I do not own Glee, If or "Breakeven" by the Script which the title of this chapter is for all your lovely reviews, I appreciate it hugely! Hope you like this chapter.

Chapter Four: I'm Still Alive, But I'm Barely Breathing.

It was as sad and tragic as he was sure Rachel would have pictured it in high school. Every expression was solemn at best, and black was everywhere he turned. That's all he could see, and all he could feel at that moment. Could you feel a colour? If you could feel blue, then Sam was sure what he was feeling was pure black. Although he was somewhat numb, simply going through the motions.

Two pristine, gleaming and shining coffins lay at the top of the church, with delicate flowers laying on them. Rachel's were an array of colours, whereas all of Finn's were red. Sam hadn't been able to approach them; he was still pretending they were someone else's. He sure as hell couldn't look at the pictures. He absently felt his fiancé squeeze his arm, but he didn't appreciate the gesture fully as he couldn't escape the feeling that she didn't understand. How could she understand? Bottom line was her best friends hadn't been stolen away from her in one flurry of madness, in one slip of the mind, in one snap judgement.

She couldn't understand.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to shun her attempts at comfort. He needed something to hold onto after all, and she was only trying to help. It was then that he noticed someone approach the podium, and quickly recognised it as Rachel's birth mother, Shelby. He couldn't fathom why she would be reading - she hadn't been involved in her daughters life in the least. It should be a friend up there, but no one seemed to be able to take on that load.

"I let life fly by without getting to know my first daughter, R-Rachel." She stuttered, eyes staring at the ceiling. "But I know what kind of person she is. This poem reminds me of her, and it reflects a lot-a lot…" She gave up then and sighed, "This is 'If' by Rudyard Kipling and it's for Rachel and Finn, two of the kindest people I've ever known.

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;..."

As Sam listened to the first few lines, he felt his body start to shake involuntarily. He couldn't do this and it had been absurd to think he could. His eyes scanned the room for inconspicuous exits, and he felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage suddenly. Spotting a rather hidden escape, he began to rise and realised someone across the room was doing the same.

His eyes widened when he realised it was Quinn, and she met his eyes with hesitance. The shame and guilt in her gaze rebounded on him, and both of them instantly felt embarrassed by their actions. Even though they felt like the world was against them, like the church was about to collapse in on them, like they'd never be able to breathe again, it was their duty to remain there. They at the very least owed that to their friends.

He sat down gingerly, and Dina shot him a quizzical look, "Are you okay?"

He blinked. What kind of question was that? Sam didn't answer, and instead turned towards the front again. He was sitting several rows from the front on the right side, and at the edge of his pew. People he didn't know sat next to Dina, and he liked it that way. He was relieved that there wasn't one, long row filled with those who once starred in New Directions.

Kurt walked towards the mic then, with his head held high and his eyes red and puffy. His skin was as delicate looking as ever - except it now bordered on pale and sickly, rather than porcelain. As Kurt cleared his throat and glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him, Sam closed his eyes. This one was going to hurt.

He began to count the shoes lined up along the pew instead. Individually at first, and then he'd move onto pairs. It was a fantastic distraction and kept his emotions in check like he had wanted.

"I'm Kurt Hummel. Many of you won't know me, but I'm Finn's step-brother. Rachel was one of my good friends in our youth, and she still is someone I'd consider a close friend.

"Th-The two of them have been constant fixtures in my life since we joined our high school Glee club back in the day. In hindsight, you know, it's rather funny because I had the biggest crush on Finn. And there were so many reasons why, really. He was a hero to all those around him - he was the friendly giant, so to speak. He joined the outcasts as well as playing with the most popular of the school.. And he took it in his stride. Yes, he struggled, we all do in school, but Finn - he al-always managed to hold it together and in that, hold everyone else together too. We may not have realised it until our first real competition and he quit, but Finn was in many ways the glue that held us together. That's the person he is; someone who held up the spirits of others. Caring, good-spirited and..and one of my best friends. He was my brother." At this point, Kurt's head lowered, causing his face to be hidden. Sam's chest clenched a little bit more and he averted his eyes again, this time counting the heads in the row in front of him. One, two, three..

Kurt shook himself, "I'm sorry, this is difficult. But I couldn't let there be no eulogy for such amazing people - it just wouldn't be right. Rachel is really one of a kind. I've yet to meet anyone like her, and yet to admire someone quite like her. Nothing could hold her back from her dreams, nothing could deter her - and although the lines of reality were sometimes blurred for her, she never gave up and she never lost herself. A glee loser in high school, but one of the most self-assured people I've ever known. The world doesn't even realise the loss its suffered this week." He shook himself once more, as if shaking away all his emotion, and then started again, but this time, he sang, "Don't cry for me Argentina, The truth is I never left you, all through my wild days, my mad existence… I kept my promise, don't keep your distance,"

Sam's head had snapped up at the sound of his high school mate singing softly, his voice wavering slightly. He recognised that song, he had heard her sing it before. He could still hear that power house of a voice that touched every persons inner core and made you feel. Tears prickled his eyes and he blinked them back rapidly. Sam wondered at Kurt's ability to remain intact up there.

Finally, Kurt stepped back, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.

Sam could barely breathe; he felt suffocated, trapped, lost, numb and most of all… pain. He was a walking contradiction. As his old friend drew back his shoulders then, and began to walk down from the small platform, someone stood. Sam turned to see who it was, and realised they were clapping loudly. He joined them, and it wasn't long before the whole church was on its feet, clapping and crying. The clapping would come to haunt his nights.

It wasn't a cheering; it was an understanding. It was an applaud at his bravery, but a commiserate at the misfortune. Sobs were loud and cries were heart-wrenched and full of anguish… This was the low point of his life.

This time, he had to leave. The service was for all intents and purposes over now, and he honestly didn't want to see the coffins being moved. He needed to preserve what little goodness he could remember of them at this moment - because it was getting harder to remember them without the black.

He stood abruptly, and left without a sound.

She wasn't sure how long she had been there. Seconds, minutes and hours seemed to melt away in the day that it was. She wasn't concerned with it either; there was no need for time, there was nothing time could do for her now. Time wasn't about to heal her today, and so she resolved to forget about it.

There was a lot more she wanted to resolve to forget about. With the people buzzing about around her though, it was proving more and more difficult. She could hear people regale people with their tales of adventure with them, she could hear people lament, she could hear kids play blissfully.. Oh, she wasn't ready for this. She didn't know why she came.

(But she did, really. She couldn't reject Rachel and Finn's parents in their invitation. She couldn't just ditch their plans as if she didn't care. Because she did care. She cared too much.)

Quinn dragged her drink to her lips, lifting it slowly and draining it with the same pace. Placing it back down, she licked her lips - not out of pleasure, but out of habit. She stared at the empty glasses and wondered what Rachel would call it a metaphor for, because there was so many Quinn could think of. Her life seemed to be the most accurate one.

An empty glass.

She pulled her next drink over - she had told the barman to keep them coming, and was glad to see that he was good at following orders - but it was promptly plucked from her fingers. She turned to see who had the gall, and rolled her eyes despite the situation. He threw back the drink and hissed, sitting down next to her.

"You're on the hard stuff," He stated, signalling for the barman to come over.

She snorted, "Why would I want anything else?" Quinn glanced at him briefly, and was surprised by how he hadn't changed. He looked worse for wear right now, due to what was going on, but she assumed that he normally didn't have red eyes or black bags. He looked world weary at the moment. Despite herself, the corners of her mouth rose slightly when she noticed that his trademark Mohawk was gone.

"What happened to the Mohawk?" She asked impulsively.

His dark eyes flickered over to hers, and then he shrugged, "Guess we all have to mature a little at some point."

Quinn rose a brow, "You matured?"

He downed a shot of vodka, and shrugged again, "This doesn't seem very mature to me."

"We were never consistent." She replied, glancing down at her own shot. Quinn could feel the alcohol now, and she was so glad for it. Feelings and emotions were starting to be replaced with a numb feeling that she couldn't help but welcome.

There was a small silence between them, but it wasn't an awkward one. They were both just immersed in their thoughts, until Quinn broke it, "I can't believe they're gone."

He didn't reply for a beat, but when he did, his voice was hoarse. "I know." She leaned her head on his shoulder sadly, reaching out to his broken soul.

"I don't know how I'm going to cope without them, Puck." He said nothing, but stroked her hand softly.

Brooke had been sitting with a group of boring adults for a while now, and was getting rather annoyed as a result. She didn't like being fenced in, and furthermore, she didn't like being bored. She supposed most grown-ups were no fun, except Sam and Quinn.

And her Mommy and Daddy. She wondered where they were, and why they weren't with her. Grandpa had told her, but Brooke didn't believe that - her Daddy always beat the bad men. He had to be wrong.

Seeing the people around her laugh at something she didn't understand, Brooke decided that it was time for her to go find someone fun. Quietly - she had learned that escaping unnoticed required stealth and quiet - she slid down from her seat and crawled under the table until she was freed. They were in a pub restaurant, as Brooke called it, that she often used to come to with her parents. Her whole family and more was there, which she liked because she got to see lots of people.

Spotting a familiar head of blonde hair, Brooke bundled over to the stools at the bar. She promptly launched herself at her leg, "Quinnie!"

The woman stumbled on the chair slightly, and opened her eyes to look at Brooke. Why did she look so tired? Why were her eyes closed? "Oh, B-Brooke.. What'rr you doing?"

Brooke frowned and took a step back, not understanding her very well. "Why are you talking funny, Quinn? Are you okay? You're not sick are you because I don't like it when you're sick.. I don't want anyone to be sick," she cried, tears welling. Brooke didn't like crying, but right now, she felt very sad and scared and she wasn't sure why.

Quinn seemed to open her eyes then, because she knelt down (clumsily and drunkenly) beside her goddaughter and held her tightly in her arms. "I'm not going anywhere, B." She whispered.

(Quinn swore she would never let Brooke see her in that emotional, fragile and drunken state again. As a result of that, not many others did either.)

That's all for now folks :) With the funeral out of the way, we can move onto more depressing stuff :D Isn't this fun? Jokes, jokes, but I hope to update again tomorrow. Shouldn't really be a problem.. Oh, and I don't own "Don't cry for me Argentina"... Didn't want to say it at the start cause it would have been kinda predictable ,no?
Review please ? :)
xCNx