Set after the events of "On my way" so don't read if you don't want to know what happened at the end of the episode. I wanted to try something a bit more angsty and more realistic since actual Glee will probably have either Quinn recovering in a wheelchair from what appears to be a single yet aesthetically pleasing cut during an episode or, will fast forward the process entirely and have her walking and singing about overcoming adversity within no time.
As always character belong to the creators of Glee, I'm just adding a little extra.
Your face is wearing a deep set frown, hazel eyes fixated on the plastic IV drip attached to the back of your hand. You flex your bruised fingers then ball them into a fist, ignoring the stretch of the tape and the push of the needle against your skin. It tugs and scrapes at your veins, the sharp ache breaking through your revere, reminding you once again this is not some horrible twisted dream. Your Mother excused herself a good twenty minutes ago, probably to release the moisture threatening to spill from the moment a raspy voice you didn't believe to be your own told her you couldn't feel your legs. Your own shed tears have long ago dried, leaving behind salty tracts which sting the pattern of cuts dusting your sweeping cheekbones, the only evidence that you are a living creature of flesh and feeling and not some stoic marble sculpture. Maybe it's the mass amount of pain killers you have been given or the loss of blood making you have this out of body experience. Or maybe it was the string of alien words pouring from the doctor's lips, unconceivable phrases like "fractured femur", "shattered pelvis", "severe internal bleeding" and then, "suspected spinal cord injury". You swallow with a wince, your throat still raw from the tube they stuck in you to help you breathe when your cracked ribs could no longer help you do so. You didn't even see the truck coming, your gaze distracted by the trill coming from the passenger seat, a seemingly humdrum moment in time. It smashed into your side of the car in a tsunami of screeching metal, broken glass and twisted plastic. You remember your emotions at that part: the terror and hysteria as you struggled to free yourself from the bloody chaos. But now you mostly just feel numb, as unfeeling as those now useless bits of anatomy stretched in front of you, covered by crisp white sheets. You extend your un-wired arm to the object lying on the edge of the bed, still innocently sitting in the same place your mother's shaking hands placed it a lifetime ago, a promising, repaired and re-perfected lifetime to be exact, dragging it into view. The screen is cracked, a black gouge running through the bright cheerio's wallpaper and, frozen in the bottom corner, the words which will be forever burnt into your memory: "I'm on my way". You nudge it with your fingertips until it tips over the cotton edge, hitting the floor with a sickening crack, re-affirming your thoughts with finalising clarity-that you are the broken phone and life is the cold hard floor.