Santana sat silently on the stage, crying. Finn's letterman jacket was clutched to her chest, bringing her the only comfort she had felt in the last two weeks. She was ready to end it all. Finn had been a good man. Not a hero, not some world leader. He was straightforward, honest, and good. That was all there is to it. He had been the leader of Glee club; he had been the person who have Santana any confidence she ever possessed. And she, the Hispanic firecracker, had been his first. She had never apologized for stealing his first time like that; she knew she would do it much, much later in life when Finn had children with Berry and she was married legally. Santana rose stiffly from the stage, sniffling. She walked through the hallways to the nurses. She told Nurse Connie she was simply going to take a nap; how wrong she was. As soon as Connie turned away, Santana had her hands on the nearest pill bottles she could find. She swallowed them all as they lay in a neat little line on her tongue. She began to laugh; the pills, uniform as soldiers, had marched down her throat. Soldiers. Like Finn. Santana could see him, in her mind. She could feel his touch, hear his hauntingly beautiful voice. All laughter stopped and the tears came again, ending only with her unconsciousness. 'Santana, santana!' someone yelled from far away. She moaned; Santana knew she was no longer resting comfortably on the cot. She shivered, her dress having rode up, and her legs touching something cold. She felt her body being dragged to something, then perched on it. 'Stop it, quit it,' she slurred. 'Oh my god,' muttered a man. Santana was lifted onto something, then she was moving very quickly and she wanted back on her cot. She closed her eyes; she didn't want to feel the wind anymore.