Author's Note: I was going to post this yesterday, but I figured Mondays are depressing enough. I want to say thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed the story. I'm humbled by the support and trust y'all seem to have in me tackling this subject. So, thanks.


Stage 1: Denial

The days following that afternoon were a blur. Rachel's fathers had arranged plane tickets for all three roommates - and a private car to pick them up at the loft. Each was staying with family for as much of the adults' comfort as their own. Lima was a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone. By the time Rachel, Kurt and Santana had arrived back in town, everyone knew all the details of Finn's sudden and tragic death - everyone except them, that is, as they'd avoided the details through their traveling. It was the kind of thing that would stir emotions in even the most stone-hearted, but for it to happen in a relatively tight-knit community made it seem worse.

The funeral was the worst kind of reunion, and certainly not the way any of them wanted to begin their summer vacations. They'd all tried to catch up on each other's lives - despite attempts to stay in touch, no one really did; not with everyone, at least - but people were either too worked up to talk about it or they'd find a glimpse of happiness in a story and then feel terrible. Everyone had their own way of dealing with grief. Rachel knew the stages, and it wasn't too hard to see (nor was it hard to understand) that everyone was firmly planted in the denial stage. They'd all gathered in the choir room as some sort of tribute to the friend they'd lost, everyone sharing memories and then pausing after each one as if they'd all expected Finn to just walk right into the room - falling over himself even before a dance number or just taking his spot at the drumset.

The memories were welcome, giving them all a chance to smile in what was probably the first time in days, but they were also too much at the same time. Once she woke from her fainting spell, Rachel had remained relatively strong. She wasn't made of stone, but she'd tried to push aside her own needs (read: feelings) and tend to Kurt or help Mr. Schuester arrange the choir-room memorial or be the shoulder for someone else (Quinn was absolutely heartbroken). Deep down she'd considered whether she was doing it just to spite everyone else, who all expected her to have some quintessential breakdown. She didn't want his death to be about her reaction to it, though, and she could feel her resolve start to break when Sam started telling everyone the story about last year's Christmas.

As soon as she exited the building, she drew in a long, heavy breath. The summer air in Ohio was light, much more so than the thick humidity that was starting to overtake New York. It felt nice, and her feet moved her deeper outside until she was crossing the football field. Her eyes landed on Noah when she looked up to choose a spot on the bleachers; she'd noticed him at the funeral, and he looked much the same as he did then. Completely together and yet crushed at the exact same time. For whatever reason, she'd drawn strength from his non-reaction then, maybe just because she'd admired how well he was able to pull off the same look she was going for.

"How are you, Noah?" She asked softly, her voice hoarse. "Really?"

He scoffed, glaring at her from the corner of his eye. "Really? I'dda thought you of all people would know better than to ask that shitty question."

She frowned, but her head bobbed in understanding. She must have heard it a least a hundred times today, half of those coming from her fathers. But she tried not to let it bother her; it was hard to know what to say to someone during times like these. Still, she despised the question, if only because the answer was always a lie. She couldn't very well tell people that she felt numb. They wouldn't understand. They expected tears. They expected dramatics. But she was feeling a million and one different emotions and, somehow, they all seemed to cancel each other out until she was left with a subdued humming. It kept her awake, but unfocused. She wasn't happy, but she couldn't cry.

She felt hollow.

"I was just with him," he said suddenly, the bewilderment in his tone only masked by the obvious pain he was feeling. "I just talked to him."

Rachel listened, trying not to let her mind wander too much. She couldn't help but think back to her and Finn's own last conversation, though. It had sadly been a while ago, closer to when he'd first started college in the spring. They hadn't said anything particularly important, but everything seemed more significant now. Or maybe it was what they hadn't said that seemed vital now. Like, she should have told him she'd loved him, even if it was meant in a purely platonic way - and Rachel still wasn't sure it was, but she couldn't allow herself to have those thoughts now. She should have told him to be careful. She should have … done something.

"He was cool. Said he was cool." Noah shook his head. "I had to leave campus or whatever, but we still hung out. Talked n' shit."

Rachel nodded like she completely understood, though she only had a cursory idea of what he must be thinking. After all, she knew about how Noah had been staying in the dorms with Finn at the very beginning. And she'd be amused to hear that Noah had been the one to try to get Finn back on track. But after that, Rachel was as much in the dark as Noah clearly had been left in. No one had any idea Finn hadn't lived up to his end of the deal. No one knew that the end-of-the-year party would be his last.

"I just thought he was busy. Exams and shit. Plus he was still workin' and whatever."

Noah sighed heavily, and she couldn't help the way her hand reached out and touched his shoulder. It was a pitiful attempt to console him, but even through the fog of her own sadness she knew he wouldn't accept anything more. If it weren't for the fact that they were all alone in the middle of an empty stadium and she hadn't known him since even before either of them knew Finn, she was sure Noah wouldn't have said more than the biting response to her cliche question before making up some excuse to leave. He stayed, though, not moving from her light touch but still keeping his distance by not returning the gesture.

"He just … he can't be dead."

"I know," she agreed faintly, wishing it were true. But even though she could recognize the denial and knew it was the natural first step, she also knew it was the shortest. Because no matter how hard they all tried to believe it was all a dream, they had to accept it. "But he is."