Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, any of its characters, or the song If I Die Young by the Band Perry.
A/N: This is a companion piece to my story On My Way, in which Rachel dies and Quinn recounts it all. This is from Rachel's POV from before and during her last moments, so it will be angsty. You have been warned.
I'd love to hear your opinion on the story, if you'd like to leave a comment.
If I Die Young
TheSilentPen
The plan had been drawn up in second grade, part of the clichéd 'future plans' assignment all elementary schools doled out upon their starry-eyed kids.
Lima Elementary hadn't been much different. It was a drab school, bedizened in ugly, green paint that curled with age and surrounded about all sides with cruel, chain linked fencing designed to keep students in and reality out.
Ms. Jacobs second grade class was filled to the brim with hopeful children who all proclaimed their desire to be 'doctors,' 'lawyers,' just like mommy or daddy,
But Rachel Berry had never been just like her classmates.
She had not one, but two fathers that she bragged about on a daily basis. Her vocabulary was well beyond that of an average 7 year old's, she dressed to the letter (even if she wore clothes that a kindergartener should only wear), and knew exactly where she wanted to be.
And apparently had since she had entered her first singing competition at 19 months of age.
She wrote her life dreams out in hot pink crayon on the large, broad spaced journals gifted to elementary schoolers, detailing exact milestones and at which age they would occur.
She would maintain a spotless record through middle school and high school, where she would undoubtedly triumph over her oppressors (Rachel was not foreign to the cruelty-her classmates shunned her on a regular basis) whilst maintaining a wellspring of extra curriculars and a perfect GPA.
All of this would lead to her easy acceptance into Juilliard, where she would play the stereotypical role of struggling, bohemian artist/student. Whilst still in school, she would land a once in a lifetime role that would propel her into stardom by age 20.
She planned to have her first award by 21 and a steady boyfriend on her show. At age 25 she would undoubtedly have taken broadway by storm and be well onto her way to winning an EGOT, during which she would give her virginity to her beloved (they would marry At 23) and proceed to start a family.
It was a flawless plan. One she planned to follow down to a t and find happiness in. After all, it was perfectly reasonable to expect success when she had already proven to be a winner so early in life.
The teasing became easy to ignore as long as she knew that her plans would work out in the end.
She had to amend everything, unfortunately, to account for a crippling setback.
Asthma certainly hadn't been part of the plan.
She tried to run the mile in fifth grade, just as she had every year since kindergarten.
But respiratory problems had been a thing as of late. Her bout with pneumonia (she wanted to practice a 'Singing in the Rain' routine and got a little carried away) left her weak. It escalated slowly.
First she'd been a bit more winded during a dance lesson.
She needed a bit more time to catch her breath during recess as she climbed up and down the monkey bars and the play set.
And then the mile.
The crushing feeling of in her chest. The gasping choke as some invisible hand tightened its hold on her throat. Something sat heavy on her torso, impeding upon every shuddering draw of air into her starved lungs.
She lost consciousness, tumbling to the ground in a mess of tangled limbs.
When she came to, she found her fathers bent over her, worried and tearful.
The doctor explained. How she had an extreme case of asthma brought on by poor lungs, exacerbated by chronic illness. She couldn't strain herself, he said. She had to carry an inhaler on her person at all times, in case of severe attack.
Her dream of reaching broadway seemed farther away than ever. What if she had an attack on stage? Would the singing tire her more than ever before?
Would there exist any hope for a normal life?
She heard him claim that she would never be stage worthy, unless she wished death on herself. The instant she danced for a mere five minutes, her lungs would constrict and her body would become her own sarcophagus.
But Rachel had never been one to allow others to tell her what she was and wasn't capable of.
She practiced exhaustively. Learned to control the amount of air in her lungs and ration it. To hold on through the pain and the constriction of her lungs. Of her own body turned traitor against her.
By the time she reached high school, she'd formed a good system. She could stave off the asthma for a good ten minutes before the attack, and for several after the weight settled on her chest, assuming she performed exhaustively.
McKinley high school, however, introduced larger problems than asthma.
She'd become the elite's punching bag. The favored slushy target, the favorite person to dump into the trash cans.
A social pariah known as a pest and an over enthusiastic bother to everyone in school, including the nerds.
Rachel fought back against them. This, after all had all been part of the plan that sat juice-stained on the cork board in her room. She'd foreseen this.
One day she would be able to laugh at the,. While she was successful and living a coveted life in New York, the rest of them would forever be stuck in Lima, Ohio, wrecked of their dreams by their pretentious behavior and lack of foresight.
She really hadn't expected any better of them.
Except one.
Quinn Fabray, captain of the Cheerios and resident Queen of McKinley's social system.
Quinn seemed everything that most of the school was not. Smart (she was tied with Rachel for the school's valedictorian position), athletic, commanding, and beautiful.
Quinn was classically beautiful. Light, golden blonde hair that fell in a halo about her shoulders in gentle waves whilst out of its severe ponytail. Slim, toned legs and arms with an attractive stomach (Rachel and Quinn shared PE classes their freshman year). Bright, hazel eyes that shifted rom the richest shades of pure, burnished gold to soft emerald. Goddess-chiseled features perfectly in proportion to a well set nose and covered over in skin as pale as alabaster. Full, pouting lips the color of the skin of a ripened plum.
She had the sweetest smile when she charmed others, but the smile never quite seemed to reach her eyes...
She seemed beyond juvenile behavior, Rachel thought.
She was wrong.
Quinn ritually tortured her. Took pleasure in yelling obscenities at her or pushing her into lockers.
Her treatment prove demote cruel than the jocks on their worst day. For some odd reason, Rachel felt inexplicably drawn to the cheerleader and hoped that the cruelty Quinn had shown her was merely a facade that she would break through.
But Quinn continued on in her insults and showed no sign of halting any time within the next two years of their life. It frustrated Rachel to no end.
Glee club proved the perfect outlet.
Though the Glee kids were not incredibly fond of her, at least they recognized her worth and allowed her to take charge. The often obsessive compulsive rearrangement of music, costumes, and dance choreography gave Rachel a fresh outlet for her frustrations.
She may have been a little too domineering for her own good, but at least she didn't take a Gatling gun and take aim at the school's elite (namely Quinn Fabray) for the sorry state of her school life.
As long as Rachel had New Directions, she would settle under the current (tyrannical) conditions for four years.
Until Finn Hudson entered the club.
He was a cute in a dopey, puppy dog way, with big, begging eyes and a smile that suggested he had either smoked something or had a single digit IQ.
Had it been any other person, Rachel might have disregarded them altogether. But Finn had a good (for Ohio) voice and was captain of the football team to boot. Wearing him on her arm would bring with it a surge to popular and a premature end to her high school suffering.
Who could do better?
Hence, Rachel amended her plan. She'd take Finn Hudson. Take him and make him her boyfriend and shape him into the handsome lead male that she deserved.
But an obstacle came in the shape, once more, of Quinn Fabray.
His girlfriend.
The two of them began jumping down each other's throats. Quinn won her way into New Directions with chilling ease. She sought to bring the club down, and bring Rachel down with it.
Quinn aimed at the jugular, snarling and slashing while Rachel deflected her ferocity with measured responses and innocent smiles.
God seemed to be on Rachel's side, though he had a rather cruel sense of humor. Quinn was sent tumbling down from the top of the social pyramid by her dalliances with Noah Puckerman. She was pregnant.
Rachel might've helped it along a bit more. She wanted Finn, and telling him the truth about the baby's parentage was the final domino needed to get him to finally look at her.
The end result was an explosive burst of anger on Finn's part, sending Quinn right into Puck's arms and making her an emotional wreck.
Rachel had never felt guiltier in her life.
She tried time and time again to make it up. Slipped large sums of money into Puck's hands to give to Quinn, urged Mercedes to take Quinn in, offered friendship.
They fought each other, sought to help each other, sought to kill each other. They ripped, they bit, they kicked, and they scratched. They both ended up disheveled, scarred and bleeding from the fights. They should hate each other.
Rachel should have hated Quinn.
But she didn't.
She couldn't.
Because she couldn't deny the strange sort of magnetism that seemed to draw the two of them together. They had the same boyfriends, the same interests. The same drive and determination.
Both of them wanted out of Lima, Ohio. Both wanted to make something of themselves, be seen as a power to move the stock still arms of Lima's clock.
They were the same.
And as much as Rachel hated to admit it, some part of her (some masochistic part of her) liked Quinn Fabray a little more than was appropriate.
It was more than a little infuriating, but she could not help what she felt.
Why else would she know that a damned Gardenia matched Quinn's eyes, or knew how every little fair feature of Quinn's face would curve when distressed, saddened, or jubilant.
Why else would she want to help Quinn? Give her a healthy portion of her life savings? Never want to see her shed a single tear again (Quinn Fabray crying was one of the most beautiful, yet terrible things in existence). Why did it hurt to see Quinn in pain?
Hell, she let Quinn get away with slapping her, something Rachel Berry from Freshman year would never do.
She wouldn't tell though. No, she wouldn't. Unless she had some strange, twisted desire to be shot down and mocked for the rest of her high school career.
No, much better to leave things silent and wait for a moment that Quinn would be more receptive toward… other preferences.
But till then, Rachel would bide her time.
She would bide her time, wait for Broadway, and follow the rest of the plan.
Finn Hudson was no Quinn Fabray… but she'd have to settle for him.
She had no other choice.
But that didn't mean that she couldn't attempt to bridge the gap. Make the tension between them a little less.
She worked hard to improve things between them. Harder than she had ever tried her freshman, Sophomore, and Senior year. She worked with Quinn on Spanish and English projects, sat with her at lunch, sent the occasional text.
Quinn, at first, seemed wary of the attention. Rachel could see the doubt shadowed in her eyes each time she took friendly strides toward Quinn. Hazel eyes were a mess of gold and emerald, ever shifting, ever changing, never settling on offensive or defense, soft or hard.
But Rachel persevered. She offered to do a duet with Quinn, help her with college applications coming up within the next few months. Went on outings (most commonly coffee, since both of them had a fondness for the Lima Bean's Soy Lattes) and spoke exclusively to each other on certain things.
Quinn's eyes lost their golden sheen and fell to jeweled emerald, with shy, breathtaking smiles and rosiness back in her cheeks. She became more affectionate, willing to give a hug or press a tentative kiss to Rachel's forehead (if the blonde felt particularly daring).
And during those times, the line between friend and something else, something more blurred far more than ever. It made Rachel want to grasp Quinn against her, press kisses to her mouth.
Do something, anything to change things between them.
But she kept her mouth wired shut. Hid her vulnerabilities (she could only be supportive for Quinn after all that had happened… she deserved no kindness for her diseased lungs after she nearly tore Quinn's life in two) behind a smiling, supportive mask.
Maybe someday she could tell.
But she couldn't now… She still couldn't, because Lima, Ohio was too narrow-minded and too small to handle it.
Quinn was still too small to handle it.
Perhaps life hadn't gone exactly according to plan so far. But Rachel felt she was on the right path. Things in her future looked bright for once, instead of being as muddled and uncertain as her Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior year.
She packed her duffel bag, slipped on her dance clothes (a beater and some slouchy yellow sweats) and headed off toward the studio for the day, ready to dance off her frustrations.
Ms. Andelson, her teacher, taught intensive Hip Hop for the day, claiming that it was high time Rachel moved on to more labor intensive things.
Rachel felt her chest constrict against the movements, felt her air cut off, but she pushed herself.
She could do this. She could make it without the medicine. How would she succeed on Broadway if she couldn't go through a whole act without taking a drag from her inhaler.
Two hours passed in a slow, painful crawl.
Rachel, triumphant, yet thoroughly beaten, walked to her duffel, staggering as her lungs further constricted.
Her fingers wandered the familiar side pouch, searching for the little canister. A shot of panic sprung new in her mind as her hands met emptiness. She rifled through the inside of her bag, giving a gasping shout of panic as the inhaler proved still absent.
Hands grasped at her throat as the oxygen was denied entry to her lungs. Bright spots flashed at the edge of her vision. She felt herself fall to her knees, scratching at her throat.
'God… why doesn't anything ever go according to plan…?'
Ms. Andelson swam at the edge of her vision, commonly stern features fraught with fear across every aged crease. Rachel smooth hands grasping desperately at her arms, her teacher's mouth moving noiselessly.
Maybe she was saying… something. Something important. Something to help. But Rachel could not hear a single thing that left her lips. She felt as though cotton had been stuffed barbarously into her ears. She tasted iron on her tongue, almost as though a steel bit had been shoved atop her tongue and forced her silence.
She tried to move. Tried to gasp out for her inhaler.
But she couldn't.
'Why… Why couldn't anything go as I plan it… Wh…what… did…'
She felt herself collapse onto her back, hand still grasping at her throat.
'…What did I do… to deserve this…?'
The world darkened, her hand fell from the angry, red skin of her throat.
'…Quinn… I… never…'
Her eyes closed.
'…Never… got... to...'
'...t...e...l..."
'…'
Mr. Schue swallowed heavily, facing the curious ensemble of New Directions, tears dripping down his cheeks, decorating the dark, free fibers of his vest.
He breathed in, closing his eyes briefly, disbelieving.
Chapped lips parted, his saddened voice filling every dead corner of the room.
"Rachel passed away yesterday."