13:57
A/N: If you haven't read my earlier story "Beyond the End" go read that first. I'm pretty sure this will make absolutely NO SENSE otherwise.
Ah-Hem: Also, if you were a fan of that and wanted more of the same. . .well, this isn't necessarily more of the same. Experimenting with tense and PoV. So this is even more angsty. It is, however, better plotted out. 11 chappies, so get ready for a bit of a haul.
Quinn pulls up in front of a small, two storied house deep in the Lima suburbs. She glances at it out the passenger window as she puts the car in park. It looks the same as any of the other cookie cutter houses in the subdivision: small porch, two windows on the first floor, three on the second. Two car garage. The immaculately cared for garden and intricately painted mailbox set it apart. That, and the fact that it is a garish pink hue.
Figures that Rachel Berry, diva extraordinaire and gold star enthusiast lives in a flaming pink house.
Nobody says anything for a long moment, because really, what is there to say? Quinn feels particularly apart. She's not friends with Rachel – she never has been, and she doubts she ever will be. They're too different. Even so, she doesn't envy the other girl this moment. Everything will change the minute that Rachel rings that doorbell – the uncertainty will disappear and, let's be honest, things will probably get a lot worse.
Quinn's never been a terribly optimistic person, and the whole Apocalypse hasn't changed that.
It's Blaine, unsurprisingly, who breaks the silence with a carefully cleared throat and a cheery "your house is lovely, Rachel."
Quinn can barely keep from laughing at that, but she does manage to restrain herself enough that it comes out as a harsh snort, instead of the outrights guffaws that Sanatana and Puck give out. Even Kurt sniffs in disdain.
Rachel, however, doesn't react. Quinn glances in the rearview mirror at the other girl. She looks terrified, small white teeth chewing away at a bottom lip, brown eyes so wide that the whites can be seen. She looks more like a chipmunk then ever.
Finn reaches out and grabs Rachel's hand, carefully threading his fingers through. "Hey," he whispers. "You don't have to do this. We can just leave. . .go to Puck's place, or Quinn's. If it's too hard. . ."
Since when, Quinn wonders, has Finn Hudson become empathetic?
"No," Rachel shakes her head, and strands of brown hair whip into her boyfriend's face, eliciting another giggle from Santana in the very back of the car. "It's worse. The not knowing."
Quinn doesn't agree with that, because quite frankly, she's perfectly happy not knowing where her parents are, or whether they are even alive. Her world won't be shattered if she finds out that they became sick with radiation, or starved to death, or even were standing directly beneath a bomb that was dropped. They were far from the best parents – her father especially – and she isn't sure she wants to see them again, ever.
But she can understand where Rachel is coming from, because two years ago she'd have been in the same situation. Back before the baby, before Finn and Puck made a mess of her life, back when she'd been a Daddy's girl and a little angel.
A lifetime ago.
Finally Rachel nods her head, decisive, and opens the door. She steps out, and Quinn thinks she's going to go for it, really just walk all the way up to the porch and ring the doorbell. But she doesn't. She makes it one step, and then just stands there. Her shoulders drop and her spine slumps. Quinn watches for a moment, and maybe, just maybe she's feeling an inkling of smug superiority, because she has never, and will never, be as weak as Rachel Berry is acting right then.
But then she remembers that they are supposed to be friends, and the superiority goes right out the window.
"Come on, guys," Quinn says, opening her own door and walking out.
The other kids pile out, too, quiet and somber. Finn stands beside Rachel, and takes her hand again. Without a word, Kurt stands on her left. Rachel smiles up at the two of them, tears in her eyes. Quinn stuffs her own hands deep in her pockets.
The doorbell sings out with the tune of "Defying Gravity". Santana smirks again, but this time Puck elbows her in the ribs and shakes his head. Quinn is feeling butterflies in her stomach now, and almost wants to grab Rachel by the sleeve and drag her back into the car. She wants to say "not knowing is better, it is" and "ignorance is bliss and"
The door doesn't open. Rachel moves to ring it again, but Finn grabs her hand and shakes his head.
"It's your house," he says, not unkindly. "Let's just go in."
The front door isn't locked, and they all troop in together. The smell hits them all at once, like it's rushing out at them, a tidal wave. Quinn almost gags with the strength of it. Santana ducks out immediately, gasping outside.
"Oh my God." Rachel is shaking, and Quinn just wants to say "I told you so," but she knows it wouldn't be constructive. Finn leads Rachel outside, enfolding her within his arms. She's so tiny that she disappears beneath the bulk of her boyfriend.
"Kurt, Quinn, wait outside," Blaine says. His voice is low and choked, and when Quinn glances at him, he's looking away. She thinks he might be crying, but she can't be sure. Puck nods his head, his jaw set. It's the same look he wears before a solo, or a big play in football. Quinn swallows heavily, and grabs Kurt's sleeve.
"Come on," she says. Kurt looks like he's going to protest, but then a tiny breeze wafts through the front door, and the smell is back again, stronger than ever. He pales, and nods his head.
"Okay," he says, and they back slowly out.
Rachel is still buried beneath Finn. Kurt walks over to them, places a hand on Rachel's back, and begins rubbing it in circles, soothingly. Quinn, feeling awkward, stands to the side, her arms wrapped around her middle.
"That was disgusting," Santana sneers. "Worse than the hospital."
Quinn nods, because really, what else could she say?
"Sucks for the midget," Santana mutters. "Where're Blaine and Puck? I just want to get out of here."
Quinn doesn't answer. She can't. The thought of what the boys are doing – what they're seeing, and smelling, and – oh God – touching. . .her stomach is roiling and she bites down on her tongue hard, willing the bile away. She will not vomit, she will not. . .
Is this what will happen at her house? Because she doesn't want to go if it is, she just wants to go back to the bunker and stay with Sue, and the glee kids, and the Cheerios. Why had she thought it was a good idea to come on this stupid road trip, anyway? She should be sitting in quarantine reading stories to Brittany, or helping Artie with his physical therapy.
She's pulled out of her reverie by a tug on the end of her scarf. Looking up she sees Kurt. His eyes have a suspicious sheen to them, but his cheeks are dry. "We're going to go wait in the car, where it's warm," he says, and Quinn nods, just once, before following him. Santana doesn't moving.
"Aren't you coming?" Quinn asks. The other girl shakes her head.
"No," she says. "I can't. . .I don't. . ."
"Okay," Quinn says, because she doesn't know what else to say. Not when Santana is standing there looking lost, and Berry is breaking down.
Quinn slides into the driver's seat again, and closes her eyes. She breathes in, slow through her nose, out through her mouth, the way Coach Sylvester taught her so many years ago. It works. It always works, and her stomach calms down, and her mouth clears. It's not a surprise, she reminds herself. She expected this. They all did.
Except, based on the sniffing noises coming from behind her, and Finn's whispered condolences, she realizes that some of them still believe in happy endings. And she can deal with Berry having a breakdown, but she's not sure she'll be able to deal with Puck doing the same, or Blaine. She reaches out and holds the wheel. It's comforting, solid. Something she can touch without it screaming out in pain or crumbling before her eyes. She sighs, closes her eyes. But it's dangerous there, in the darkness, because all she can see are brown eyes and tiny hands. She jerks back again, eyes wide open.
She turns on the radio, but the airwaves are silent. No DJs to start up playlists, or put on commercials. She flicks through idly. There has to be at least one station set to play automatically. But there's nothing, just silence and static. And the sound of Rachel still crying behind her.
It's about five minutes later when Santana climbs back into the car. She doesn't say a word as she sits in the middle, just props her hand on her fist and stares out the window. Blaine and Puck are right behind her. Blaine is twisting his arm in its socket as though it pains him, and Puck's face is blanker than Quinn's ever seen it, and she had History with him last semester.
"Is everything okay?" Quinn says, and winces as the words leave her mouth.
"No," Blaine mutters.
"My house is two blocks away," Puck says.
"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Finn says. "I mean. . .maybe we should just go back. Maybe they'll come find us. Maybe. . ."
"No." Blaine's voice has gained strength, and he twists in the front to stare back at Finn. Quinn pulls back onto the street. She's glad that there aren't cars blocking the way around here, not like there were on the highway driving to Ohio. All of the Lima residents, apparently, pulled over to the side. Maybe they didn't even know about the bombs here, she thought. Maybe it was just radiation. Maybe. . .
"No," Blaine says again. "You can go back, if you want, Finn. We can drop you off. But I'm not going back underground. I need to know. And they deserve that. Anyone who is still alive deserves a rescue party. I won't force you to join me, but I'm not going back."
"Turn left at the stop sign," Puck says, and Quinn has to wonder how he knows the way from Berry's to his own so well. She doesn't say anything, though, just turns the wheel. They pull up to another cookie-cutter house, though this one is smaller and more worn down. It's a dull brown color, a welcome reprieve from the garishness of Rachel's.
"I've got this," Puck says. "You guys can stay here."
But once again, everyone climbs out of the car. Quinn wraps a scarf around her hand, and loops her arm over Rachel's shoulder. "We'll stay here," she says. "But Noah. . .if you need to talk, or just get out of there. . ."
"Please," Puck says with a smirk. "I'm a total BAMF. I got this."
But Quinn knows him, and she knows that the way his left leg is twitching, and his jaw is trembling that he very much doesn't got this. And she wants to reach out and give his hand a squeeze, or his cheek a kiss, or just to rub her hand through the short hair of his Mohawk, but she doesn't.
"Come on," Finn says awkwardly. Santana loops an arm around Puck's. This time she enters the house with them.
Quinn stiffens when Rachel leans into her side. Frantically she checks for anywhere that cloth isn't covering her skin, and is relieved when Berry just closes her eyes and sighs.
"You're so warm," she says. "It's nice."
And okay, maybe Quinn was wrong earlier. Maybe they can be friends.
Only a few minutes pass before Santana returns, holding hands with a small, mousy looking girl. It takes Quinn a moment to recognize her.
"Hi," the girl says nervously. "Noah said to come out and wait for the car. I don't know what he's doing in the house."
"Hi. . .Sarah. . ." Quinn says, desperately praying that is the name of Puck's younger sister. It must be right, because the girl smiles.
"Do you know what's going on?" she asks. "Mom hasn't been home for two weeks, and Noah's been gone. The school bus didn't come to pick me up, and the TV doesn't work, and nobody's at home."
Quinn's mouth is slowly dropping open as she stares at the girl. She can't be more than twelve, yet she's been alone since the bomb's dropped? With the same nonchalance that Puck often demonstrates, Sarah pops a bubble in her gum. "What's wrong with you?" she asks Rachel.
Quinn glances over Sarah's head to see the boys leaving the house. Puck's face is worried, while Blaine wears a carefully constructed mask.
"Your mom?" Quinn asks. Puck sighs and shrugs.
"I don't know. Sarah says she's been missing this whole time. We could go look at her work but. . ."
"Well, I'm glad your okay," Rachel says, patting Sarah on the head awkwardly. The two are almost the same height.
"Oh my God," Sarah rolls her eyes and turns to her brother. "Noah, please tell me you aren't dating her again just because she's Jewish."
"Please," Puck says. "Give me some credit. Your brother is getting plenty of post-Apocalyptic ass."
"Gross," Sarah says with a wrinkled nose, and Quinn is more than willing to agree with her. Completely unnecessary. Puck, however, just grins, and grabs his sister into a rough hug. Rachel is looking at them with a sad expression, which Quinn doesn't miss, and Santana is hopping a little from one foot to the other.
"Okay, come on," Quinn says. "We should be able to get to Santana's before it's dark."
Blaine nods. "Yeah," he says. "It might be a good idea to clean out this area, and then stay for the night underground. We can head to New York tomorrow."
"What about your house?" Kurt asks. Blaine's expression tightens, and he shakes his head.
"We don't have to go there," he says. "I doubt my parents would be home, anyway. It would just be a waste of time."
Kurt looks troubled, but doesn't say anything else. Quinn is glad that nobody mentions her home. Instead, they all just climb into the van again, Sarah, Puck, Blaine, and Kurt miraculously fitting into the back seat together. Quinn glances in the rearview mirror. Sarah is half on Puck's lap, half on Blaine, and Kurt is pressed hard into the other boys' side. Quinn can't quite keep the little half smile off her face as she notices Kurt and Blaine sneaking sideways glances at one another, or the light flush across their faces.
"Um. . .just drive toward the railroad tracks," Santana says.
"Seriously?" Quinn asks.
"Please, bitch, I told you I'm from the wrong side of the tracks," Santana says. "This ho don't lie."
A/N: Poor, poor Rachel. That sucks. Like, hardcore. Um. . .reviews are love, as ever, as are favorites and alerts.
Coming Soon: Santana's house, one of our merry band returns to Sue's Underground Bunker, and Puck puts the moves on the wrong lady.