A/B: Okay, this is an A.U. set after the car crash. Quinn didn't make it but receives a second chance to get it right. First, thank you whoever made up those glee spoilers about brittana!faberry. Best inspiration ever. Second, thank you Captain for making up this prompt that I'm semi using for this story. Third, thank you Bailey for the creation of your time traveling, space bending devil Iblis. I hope you all enjoy and please R&R
x
The first thing Quinn noticed when she opened her eyes were that the clouds were a deep grayish color.
The second thing she noticed was that her back wasn't supported by anything; as awareness filtered through her body, she realized that she wasn't staring up at the clouds. The clouds were staring up at her.
Blind panic stung her hear as she flailed in mid air—blood pumped through her veins as her eyes tear up, her lungs contracting in her chest as she struggled to breathe.
"Hel—" the word got stuck in her throat; Quinn grabbed at her neck and inhaled shallowly as her eyes slid close.
I'm gonna die.
"Well, that would be certainly be an anomaly in itself, Lucy Quinn Fabray."
Suddenly air rushed back into her body as she collapsed onto the clouds. Clouds. How was that even—
"Quite possible, Lucy Quinn Fabray. The world of Other isn't bound by the same laws of Moraltobia."
Quinn scrambled up into a sitting position, the fear in her heart expanding as she looked around anxiously, "W—where am I—?" she questioned in a shaky voice, glancing into the open space cautiously.
The clouds beneath her were soft, fluffy yet solid. A fog surrounded her and the sky—the sky was purple.
But the strangest had to be the moon.
A half-shaped moon, hanging high above her head, bigger than she'd ever seen it before, with a cartoonishly hideous grin and a mouth dripping blood. Nausea passed through her as she tore her gaze away and focused on the man—if it was a man—in front of her.
"H—how—" her voice gained strength as she sat up further, "How the hell did I get here?"
The man sighed wearily, "Now that's a good question," he mumbled before reaching into his suit pocket and pulling out a small leather encased journal. The man flipped through the pages with a blank expression before grimacing when he seemingly reached his page, "Here you are—Lucy Quinn Fabray. Now isn't this interesting…"
Deep burgundy eyes peered at her—Quinn felt her stomach drop further. The man's grimace twisted into a smirk, "Lucy, Q. Lucy, Q. Whatever shall we do with you? You're here 68 years early." He kneeled down in front of her and Quinn resisted the urge to rear back.
The man swept dark hair out of his face before smiling sympathetically, "Why'd you have to answer that text, Lucy Q?"
Quinn's mouth dropped open slightly, her throat impossibly dry as she stared at him, mystified, "Wha—"
Suddenly a memory quite literally crashed into her.
Blood. Screaming. Pain. Unbearable pain. Twisted metal, burnt tires, broken horns.
White, hot, unending agony.
Then darkness.
And suddenly light.
Quinn blinked away those images and shook her head, "What was—" she leaned forward and placed a palm over her eye, "What the hell was that?" she muttered in confusion, barely aware of the man's light chuckling.
"That Lucy, Q, was the ending of your life."
Those words pierced her heart; she dropped her hand and jerked her head up towards the man. Those dark eyes flashed gold before returning to a deep burgundy.
He smiled pleasantly and waited for her to respond.
Dirty blonde brows furrowed as Quinn shook her head once more, "What are you talking about—I'm not—I'm only seventeen!"
The man stuck his gloved hands—bright red, leather—into his black slacks and shrugged, "I know. It's so unfortunate. Truly it is. We had such high hopes for you. Oh well. You win some, you lose some."
He spun around and began walking off. Quinn blinked again before frowning and struggling to her feet, "H-hey! Wait!" she shouted when she righted herself before taking off after him.
She slammed into his back when he stopped suddenly; "Owww," Quinn grabbed at her sore nose, "what the hell," she repeated in annoyance.
The man turned around to stare at her with a bored expression, "Why are you following me?" he inquired dully before scratching his head, "You're going in the wrong direction," he pointed behind her, "Ner tamid is over yonder. When you hear the sound of Angel's crying you know you're going to right way."
Quinn laughed tersely, "Look, uh," rubbing her nose one last time, she crossed her arms stiffly before huffing, "This is like, the weirdest freaking dream I've ever had, minus that time when I dreamed about Santana in a tutu—so I'm just going to," Quinn gestured around her, "Sit here and, and just wait to wake up—"
She reared back when he suddenly lowered his head and leaned closer to her until their faces were inches away. Her heart pumped unsteadily as she stared into rapidly expanding burgundy irises.
The man grinned widely, unnaturally sharp teeth revealed in the elongated visage, "You can't possibly believe that this is just a dream, Lucy, Q. You feel it in your heart, in your bones. You know."
"Know what," she interrupted defiantly with a sharp twist of her head, "This is just a really freakish dream. You're not real. I'm going to wake up and—"
She trailed off, her shoulders hunching as she glared down at the clouds.
Quinn had almost forgotten—Rachel's wedding was tomorrow. In a few hours she was going to wake up and prepare for a wedding she greatly opposed. All she had to look forward to was the prospect of having her heart ripped out of her chest by a girl who was marrying a boy who didn't respect her; had biting her tongue until it bled and crying until she passed out to expect for things to come.
This dream didn't seem so bad in comparison.
The man watched her curiously, his face morphing back into its sympathetic mask, "Oh, poor you. That's why you answered the text?" he clicked his tongue against his teeth, "I certainly hope little Rachel Barbra Berry was worth dying for."
Quinn's head snapped back up at that, "Wha—"
He sighed again while scratching at his chin; Quinn squinted as he ran his fingers through his scruffy beard—where smooth skin once lay only minutes before.
"Oh dear—" the man palmed his cheek as he tsk'd and shook his head, "Looks like I'm going to have to spell it out for you since it's not registering in your pretty blonde head—you're dead. D. E. A. D. dead, Lucy, Q. dead."
And that's when Quinn collapsed.
x
She had only been out for a minute though it felt like an eternity. Quinn jolted upwards as panic spread through her, the man's words ringing in her head.
Dead, Lucy, Q. Dead.
This had to be a joke—her subconscious sure did like to play fucked up mind games on her. Like that extremely vivid dream where she saw Rachel and her in a shared apartment in New York, cuddling under the blankets and watching trash T.V. together. When she had woken up and realized it was just a dream and that she was still in her dingy bed in her bare, spacious room, she had cried for an hour.
"While that is extremely depression and a bit pathetic—" Quinn bit her lip as the man went to help her up, "I can assure you, this is not a dream."
Quinn pushed him away just then, stumbling on her feet as her arms encircled her waist and squeezed tight, almost as if attempting to soak in warmth to battle against the chill of the world surrounding her,
"No…" she croaked as she stared down at what she just now recognized to be her pale pink bridesmaids dress. Her eyes widened when she took note of the splattered blood on the material and the ripped seams of the edges, "N-no."
"Ah, yes." The man countered as he stuck his hands back into his black slacks, "It really is unfortunate. Like I said before, you had another 68 years to go."
She released a sob at those words as the memories came rushing back to her; she had been on her way. This wasn't a dream, the blood on her dress, the vividness of the scene, of the truck plowing into her side—
"No, no, no!" Quinn screamed as she grabbed the sides of her head and sunk down onto her knees, "How could this happen—I just got back onto the Cheerios! I was heading to Yale!"
The man nodded in understanding, "I know."
Quinn glared at him then before snapping, "How can you know? You have no idea what I've been through and then to finally make it and have it all taken away—why?"
"Well, probably because you answered that text."
Nausea swirled in her belly; she slumped against a wall that suddenly appeared behind her, "Rachel…"
"Is very upset."
She frowned, "O—oh…h—how long?" Quinn whispered, almost afraid of the answer.
The man pushed up his materialized glasses; "Two months," he stated simply, conversationally, like it wasn't a big fucking deal that she had been dead for over two months.
How was that even possible!
"Time moves differently here in Other. An hour here is a month in Moraltobia—"
"Why do you keep calling it that," she interrupted numbly, unaware that she had been speaking until the words spilled from her lips.
Chuckling lightly, the man tapped at his now bare chin, "Because you humans are just so moral. Really, judging and killing each other because of words in a man-made novel. False advertisements really are your specialty."
"What are you talking about—?"
"Child, Jesus wasn't the messiah. He was, what you earthlings would call, a "hippie feminist" high on life and self-love. The kid is one of His favorites though. One of many."
Quinn swallowed thickly, his words coming in one ear and flying out the other, "I—" hazel eyes filled with tears, "I'm dead," she repeated to herself, unable to believe that her life was truly over, "I can't believe it."
"Yes, yes, tragic loss," he sighed before pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead, "Look, I really must be going. I have things to do and one of His messengers should be coming to get—" he stopped abruptly.
Her head rose just in time to see puzzlement and annoyance flash in burgundy eyes. The man rolled his eyes, "Oh for Other's sake!" he shouted quite suddenly before disappearing from sight.
Quinn glanced around in fear and confusion as pain spread through her; her gaze landed on the grinning moon and her chest collapsed in on itself.
She was really dead. No more Yale, no more friends. No more Rachel. Oh God—he said she'd been dead for two months. Quinn could only imagine what everyone was going through right now.
Hell she could barely process what she was going through herself.
The man reappeared a second later with a miffed expression covering his features; he leaned down until they were eyelevel once more.
"Do you want to live?"
Quinn's eyes widened in surprise, "I—what? I thought you said I was dead—"
"Technically that's true," he interrupted without warning as he placed a bare hand on her bloody cardigan, "But that doesn't mean your life is over."
"I don't…I don't understand," she muttered in confusion, wincing slightly as his grip on her tightened.
"You don't have to understand, Lucy Quinn Fabray. But I am asking you, do you want to live?"
Surprisingly, part of her wanted to say no. Being alive meant more heartache, more pain and unrequited feelings. Meant having to deal with an alcoholic mother and indifferent friends. But—but at the same time, she desperately wanted to live. She would give anything.
Her gaze hardened determinedly as she nodded in affirmation, "Yes."
The man paused for a second before continuing, "Even if it meant the life you once knew is gone and a different path awaits you?"
Quinn faltered momentarily, her brows furrowing in mystification as she gazed into burgundy eyes; she swallowed harshly the next moment before nodding, "Yes."
Before the word left her mouth she could see the fog around them thickening. Quinn looked around anxiously as the fog enveloped their bodies.
"Good—this is your second chance, Lucy Quinn Fabray. Don't screw it up."
Her eyes widened as he placed his finger on her forehead—
And pushed.
x
Quinn fell back against plush bed; her eyes squeezed shut as sunlight streamed into her bedroom window, momentarily blinding her.
Blinking, the blonde sat up sluggishly and slowly rubbed at her eye. She glanced around nervously before exhaling when noticed she really was in her room, on her bed.
Quinn sighed as she palmed the back of her neck and attempted to work out the crinks.
That had been a weird ass dream—
"Quinn?"
At the sound of her name, Quinn snapped her head to the side, her eyes widening when she took note of the girl beside her.
"R—rachel?"
The young star stared at her with a huge and teary gaze, "Quinn," Rachel whispered before reaching out to her, "Is that—is that really you?" the girl pressed her fingers against her face slowly and dragged them along her cheek.
"You're alive. Oh God, Quinn! You're alive!"
A soft front was pressed against her suddenly as Rachel launched herself at the blonde; they landed on the bed with an 'oomphed.'
Quinn held the younger girl's waist as Rachel shook and cried into her neck, muttering "You're alive," over and over again against her skin.
Licking her suddenly dry lips, Quinn buried her nose in soft brown locks as she sagged into the bed.
She was alive. Truly alive and—
Quinn tensed up once more when she caught sight of something across the room.
A picture of what looked like her and Rachel in matching McKinley high Cheerleading outfits.
Locked in a deep kiss.
What the hell—
Different path indeed.
x
A/N: thank you Soul Eater for being amazing and being the inspiration for the Other world! Hope you all enjoyed. So premise for this fic: Rachel and Quinn are thrust into an alternate universe. More details to come.