Thank you all again soooo much for the continued support. It really does mean a lot! xD As always, I hope you love this chapter, and please remember to leave a review.

Chapter Seven

"Oh, shit, is she okay?"

"She didn't hit her head or anything, but she banged her elbow up pretty badly."

"Oh, shit! Damn it, she's really hurt; oh, shit!"

"Damian, spewing profanities isn't going to help the situation."

Rachel could hear them talking, but she didn't have the strength to open her eyes. She felt herself being lifted into somebody's arms, cradled like some weak damsel-in-distress. She resented this, and tried to say so, but her voice didn't seem to be working and her mouth wouldn't open.

"Where are you taking her?" Blaine's voice, demanding.

"Relax; I'm not kidnapping her or anything. I'm going to dunk her in the ocean." Now Damian's, as if he were addressing an ignorant child.

"Okay, but when she wakes up, it's your funeral."

Rachel felt herself being bumped up and down as she was carried from the jungle and onto the beach. She finally fought off that weird half-asleep, half-awake state she had been in and managed to snap open her eyes just as Damian's feet splashed into the water.

She looked up at him, confused, then realized what he was about to do. He tossed her into the ocean just as she started to yell "don't you dare!" But all she had time to come out was the first panicked syllable of 'don't.'

She broke through the cold water, hitting the sandy, shallow bottom almost immediately. She scraped her chin, but not hard enough to draw blood. She panicked; her eyes flew open and she sucked in water, screaming.

She thrashed, tried to stand up, but her feet slipped against the mud, not finding purchase.

A hand grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her out of the water. Her heart had leapt to her throat, but now it pounded wildly. She came up coughing and gasping and spluttering. Her hair was flipped into her face and her burning eyes were opened as wide as possible.

The wide cut on her right elbow stung horribly, thanks to the salty ocean water.

The whole ordeal had lasted only a small handful of seconds, but it had felt five times longer.

Damian dropped his hand from her shirt and grabbed right above her uninjured left elbow, tugged her out of the ocean and a few feet up the dry sand. She stumbled over her feet, but he steadied her. She was dripping wet, but Damian – the bastard – only had his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans soaked.

Rachel bent at the waist, hands on her knees, sucking in greedy gulps of air. She shivered from the coldness of the water, though the hot air helped warm her.

"Are you okay?" Damian asked. She swore she heard restrained laughter in his voice.

Using her neck, she flipped her hair out of her face and back behind her shoulders. She spotted Blaine standing a few feet away, covering his mouth to keep from laughing. And then she looked at Damian and saw the smirk on his face, completely neglected the fact that his eyes were actually softened, and fixed him with the fiercest Rachel Berry Glare she could muster.

But it was hard to look particularly fierce when she was drenched, shivering, and a stray lock of hair was falling over one eye.

She wanted to flick it away but knew that would just make her look even more pathetic.

As if reading her thoughts, Damian reached over and tucked the lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for the briefest of seconds against the side of her face.

Rachel's heart skipped a beat.

But then she remembered that he'd just tossed her into the ocean, and her fury returned. Damian and Blaine could practically see the steam whistling from her ears. She was so angry, she couldn't even speak; her mouth just kept floundering.

Finally, she jabbed a finger in Damian's broad chest and stepped close enough that the tips of their shoes were touching. She may've been five-two to his five-ten, but that didn't make her back down. She glowered up at him; he stared down at her, clearly amused by her display of "menace."

"How dare you!" she hissed. "I had just dried off completely! And now I am soaking wet!"

"Really?" Damian asked, half of his mouth drifting upward. "I hadn't noticed."

"He was just trying to help you, Rachel," said Blaine, ever the peacemaker. "We were worried about you. You did just faint, you know."

Damian cast a raised eyebrow down at Rachel's finger, which was still poking him in the chest. Feeling a blush heating from her cheeks to her collarbone, Rachel narrowed her eyes so much that her top and bottom eyelashes blurred together.

"Fine, Damian." She spat his name out as if it were a nasty bug. "I thank you for helping me. I will be sure to return the favor in the future." There was no missing the threat and sarcasm bristling her words.

And with that, she stomped back into the jungle. "I'm going to let my clothes dry out," she called over her shoulder. "Don't follow me unless you want to die a slow, painful death."

Blaine shot Damian a warning look. "She means it."

"Trust me," said Damian with a snort. "I won't test it."

There was a brief period of silence following Finn's outburst. No one really knew what to say. Puck and Brittany were just beginning to digest that three of their friends were actually gone, forever. Mike, Santana, and Quinn had already known this horrible information, but they hadn't had time to fully process it, either.

After a few minutes, Brittany was the first to speak up. She was stilling holding Santana's hand, the only thing anchoring her to reality. Otherwise, she felt she might float away from her body and drift aimlessly among the clouds.

"It's weird to think that they're gone. It's not just one person; it's Mercedes and Blaine and Rachel. None of them were ever mean to me; none of them ever called me stupid. Well, not to my face, anyway."

"When we get back home, Glee Club is going to be a lot quieter without them," said Mike. "Especially without Rachel. She kind of was Glee Club."

"Rachel was my fellow Jew," said Puck miserably. "She was the only one who understood what being a Jew really means."

For once, no one rolled their eyes at this.

"And Mercedes," Santana said with a small smile. "Girl could sing. I hate to admit this, but I've always been jealous of those pipes of hers. Whenever we had duets together, I always felt like I couldn't compete with how good she was."

"Blaine was one of the nicest, most real guys I've ever met," Mike said. "He got Kurt through a really bad time."

"Yeah, to think that curly-haired little dude isn't gonna be around anymore is weird," Puck frowned. "He and Kurt were, like, always making googly-eyes at each other. I just got used to it enough where I didn't feel like gagging when I saw it."

"I remember back when Rachel had that stutter," Brittany said, giving a nostalgic smile. "And she wore those fingerless gloves. I never told her this, but I always thought they were actually kind of cool on her."

There was an awkward pause before Mike said, "Uhm, Brittany, that was Tina who faked a stutter and liked to wear fingerless gloves. And as far as we know – and hope – she's not dead yet."

"Oh," said Brittany, having the courtesy to appear embarrassed.

"It's okay," Santana said, giving Brittany's hand a squeeze. "We never really got to know them. I actually started considering all of you losers my friends at some point, and I never once actually acted like it. I kind of feel bad about that now."

"So listen to me once, 'cause Mama ain't gonna say this again," she continued. "But all of you are my friends, ?" She rushed out the end, but the sentiment was still there.

"Yesterday, I would've killed to have heard the sweet news that Rachel would no longer be yapping on and on about stupid things like Broadway and cat sweaters," Puck said. "Now I just want her here, being as annoying as possible. 'Cause Annoying Rachel is better than No Rachel."

"Agreed," Mike nodded. "Poor Mercedes; she never did get her big solo."

"And Blaine," said Brittany. "He had nice hair."

"Yeah, he did," said Mike.

"Really good hair," Santana attested.

"Almost as cool as mine," Puck gave a solemn nod.

"We should head back over to Artie and Kurt," Mike said. "All this talking about Rachel, Mercedes, and Blaine is making me want to spend time with the friends we do have."

Santana and Brittany got to their feet, still holding hands. "Wait until you see Artie," Santana told Puck and Brittany with a mysterious grin.

"What happened?" Puck asked.

"You'll have to see for yourself, man," said Mike.

Mike, Santana, Brittany, and Puck started to head over to Kurt and Artie. But Quinn stayed behind, plopping down on the sand. "You guys go ahead," she told them when they started doubling back for her. "I'm fine."

Everyone continued walking except for Puck. He traced the few feet back to Quinn and sat down beside her.

"This okay?" he asked, motioning to his staying with her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. It was then that Puck noticed Quinn's eyes – clear as a cloudless sky and pale green – were glowing with unshed tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, feeling stupid as soon as he'd said it. "I mean…you know…what specifically is wrong? This whole thing sucks major monkey ass."

Quinn fiddled with a lock of tangled blonde hair, her lower lip quivering. She gave a giggle at Puck's less-than-elegant phrasing, but the giggle quickly transformed into tears. She started crying softly, wiping continuously at her tears as they fell.

Puck put his arm around her, drew her into his side.

"I just feel so awful!" Quinn wailed. "I was a complete and utter bitch to Rachel! And Mercedes was my friend; I even lived with her for a few months, remember? And I didn't get to know Blaine well enough to really miss him, and the whole not-missing-him is making me feel guilty and sad, which is ridiculous. I'm, like, feeling sad for not feeling that sad about him!"

She leaned into Puck, rested her head on his shoulder. Her shoulders trembled, and Puck gave them a consoling squeeze. He rubbed slow circles around her back; Quinn could feel the familiar warmth of his big hand through the pale pink fabric of her plain shirt with puffed sleeves.

"I get it," he said. "They were all my friends, too. And I wasn't always that nice to any of them. All of us were usually pretty ass-hole-ish to Rachel, actually. But that was part of our cute dysfunctional Glee family relationship."

"But I was really, really mean to her," Quinn protested. "I went back out with Finn for a while partly so I could regain my popularity status, but also because I loved the power I had over her. I got a kick out of seeing how jealous and upset she was every time Finn and I passed by her, holding hands.

"And speaking of hands, I always called her Man Hands, when she didn't even have Man Hands. She had normal hands, just not as perfect as mine." Quinn spoke in a miserable voice, but she had stopped physically crying.

"Yeah, you were a bitch to her, but you were a bitch to a lot of people, Quinn," Puck said in what he obviously that was a comforting way.

Quinn stiffened and pulled away from him, shooting him a dirty look. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?" She sounded even more stuffed up than her breathy voice usually did.

"Um…yeah?" It came out more as a question.

Quinn rolled her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. She decided to let his comment pass.

"Quinn, even Mr. Schuester wasn't that nice to her," Puck pointed out. "Rachel just had a way about her of grating on everyone's last nerve. And I think it was because she always right. And if there's one thing people hate most, it's being proved wrong – especially by someone who wears sweaters with stuffed animals pinned to the front of them."

"Puck?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you just shut up and hold me?"

"Now that, I can do."

Finn wiped the last of his tears away.

His whole body ached with the strangely sweet kind of exhaustion that only a good cry can bring. He remembered his outburst toward his friends; humiliation flamed beneath his cheeks, down his neck.

He usually didn't freak out like that. In fact, the last time he could recall flipping his lid so drastically was back when he'd found out that Puck was actually the father of Quinn's baby.

He stood up; the action caused his legs to tingle with pins and needles. He must've been knelt over for quite some time to make them fall asleep. He stretched, took a shaky breath.

It's all going to be okay, he told himself. But the words felt stale and cheap; he felt like he was lying to himself.

It was only when he bent at the waist to reach down and tug down his ridden-up jeans legs that he noticed his shredded sleeve.

Oh. Yeah. He'd punched a tree in. And then ripped it from its very roots and flung it into the jungle as easily as if it were a Frisbee.

This memory was so utterly strange and confusing that Finn's brain cramped. What the hell? He thought, massaging his suddenly throbbing temples with his fingertips. Did that really happen?

He only had to look a bit to his right to see the evidence of the messy hole in the ground that had once been home to a tree that was at least twice the size of him in width alone.

He didn't want to deal with this right now. He had way too much going on without adding his newfound sport of Tree Flinging to the list.

A sudden urgency to get back to his friends spread through him; he felt very alone and oddly vulnerable. A craving for his companions' company coursed within.

Low-hanging branches scraped at his face as he followed his violently flattened trail from the jungle back to the beach. It was almost as if the trees were taking revenge on him for what he'd done to one of their own. Finn felt like issuing a personal apology to them. Maybe there was a Hallmark card out there that said, 'Hey, sorry I yanked your fellow tree buddy from the ground and sent him hurtling through the air'? Then again, the irony of said card being made from trees might counteract the nicety of the gesture.

Finally, Finn's swift footsteps carried him over the tree line and back onto the powdery sand. He spotted his friends over to where Kurt and Artie had been and hurried over there.

For some reason, neither Quinn nor Puck was amongst the group. Still, Finn walked up to a sight that actually made a smile curl up the corners of his lips.

Artie was dancing with Brittany, spinning her around and following her fluid footwork, fancy and quick. Santana, Kurt, and Mike were clapping and cheering. Kurt stuck his forefingers in the sides of his mouth and let loose an appreciative whistle, smooth and high-pitched.

Mike grabbed Santana and started joining in, following Brittany and Artie's lead. The rhythm was a mix between salsa, swing, and tango; the music provided was the easy giggles and jokingly competitive words of the group.

Finn tapped Kurt on the shoulder. His step-brother spun around to face him. "Hey, Finn, where've ya been?" he asked.

Finn was relieved that Kurt was in such a better mood now. A part of him felt sort of bitter that everyone was having a jolly ol' time when there was so much sadness and despair all around them, but he knew that these shining moments of true, actual happiness chasing away the shadows and the darkness were the only thing keeping them sane.

He ignored Kurt's question, opting to ask one of his own instead. "Care to dance?" He bowed low, gentlemanly, and offered his big, boyish hand to Kurt's more slender one.

Kurt grinned, curtsied, and accepted Finn's hand. "Of course."

They danced a clumsy waltz, with Finn occasionally stepping on Kurt's foot. They laughed as Finn gave Kurt a great twirl, accidentally releasing mid-spin and sending him flying right into Santana and Mike. Rather than getting all huffy and superior like Santana usually would, she busted out laughing as Kurt and Mike crashed into the sand.

Soon, everyone was laughing so hard that their sides hurt. Brittany helped up Kurt as Artie helped up Mike.

"That was great!" said Artie. "We should really put that into a routine when we get back home."

Kurt smirked. "Yeah, we should definitely keep in the whole Finn-sending-me-flying-into-Santana-and-Mike part, because that'll really wow the judges."

"We could call it our own original dance move," Mike joked. "'The Island!"

"Or 'The Hudson,'" Finn chuckled. "Since it wouldn't have been possible without my two left feet."

"Okay, how about, 'The Hudson Island'?" suggested Kurt, holding his hands up and spreading them apart as he spoke the name.

"Sounds good to me," said Santana.

"I thought Hudson Island was in New York?" Brittany's eyebrows furrowed together.

"That's Staten Island, sweetie," Santana said, not condescendingly, as she gave Brittany a small and affectionate smile.

"Can we keep dancing?" Kurt asked. "It takes my mind off things."

"Yeah, of course," said Mike.

"Let's take it from the top!" Santana clapped her hands together to count off the rhythm. She turned to Brittany, slid her arm around her waist, and pulled her in close. "But this time, you're my partner."