A/N: Just a quick drabble that popped in my head, nothing special. I was going to request this as a prompt actually, but I figured, eh, why not just write it myself?
Oh, and I'm not sure if this is happening to the rest of you but it seems like every time I type in "Mr. Schue" in the original document, it disappears here.
Artie can't believe in God. He's tried, he really has, but he just can't. He can't bring himself to believe that someone would take away his legs. Before the accident he used to go to the same church as the Fabrays, used to attend the community barbecues and the many get-togethers it sponsored.
Before the accident, Artie used to be Christian.
He used to be a lot of things.
He was eight when he became confused. It was a little weird actually, seeing his family gain faith as his drained away. They were so happy he was alive, so relieved he was okay. "Thank God" they whispered, when he first woke up. He was their miracle.
He didn't feel like a miracle.
And he wasn't okay.
He tried to think positively, tried to be relieved that he was alive, but he was eight, he didn't understand - couldn't understand. He was angry, and he didn't want to be, but he was. He was angry at himself, he was angry at his mom, he was angry at the guy who hit him, the doctors that couldn't save him, and he was angry at God. And if he really stops to think about it, there's a small part, lodged right in the back of his mind, that's still just as angry as he was all those years ago.
And he can't do anything about it.
He can't change how he feels.
No matter how much he wants to.
He was nine when he lost faith. He was out of the hospital and he was in the chair. His family remained as religious as ever. Everyone welcomed him back with open arms and sad faces, but there was something missing. It didn't feel like it did before, nothing felt like it did before. And no one looked at him the same. There was no big event that did it, no huge blow out, there wasn't even a brief discussion about it with his family. It was just something that slipped away as the months went by.
And Artie became distressed.
Because God had always been something that was just there. He was only nine, it wasn't like he really understood the complexity that was religion, and then just like that it was gone. He felt empty, like he wasn't sure what it is he was supposed to do.
And faith wasn't the only thing Artie lost.
When he started to look around and notice just how much went away, he realized that the feelings in his legs weren't the only things that disappeared. He felt like he had nothing left, and he was angry all over again. His old friends didn't know how to respond, and eventually they just stopped trying all together, and Artie became the faithless, friendless, kid in a wheelchair who was barely strong enough to lift himself onto bed.
And it sucked.
Artie stopped going to church, choosing instread to spend his Sundays in the library. His first few visits involved him and several books on religion. He searched for something that fit, for something that made sense. Artie searched for something to believe in. The books he read only confused him more. Most of them were filled with words he didn't know, and concepts he didn't understand. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time before he abandoned his quest, and the young Artie found himself rolling into the children's section of the library instead.
He didn't realize it then, but faith wasn't something you learned in books.
His parents were sad but supportive. They didn't want to push him, didn't want to trigger a bad reaction. He was still struggling to accept his condition, and he was young. They didn't know what to do, so they did what they always do, they prayed for him.
Their prayers were never answered.
They enroll him in music lessons and Artie stops thinking about God. He dedicates his life to music, abandoning his quest for faith to his guitar. In many ways music became his religion. He played and played until his fingers burned, and then he played some more. His therapist said it was a good thing, and his teacher, who he liked more anyway, told him that music could heal the soul.
Artie figures that that was better than not healing anything at all.
He joined glee in his sophomore year, and he believed in that. He believed in the five soon-to-be twelve members, he believed in Mr. Schue, and he believed in the music that they sang. Even through all the crap they've endured, with babygate, with Miss Slyvester's meddling, with his own personal problems with Tina, they win Sectionals, and he's never felt more alive.
They don't win Regionals, and with the way everything works out he's kind of glad they didn't, because he's looking at them now, and they're looking at him. And he's told them everything, and he realizes that if he hadn't been close to losing this, he would never have known how much they meant to him.
He wouldn't have told them anything.
They look at him, and they're not sad. Well, they are, but it isn't the same kind sadness everyone else looks at him with. Or maybe it is, and he's just biased, no matter, they accept him, and he accepts them. They all come from different backgrounds, they all believe in different things, but they all believe in each other. They don't have all the answers, they barely have any answers, but they've got a whole lot of heart and that's enough for him.
Artie might not believe in god, but he's glad he believes in this.