seriousfic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seriousfic) wrote2012-03-13 10:26 am
seriousfic) wrote2012-03-13 10:26 am
Entry tags:
Glee superhero AU: Under peaceful conditions, the warlike attack themselves (Rachel/Quinn) Part 7
Title: Under peaceful conditions, the warlike attack themselves
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,160
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany
Previous: Part 6
Summary: Quinn's lost everything, but she's found Rachel.
"That really her?"
"Looks like her."
"She dead?"
"Can't be dead, she's the Cheerio."
"You shoulda seen her taking it to that dragon thing earlier! It's gotta be her!"
"Get her mask."
"No. Get her blouse. I wanna take a picture."
Quinn felt a hand pulling her shirt up. She grabbed the wrist and it snapped like a twig. Another man. She kicked him in the leg and he fell; she rolled over and elbowed him in the gut so blood came out his mouth.
Getting up, Quinn began to walk. It was morning out. The sun was in her eyes.
***
When Quinn came out of the forest, it was into the suburbs. A lot of houses like the one Santana and Sam had shared. One had a clothesline. She pulled down a T-shirt that looked like it would fit her and jeans that looked like they would fit anyone, then ran. It was only when she was back in the woods that she looked at the shirt. Plain white, with black letters on the front spelling out "Likes girls."
Beggars couldn't be choosers.
***
Quinn held her side as she walked into the church. She'd been set on walking her way back to the city, at least far enough to get to the subway, but seeing the cross towering above her made her want to talk. It was only inside that she realized it was a Catholic church. Just like where Finn died. Was injured.
Became dead to her.
She stumbled into a confessional, not wanting to face anyone head-on. She wouldn't be able to explain the bruises and blood that clung to her face, even though she'd washed herself in a backyard sprinkler. Quinn put her head against the side and closed her eyes. The darkness was soothing, even after she'd been out for God knew how long.
"What troubles you?" came a voice. Male voice. Old voice.
"I can't... beat it. I just can't. It's too strong."
"All things are possible with God, my child."
"I'm beginning to think God's not on my side."
"God is always on the side of the righteous."
Quinn was silent. Lusting after Rachel, letting Finn get hurt, all the people she'd hurt and people she'd let go…
"You know what Nietzsche says?" Quinn asked, haltering. Even her voice felt weak. “'Even the strongest have their moments of fatigue.' Why fight? It doesn't want my help. It likes what it is. I don't want to fight anymore. It's not my problem. It's just not my problem."
***
Rachel was waiting at her stoop when Quinn got back. She'd had to lie about losing her Metro card at the subway, and the manager, a woman, gave her a free ride, promised to mail her a replacement. Then she shook Quinn's hand and slipped a card into it. When Quinn read it, it told her something wasn't her fault and had an 800 number.
She ripped it into little pieces on the ride over, let them flutter to the floor and shake with the train's motion. She was too tired to sleep, bone-aching weariness, and that was the only reason she made her stop. Then she hauled herself to her apartment. She wanted to sleep and never wake up and then there Rachel was. Quinn would have to gladhand her and defuse her, or else she'd be all hurt and pouty. And for some reason Quinn didn't want Rachel's hurt feelings to come from her. Too much pain going around for it to be her fault.
"Oh my God, your face!" Rachel ran up to her and before Quinn could protest, some of the weight was off her feet and on Rachel. "And don't worry, I wasn't taking your god's name in vain, that was my god. The one that doesn't like ham."
"Great…"
"So what happened? Do you need a doctor?"
"I headbutted a lizard in the tit." Suddenly, Quinn's feet weren't where she'd left them. She slipped out of Rachel's arms and onto the sidewalk, just managing to skin her hands instead of her face.
Rachel's hands gripped her firmly, and part of Quinn's mind seemed to detach and think that finally, someone was touching her, not like she would break, but like she could be put back together.
Quinn shoved her away as soon as she was up. "Get away from me! I don't need you! I don't need anyone! No one!"
She had to pull herself up the stairs on hands and knees. The only reason she didn't yell more at Rachel was because she didn't want people to stare. Her whole mind was going black. She was virulently hungry, thirsty for something and she didn't know what.
Rachel was following her.
"What are you looking at, huh? I told you I didn't need your help."
"I heard you the first time."
"Then why are you still here!?" Quinn demanded.
"Because I need to help you."
And despite anger so vast it shook Quinn, trying to fit inside her, Rachel skipped in front of her and got the door. She held it as Quinn went inside and collapsed on the couch, curled in on herself. Then she closed the door to a crack, just open enough to put her head in. "I'll be right outside."
She shut the door.
***
A double dose of Percocet should've ensured Quinn had a deep, dreamless sleep, but she woke up flailing, waving her hands at nightmares. One of her wounds had reopened and then closed, the blood gluing her to the couch. She ripped herself free and went to the bathroom, where she washed off in the shower with her costume on, scrubbing at herself for half an hour until her scabs littered the drain.
She left her costume on, ripped and wet, and put her clothes on over it, swapping out the jeans for her own leggings. Then her thoughts returned to Rachel like a stray dog that'd gotten table scraps once and now kept returning to the site of that one boon. Quinn went to her front door and there Rachel was, sitting cross-legged in the hallway outside, doing throat exercises.
"Are you stalking me?" Quinn demanded.
"No, you just wouldn't answer your phone."
Quinn's phone had probably been washed into a sewer by now. She used to be better about not mixing skintight costumes with personal possessions.
"Well, I'm fine," Quinn insisted. "So why don't you pack up and go… comparison-shop belt sanders, or whatever you like to do!"
She moved to close the door.
"Finn woke up!" Rachel squeaked.
Quinn froze. Literally couldn't think of how to move. "What? But, the doctors, they said he wouldn't…" To her own ears, her voice was suddenly petulant.
"I mean, he didn't… he's back in the coma, there was only a change for a few minutes, but that's good, I mean, the doctors say he could be getting better, I wanted you to know as soon as I could, but then you were hurt and I…"
Quinn banged her hand on the doorframe. It went in, her fingers embedding themselves through the wood and into the wall. Rachel made another squeaky sound of concern and soothingly helped her pull her hand clear.
"He was awake," Quinn gritted out, though the words hurt her throat on the way out. "What did he say?"
"I don't know. By the time the nurses got there—"
"You don't know…"
"The doctors have him under closer observation now, they're going to do an MRI to see if surgery can help…"
"He was alone..." The words hurt, but it was a good, clean hurt. She was supposed to be hurt. "He woke up and no one was there." She looked at Rachel and Rachel touched her face and she was wiping away tears Quinn didn't even know she was crying. "I wasn't there... why wasn't I there?"
"It's not your fault."
Rachel said that. Anger stopped the tears in Quinn's eyes, woke her up when she was so, so tired. Rachel fucking Berry. Finn's friend who he'd never told her about. Comforting her, supporting her, so she'd come to rely on the little bitch. Rachel was the one making her weak, making her think of a girl that way.
"It is my fault," Quinn hissed. She shoved Rachel back. "It's all my fault and you're the one making it worse by trying to fix everything and absolve me and fucking sleep with me."
"That's not why I'm here!" Rachel insisted. "I'm sorry if I put any pressure on you, but I thought you were attracted to me and I thought you were giving me the runaround, so perhaps I overreacted, but I would never do anything to hurt you—"
"Fuck you, Berry. Just get the fuck out of my sight and don't come back here with your… with your fucking pity!
"Quinn," Rachel said, hurt, really hurt, and Quinn shoved her out the door, onto her back, hurting her more.
"Leave me alone!" Quinn roared as she slammed the door.
***
"God called while you were out," Kurt whispered in her ear.
Quinn kept her eyes shut. She just needed to get some sleep. It felt like it'd been years since she'd had a good night's rest. She just wanted to sleep. Santana wasn't her problem. She'd tried. She'd failed. She was done.
"He said He was sorry about all that dead family stuff," Kurt went on, playing with her hair, "and that He'll be making it up to you as soon as possible."
He wasn't there. He couldn't be there.
"You keep going like this, Fabray, you're going to die. You will literally be caught dead in that outfit."
"So what?" Quinn growled. "Without Finn..."
"Finn, Finn, Finn, always with Finn…" Quinn felt Kurt's weight settle on the end of the couch she wasn't curled up on. "He's the real threat, Quinn. Maybe you expect this stuff from me, I am evil after all. And he's an ex, so not much of a difference there. But I've been trying to help you." His hand, cold as the grave, patted her thigh. "I know you're ashamed of me, but who got us through your parents? Who got us through superpowers and losing our virginity? A little credit where credit is due."
Quinn opened her eyes. Kurt sat in the chair across from her, like he was a psychologist and she was his patient. He was dressed mutely in dark business clothes, the kind of unfashionable fashion the real Kurt wouldn't be caught dead in.
"Kurt?" Quinn asked, suddenly very afraid and not knowing why.
Kurt smiled and seemed to grow larger. "Not for a while now, hon. And not to beat off a dead guy, but if you put half as much effort into being all superheroic as you did into distracting yourself from your self-loathing, you'd probably still have Finny-winny."
"Fine. It's all in my head. Then I want to talk to him. I want to talk to Finn."
Piano music made Quinn turn her head and when she did, she saw Kurt sitting at a piano, playing his heart out. "Aww, honey, you just don't get it? I'm your will to survive. Finn is the other part. You're not seeing him because you don't need him anymore. It's back to basics. Remember high school? Oppressive family, crap atmosphere, 16 & Pregnant? I protected you and then you think you don't need me anymore because you met a boy. Well, you couldn't depend on him and you can't depend on anyone else."
Quinn wouldn't answer him. He turned. She was closer than he'd thought, holding a steak knife. The grip cracked with the pressure she was putting on it.
"You need me, Quinn," he said simply. "I kept you alive."
"You shouldn't have." The knife plunged into the base of his spine.
She let go. Kurt's mouth moved wordlessly before coming alive to cough blood onto the piano music book. He slumped onto the keyboard with a crescendo of noise, then fell off it sideways. The noise of his corpse sliding from one end of the keyboard to the other shot a frilly tune into the air, which echoed into nothingness as Quinn stood still.
***
Entering Finn's old apartment, it was hard for Quinn not to think in metaphors. Empty. Barren. All the happy memories she had with Finn had been taken, tied up with his possessions, leaving nothing but blank shadows on the walls and floors. She wanted them back.
Her eyes shut. "Finn? I know I'm not okay and you can't really hear this. I know that. I don't want to know that. I want you back, I want us back… please, just be there when I open my eyes. I don't care anymore."
She opened her eyes and he was there. His smile, his lips, his kiss. She was home.
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,160
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany
Previous: Part 6
Summary: Quinn's lost everything, but she's found Rachel.
"That really her?"
"Looks like her."
"She dead?"
"Can't be dead, she's the Cheerio."
"You shoulda seen her taking it to that dragon thing earlier! It's gotta be her!"
"Get her mask."
"No. Get her blouse. I wanna take a picture."
Quinn felt a hand pulling her shirt up. She grabbed the wrist and it snapped like a twig. Another man. She kicked him in the leg and he fell; she rolled over and elbowed him in the gut so blood came out his mouth.
Getting up, Quinn began to walk. It was morning out. The sun was in her eyes.
***
When Quinn came out of the forest, it was into the suburbs. A lot of houses like the one Santana and Sam had shared. One had a clothesline. She pulled down a T-shirt that looked like it would fit her and jeans that looked like they would fit anyone, then ran. It was only when she was back in the woods that she looked at the shirt. Plain white, with black letters on the front spelling out "Likes girls."
Beggars couldn't be choosers.
***
Quinn held her side as she walked into the church. She'd been set on walking her way back to the city, at least far enough to get to the subway, but seeing the cross towering above her made her want to talk. It was only inside that she realized it was a Catholic church. Just like where Finn died. Was injured.
Became dead to her.
She stumbled into a confessional, not wanting to face anyone head-on. She wouldn't be able to explain the bruises and blood that clung to her face, even though she'd washed herself in a backyard sprinkler. Quinn put her head against the side and closed her eyes. The darkness was soothing, even after she'd been out for God knew how long.
"What troubles you?" came a voice. Male voice. Old voice.
"I can't... beat it. I just can't. It's too strong."
"All things are possible with God, my child."
"I'm beginning to think God's not on my side."
"God is always on the side of the righteous."
Quinn was silent. Lusting after Rachel, letting Finn get hurt, all the people she'd hurt and people she'd let go…
"You know what Nietzsche says?" Quinn asked, haltering. Even her voice felt weak. “'Even the strongest have their moments of fatigue.' Why fight? It doesn't want my help. It likes what it is. I don't want to fight anymore. It's not my problem. It's just not my problem."
***
Rachel was waiting at her stoop when Quinn got back. She'd had to lie about losing her Metro card at the subway, and the manager, a woman, gave her a free ride, promised to mail her a replacement. Then she shook Quinn's hand and slipped a card into it. When Quinn read it, it told her something wasn't her fault and had an 800 number.
She ripped it into little pieces on the ride over, let them flutter to the floor and shake with the train's motion. She was too tired to sleep, bone-aching weariness, and that was the only reason she made her stop. Then she hauled herself to her apartment. She wanted to sleep and never wake up and then there Rachel was. Quinn would have to gladhand her and defuse her, or else she'd be all hurt and pouty. And for some reason Quinn didn't want Rachel's hurt feelings to come from her. Too much pain going around for it to be her fault.
"Oh my God, your face!" Rachel ran up to her and before Quinn could protest, some of the weight was off her feet and on Rachel. "And don't worry, I wasn't taking your god's name in vain, that was my god. The one that doesn't like ham."
"Great…"
"So what happened? Do you need a doctor?"
"I headbutted a lizard in the tit." Suddenly, Quinn's feet weren't where she'd left them. She slipped out of Rachel's arms and onto the sidewalk, just managing to skin her hands instead of her face.
Rachel's hands gripped her firmly, and part of Quinn's mind seemed to detach and think that finally, someone was touching her, not like she would break, but like she could be put back together.
Quinn shoved her away as soon as she was up. "Get away from me! I don't need you! I don't need anyone! No one!"
She had to pull herself up the stairs on hands and knees. The only reason she didn't yell more at Rachel was because she didn't want people to stare. Her whole mind was going black. She was virulently hungry, thirsty for something and she didn't know what.
Rachel was following her.
"What are you looking at, huh? I told you I didn't need your help."
"I heard you the first time."
"Then why are you still here!?" Quinn demanded.
"Because I need to help you."
And despite anger so vast it shook Quinn, trying to fit inside her, Rachel skipped in front of her and got the door. She held it as Quinn went inside and collapsed on the couch, curled in on herself. Then she closed the door to a crack, just open enough to put her head in. "I'll be right outside."
She shut the door.
***
A double dose of Percocet should've ensured Quinn had a deep, dreamless sleep, but she woke up flailing, waving her hands at nightmares. One of her wounds had reopened and then closed, the blood gluing her to the couch. She ripped herself free and went to the bathroom, where she washed off in the shower with her costume on, scrubbing at herself for half an hour until her scabs littered the drain.
She left her costume on, ripped and wet, and put her clothes on over it, swapping out the jeans for her own leggings. Then her thoughts returned to Rachel like a stray dog that'd gotten table scraps once and now kept returning to the site of that one boon. Quinn went to her front door and there Rachel was, sitting cross-legged in the hallway outside, doing throat exercises.
"Are you stalking me?" Quinn demanded.
"No, you just wouldn't answer your phone."
Quinn's phone had probably been washed into a sewer by now. She used to be better about not mixing skintight costumes with personal possessions.
"Well, I'm fine," Quinn insisted. "So why don't you pack up and go… comparison-shop belt sanders, or whatever you like to do!"
She moved to close the door.
"Finn woke up!" Rachel squeaked.
Quinn froze. Literally couldn't think of how to move. "What? But, the doctors, they said he wouldn't…" To her own ears, her voice was suddenly petulant.
"I mean, he didn't… he's back in the coma, there was only a change for a few minutes, but that's good, I mean, the doctors say he could be getting better, I wanted you to know as soon as I could, but then you were hurt and I…"
Quinn banged her hand on the doorframe. It went in, her fingers embedding themselves through the wood and into the wall. Rachel made another squeaky sound of concern and soothingly helped her pull her hand clear.
"He was awake," Quinn gritted out, though the words hurt her throat on the way out. "What did he say?"
"I don't know. By the time the nurses got there—"
"You don't know…"
"The doctors have him under closer observation now, they're going to do an MRI to see if surgery can help…"
"He was alone..." The words hurt, but it was a good, clean hurt. She was supposed to be hurt. "He woke up and no one was there." She looked at Rachel and Rachel touched her face and she was wiping away tears Quinn didn't even know she was crying. "I wasn't there... why wasn't I there?"
"It's not your fault."
Rachel said that. Anger stopped the tears in Quinn's eyes, woke her up when she was so, so tired. Rachel fucking Berry. Finn's friend who he'd never told her about. Comforting her, supporting her, so she'd come to rely on the little bitch. Rachel was the one making her weak, making her think of a girl that way.
"It is my fault," Quinn hissed. She shoved Rachel back. "It's all my fault and you're the one making it worse by trying to fix everything and absolve me and fucking sleep with me."
"That's not why I'm here!" Rachel insisted. "I'm sorry if I put any pressure on you, but I thought you were attracted to me and I thought you were giving me the runaround, so perhaps I overreacted, but I would never do anything to hurt you—"
"Fuck you, Berry. Just get the fuck out of my sight and don't come back here with your… with your fucking pity!
"Quinn," Rachel said, hurt, really hurt, and Quinn shoved her out the door, onto her back, hurting her more.
"Leave me alone!" Quinn roared as she slammed the door.
***
"God called while you were out," Kurt whispered in her ear.
Quinn kept her eyes shut. She just needed to get some sleep. It felt like it'd been years since she'd had a good night's rest. She just wanted to sleep. Santana wasn't her problem. She'd tried. She'd failed. She was done.
"He said He was sorry about all that dead family stuff," Kurt went on, playing with her hair, "and that He'll be making it up to you as soon as possible."
He wasn't there. He couldn't be there.
"You keep going like this, Fabray, you're going to die. You will literally be caught dead in that outfit."
"So what?" Quinn growled. "Without Finn..."
"Finn, Finn, Finn, always with Finn…" Quinn felt Kurt's weight settle on the end of the couch she wasn't curled up on. "He's the real threat, Quinn. Maybe you expect this stuff from me, I am evil after all. And he's an ex, so not much of a difference there. But I've been trying to help you." His hand, cold as the grave, patted her thigh. "I know you're ashamed of me, but who got us through your parents? Who got us through superpowers and losing our virginity? A little credit where credit is due."
Quinn opened her eyes. Kurt sat in the chair across from her, like he was a psychologist and she was his patient. He was dressed mutely in dark business clothes, the kind of unfashionable fashion the real Kurt wouldn't be caught dead in.
"Kurt?" Quinn asked, suddenly very afraid and not knowing why.
Kurt smiled and seemed to grow larger. "Not for a while now, hon. And not to beat off a dead guy, but if you put half as much effort into being all superheroic as you did into distracting yourself from your self-loathing, you'd probably still have Finny-winny."
"Fine. It's all in my head. Then I want to talk to him. I want to talk to Finn."
Piano music made Quinn turn her head and when she did, she saw Kurt sitting at a piano, playing his heart out. "Aww, honey, you just don't get it? I'm your will to survive. Finn is the other part. You're not seeing him because you don't need him anymore. It's back to basics. Remember high school? Oppressive family, crap atmosphere, 16 & Pregnant? I protected you and then you think you don't need me anymore because you met a boy. Well, you couldn't depend on him and you can't depend on anyone else."
Quinn wouldn't answer him. He turned. She was closer than he'd thought, holding a steak knife. The grip cracked with the pressure she was putting on it.
"You need me, Quinn," he said simply. "I kept you alive."
"You shouldn't have." The knife plunged into the base of his spine.
She let go. Kurt's mouth moved wordlessly before coming alive to cough blood onto the piano music book. He slumped onto the keyboard with a crescendo of noise, then fell off it sideways. The noise of his corpse sliding from one end of the keyboard to the other shot a frilly tune into the air, which echoed into nothingness as Quinn stood still.
***
Entering Finn's old apartment, it was hard for Quinn not to think in metaphors. Empty. Barren. All the happy memories she had with Finn had been taken, tied up with his possessions, leaving nothing but blank shadows on the walls and floors. She wanted them back.
Her eyes shut. "Finn? I know I'm not okay and you can't really hear this. I know that. I don't want to know that. I want you back, I want us back… please, just be there when I open my eyes. I don't care anymore."
She opened her eyes and he was there. His smile, his lips, his kiss. She was home.