A/N (longest note hopefully): This' based loosely off of a role play over the computer between close friend and myself from years ago.
If you take a time to glance through this you may be thinking "Vampires…hm..." Well for this fic vampires are more like the icing on the cake. It's a focus and a major plot device, but McKenley High School's still the same high school. I have no plans on directly including werewolves and-what-not, but I'll mention their existence. There will be Vampire Hunters, though.
I love gothic horror, I grew up on Buffy (I was 11 when it came out and I would sneak watching the show…good-times…good-times) I read Vampire Diaries a decade before show existed, saw Interview with the Vampire when I was in 4th grade…read Dracula when was in middle school…obsessed over Underworld…you get where I'm going…I love a more contemporary – traditional style for my vampires, and that's what will be happening with story. (I won't knock Twilight…I may poke fun a bit but I won't be using that 'style' of vampire for this story)
Before I make a complete and total final decision on if this will be written 'chronologically' or if it will be in a sort of flashback form I was curious of what you all will want to see in structure. Basically, it will after prologue in a liner timeline format or it will start with Rachel as a teenager and flashback/daydreams/dreams will showcase happened between Brittany, Quinn, Rachel and Santana before Rachel became 15/16 years old. Quinn, Brittany, and Santana all suffered some sort of tragedy.
(Death time frame)
Brittany- 1930s Great Depression-Dust Bowl Era
Quinn- 1900-1905 Revolution of 1905 (Russia)
Rachel- Present Day 'Glee' more like around season 1-2
Santana- 1964 American Civil Rights Movement
READ, REVIEW and ENJOY! I live on constructive criticism, it makes me want to do better and cater even more towards my readers.
Title: Snowfall
Rating: M – language, strong sexual themes, drug and alcohol use, gore, and "character death"
Word Count: 1,905
Pairings (in no order): Faberry, Brittana, Tike, Klaine, Finchel (very brief)
Friendships: Quick, Puckleberry, Pezberry, more
Five thousand, eight hundred, and forty days filled of blissful heartache, love, stress, and tears. Lucy Quinn Fabray convulsed with unbridled emotion. Her existence unnecessary, null-and-void, useless without the young girl she clung to.
Without Rachel Barbra Berry, she was lost.
Prologue:
Contrary to popular belief as time progresses their bodies do age. If you were to ask, or even state this to the three young women who sped along the I-78 highway, ten miles outside of Newark. Thirty-minutes into the six-hour car ride from New York City to Pittsburgh, inside their new smoke grey Camaro. Each would give you their askew point on the matter, always starting with: 'Do we in fact age?' Then the younger two of the three would default their views into agreeing with the one who has in fact 'aged' the longest, and Quinn—Lucy Quinn Fabray would answer.
"Do we age? Of course we age, but I, myself, have become fairly younger throughout my years."
The blonde who called herself Quinn, however known by most as Lucy, and was called a variety of names by close friends. Never completely divulge her knowledge because she knew just enough, just enough to sate her own sanity in the matter.
Aging physically was unnoticeable. Aging through appearance had become one of the top ways that allowed Quinn, Brittany, and Santana to survive among other ways, of course.
A squeal of tires and the crush of metal broke through the rifts of Pearl Jam's Better Man, as it played for the three friends from the radio.
Quinn lifted her head from the pages of her book. She narrowed her eyes, the black-ice must be worse than the report stated the hour before the left, and glanced the road ahead through the opening between Brittany and Santana who sat together at the front. Had she originally suggested to drive as planned, Quinn would be alone in the front while Brittany and Santana did god knows in the back here, it was the better choice, the more content choice, and Santana did enjoy driving their new car. Brittany said it had to do with how Santana's father never allowed her to driven—even though she knew how—because it was still safer for her brother to drive. Brittany also, said that Santana knew her father was right.
The blonde fingered the spine of the book allowing the power vocals of Eddie Vedder to swirl into the depths of her conscious. The cries louder than any dog whistle beat her ear drums. Then gone, non-existent.
"St—stop…stop the car!"
"What, you can't be serious. You were the one who wanted to hit Pittsburgh before nightfall." Santana huffed eyes never leaving the road, her figures gripping tighter to the steering wheel. "And after that forecast from this morning about black-ice on the highway, stopping," Santana pulled the car a hair over to the right as a large red truck, the first car they had seen on the road since the start of the travels, swerved to avoid a patch of ice. "isn't an option."
Brittany, her focus on snow-covered landscape which sped by circled over to Quinn. She bobbed her head agreeing with Santana's statement. "It's not safe…well for the car at least, and I don't want to have to walk the whole way. Last time we did that, we looked homeless—I don't want to look homeless again, Quinn…"
"I know—I know, Brittany." She gripped the Brittany's right shoulder the best she could, this car's front seats almost grazed the plastic side-panel. Quinn followed the stitching within the leather interior eyes connecting with Santana through the rear-view mirror. "I don't want you to ever feel homeless again either." Wavering as the Latina pressed her foot against the accelerator the engine purred.
"Stop!"
The car skid several inches turning into several feet forward.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to kill us?" Santana steadied the wheel applied a feather-light touch to the break then rolled across the passanger-side white line. The Latina forced the Camaro to a stop, first placing it in park before pulling the emergency break. "You know what; we wouldn't even be in this mess if you could just make your—mind…" Plastic bracelets clanking together as a Chanel vamp-colored nail polished finger pressed against Santana's lips.
"Honey, I hear it too. Shut off the car." Brittany, the leaner, taller, and more sympathetic of the three spoke.
"I don—no, Britt, she said she was better…you said she was better…" Santana ignored the hazel glare from the back. Quinn may be her senior, but that respect was earned. In the eyes of the fiery-young-Latina she had barely even made the cut, and that was only because without her melt down she and Brittany would have never met. She pressed her forehead against the blonde in the front passenger now lost in eyes of ice-blue.
She called her ridiculous. Quinn tolerated the new member to their pair, or was she the new member? No, no Santana would always be the third member never the other way around. Quinn was always the first, if it hadn't been for her Brittany would not be here, and in return neither would Santana. So, yes, Quinn would always be the first. She surmised placing the constant lingering doubt of loyalty from her longest friend at bay. Now she needed to find the source of that noise.
"It's louder…I think…just a little," absently theorized Brittany while she sat staying out into the landscape. Quinn pressed her kneed into the center-back of Brittany's seat. She took the hint, and opened the door stepping out to pull it forward allowing Quinn to leave the car.
Santana, unused to the unquestioned loyalty between the two pulled the keys from the ignition and deposited them into her leather jackets front pocket. Twenty-two year it was just the two of them her and Brittany then five years ago Quinn showed up, ringing their Soho apartment, asking for Brittany to allow her back into her life.
She did, the blonde embraced Quinn, never leaving her side taking every word of her 'adventures' to heart. Brittany forgave the young woman, who rescued her from pain, but Santana did not. As far as Santana was concerned, Quinn only brought on a new form of sorrow to Brittany.
All three could hear up to a mile maybe two if they really concentrated. Quinn concentrated. Again the pitch equaled the highest sequence from a dog whistle except this time it wavered. The source, what-ever it was, was seemed to be dying out.
"Over here," yelled out Santana, she had sauntered in the direction of the road bridge's railing. The metal rail spit curling from either side. "It's just the engine of a car, from an accident, and the emergency box it what, a mile up that way." Santana, pointed west. "No, one reported I bet," she continued accompanied now by Quinn and Brittany. "See, I told you I'm not the most heartless thing on the planet."
Holding the curled rail, Quinn leaned forward. "It's coming from in there."
Santana huffed, "I just said that…seriously…"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "No, it's not the car. Listen, suppress the surrounding noise, and listen." She pointed in the direction of the four-door sedan. "That was the...crash—wait, wait—that was the car that past us about fifteen minutes back." The cry sounded, softer monotone…dying...
Brittany and Santana followed Quinn's suggestion, suppressing the surrounding wind, ignoring the ruble of the road from the cars soon to pass. The cry, both heard the cry. Maybe, Quinn wasn't as wacked-out as she thought. Just—what did Brittany call it—alone, maybe Quinn really was alone no matter who was with her.
"Quinn—Quinn," both questioned together in a frank neither seeing Quinn jump from the bridge onto the dirt hill fifteen feet below.
Arms out stretched, legs bent from the impact with the earth. In better shoes Quinn may be mistaken for a cat as she honed in on her inner grace. "Black-ice…" she mumbled taking in the car's impact damage. The sedan's crush with the ground shortened its hood by a third. Airbags were displayed, and most-likely the cause of death for both men in the driver and passenger seat.
"Did they suffer…" whispered Brittany, now beside Quinn. Santana, ignoring the cautious blondes, walked to the car observing the outer damage. The careful-slow-nature both blondes applied to car and planes always amused the Latina.
"No, their next snapped either from impact or the airbags, I don't know," reassured Quinn.
Glass broke, metal hedges popped with a car door flying a few feet beneath the bridge. "Shit,shit—sh—shit! I…um…a little help? I think I found the noise yo—Jesus, I'm never going to get used to that."
Brittany gasped.
Quinn shoved her way through, a car-seat covered in blankets. She retracted the plastic handle leant forward. Hands outright, made contact with the mass, tips of her fingers felt no movement. Left knee atop the leather seat, she lowered the blanket covering the child's face, it's head covered with a woolen hat. Quinn traced her right index and middle finger across the forehead and down the cheek of the infant.
"Is it—he—she…" Santana noticed pink explosion in the back. "She—is she alright? Quinn, say something."
"Quinn, please—please say something…"
Quinn brushed her fingers against the infant again. "Santana, go start the car, this thing's too put in the back. We'll have to put it in the trunk. Brittany and I can trade off holding her in the car." She traced the chubby cheek, puckered lips barely created movement, but movement nonetheless. "She isn't cold and her skin isn't red yet. If we can warm her up, she should be okay."
No one moved.
"Did you not hear me Santana? I said start the car! She need to be exposed to warmth," growled Quinn, a shone-glare on her companions. "Go! Brittany, there's a bag on the other side of the car, we need that."
Brittany nodded as she watched Santana ready to protest. "Not now, honey…," she spoke barely at a whisper.
Quinn heard the huff escape her lips at each tromped step up the steep hill in the direction of their parked car. "They should have never left to go wherever they were going, in this weather with a little one like you on board, huh?" She unclasped the infant from her car seat. Brittany unbelted the seat and pull the seat from the opposite side of the car as Quinn held onto the girl. "But, it will be okay, we are going to get you warm, and then maybe you'll want to eat. I beat you want to eat."
Oldest of the three companions, unzipped her jacket hiding the child within its confines as best she could, her fingers running along an embroidered stitch. Quinn pulled it free to wrap around the child's head.
"I think this' everything. The bag had some papers in it. We can look at them in the car," Brittany said as she snuck a peek at the infant girl. She smiled, her warm smile, and Quinn knew Brittany knew why she had to do this.
Quinn nodded, wrapping the blanket one last time, embroidery stitch in view. "Least we know one thing about you, little-one, you have a very pretty name."
"Rachel."
I hope you enjoyed, please review and let me know what you think.