freed walked toward her in the hall, smiling while he adjusted the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder.

"See you at lunch, Mister Justine," she said as his steps slowed.

"I look forward to it, Miss J," he chuckled, brushing back his bangs and drawing her attention to the way he'd pulled his hair up that morning. It had been her idea to have those long, beautiful jade strands pulled up and away from his face. Based on the way some of the other teachers had been whispering about him that morning between first and second period, she knew it had been a good idea.

He always looked so dashing with his hair up.

Lucy rolled her eyes and waved him off. "Off to your own department upstairs," she giggled. "Your history dust is sullying my pristine English floors."

His laugh was deep and full. It was the same laugh she'd fallen in love with only three years prior, and it never failed to bring a soft flush to her cheeks. He didn't stop walking, and instead turned to walk backwards while he said, "Ah, but weren't you the one who said that history and English are irrevocably intertwined?"

She didn't have a chance to respond before he turned once more and disappeared in the throng of students making their way to their classes. In just an hour, she would get to see him again. She could be patient.

Instead of dwelling on wanting to eat some delicious, reheated beef stew from their dinner the night before, Lucy turned and greeted the students walking into her classroom. "Good morning, Meredy," she said. "Milliana."

"Morning, Miss J," the girls responded, tittering over something on Milliana's phone.

"Make sure that's on silent before the bell rings," Lucy called back. They probably didn't hear her, but that was fine. She had a habit of reminding her students once class started anyway, even in the middle of the day when they should have already had their phones turned off to be fully focused on learning.

"Morning, Miss J! You ready for Halloween?"

Lucy turned and her smile widened when she saw one of her former students, Wendy Marvell, walking down the hall. "More than ready," she laughed. All of her students knew that Halloween was her favorite holiday, even though she never told them what she dressed up as. That was mostly because she had to keep that fine line between teacher and friend on her mind at all times. Wendy continued on to her class at the end of the hall, and Lucy turned back to greet more of her students.

Several loud screams, nearly shrieks in her opinion, barely filtered in from the courtyard just outside, but she paid it no mind. Lots of the kids were excited over the upcoming football game, since it was the last one of the season. Then there was the Drama Club's recent news that they would be putting on a production of Les Miserables in the spring, and auditions would be happening just after Halloween.

Lucy would have paid no mind to it at all if she hadn't heard a something like firecrackers followed by a bloodcurdling scream. That was when all hell broke loose. Students fed off of each other's energy, with everyone knowing something was wrong. How could it not be? No one screamed like that for no reason, and the short burst of loud popping sounds from the courtyard didn't help matters. Students ran in every direction, bumping into one another in the hall and fighting to get away from the sounds outside.

"Attention, this is an emergency," came the assistant principal's gruff, urgent voice over the intercom. "At this time secure everyone in a room and take roll. Everyone report directly to the nearest room with a staff member."

She knew that could only mean one thing. The school was locking down. And based on the sounds from outside, it could only be one thing. A shooter.

"Come in, quick!" Lucy said, still holding her classroom door open and ushering students in as quickly as possible. It took too long, but she couldn't leave anyone behind. If only the doors didn't open out into the hallway. She needed to get her class secured, just like she'd been trained to do every year before school started.

Once the last student rushed in, with others moving to their own classes, she ran into the room and saw several students standing at the windows to see what was going on. They'd pulled out their phones and started recording what she was sure was pure carnage. Her class overlooked the central courtyard on campus, and if that's where the shooter had started, then it wouldn't be pretty.

"Oh my god… Oh my god!"

"Shit, is that Enno and Krov?"

"Are they dead?"

"I'm live on Facebook… Holy shit, this is…"

"Away from the windows!" Lucy shouted. "Everyone to my desk. Crouch down and stay out of sight."

She pushed past them and closed the blinds, searching the room for any other weak points. She was prepared for this. All she had to do was run through her training. All she had to do was not mess up, and keep her students safe.

She didn't know where the shooter was, or how many there were, so she couldn't evacuate. When Lucy returned to the door, she saw Mrs. Tomlinson leading her class in the opposite direction of where the shots had come from. It wasn't smart. Sure, they would be sitting ducks like this, but at least Lucy knew that there was a less likely chance of a second shooter hurting them if they stayed in the classroom.

Lucy peeked out into the hall and didn't see anyone else coming, so she removed the doorstop and pulled the door closed. And then she locked it. Several students went rushing by, possibly looking for a place to hide, but they didn't slow down at her door. She had students to take care of as it was. If they came to her room, she'd let them in, but at this point, she still had other things to do.

With that thought in mind, she made her way to the podium in front of the class and grabbed her rollbook. She remembered most of the students who had come in before this started, so she double-checked that they were all there, then took down the names of a few kids she didn't recognize, and where they were supposed to be right then.

"Has anyone seen Sting today?"

"He was in gym last period."

She bit her lips and stared down at the blank space beside Sting's name. There was always at least one trouble student in a year. One who never applied themselves. And that year, it was him. He skipped class constantly, only making an appearance when there was a test that he'd heard about beforehand. And because he was never in class, he almost always failed his tests. All she could hope was that he'd hung back in the gym and was safe with Coach Redfox.

"M-Miss J, what's going on?" Romeo, a freshman in her seventh period who was supposed to be downstairs in Dr. Vivas' Biology class, asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. She couldn't very well tell them that there was someone shooting up the fucking school, but she couldn't lie to them either. "There's an intruder, and we're on lockdown. Just try to stay calm and quiet, okay? We're gonna be alright."

She wasn't sure if she believed it, but she had to try. For their sakes, she had to make herself believe that this would blow over, and they'd be alright.

"Now, everyone silence your phones," she said softly, crouching down in front of the group of terrified students. "If these people come by, we have to make them think there's no one here."

"But they know we're on lockdown," Rufus muttered.

"But if we stay out of sight and keep the door locked, then they'll move on to an easier target." It wasn't pretty, but it was true. And she hated that they had to think of only themselves. She hated that there wasn't anything she could do for anyone else. But she'd been taught to run and hide first, and fight back as only a last resort. It was the only way to keep them all safe.

"Miss J, I'm scared."

"I want my mom…"

Lucy let out a slow breath and looked around at her students. "I'm gonna call the police," she said. "I want all of you to text your parents, your family, and let them know what's going on. Tell them you're safe right now, and we're in room 257. You can't answer any calls. We have to stay quiet. Keep everyone informed, but don't call your friends in other classes."

It wasn't exactly protocol, but she knew her students. They were attached to their phones, and the least she could do was remind them that their families would be scared shitless over their wellbeing when they heard about what was happening on the news. Or on Facebook. But the key here was silence, and making phone calls and sobbing to their families would be counterproductive.

If she was a parent, that was what she would've wanted her kids to do. Text her and let her know that they were safe, and where they were so she could keep tabs on the situation.

"How come?"

"We have to stay quiet," she said, flinching when more gunshots rang out in the courtyard. "If we're quiet, we'll get through this. I swear it." Maybe if she said it enough, she would believe it too.

Sting had been standing in the men's room on the second floor, intent on skipping his fourth period English class with Miss J, when he heard the shots. He'd spent enough time with his father down at the gun range - learning how to shoot his rifle - to recognize that quick report of gunfire. He couldn't tell the difference between an AR-15 and an AK-47 based on the sound alone, but he knew it was a rifle. And he knew it was, at the very least, a semi-automatic.

Just like he knew that he was shit out of luck. Because like hell was he going to curl up on top of a damn toilet and hope this psychopath didn't come into the bathroom. He'd be a sitting duck, just waiting and hoping with everything he was worth that they didn't decide to shoot through the stalls, on the off chance that someone was unlucky enough to be there.

He wanted to call his dad and ask what he should do, but he already knew the answer. He needed to get to class. Because that announcement over the intercom was the same one they used when there were lockdown drills, and he knew that this was no drill. The screams alone were enough to clue him into that one.

So, Sting grabbed his bag and ran out of the bathroom in a lull between the gunfire. He hadn't a clue where it was coming from, but he needed to get to a classroom, to a teacher. He didn't want to be alone with this going on, waiting in a bathroom for someone to finally find him.

The hallway was empty, eerily empty, with lockers still open and all the classroom doors closed. He stopped at room 250 and tried to open it, only to find it locked. The lights were off inside, and he couldn't see anyone, but he tried again frantically while he heard more shots ringing out in the courtyard. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance, and students screamed in terror, and he ran. If he couldn't get into this one, then maybe the next.

At room 252, the lights were off as well, and the door was locked. No one answered, even when he shouted for help. Maybe they thought it was a trick, that he was one of the gunmen trying to get in, just to kill them. But he wasn't, and he just needed a safe place to go.

Room 254 was the same. Then room 256. This was the whole point of a lockdown, but he was the one who needed help. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone. God, he'd been so stupid for thinking of skipping class. If he'd been there on time, if he'd just been a good student for a change, then he wouldn't have been in this predicament. He wouldn't have been so fucking scared, all by himself in a hallway that could be the next place the shooters decided to mow down.

Sting turned and rushed to Miss J's classroom, his heart leaping into his throat when he saw that the light was still on. In the drills, they always turned off the lights. They were supposed to make it seem like nobody was around. But her light was on, and he could swear he heard people talking inside. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Still, he banged on the door when the handle wouldn't budge. "Help!" he shouted. "Let me in, please!"

The shots drew closer from the nearby doorway leading out toward the courtyard. Sting hit the door harder, jiggling the handle with all the strength he could muster.

"Miss J!" he yelled. "Please, open up! Please!" He'd never been happier to see his fourth period English teacher than that moment, when her worried honey eyes were staring back at him through the window in the door. He flinched when a few stray bullets pierced the door at the end of the hall, embedding themselves in lockers. "Please!"

She quickly unlocked the door, probably against her better judgment, and opened it just as the shooter kicked open the door at the end of the hall. Screams and agonized wails from other students could be heard in the distance, along with more gunfire further away. And all Sting could focus on was the rifle in the man's hands. He didn't see the deathly glare being sent his way, only how the rifle lifted higher. How he could swear he saw his body lying on the ground once the muzzle was pointed right at him.

"Shit," Miss J gasped. She grabbed Sting and dragged him inside just as a loud crack ripped through the air.

His classmates screamed as more shots ricocheted down the hall. The window of their door shattered, and Sting turned just in time to see Miss J's body shudder before she went limp and slid down to the floor. He couldn't breathe. Not when he saw the bright red liquid streaking down the door.

Was this what his dad had meant when he said the first time you see someone die, it changes you? That it would break something deep inside of you, even if you didn't know the person? But Sting did know her. He knew Miss J was kind and sweet, and that she loved teaching. He knew she was married, and that she never gave up on her students - even the shitty ones like himself who skipped class and never tried to do a whole lot of anything when they did show up. He knew that she didn't deserve this, and most importantly… that it was his fault for making her open the door.

If he'd just been to class on time, if he hadn't tried to skip class…

But he had done that, and there wasn't anything he could do to change it. What he could do, and what his body decided to do before he'd even realized it, was to stop the shooter from getting to him or his classmates. Sting lunged forward and grabbed his teacher's ankles, pulling her inside and out of the line of fire. The door closed on its own, and he reached up to lock it as quickly as possible. The gunman didn't say a word though, not that he could hear, but Sting wasn't worried about that. He was more concerned with getting Miss J away from the door, getting himself away from the door, and hiding along the wall by her desk with the others. Maybe they wouldn't want to cause more damage to this room. Maybe-

Sting dropped to the ground and covered Miss J's body with his own when several shots flew through the broken window of the door and sprayed haphazardly across the room, leaving holes in desks and the far wall where he normally sat when he did show up for class.

But it was silent after that, and he listened closely to the fading footsteps and disappearing pang of bullets lodging themselves in lockers further down the hall.

He drew back to look down at his teacher, his eyes widened when he saw the pained grimace pulling down her lips. "M-Miss J?"

"Are you okay, Sting?" she whispered. When her eyes opened, they glistened with tears, but she still looked so worried. And about him, of all people.

"I'm okay," he said. "But you're…" He sat up and nodded to Rufus, the smartest kid in their class, to help him move her closer to the corner. If another shooter came by, he didn't want them to know there were students in here.

Miss J's left hand crossed over her chest and pressed, hard, against the bloody fabric on her right shoulder. 'That's right… Apply pressure to a wound…' He'd seen it done countless times in movies, and even the night before when he'd been watching Law & Order instead of working on his essay that was due in two weeks. So Sting removed his hoodie and pushed her hand out of the way, pressing down on the wound. She whimpered and bit her lips, but he didn't know if it was too much pressure, or not enough, or just that it was going to hurt either way.

"Someone should call the police," Rufus said, looking over at the other students. "Let them know Miss J's hurt."

"T-Turn off the lights," she said. "And s-stay quiet, guys."

Freed clutched the rollbook to his chest while silently looking at his students as they cowered in the corner. They'd had just enough time to move his bookcase to create a more secure barrier around his desk before hearing shots on the third floor.

"Call your parents," Freed said softly. "Let them know you're safe in room 336 right now. Just stay quiet." It sounded as though the shooter was gone, that whoever it was had finally moved on, but he didn't want to take any chances. They wouldn't be safe until the police arrived and handled the situation. And they couldn't assume that it was alright to leave until he heard from the office, or the police showed up to unlock the door. Even though he'd heard several students running down the hall a few minutes earlier, he couldn't just believe that it was alright to leave the classroom.

He wanted more than anything to check in with Lucy, but he had to take care of his students. And he knew that she had the same responsibility. She was just one floor below him, so close and yet so, so far away. He had to believe that she was just fine in her own classroom, and that she was taking care of her students. Their first priority had to be the students' safety.

"I want everyone to listen," he finally said after several minutes of listening to his students calling or texting their families. "The office should make an announcement when it's safe to evacuate. When I unlock the door, I want you all to pair up and go left out of the room."

They all nodded, listening intently.

"Our spot is on the track field, unless directed elsewhere by police. Do you understand?" His students nodded again. "I need you to stay together, move quickly and quietly, and focus only on getting to the track when it's time. No matter what you see outside of this room, focus on getting to the track quickly, and safely. Once you are safely outside, do not go anywhere until you see me. I have to do a headcount to make sure we're all together."

His grip tightened on his rollbook as he looked at the terrified faces of his students. They weren't supposed to look like this. They weren't supposed to be in tears while at school. They weren't supposed to be scared while with him.

"I promise you, we'll get through this."

His attention shifted to Mickey when she sniffled and roughly wiped her eyes. "M-Mr. Justine, Ch-Chico's not breathing… She's…"

Before Freed could pull her away from her friend's lifeless body, Ryos wrapped an arm around Mickey and pulled her into his side. Her head dropped to his chest while she cried."It's okay," Ryos said, drawing several people's attention. He wasn't one for speaking during class. Ever. "They'll tell us it's safe to leave soon. Just don't look, Mickey."

Freed let out a shaky breath and focused on the crimson color of Ryos' eyes when they lifted to look at him, instead of the pooling blood on the floor only a few short feet away.

Lucy trembled as her nerves lit up with a fresh wave of pain. Someone went running down the hall, their heavy boots echoing in the silence. She wanted to believe it was the police, coming to rescue them, but then there were more shots being fired. And then they were gone.

"Someone grab my rollbook," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "R-Rufus?" He was closest to where she'd dropped it when Sting had showed up. She knew that she could trust him to keep a good hold on it. And if she wasn't able to get out to their evacuation spot, then he could direct the others there and keep them organized. "Wh-When they let us go, unlock the door… P-Pair up and stay together, okay? W-We have to go out to the t-track and-"

"Miss J, it's alright," Rufus said gently. "We'll follow the class next door, and I'll tell the teacher what happened."

Sting sniffled and wiped at the tears in his eyes, uncaring of how her blood had stained his hands and smeared over his cheek. He'd been so strong, so sure of himself while putting pressure on her wounds. It hurt like a son of a bitch, though. "Don't cry, Sting." Lucy fumbled for his hand, and held tightly to it. "We're gonna be okay."

He shook his head and held her hand just as tightly. "Don't say that yet," he whispered back. He flinched when he heard screaming coming from the floor below them. But suddenly, his bright blue eyes went wide, and he looked around the room. "Minerva, do you have tampons?"

"Ugh, what?"

"Tampons," he said quickly. "Do you have some?" Lucy didn't turn to look at her, and instead just listened as Minerva shuffled through her backpack. Sting reached forward and took two tampons from Minerva, then sat back and looked into Lucy's eyes with a tremulous smile. "My dad told me about this thing they did in the military…"

She was speechless as he removed his blood-soaked jacket from her shoulder and laid it over her chest. "Wh-What…" Her eyes widened in shock when he reached under the jacket and carefully unbuttoned her blouse, then pulled the sticky fabric away from her shoulder.

It was obvious that he was on the verge of getting sick when he looked down at her shoulder. Lucy didn't even want to know how bad it was right then. Instead, she just watched while he ripped open the packaging of one tampon, pulled gently on the string, and pressed it to her shoulder. He paused though, looking back into her eyes. "Bite this…"

Her lips parted for him to push the sleeve of his jacket into her mouth, and she was more than thankful for it once he dug the plastic applicator into her shoulder and pressed down on the plunger, forcing the little bit of cotton into her wound.

"Dad said they carried tampons in case they got shot, so they could stop the bleeding," Sting said. He ripped open the second tampon and quickly pushed it into another wound. Had she been shot twice, then? It didn't really matter because Lucy was too busy fighting back a scream and trying her damnedest not to move. It hurt more than before, so much that she wasn't sure if she'd still be conscious by the time help arrived. "I need two more," he said while his fingers slipped under her slick, bloody shoulder.

She tried to help though when he rolled her onto her side. It wasn't much, but at least she tried. As he treated what she was sure were exit wounds on the back of her shoulder, she looked over to see Milliana with her phone up to her ear, staring at her with horror etched across her features.

"We're at Magnolia High," Milliana said quickly. "In room 257. The guy's shooting downstairs. Our teacher was shot." She paused, listening to the 9-1-1 operator. "Okay, yeah… Sting just shoved tampons in Miss J's shoulder…" She looked at Lucy. "Her right shoulder… She's in a lot of pain though… Okay… Okay, yeah…" She pulled the phone away from her mouth just a little. "Miss J, they said the cops are already here. Th-They'll come unlock the door when it's safe."

Lucy nodded, giving her students a pained smile just before Sting rolled her onto her back again and started carefully buttoning up her blouse.

"That should slow the bleeding down," Sting said. He removed the sleeve from her mouth, then held her hand once more, unaware of Meredy recording in the background and posting it on social media, tagging Sting in the video, and writing that he saved their teacher's life.

The door unlocked and two officers wearing vests rushed into the room with their guns drawn, sweeping across the wrecked classroom in a wide berth. They stopped and looked down at the cowering students whose hands were raised with their fingers spread, just as Freed had told them to do.

"Take the hall outside," one officer said. "Any injured?"

Freed stood and shook his head, then gestured to Chico while his students jumped up and rushed out in pairs. "Chico was hit through the window," he said. They nodded and waited for the students to finish filing out, and Freed finally stepped out into the hallway once he was sure none of his students were straggling behind. It took every bit of his willpower to ignore the teen bodies lying in the hall, crumpled against lockers and even on the stairs as he made his way outside.

What should have been a crisp fall air was heavy, oppressive, and filled his lungs with the scent of burning gunpowder and coppery blood. But he couldn't dawdle, and he couldn't let his students down, so he made his way down the stairs and out to the track field behind the school where his students had already collapsed into sobbing heaps on the grass. He didn't call their names. He didn't try to stop them from holding onto one another. He simply opened his rollbook and got the headcount like he was supposed to. When he noticed a few new faces in the crowd, Freed took down their names and where they belonged, writing them down with his own class.

His gaze traveled across the field, to the other milling groups of students and teachers who held onto one another for support now that they were free from the school. Finally, he withdrew his cellphone and texted Lucy. She'd been only one floor below him, and they'd most likely already evacuated her classroom.

"On track with class. Safe and sound."

An administrator walked by and paused when he saw Freed standing there. "Take your kids to the buses," he said, pointing across the field to the long line of twenty yellow school buses. "They're being taken to a hotel, and their parents can sign them out there."

"My wife-"

"You'll need to ride along, Freed," he said, and Freed was sure he saw some flash of emotion in his narrowed crimson eyes.

"Bickslow-"

"I haven't seen her yet, but I'll tell her you're alright if I do. Get your students on the bus, stay with them. We'll have taxis available later on to get you guys back here for your cars."

Freed nodded as Bickslow walked off to relay the message to the other teachers present. He turned back toward his class, frowning when he saw Rufus Lore from his second period History class leading a group to another part of the track. Where was their teacher?

Another teacher came up behind Rufus, placing a hand on his shoulder while he handed over a rollbook with bloody handprints on it. Something had happened to his teacher, then.

Freed turned back to his own students, glancing at his phone one more time. She hadn't texted back yet. He was left standing on the track, surrounded by terrified teenagers, waiting for her response that never came.

Five months later

It was a Monday again. The first Monday where everyone returned to a newly rebuilt school. Not everything had needed to be replaced, but Lucy's classroom had been one of the many that had needed some serious fixing up. It took her ten minutes the day before just to put her left hand on the brand new doorknob. She was sure the only reason she'd been able to walk into her class that morning was because Freed had been with her.

He'd been adamant about carrying her bag though, since she was still in a sling.

Each period started off the same. She welcomed her class back, reminded them that there were counselors available, and if they needed a pass down to the office at any time to speak with someone, she was happy to help. The atmosphere was subdued though. The halls no longer hummed with energy and excitement. No one slammed their lockers shut now, the sound far too similar to those shots that still echoed in their ears months later.

The class she dreaded the most, however, was coming up. The students she'd been with when things went south in October.

She had to step away to the teacher's lounge for a minute when the bell rang to dismiss third period. She just needed a little more time to collect herself before having to face them again. It wasn't that she was afraid of facing them. And it wasn't that she blamed any of her students for her getting hurt. Not even Sting.

But these were the ones who'd been with her, who had needed her more than anything. Most days, she felt as though she'd failed them. If it hadn't been for her therapist helping her work through everything for the past four months, Lucy seriously doubted that she would have been willing to return to work at all.

As her doctor had pointed out, though, her students needed her just as much. Even then. If they could see her, if they could know that she was healing just as they were, then maybe it would help them realize that it was possible to move on. She had physical scars, yes, but the ones that weren't visible were so much harder to deal with. So she had to be strong, and she wanted to be. This was just as much for her as it was for them. The first three periods had been difficult - mostly because she was right-handed, and couldn't lift her right arm all that well just yet - but this one was her real test.

She could do this though. Lucy took a deep breath and left the lounge just as the recorded train whistle sounded to let students know they had one minute left to get to class on time. By the time she reached room 257, the bell had rung. There were no students in the hall. No one left behind, dragging their feet.

She wondered how long that would last. How long would these kids be afraid of being left alone with no one around to protect them?

With a heavy sigh, she forced a smile onto her face and slowly pulled the door open. Half of the seats were filled, and her students were silent.

"Good morning, everyone," Lucy said while walking to the front of the room. She turned and looked at each and every one of them, memorizing their faces now that they weren't so scared and confused. For months, all she'd been able to think about was how scared they'd all looked. How much she'd wanted to protect them from everything happening outside these four walls. "I want to take a minute to welcome you all back."

"How's your shoulder, Miss J?" Meredy asked.

"Healing," she said. "I've already started physical therapy."

"Was it bad?"

"Bad enough to need surgery," she said. "But that's enough about that." Her gaze travelled across the class to the back corner. She'd expected to find Sting's seat empty. It always was. She'd just hoped more than anything that he would have come to class so she could remind herself that he was alright. "I want to remind you all that if you need to see a counselor, just ask for a pass to the office. And if you need to talk to me, I'll be available during first lunch for the rest of the year."

The administration had gotten rid of her lunch monitoring duty when they realized she was injured so badly. It wasn't like she couldn't watch over the kids, but they'd said that it would be better to not put so much stress on her at once.

"I know it's been a while since our last lesson," she said, "So we can spend today going over what we remember. This week will be a review week for you guys."

So, she carried on with her lesson plan. It was a chore to remove the cap from her marker, and when she wrote on the board, it was barely legible. She wasn't left-handed, but this would just have to suffice. Hopefully, they were listening to what she was saying instead of trying to rely on the chicken scratch and wonky, wobbly lines on the board.

Sting raised his hand, drawing her attention to his new seat in the front row. "Miss J?" he said softly.

"Yes, Sting?"

He frowned down at his desk, not looking at her for several long moments. The class was silent as he stood and walked up to her. "Can I help?" he asked. She could nearly feel how he forced himself to look her in the eye. "I-I'll write on the board for you, since… since you're hurt."

She smiled at him, the first genuine smile she'd been able to muster since returning to work, and handed him the marker. "Thank you, Sting," she whispered. "That would be wonderful."

She turned back to look at the class, and tears gathered in her eyes when she found them all smiling at her.

Meredy was the next to raise her hand. "You said that we had an essay to write," she said. "We all picked our books to write a report on."

"That's right, Meredy," Lucy said. She heard Sting write something on the board behind her. The hour continued on in the same fashion, with her students talking about what they remembered from before the incident.

As the class continued, she realized that even though they were all still healing, and the pain was still raw in each of them, things would improve. There wasn't much time left in the school year, but she would be there for her students, helping them learn and deal with what they'd gone through as best as she could.

When the class ended and she watched her students pack their belongings and file out of the room, Lucy knew that things would be alright one day.

"Miss J?"

She turned to see Sting had lingered at his desk, and smiled at him. "Thank you for helping me today, Sting."

"It's the least I could do," he said. "I just… I wanted to say thank you… for saving me."

She shook her head and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to thank me, Sting. But thank you for your quick thinking. The doctor said it probably saved my life."

His cheeks flushed a bright pink and he lowered his head bashfully. "I guess we saved each other then," he said.

"I guess we did," she said. Lucy had no illusions about forgetting what had happened. It would always be with her, a part of her that she was sure would be harder to deal with some days than others. Maybe not yet, but one day... She had hope that one day, they would all heal.

.The End.