The week before Regional's, Mike debated whether he was a bad friend. It unfortunately wasn't new ground for him to cover, though this time he felt he had a little lee-way.

When Rachel had first started dating Jesse St. James, she'd of course told him. She'd been beyond excited, and, as the best friend, he'd been supportive. Unlike Finn, he had actually watched Vocal Adrenaline performances on YouTube and read up on them on choir blogs: they were into intimidation techniques and they were very competitive, but they'd never been described as underhanded and they really had no reason to try to break New Directions. And, unlike the original Gleeks (as they fondly called themselves), he cared about Rachel's happiness far too much to give her an ultimatum.

It actually wasn't until Jesse transferred to McKinley that Mike started having issues with the guy. It wasn't just that he seriously intruded in their Matt-Mike-Rachel time (to the point that the boys actually hadn't been around much since he'd come into her life); it was also because something about Jesse seemed…staged. Like he was performing for someone, even when no one was watching. However, he and Rachel seemed ridiculously happy (with the exception of that Run Joey Run mess), and as there seemed to be no glitch, Mike decided maybe that just was his personality.

When he dumped Rachel in front of everyone, walking off with VA, Mike was shocked. He couldn't see Rachel's face, but she emanated disbelief and misery; and seeing her slumped on the piano, comparing her broken heart to the stage after a performance of Stomp was just awful.

He rode over to her house that night, a little unsure of whether he should be there. He climbed her trellis and slipped into her room.

Rachel heard him, but couldn't bring herself to move from her crumpled heap on the bed. She'd wanted him to come, and now here he was—why didn't she feel better? Mike used to always make her feel better, feel safe when things sucked. He sang and danced with and for her. He'd pull crazy stunts like stealing clothes and refilling empty beer bottles with water and itching powder in bed sheets for her sake, to make her smile. Now she couldn't even bring herself to acknowledge his presence.

He didn't sit on the bed like he used to; didn't try to reassure her with a hand on her shoulder. He was unsure of how to fix her because he didn't know her to ever be so broken. He didn't know Jesse, so he had no idea how to destroy him, and he could tell that, despite wanting him "eaten by lions", Rachel still loathed violence, and didn't want him damaged physically. Maybe he should have gone with Puck and Finn to exact revenge, but he was so sure Rachel would need him more than they would…

And so they remained in silence, him standing by the window, her lying with her back to him on the bed. She wasn't sure if his comfort was what she wanted, and he was afraid to ask. A fleeting thought crossed both their minds: how did we get here?

After ten minutes, Mike turned around and climbed back out the window, down the trellis, and rode home to his bed.

He didn't notice Rachel Thursday. Honestly, Brittany had completely fallen apart the day before, and she was his: whether they acted that way or not; whether they were exclusive or not. He had taken her to her classes and tried to keep her steady. He'd never seen the Cheerios break down so effectively.

And so he'd spent Thursday checking up on her, making sure their seemingly flawless bounce-back was legit. He'd been exhausted and just decided to duck out of his class, maybe grab a slushie.

He was definitely a little curious when he heard giggling and a lot of engines starting up and driving off: it was too early for most—and too late for those without a last period—to scatter. He followed the sounds and felt his jaw drop when he identified the tiny form standing alone in the lot.

Rachel stood tall, like usual, despite the fact that no one was around to see her being so resilient to the onslaught she'd just suffered. She could feel the goo running through her hair, down her back, and winced as she imagined this to be what chick souls felt like. Tiny, dead, chick souls, and their poor mother hens—God, she could see them when her eyes shut, surrounding her with their judging glares. She opened them again: she'd rather stare at the dismal parking lot.

She heard running footsteps, and wondered for a moment if someone had stayed behind to revive the ambush. Then she heard Mike's voice, calling her name hesitantly. She turned slowly, her face scrunched up in agony, and she watched his face go from disbelief to shock to horror. She wondered if she would have looked like that if she hadn't been busy trying to shield herself from their onslaught.

He didn't say anything, and she was grateful; there was nothing to say, and the normal phrases would've felt empty and callous at this moment. He simply guided her to her car, sitting her in the passenger seat as he drove her home.

He walked her inside and waited downstairs while she showered and changed. He didn't say a word, and neither did she. They were both just numb.

Mike had never used the term "blood boiling" in his life. It seemed so cliché, and also he didn't ever really get that angry. Until now. Now, listening to his best friend recount her assault to the club, he was pissed and, if he hadn't been so infuriated, he would've been surprised that he really could feel his "blood boiling".

Everyone was thinking it, but it was Puck who said it first. "This is bull!"

He turned to his fellow jocks: "Finn, Matt, Mike—come with me." Nobody needed elaboration as they stood.

"Right on," Finn agreed, fisting his hands and striding toward the door. "It's time for less talking and more punching."

Matt and Mike said nothing; even if they hadn't been normally taciturn, they were both too incensed to do anything but clench their fists, nod, and follow. In some far corner of Mike's mind, he was pleasantly surprised that both Kurt and Artie also moved toward the door.

Rachel was surprised at herself. She decided she must be traumatized or in shock, because the boys (all of the boys) had made for the door with every intention on burying Jesse St. James, and she felt…nothing. No abhorrence to violence; no desire to demand they be rational. She wondered a little at that feeling, the lack of desire to think of the consequences of such actions. And then she realized that Mr. Schue was yelling at the boys, telling them to sit down, that violence was never the answer (a tiny voice in the back of her head seemed sated), and that bringing others pain doesn't ease your own suffering.

After Mr. Schue schooled them in the type of revenge Rachel realized would really hit home for Jesse's type, she drove herself home and crawled into bed. This time, when Mike and Matt crawled through the window, they didn't hesitate to hug their friend in greeting before walking over to the closet, pulling out their respective sleeping bags, and falling asleep. And the next day, while he watched Jesse's face, frozen in horror during their funk number, he spontaneously threw in a split at the end before waddling over to Rachel in a show of solidarity.

Rachel personally felt that Mike's final moves, combined with Puck's "See you punks at Regional's" said it all.

Rachel was afraid. She'd been afraid early in the week when it seemed they could lose everything with Coach Sylvester judging. She was afraid now, because New Directions had lost, and though she had told Mr. Schuester otherwise, the fact remained that Glee Club was over.

She didn't know what would happen with Finn; he'd told her he loved her, but now, without Glee, how would their relationship stand up to high school terrorism? She wasn't sure he was that strong.

More importantly was Rachel's personal development. She wasn't sure she could go back to being just loner Rachel Berry. She and Mike and Matt may never hang out exclusively in public, but they weren't ashamed to be seen with her anymore and she could see them, collaborate with them in public. She wasn't sure she could go back to the way things were, the smoke and mirrors that had dictated her friendships for the last four years.

She wasn't even in bed when Mike slid into her room. She was sitting at her desk, staring at her reflection. He hoped she wasn't feeling too awful; he was pretty messed up himself. He knew he wouldn't have to hide his love for dance anymore, but it didn't have the same zing that it did in Glee Club. He liked being around people and being happy. He liked performing with Matt and Rachel and everyone, and now he felt like he was doomed to slip back into the hierarchy as just another sheep. He hit the bed with a thud. Being a sheep sucked.

She sighed and turned to face him. She was glad he was staring at the ceiling, since she hadn't bothered trying to hide the deep-seated despair that ate her soul.

"What do you think will happen?" she asked in a whisper. He shrugged a Mike shrug, the one that translated into him avoiding thinking about the answer.

"At least you'll still have Matt," she said softly, resting her head on her hands. Mike turned to look at her.

"We'll still have each other, Rache," he told her. "That's not going to change."

"Mike, who are we kidding?" she told him, and he watched as she stood up and began pacing, her voice speeding up and her tone becoming slightly hysterical. "You'll go back to the jocks, because you belong there; you'll go back and play football and make out with Cheerios and be popular, and Karofsky and Azimio will reestablish order by coming down harder than ever on people like Kurt and Artie and Tina and Mercedes and me. And, in order to stay there, they'll make sure you and Matt are in. You won't be able to stay invisible anymore Mike; people will notice if we're friendly, and they won't look on it kindly." She took a breath, her voice shaking. "I…just don't know if…if I can…"

Mike realized what she was saying, and he didn't like it. It was stupid, but it was right—if Glee ended, and he went back to his jock clique, he wouldn't be able to get away with being a spectator anymore. He would have to be an active participant. And then the words he'd just thought himself echoed in his head: being a sheep sucked.

"Rache," he told her, gripping her hand and dragging her next to him. "You're right; they would expect all of that. We wouldn't even be able to look at each other neutrally." He looked at her as her eyes glistened with tears. "But the problem is: I can't act like you can. I can't pretend that it doesn't bug me when it does. And if it comes down to going back or hanging with you guys and dealing with all the shit…I just can't go back Rache."

Rachel stared at Mike. He was telling her that he would rather hang out with her than be popular; he was willing to be slushied and taunted and a jock-leper mix just so he could still be friends. She opened her mouth, but was too awed to speak. She contented herself with him pulling her into a tight embrace.

The next day, when Mike heard the news that Glee had another year to prove itself, he was ecstatic. He wasn't going to lie—as certain as he'd been in his promise to stand by Rachel, he'd been scared for his life about basically jumping off the social ladder. And so now, as he watched his team jump up and down, slapping fives and fist-pounding and hugging and screaming, he was grateful, and happy for the second chance at walking the wire.

Rachel Berry and Mike Chang had survived sophomore year; but more importantly, they'd survived it together. And he promised himself that no one was going to separate them again. She was that important to him, and it was that simple.