Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or any of the songs found here.

I'm not usually one for songfics, and I wouldn't consider this one, really. But there are songs in it given the fact that it's Glee. Also, this is my first attempt at Glee fic, so be gentle, please? I'm still getting used to the characters.

Feedback much appreciated! More to come. This will be at most a 3-part story.

She'd given up the chance at a solo, and for the first time in her life, Rachel Berry didn't care.

She didn't feel like singing.

A few days ago, that feeling would've worried her. It'd have been the end of the world. She'd have thrown herself into a ballad (one of those old school Broadway songs that she never had a chance to perform but couldn't help perfecting her rendition just in case an audition fell in her lap) and forced herself through the feeling. Feelings came and went, but her goal never wavered. She'd known what she'd wanted in life since she was four years old and got to sing a solo in front of her pre-school class to the praise of her teachers.

Now they'd won sectionals (a tie still counted as a win, though the vindictive part of her wanted to stick her tongue out at Mr. Schu and say I-told-you-so. If there was anyone who knew how to compete, it was Rachel Berry). A win, the chance to go to Regionals, the offer of a solo—none of it mattered anymore.

For the first time in her life, she wondered if it was worth it. Her life to this point had been dedicated to an idealized future of stardom, bright lights, and applause. All the taunting, all the teasing, the slushies, the snide remarks, the constant insults. The years of loneliness, of spending her free time in her bedroom singing her heart out all by herself, of watching the people her age grow up and make friends and connections and experience things she could only dream of. Wondering what it would be like to have your phone ringing with the voices of people who want to talk to you and hang out with you and know where you are or what you're up to. Wondering how it felt to go to the movies with a group of friends then go out afterward for coffee (or tea, because she couldn't abide the taste of coffee though she knew most of her peers loved it) and ice cream.

Glee Club was supposed to be her chance. Her shot at fitting in with people who shared her interests and dreams. It had been rocky at first, so few of them and then the cheerleaders and jocks joined up and it seemed like they would take Glee away from her too. Then the miraculous happened. They got along; not all the time, and no one really contacted her outside of rehearsal, but they talked to her. They included her. It may have only been for her talent, but she was appreciated.

She'd had boyfriends. Three of them, and three of the hottest guys in school, all interested in her, Rachel Berry man-hands, when no boy had ever spared her a second glance (Jacob ben Israel didn't count. He creeped her out, and half of her felt bad because it was the same half that wondered whether that was how the rest of the world perceived her).

They'd come together at Regionals and despite the loss, the summer had been blissful. She hadn't had to think about being lonely because she spent so much time with Finn (and when she wasn't with Finn, she was singing and dancing which had gotten so familiar it hardly seemed lonely anymore). She'd deluded herself into thinking her life would change, that it had finally taken a turn for the better. She was on her way up, not stuck forever in the sub-basement of the social hierarchy.

Except she wasn't. A delusion was all it had ever been, and it was gone now.

We all just pretend to like you.

She could still hear Santana's voice in her head and the deafening silence from the boy beside her still caused her heart to ache. He hadn't said anything, he hadn't defended her just as he'd let nasty comments and glares slid on every other occasion. Didn't he care how much they hurt? Didn't he know? Did he agree or did he stay quiet because he assumed she could take care of herself?

But he did agree, didn't he?

Well, Santana has a point. Just tryin' to be honest. He'd laughed at her when Santana called her a dwarf and insulted her clothes. He'd complained when she changed her look to be more attractive, and she'd changed for him because she wanted him to be happy.

He didn't understand. None of them did, except maybe Kurt, and he was gone now. Singing was the only thing she'd ever been good at. People listened when she sang, they paid attention. When she was singing, people knew she existed and they may not like her, but they liked her singing. And that was something, wasn't it? She was useful, Glee club needed her. That was what she comforted herself with at night when she couldn't sleep and the thoughts of what it might be like to be someone else—Quinn, maybe, or Mercedes, or even (God help her) Santana—and have friends. To have a place to belong. To be someone people liked.

They may not like her, but they needed her. And it was better than nothing at all.

But at Sectionals, they'd won with her as little more than a background singer. A back-up to Quinn and Santana and Sam and Brittany. What if they realized they didn't need her anymore? If they could win without her, why keep her around? Why bother with an obnoxious man-handed dwarf with animals on her sweaters?

She spent years ignoring their opinions because they were jealous, right? She was talented. She had an amazing voice, and they envied that which made them mean.

Only, why be jealous of her? Since Glee Club started, they'd all grown so much into their voices, developed skills and training they'd lacked before. They had friends, a surrogate family, inside jokes, talent, and (now with Sectionals) success.

Why be jealous of her?

So if they weren't jealous, why say all the horrible things they did? If a reasonable, good man like Mr. Schuester—someone she respected— thought she was so horrible then maybe, maybe it was true. Maybe she was horrible. And even though she could sing, so could the rest of them. If she wasn't the best, and she wasn't the star, what good was she? Why would any of them even pretend to be her friend anymore?

Our family's back in a happy place.

Sure, Mr. Schu. As long as she didn't count as part of the family. And to be honest, she probably never had.

They'd finished their run-thru for the afternoon, she'd cleaned out her locker, and found herself sitting in her car by the side of the road just outside the city limits. A stuffed bag sat on the passenger seat, one she hadn't even remembered packing except there it was, and who else could've put it there? She didn't know what she planned to do, or why she'd driven out here, but she'd had to get out of town, even for a little while. The memory of Finn and Santana twirling around during rehearsal today, the knowledge that no one bothered to ask her what was wrong when she'd done nothing to hid her sorrow, the humiliation of having no one defend her (except Puck, which barely registered because it wasn't Finn) from Santana.

Maybe if she pretended the last year and a half hadn't happened, she'd go back to the way she was. Rachel Berry, future star, confident in herself and her goals. Rachel Berry who didn't need anyone other than her dads, because she liked herself and she was fine keeping her own company.

The problem with social interaction is that it's hard to let go once you've tasted it.

Was she ever going to fit in?

What if she got to Broadway and found out it was exactly like high school, where she was the bottom rung of the social latter, stepped on no matter how much she tried to fight back? What if—and here her breath got stuck in the back of her throat—what if she failed? She'd failed to hold on to the boy she loved for more than a few months, and she'd been so sure they could make it. So determined to see it through.

It appeared romantic relationships, like friendships, was something else at which she didn't excel.

But no matter. The fact that all this mess had made her resort to a pity-party pissed her off. She didn't want pity; not from anyone, and certainly not from herself.

Glee used to be the one part of her day where she didn't feel completely miserable, where she could be herself because even if she was obnoxious, they needed her. They rubbed her faults in her face all the time—dwarfish, big nose, selfish, spoiled, diva, arrogant, fashion-challenged, sad clown hooker. She remembered every single word like they were glued to her ear. They were all better dressed, better friends, better people.

Was it so wrong to point out the one thing she was better at?

If she wasn't the best at singing, then she really didn't matter. She wasn't the prettiest (Quinn), or the hottest (Santana), or the nicest (Finn or Tina or Artie or anyone but her), or the smartest. She wasn't even the most different (Kurt). If she hadn't the best voice, then she wasn't really special at all, was she? She was just a loser who couldn't sing and dressed like a cross between a child and a grandma.

Most of her wished she could take back her mistake with Puck. The rest felt vindicated. Finn was hurt—he really had cared about her. And if he felt even a fraction of what she did when watching him check out Santana in the hallway, then she had succeeded. It didn't make her a very good person, but at least she wasn't the only one hurting. Yes, she chose Puck, of all people, to hurt him the most. But didn't he know why it made a difference who he'd been with? If it had been someone else, anyone else, it wouldn't have hurt so bad.

But Santana had made her life a living hell since they'd met, and the cheerleader took pleasure in rubbing her face in whatever misfortunes befell her. The worst of her tormentors, and one of three girls Finn had left her for once already (she forgave him for Quinn, forgave him for the Santana-Brittany double date, how much more was she expected to bend before she snapped?) Why couldn't Finn have, at least once, tried to apologize for keeping it a secret? Tried to defend her from Santana's taunting? Tried to reassure her that it had meant nothing, that she, Rachel, was the one he cared about.

Rubbing her hands against her face, heedless of the make-up that had long-since been smeared to nothingness, she choked on her own sobs rather than let them out anymore.

She didn't know what to do. There was no one for her to turn to, no friend to comfort her and not even an ally to hear her out. Why was she the only one in Glee whose sins were unforgivable? Finn had forgiven his best friend for sleeping with his girlfriend, forgiven Quinn for lying about the baby and taking advantage of his kindness; Santana had forgiven Quinn for stealing back her role as head cheerleader; Quinn had forgiven Santana for being a bitch and stabbing her in the back, she'd forgiven Puck for getting her pregnant; Artie had forgiven Tina for breaking up with him for Mike; Kurt had forgiven Mercedes for busting out his car windows!

If nothing changed, she couldn't do Glee anymore. The thought nearly brought forth another round of sobs, but she clenched her eyes shut until the burn of tears passed. She was drowning in all of the drama Glee brought, and no one tried to help. No one even noticed. She'd lost her one true connection to that world, and spending all her time in the same room as Finn and Santana—the thought made her sick. She might not have a gag reflex, but that certainly turned her stomach enough to make her nauseous.

She'd swallowed her pride, apologized, conceded roles, extended a friendly hand to her fellow Glee Clubbers so many times. Maybe she wasn't the most gracious at it, but she did it. That had to count for something. Right?

When was it someone else's turn to do the same for her?

She went home when it got dark out, greeting her fathers with a kiss on the cheek and a smile she'd perfected over hundreds of hours of practicing. After dinner, she brushed her teeth and set up her camera to make another video for MySpace. She'd been lax in updating it recently, but no more. It was something else to focus on, at least.

She'd been reciting the song lyrics in her head all evening. And even if she didn't feel like singing, she knew she could nail it. Jane Eyre had never been a musical she liked, but the song suited her mood perfectly.

What a fool I have been to wonder if he might have a care for me

How insane a thought!

That you could be to him dear in any way

That a more absurd young girl has lived I doubt that you could say

Gifted with the power, your logic's failing by the hour

and to no avail!

Poor blind puppy,

Had to go on dreaming, had to try to give your life some meaning

Still you failed, Jane

How dare you think there's a place in his heart for you?

I'm painting my portrait, an absolute likeness

Faithful to illustrate every fine line

I'm mastering detail, highlighting defects

Making a permanent mirror to see

all of the faults that lie hidden in me

I'm painting my portrait

It's plain and uneven

Reminding me what I am, what I must be

I'm leaving out nothing no matter how painful

All of my flaws on display to be seen

Now my painting is done

I'll start another

This one of her

And when I close my eyes, I clearly see her face

Capture her grace and poise, fight back the tears

And I'm painting her portrait, an absolute likeness

The loveliest face, the most delicate skin

A tribute to beauty, the perfect Miss Ingram

Omit neither diamond ring, nor golden rose

Make her a lady of rank, glistening satin

Oh how she glows!

Mix in your finest hints, paint her dramatically

with all your sweetest hues, sit here fanatically

painting our portraits

This one will live all of her life as a governess

Just a lonely governess

This one will always be happy and marry a man who will carry her away!

And should you fancy that he really loves you

Just compare the pictures, two completely different mixtures

You should be ashamed, Jane!

Why would he trade his silver for some unpolished metal?

Why would he settle for a slave when he can have a queen?

Jane it's foreseen, Jane!

Don't even dare anymore to compare!

Say a prayer for your sorry soul, Jaaane!

She wiped the tears away and didn't bother uploading it before going to bed. No one watched them, anyway. And those who did left cruel messages about her parentage and need for sterilization.

There was no point in broadcasting her pain for all of them to see and ridicule. She'd find a happier song tomorrow.

The next day passed much the same. Exercise, class, lunch alone in the Glee room, class, Glee rehearsal, then home to occupy herself. Then the next week passed, then a month. It was the last day of school before Christmas break, and nothing had changed. No one in Glee seemed to notice her silence at rehearsal, or if they did, they were only glad of it and not worried for its cause.

(When she failed to add her two cents on song selection for the third week in a row, Mr. Schu had pulled her aside.

"Everything alright, Rachel? I've noticed you haven't been as engaged lately." Mr. Schu had asked, his patented worried-about-one-of-his-students look on his face. He himself had been somewhat subdued since the news of Ms. Pillsbury's marriage but she hadn't pointed that out.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Schu," she'd answered, her bright smile as bright as ever. "I'm just trying to be more of a team player."

If he'd caught the sarcasm in her tone, he hadn't said anything.

No one else mentioned anything. Not even Finn.)

"Rachel Berry to Ms. Pillsbury's office, please. Rachel Berry to Ms. Pillsbury." The announcement blared over the speakers during third period, bringing the eye of every student in the class to her in her seat.

Santana whispered from two rows over, "Aw, does the counselor have to talk you out of suicide? Don't let her convince you of anything, it's probably the only way you're ever going to get famous."

Three other Cheerios giggled, and Karofsky raised a hand to give Santana a high-five. The teacher tossed them a wary glance, but didn't say anything, only motioned Rachel to take a hall pass and go.

She wasn't going to kill herself. The thought had crossed her mind, along with the imaginings of how everyone in Glee would react. Wouldn't Finn and Mr. Shu and Artie and Tina and Mercedes and Kurt, wouldn't they feel horrible if she did, to know how awful she'd felt and they'd done nothing to help? But she didn't want to die. She wanted to prove them all wrong. She wanted to be better than they were. She would succeed without them, and one day she'd look back at this and smile pityingly at these people who think they're so great.

Ms. Pillsbury—Ms. Pillsbury-Howell—was waiting with her hands clasped on her desktop. The look on her face was barely concealed panic. When Rachel knocked on the door, she leapt from her seat, circled the desk, and opened the door without breaking into her usual soft, wide-eyed smile.

"Come in, Rachel." Her eyes were full of pity. If there was one emotion Rachel couldn't mistake, it was pity. "Please, have a seat."

The bottom fell out of her stomach.

"Just tell me," she said, her voice cracking. Somehow, the thought of harming her voice no longer mattered. Not when she knew what Ms. Pillsbury had to say.

There were only two people in the world about which she'd be notified if something happened. Only her dads.

"Rachel, I think you should sit—"

"Just say it." Her eyes burned. Already she could see the world blurring in her vision, feel the tickle in her nose and the tension in her face. She was going to cry, and if Ms. Pillsbury would only hurry, she could get out of school before the next bell rang and people flooded the hallway to watch her run from the building in tears.

"There's been an accident," Ms. Pillsbury's eyes watered in sympathy, her voice faint. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. Your dads were in an accident. I'm supposed to drive you to the hospital. Is there anyone you want to come with us? A friend? Maybe a teacher?"

Yes. Yes, she wanted to scream. Finn. She wanted Finn to hold her, because he was so good at that. He was such a big presence, so solid and warm and able to wrap her up completely. She could cry into his chest and the sobs wouldn't hurt as much when they spilled out.

"No," she shook her head, tears falling. "No, there's no one. Let's just go."

Ms. Pillsbury looked hesitant, taking a breath to protest.

"Please."

"Alright."

They were out the door and speeding—cautiously, as only Ms. Pillsbury seemed able to do—down the highway before the end of the class period.

There's been an accident. There's been an accident. There's been an accident.

The only words running through her head. She should ask after their condition. She should've let Mr. Schu know she wouldn't be in Spanish today, and that she wasn't going to Glee rehearsal. She should've gone back to her class to get her backpack before she left.

She couldn't do any of it. She sat in the front seat of Ms. Pillsbury's little car, staring ahead at the road, heart pounding in her ears and the sound of the counselor's voice echoing in her head.

There's been an accident.

Will Schuester scrolled through the missed calls on his phone. He leaned against the piano, waiting for the rest of the Glee Club to show up. The cheerleaders sat on the back row, chatting happily with the boys from the football team. Artie, Tina, and Mercedes sat on the front row, gossiping about some development between Kurt and one of the boys from Dalton. Only Rachel was missing, and she was the one he least expected to ever skip practice. One of the English teachers had dropped off her backpack earlier, saying she'd left it in class. It wasn't like her to forget something like that, and he was a little unsettled.

There were two missed calls. One from Emma, and one from Rachel, which put him at ease. Rachel had called, so maybe she was running late or had to leave early today. Putting the phone to his ear, he tilted his head and listened to the recording begin.

You have two new messages. First message:

Emma's voice sounded after the beep. "Hi Will. I really need to talk to you, if you could call me back as soon as you get this. It's really important."

Then Rachel's hoarse whisper: "I won't be at Glee today. Sorry." Briefer than he'd ever heard the girl be.

He frowned.

"Hey, does anyone know what happened to Rachel?" he asked, raising his voice above the din of chatter. "She's not coming to rehearsal today."

"She had some sort of meeting with Ms. Pillsbury," Santana said, crossing her arms. She pursed her lips and smirked, sharing an amused look with Brittany. "She never came back to class. Probably ran home crying like the drama-queen she is."

"Yeah, she got in a fight with Mrs. Emery yesterday for telling the class 'Merry Christmas' but not 'Happy Hanukkah,'" Mercedes said, laughing deep in her throat. "That girl takes things way too seriously."

Some of the kids smirked, or laughed, and Finn raised his hand, asking, "How do you know she's not coming. Did she call you?"

"She left me a message," Mr. Schu answered. He raised his phone and shook it. "I'm gonna make a quick call and then we'll get started, ok?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Schu," Tina said for all of them, grinning.

He waited, but Ms. Pillsbury's phone went to voicemail. The question of whether she was with Karl popped in his head, and he hung up before leaving a message. If she really needed to, she could get ahold of him.

"Alright, so," he said, clapping his hands together to get their attention. "Today I was thinking we could sing some Christmas songs. I know not all of you celebrate Christmas, but it's become a bit secular over the years too. It's a cultural tradition and I thought it'd be a nice break from worrying about Regionals."

The suggestion was met with cheers, and he smiled to himself, glad to have pleased them after the stressful month they'd all had. They really did have an incredible bond. He hoped they realized how lucky they were to be a family, to have each other.

Her daddy was dead and her dad was fighting for his life in a coma.

No matter how many times she tried to make sense of the words, they just didn't sink in. She'd just seen them this morning, and how could they be gone? How could her life have changed so much in only a day? A mere month ago seemed like a dream. Had that even happened at all? On what planet would the quarterback of the football team date her over someone like Santana or Quinn? Maybe it was all a vivid hallucination. That made more sense than reality.

She'd never seen her dad looking so unfamiliar. Laying in the hospital bed with tubes up his nose and an IV in his hand, face and body bandaged, the lines in his face haggard—he looked like a frail old man. Not her strong, protective dad who could fix anything with a hug and a glass of water.

Dragging a chair over to the bed, she plopped down in it, kicked off her shoes, and curled up as tight as she could. One hand reached out to grasp her dad's, the other hugged her legs to her chest. She buried her face in her knees, all the songs she'd ever sung running on a loop through her head, and tried not to scream.

She focused instead on deep breaths, the feel of her dad's hand in hers, the sounds of Ms. Pillsbury talking to the nurse and the—her heart twisted at the word—coroner. An adult was here to help her, at least. A relative stranger, but someone who was experienced with this. Right? Ms. Pillsbury would know what to do. She'd know how to talk to the hospital people, the doctors, how to arrange a—Rachel couldn't even think the word in her head. Not a funeral. It'd be final with a funeral. And her dad would be devastated to miss it.

"Rachel?" Ms. Pillsbury inquired, putting a delicate hand on Rachel's shoulder. It was a point in her favor that she hadn't even put a glove on first. "It's late. You haven't eaten since breakfast. Would you like me to drop you off at a friend's house for the night? I'm sure any of the kids in Glee would be glad to have you over until your dad wakes up. You shouldn't be alone. And you need to eat something."

"I'm staying here with my dad." She didn't lift her head to speak. " I'll eat at the cafeteria. Thanks, though."

"Rachel—"

She jerked her head up, dislodging Ms. Pillsbury's arm from her shoulder. "I'm not leaving him." Tears spilled from her eyes, chin trembling even as she clenched it shut. "He's all I have left."

Ms. Pillsbury fell silent, hands clasped in front of her. After a moment of furrowed brows, she finally whispered, "You still have Glee. And what about Finn? You two seemed to care about each other."

"Finn and I are done," she choked past the lump in her throat that might've been her heart with the way her insides were suddenly churning. "And none of them give a damn about me." She couldn't believe she'd just cursed, but everything in her mouth tasted like ash, even the words, and every time she thought of one of her so-called friends, the memory of their bitten-back smiles at Santana's revelation bubbled up from deep in her chest where a thick, ugly darkness stewed and festered. The nonchalant admission that every single one of them had known about Finn and Santana and had kept it from her.

We all just pretend to like you.

"You can't tell them," she said suddenly, reaching out to grab Ms. Pillsbury's hand with her free one. "Don't tell any of them. I don't want them to know. If you do I'll never forgive you."

As threats went, it wasn't a good one. Not for a school counselor. But the redheads wide-green eyes were solemn as she nodded. If there was anyone (aside from Kurt) who understood what it felt like to be ridiculed and alone, it was Ms. Pillsbury.

"Of course, Rachel. But you let me know if you need anything. And I'll be here every day to check on you and make sure you're eating, and sleeping, and getting showers, and really should let me give you a ride home so you can get some clothes and toiletries."

Rachel shook her head. "Maybe tomorrow. Right now I need to be here."

Kurt Hummel was at Starbucks with Blaine when he found out about the car accident. The gay community in Lima, Ohio was particularly small, so anything that happened traveled quickly. The fact that the two most prominent gay men in town were in a car accident this afternoon, one rumored dead and the other unknown, was the sort of news that rocked through the gay community, leaving it rattled and vaguely suspicious.

Russell Fabray had been the driver to ram into the side of their car at ninety miles an hour. He died on impact, but whether he was sober or not was in question. Still, everyone knew his hatred of gays couldn't be a coincidence.

Only secondarily did it register that these were Rachel's dads. So, ok, he knew her dads were gay. And he knew Berry was her last name. But the guys from school who came up to tell him and Blaine didn't mention Rachel, which wouldn't have made a difference if his new life at Dalton wasn't so displaced from his old one, and they made such a big deal about what a loss it was to the community that he didn't think to connect the names Hiram and Leroy Berry with Rachel. Not at first.

He remembered her smile from the audience during their performance at Sectionals, and knew he had to get to the hospital.

Blaine offered him a ride as soon as he spoke up, and so they sat in silence as the older boy drove them through the streets of Lima. Kurt could tell Blaine wanted to ask him about his sudden need to be at the hospital, but he couldn't explain that no matter what school he went to, McKinley High's Glee Club would always be a special place for him. And Rachel had helped him out, with his solo audition, with the bullying, and with his dad when he had his heart attack.

Kurt didn't even stop to question whether or not the rest of the Glee Club would be present. Of course they would. They'll all rallied around him—as much as it might have annoyed him at times—when he needed them; they were good at that. Though they probably had no idea it was Quinn's father who'd hit the Berrys, and who was just as dead as Leroy. That was not news he wanted responsibility for breaking.

And he thought their road to Regionals last year had been tough. But they'd get through it. Glee Club would be there to help both girls deal with their loss, and even though he was a Warbler now (the Warblers, honestly. And he'd thought New Directions was a bad name), he'd be there too.

So as he walked through the hospital corridors, Blaine holding his trembling hand (he kept picturing his dad hooked up to machines in that bed, still), he couldn't hide the surprise as he got to Hiram Berry's room to find it empty save the small, dark haired girl. She was sitting in a chair at his bedside, bent double with her head resting on the mattress beside her father's unmoving hand.

He expected to see Finn walking up with cups of tea (Rachel hadn't let him drink coffee since they started dating). Instead, he stood there and watched the girl's shoulders shake—silently crying. Ironic that someone so loud in everything else would be so quiet in her sorrow.

"What's she whispering?" Blaine asked, leaning over so Kurt could hear without disturbing the tableau in front of them.

"She's whispering?" He hadn't noticed. But he took a step closer, standing in the doorway of the room, and a vague murmur caught his ear.

It wasn't singing. Rachel was talking, mouthing words on pitch under her breath. Every so often, a word would crack or shatter on her tongue but she kept going. She repeated over and over, "Don't go, please stay. Don't go, please stay. Please, please stay."

Something was very wrong with Glee Club if Rachel was sitting her by herself when her dad was dead and the other in a coma. Something was about to be wrong with Finn if he didn't have a very, very good reason for not being here with her. He was going to find the fist of a pissed off step-brother in his face.

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