The Glee club's extra-gaudy and extra-purple Christmas tree was front and center, and Artie had to wheel himself around it to get to his usual spot in the choir room.

"We might have spent our entire decorating budget for the whole year, but with something that looks as absolutely fabulous as this, I have to say, brav-ho-ho-ho!" Mr. Schue said, praising the tree that they'd decorated earlier that month, right after their field trip to sing for all the "urban campers" (Sue's nickname for the homeless) at the local shelter.

"Hey, everybody, listen up." Finn jumped to his feet suddenly and pulled Rory along with him. "My man, Rory Flanagan here, wants to say a few words."

"Thanks, Finn Hudson." Rory beamed up at the giant beside him before turning to address the group. "So, guys, my mum was going to come visit for the holidays, but plane tickets are expensive. It's my first Christmas without any family. I'd like to cheer myself up by dedicating this song to them... and to the King."

"Jesus?" Kurt ventured.

As Blaine nudged Kurt for his comment, Rory launched right into 'A Blue Christmas,' his old school crooning voice completely unexpected, coupled with his physical appearance. Artie noticed Sugar enjoying the song with her eyes closed and her hands over her heart, swaying gently in her seat.

"Gosh, that song was so depressing," Santana announced loudly, when he finished, echoing what everyone save for Sugar was thinking. Rory frowned and quickly took a seat.

"I-I think, what Santana means is, although that... that was mournfully beautiful," Rachel stated, eyeing Santana out of the corner of her eye. "Perhaps we should focus on the more joyous aspects of this holiday season."

"Jesus?" Joe asked, looking to Rachel for support as she just sighed and put her head in her hands.

"Er, uh, Rachel's right," Finn piped up. "Last Christmas was super sad. The whole school abused us when we went caroling. Then Artie got a pair of magical legs but had to give them back. But this year is going to be..."

"No better than the last," Artie cut him off, as everyone looked at him, Tina's face crumpling as though maybe she thought Artie was just referencing the magical legs he didn't get to keep. "I mean, Quinn's still in the hospital."

"But she's getting better every day," Sam commented, always trying to sound positive.

Sam and Artie often went together to check in on Quinn, so he was one of the few that really knew firsthand. Rachel had the decency to look ashamed. She hadn't visited Quinn at all. Artie had overheard her telling Finn it was "too traumatic." A few others from Glee had gone to see her. Quinn reported that Santana came by fairly often, but Artie had never crossed paths with her there. That one surprised him. Ronnie and Sheila came by some, too, and Artie had run into them a few times. Each time, it was hard because he didn't know what to say to them about Mack – so he didn't say anything. And that felt really wrong.

Quinn's rehab was taking a long time and progress was slow. Artie wondered how Quinn was doing anything else. She claimed to be keeping up with all her schoolwork. Artie wasn't so sure. Maybe just because he knew he couldn't have done it. And hadn't done it, hence repeating a grade. He'd even encouraged her to consider doing the same thing...

"Nobody could fault you if you took the rest of the year off and restarted senior year next year," he'd finally told her, a few days ago. That particular conversation started when she casually shared that she'd been officially accepted into Yale. "Yale would surely let you defer if they knew the circumstances, too."

But Quinn had just scowled at him. "I'm keeping up," she insisted. "Besides, I did this once already, remember? When I had Beth? I know you remember, because you badgered Coach Tanaka for my assignments..."

They'd shared a smile at that. Artie was notoriously and forever bitter about Coach Tanaka, the man who had once forbidden him from using the basketballs in the school gym because he wasn't a "student athlete." And yet that hadn't stopped him from sticking up for Quinn.

"You were just out a couple of weeks then," he'd argued. "This is... gonna be a lot longer than that. Quinn, I really don't think you get how difficult this is gonna be. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but..."

"My spine is badly compressed, not severed like yours."

She'd looked like she regretted it the instant she said it, for Artie had just dropped his head, reminded of the weird dream he'd had shortly after her accident, the one where dream Quinn had reminded him that she wasn't like him and that this wasn't her life.

"... yo, Artie? Earth to Artie?"

Artie snapped out of his brief reverie as Joe Hart, who was seated next to him, leaned over curiously and waved a hand in front of his face.

"What?"

"I said, could you take me with you to visit her sometime?" He brushed his huge, distracting dreadlocks out of his face. "I'd like to pray over her..." And then, maybe to make it sound less weird and creepy, he'd added: "Uh, the whole God Squad could go see her. I bet she'd like that. Before we all get out for Christmas break and get busy..."

Artie cringed. Nothing could be worse than a huge group visit. Or so he imagined, anyway, since he hadn't really been visited by a group during his stay. His soccer team had planned to visit him, but it had just been Finn and a rather unwilling Noah Puckerman.

Mercedes misinterpreted the whole thing. She actually cornered Artie in the hall after Glee practice ended, saying, "You know, a bunch of us going and praying over Quinn isn't a bad idea, really." Her expression said she felt like she had to convince Artie of this. "Prayer has power."

Joe was hovering nearby, listening in. Feeling a certain need to defend himself and his own faith, however differently he expressed that, Artie didn't hold back, audience or no audience. "I never said it didn't," he argued. "Look, but you don't get everything you pray for, okay? God's not some genie, just granting wishes..."

"We never said that He was, Artie." Joe acted like he was a part of the conversation now, when really, Artie would have preferred he butt the hell out; his tone sounded really condescending. But, since Joe was there, Artie addressed him, too.

"I prayed for Mack to be okay and she's not," Artie stated bluntly, not knowing why he even bothered to bring Mack up anyway, since it wasn't like they knew her or cared at all. "My sister prayed for me to be okay and I'm not--" Artie backtracked then. "I-I mean, I am, because I'm not dead. And neither-neither is Quinn..."

He hadn't meant to bring himself into this, for he worked really hard to portray himself as the guy who was perfectly fine with who he was and worked around any and all limitations with ease. And their pitying looks now – especially that Joe Hart, and ugh, even Sugar who was hanging all over Rory – reminded him why hadn't meant to bring himself into this at all. Not to be outdone, Tina promptly started crying into Mike's shoulder.

"Exactly," Mercedes said, with an uncertain glance at Tina. "I prayed for you, a lot, when you were in the hospital, Artie. I'm just really sorry I didn't visit. Pray for you in person. So that you'd know you were being prayed for, and so that you could feel the power of God's love. And that's what we want to do for Quinn."

"And I didn't say anything was wrong with that!" Artie felt himself getting angry. Just because he didn't go to some church, just because he didn't put on a show for everyone else, they all assumed he didn't have any faith at all.

Mercedes could see he'd had enough and had the sense to put a stop to their public banter. Even Mr. Schue had hung back, to witness their little hallway debate about prayer, a debate that Artie didn't think he was actually on the other side of in the first place.

"So, it's settled," Mercedes said. "Let's get the God Squad together to go this weekend, since next weekend, we get off for the holidays."

Artie realized Mercedes was right, that the holidays were upon them already. Luckily for Quinn, this next weekend was supposed to be her last one in the hospital. Sometime next week, she was supposed to go home. Not even to in-patient rehab, like Artie had done all those years ago, but actually home. But the first few weeks at home would be crucial, and if it didn't go well, Quinn could easily wind up back in the hospital. She would have to attend out-patient rehab daily, too. Her goal, she'd told him, was still to be back in school by January. Artie wasn't so sure. But maybe they could pray for all of those things...

That Saturday, Mercedes regretted that she had to back out of accompanying the God Squad to pray over Quinn in the hospital. She ended up coming down with a bad cold, which she couldn't risk sharing with Quinn, so she had to stay home. Without Mercedes and her influence, the rest of the God Squad flaked out.

Everyone except for Joe Hart.

He was just a sophomore, so he didn't drive yet, which meant that Artie had to pick him up. He'd tried to get Sam to go, but Sam was busy. Even his typically-boring sister, who had just come home again from college, had plans with some friends. Artie called up everyone else he could think of, but they were all busy. It was just as well. Artie didn't know if Quinn would be up for a bunch of visitors, all at once. Lately, she'd been frustrated about rehab, which mostly involved upper-body strengthening activities in her room right now. Artie supposed she'd somehow expected to just walk right out of the hospital.

"Dude, so stoked to see how you drive," was the first thing Joe said, when he climbed into the passenger seat of Artie's car. Artie kept wondering if the whole persona Joe had developed was cleverly contrived as a way to seem more Christian. At least he was wearing shoes. Artie was pretty sure you couldn't go into a hospital without them.

"Er, yeah," Artie said. "It's pretty easy when you never learned any other way. See, this here does the pedals. Up for the gas, down for the break. People think it's hard to steer with one hand, but it really isn't. And that's why I have this attachment for the wheel. It helps with that."

"So, will Quinn–?" Joe started to ask.

"No, she won't need to learn to drive like this," Artie explained, quickly, realizing that a lot of people had misconceptions about Quinn and her recovery. "She's not like me. At least that's what her doctors say. Her spine was badly compressed, but her actual spinal cord seems to be intact. She's getting more and more feeling and mobility back each day, as she heals. Getting back on her feet's just... gonna take awhile... how long, that's the part we don't really know."

"Oh, well, that's good," Joe commented. What followed was an awkward silence, and since Artie didn't really want to say anything else about Quinn and her recovery – it felt weird sharing all this with some guy they all barely knew – he settled for asking Joe about himself.

Joe, as it turned out, was the second-oldest of a whopping ten siblings, four of whom were adopted. His older brother went to seminary. His younger siblings were all still homeschooled. Joe wanted to go out, on the "mission field," as he called it, and the best way he knew of to do this was to enroll in public school. Artie suspected all of this was code for wanting to meet girls, but he kept his comments to himself.

When they finally arrived at Quinn's room, she wasn't there. The bed was made, and the nurse who came by to collect an empty breakfast tray shared that Quinn had gone down to the rehab gym on the second floor for the day. Artie had yet to visit during a time when Quinn had gone down for rehab, since up until recently, all the rehab took place in her room. Just like Thanksgiving, when he hadn't been prepared for the sight of Quinn in a wheelchair, he wasn't sure if he was ready to witness her struggling in a rehab gym.

"Something wrong?" Joe had noticed his hesitation right away.

Artie's eyes flickered from the empty bed to the dreadlocked guy standing beside him. "N-no, nothing," he lied. "I just, uh, was thinking that I hope she ate well. She'll need her strength for this. Well, come on, let's go catch up."

As they boarded the elevator to head down one more floor, Artie was again subject to a flood of memories involving his own experiences with physical therapy and his therapist, a wonderful guy named Javier. They hadn't hit it off right away though...

Nine Years Earlier...

Artie's new physical therapist was a buff guy with a longish hair and a short, scruffy beard, as though he'd just neglected shaving for a few days, plus kind brown eyes. He wore scrubs, like pretty much everyone else, but it looked out of place on him. He looked like he should have been wearing ripped jeans and a heavy metal band shirt instead.

"Hi, Artie," he said, stopping by the bedside. "I'm Javier. I'll be your PT. Everyday, we'll work out together after breakfast. Then, sometime between lunch and dinner, you've got OT. PT works the big muscles, then OT's gonna be focused on teaching you to do things around the house..."

"I know what OT is," Artie cut him off, coolly. "I had it in the hospital."

"Right, I wasn't sure," Javier said, completely unfazed by Artie's rudeness. Any other adult would have called him on it, but not Javier. He continued as though it was perfectly fine with him. "Well, I'll let you finish breakfast. I'll be back in about twenty minutes to get started."

"Arthur," his mother started in, as soon as Javier retreated back out the door, humming something softly as he left. Amy just backed away and let her mother have all the space next to Artie's bedside for this one. Nancy seemed be trying to collect herself before she spoke again, and Artie was looking down at his breakfast tray now, having the sense to look properly ashamed of himself.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'll be good."

At this, Nancy sighed and took a seat on the edge of his bed. "Baby, listen," she said. "I don't like this either. I don't like it one bit. But you have to learn how to do things differently, and right now, this is the only time you're ever going to get this much professional help. I need you to understand how important it is. And I need you to go down to that gym with Javier and work just as hard as you did out on... on the soccer field."

Javier had Artie push the chair himself, all the way from his room to the therapy gym. Every time in the hospital, someone had pushed him to therapy, but not on that day. Maybe that was because his cast was finally off his wrist, although even without the cast, his wrist was still giving him trouble. Finally, when Artie stopped suddenly, to cradle his throbbing wrist, Javier noticed and took control of the chair.

"I'll push the rest of the way today," he said. "Only because I need you to be strong when we try some other stuff. I promise, I'll go easy on you... today. But I don't want to make a habit of that, okay? Your mom tells me you are an athlete."

Artie noticed the way Javier didn't say were. You were an athlete. He said are, affirming that Artie being in a chair didn't have to change that.

"Yeah, soccer," Artie had said, casting his eyes down at his useless legs. He had developed a habit of putting both hands atop his thighs when they weren't otherwise occupied, almost like he was just making sure they were still there. "Not anymore though."

"Not all athletes play soccer," Javier said, calmly, as they rounded the corner. "Here we are. Welcome to the gym!"

Present Day

The gym at Lima Memorial was much smaller than the enormous in-patient rehab gym that Artie recalled. In fact, it was only large enough for there to be a couple other patients in the place, one older man on the parallel bars and a younger woman walking with a prosthetic leg and a cane.

Finally, there was Quinn, who was practicing transfers with a board, going from a platform to her wheelchair. And it actually was her wheelchair, though it was plain and without customizations like Artie's, naturally meant to be temporary. Still, it was lighter than the hospital chairs she'd been in before and meant to go home with her.

Artie tried not to startle her as he sided up beside her. "Try to do it a little quicker if you can, in one smooth motion," he gently advised, as she jumped out of her skin. "Oops, sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Hey, um, I brought someone, hope it's okay..."

"I wasn't expecting anyone this early on a Saturday," she commented, doing a double take when she saw Joe Hart. "Oh, um, hi Joe." And she turned her quizzical expression towards Artie, who was just sorry if she felt more vulnerable now. He would have hated that himself.

"Hey, Quinn," he said. "Some more of the God Squad wanted to come. We wanted to pray over you. But Mercedes has a cold and, well, there are only a couple weekends left until Christmas, so me and Artie were the only ones who could make it.

Artie hadn't expected Quinn to genuinely be pleased by this but she was. She smiled softly upon hearing the reason for their visit. She settled herself back in the chair then and they all bowed their heads. Joe put one hand on Quinn's back and another on Artie's, as he stood over both of them and began praying aloud for Quinn. As expected from a self-proclaimed son-of-a-Bible-salesman.

Artie found himself in a silent prayer of his own, the first one he'd said in quite sometime. Please God, he prayed. Help me help my friend.