In the two months since Quinn's accident, reality had set in, and hard.
It was easy to project denial to those around her when they didn't see what she went through on a daily basis. Just getting up in the morning was an event that took forever, because her mom, and the nurses, or whoever the hell her mom hired, were insisting that she keep learning to do these things herself. The whole point was negated because Quinn still couldn't manage the whole of the process alone yet. She needed someone to move the stupid trapeze bar so it hung in a place where she could reach it. She needed someone to bring her the tarp so she had an easier time sliding her huge ass to the very edge of the bed, where she was then lifted into the chair. Transferring only worked if the chair and the bed were the same height.
Joe was nice enough, and Artie was simultaneously a godsend and the worst possible person to see each day. He was helpful with insights about accessibility on school grounds, and equipment, but on the other hand, it killed her to look at him and think: that could be me.
She was working her ass off, but it wasn't enough. Her sensation was returning, but it wasn't the same. And what people don't tell you is that sensation and movement aren't one and the same. PT was tough. Joe had made it bearable for a while, but once it was obvious that he couldn't keep his urges in check and was all about telling her how amazing she was, Quinn kind of blew him off.
Even in glee club, she felt like more of an outcast than she ever did when she was pregnant or afterward, when she was losing her way. She wasn't included in the numbers for disco week - no huge loss there - but it was the principle of the thing. And during Whitney week when all she and Joe had done was sing a damn song together? The girls were completely condescending about it. Rachel and Tina were weepy messes around her and the two of them and Mercedes were completely over the top when they talked to her. The fake cheerfulness was too much for her to take.
At this point, the only friends she still had were Santana and Brittany. Quinn had pretty much managed to alienate everyone else. But Santana wouldn't be bullied and Brittany was too nice for her own good. They were the first two - the only two, actually - to hug her, when she came back to school. Brittany had tried harder than Mr. Schuester to include her in the performance of Dance with Somebody that Britt and Santana had done together, but the whole idea of Brittany handling her out on the dance floor made Quinn nervous and she'd gripped her chair with her free hand, refusing to be pulled.
Her phone buzzed, and Quinn parked herself out of the way to answer it. The hallways were more intimidating than she could ever remember. Being at eye-level with people's waists and noticing shoes before faces was something she had to definitely get used to. She learned to steer clear of Puck, Finn, and their jock friends when they roughhoused, and of Santana, when she seemed particularly pissed. The thought of someone tipping her over, or not noticing her entirely, was terrifying.
"Yeah?" she answered.
"Hey," Santana said. "Brittany and I are getting churros at Nada after school. You in?"
"In Cincinnati?" Quinn breathed. "That's two-and-a-half hours one way…"
"But so worth it," Santana sighed. "So, you coming or what?"
"You do realize I can't move anything below the waist yet, right? I can't just hop in the damn car and go somewhere. You and Britt would have to haul my ass in and out. Plus there's the trunk space to think about, because there has to be somewhere to keep the damn chair. And is Nada even accessible?"
"Seriously, Fabray. Chill your fine ass out. We thought of everything already. Well…I thought of everything and talked about it with Brittany. It's fine. All we need from you is a yes or no…and that parking pass thing…" Quinn could hear Santana smiling at the last part.
"All right…" Quinn admitted, feeling reluctant.
"So, I'll be at the main doors at 2:15. Meet us there? Or do you want Brittany to come and find you?"
"That…might be problematic…" Quinn ventured, a small smile on her own lips. "Didn't she get lost in the science wing before?"
"Oh, crap. You're right," Santana sighed.
"I'll meet you. Just be prepared to wait a few extra minutes. My new speed is super-slow."
"No rush," Santana reassured. "We'll just make out 'til you get there."
It was 2:30 by the time Quinn reached Santana's car. It was tiny. From the outside, there looked to be no possible way that the trunk would be big enough for her chair. True to form, both girls glanced out the window, their eyes bright and lips swollen from kissing.
"Hey!" Brittany exclaimed, climbing out of the car and embracing Quinn. "Santana told me that you're on board with the churros. Awesome."
"So, how are we going to do this?" Quinn asked, not wasting time.
"I got the chair," Santana said easily, "and, Brittany will get you."
"I'm sorry, what?" Quinn asked, stunned. She was fully expecting Finn or Blaine to materialize from nowhere to take care of the heavy lifting and accompany them to their destination. Yeah, it would make the trip a little awkward, but it would still be worth it.
"Oh, don't worry," Brittany insisted with a wave of her hand. "I lifted Artie before, and I'm pretty sure he's at least part robot, so I can totally lift you," she smiled at Quinn and bent down. "Whenever you're ready. I won't drop you. I practiced with a chair in glee club this afternoon and those are really awkward to hold just like a person is, so…" she trailed off, shrugging, and continuing to smile endearingly at Quinn.
Exhaling sharply, Quinn nodded, figuring she'd have to trust them to handle her sometime. Brittany lifted her effortlessly, and placed her gently in the back seat of the car. It took an extra five minutes and lots of cursing from Santana before the two of them managed to store Quinn's chair in the trunk.
"Damn, Fabray. Your chair's a beast," Santana said, wiping her brow, sliding into the driver's seat.
"Sorry…I tried to warn you…" Quinn said shrugging uncomfortably.
"Oh, get off the self-pity train, would you? I like a challenge. Pretended it was Schuster, Figgins and my abuela all rolled into one. Plus I was always really good at those Tetris games…" she sent Quinn a quick smile in the rearview mirror while Brittany yanked on the strap of her seatbelt, trying to get it to cooperate.
Soon they were on the road, Brittany talking about Lord Tubbington's plans to break records as the world's fattest cat. "He's got a long way to go. I know for a fact that there's a cat that weighs forty pounds in a Midwest humane society. So I'm feeding him a lot of bacon to bulk him up."
"How can a cat weigh forty pounds, Brittany? It wouldn't be able to walk…" Santana pointed out.
"This one can. Well, he kind of waddles. His name is Meow. He's almost as cute as Lord Tubbington," she said, adjusting her ponytail.
Quinn sat quietly in the back seat, her eyes on the road. Truth be told, she hadn't spent much time in cars lately. She rode the short bus to and from school - totally humiliating - and most of her therapists came to the house. Even Joe had a huge cargo van, painted hippie colors, which she had felt comfortable in. This car was just like hers had been. Too small to withstand the speed and force of a bigger vehicle on the road.
She could feel herself get panicky. Her heart was racing as fast as her mind. She couldn't catch her breath and her hands were all tingly. It was happening too fast and she couldn't say anything. Couldn't call for help. Couldn't get the hell out of here like she wanted.
Her mom said she'd had moments like this in the days after the accident. Where she was sure she was in the wreck again. Quinn had been glad to have no memory of it. But now it came back in clear focus. Crunching metal and sirens and blinding pain. Worse than all of that was how completely trapped she'd been. The metal in the car had formed a kind of shell around her, with only an inch or two of room to move. In the few seconds Quinn could recall, that panic was real. As real as the sound of the sirens and the smell of burnt rubber and the searing pain, that mysteriously stopped just below her waist.
She couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening again.
"Quinn?" Brittany asked, and then, to Santana. "Pull over."
As soon as Santana could manage, she pulled the car to the side of the road. By the time she put it in park, Brittany had already climbed between the driver and passenger's seats and was sitting beside Quinn, talking quietly to her. Santana quickly abandoned her place at the wheel and climbed in back, unbuckling Quinn and scooting her to the center of the seats.
This was scary as hell. With all Quinn said at her update a couple weeks ago about her prognosis, her injury, and her progress, she had never mentioned car-related anxiety attacks. But there was no denying it. Because here was the friend she'd had since ninth grade, looking pale and teary-eyed and hyperventilating. Brittany was doing what she did best, trying to comfort Quinn with gentle words and touches, but Quinn clearly wasn't getting the message. Her breathing was thin, reedy, and desperate.
Santana edged as close to Quinn as possible and squeezed her hand hard, keeping her voice level and controlled. "Quinn. You're with us, and you're okay. Do you hear me?"
If she had been someone else - Berry or Teen Jesus - Santana might have been hesitant to touch Quinn - to tell her what she needed to hear. Because she'd been through a trauma, and everyone wanted to spare her feelings and treat her gently. Santana knew, though. If Quinn could survive what she had alone, she could damn well focus and listen. She could damn well trust them. So she put her hands on either side of Quinn's face, while Britt was inexplicably rubbing Quinn's back, and forced eye contact.
"Breathe with me. Just like me. Understand?" Santana asked, demanding compliance and not allowing Quinn to shake her head no. "You can do this, Fabray. Don't be difficult. You were born alone, and you survived your damn car accident alone, but you are not alone right now. Do you hear me?"
"Yes…" Quinn managed, her voice too high, and too close to tears for Santana's liking.
"Okay. Look at me and breathe. That's all you're thinking about right now. Got it?"
Quinn nodded and a shudder passed through her. But she nodded, and did her best to follow orders.
In a few minutes, her breathing was normal again, and she didn't appear quite so close to some kind of breakdown. Still Santana stared at her for an extra few seconds to be sure. When she was satisfied that Quinn wasn't about to lose it, she softened her tone. "Now. Change of plans. We're going to Brittany's house for churros. That's five minutes from here. Brittany's gonna sit back here with you and hold your hand. You think you can keep your shit together if I go back up there and drive?"
"Yeah," Quinn nodded. She sounded sure, but ghosts still lingered in her eyes.
"Honey, I don't have churros at my house. I'm pretty sure all the Spanish mules carry diseases, and my mom and dad won't let me bring wild animals in, after that nest of birds I rescued and their mom didn't want them anymore. I built them a birdhouse. But a house for a donkey would be way more complicated."
Santana threw her head back and laughed. "Churros, Brittany, not burros," Santana said, emphasizing the word. "They're like a Spanish doughnut. I have the recipe memorized and we can make them at your house."
"Oh. Awesome," Brittany said, squeezing Quinn's hand.
Quinn kept a grip on Brittany's hand the entire five minutes and focused on her breathing. The panic-attack had been the scariest thing she had experienced in a whole string of scary things. She did not want to experience it again. So, she listened to Brittany sing snatches of a song that always made her feel better - Purple People Eater - and from up front, a far more poignant choice from Santana.
"What song is that?" she finally asked, and Brittany and Santana answered in unison about their songs of choice.
Thankfully, Quinn was able to make out the title of the song that Santana had been singing along to - Keep It Together - which was beautiful when cradled by Santana's soulful voice. It was appropriate for the moment - a personal message from Santana to Quinn - urging her to keep her shit together.
And it worked.
They arrived in one piece. The combination of friends who cared enough to not make Quinn feel different for a second, whether it was in the midst of an unplanned pregnancy, the aftermath of an accident, or in the midst of a panic attack. They gave her the gift that she had taken for granted so often, in spite of her crazy life:
They let her feel normal.
When they arrived at Brittany's, Quinn's chair stayed in the trunk, and Brittany carried her inside, with sweet whispers of encouragement. ("Just pretend you're a princess.") Quinn was placed gently on the couch, where she had a clear view of Santana making a mess in Brittany's kitchen, and snapping Rory with a towel when he sneaked a taste of her dough.
Brittany simply sat with Quinn's legs across her lap, massaging them gently.
"Just let me know if I'm hurting you," she said sincerely.
Quinn was about to tell her there was no chance of that happening when Rory yelped again and came running into the living room to escape Santana's wrath.
"You're a dead man, Flanagan!" Santana exclaimed and Quinn watched, mildly amused as Santana wrestled a finished churro from Rory's hand and pinned him to the floor.
"Thank you, Lord," Rory sighed, looking too pleased for his own good to be as close as he was to Santana. "You know, you're quite beautiful…"
"Shut your crop duster, Irish. Flattery will get you nowhere." Santana insisted, standing and brushing herself off.
As the two retreated, Brittany leaned over and whispered in Quinn's ear. "I made a wish last night - on a star - so I know it counts."
Quinn tilted her head, a little afraid to ask. Brittany's wishes could involve anything from super-powers for herself to diets for her cat.
"I wished for you to accept yourself. All of yourself. And then, I figured…you know…star-magic alone is weak. It needs humans to maximize its powers. So, I talked to Santana about hanging out today. She said she'd already been planning it, and I totally get that, because we have this awesome telepathy." she paused for breath. "So… Is it working?" Brittany asked, her face open and curious.
"Yeah," Quinn admitted softly. "I think it is."
The End.