i'll follow the sun
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summary: everyone helping quinn actually deal with the multitude of feelings that would go along with facing the idea of possible paraplegia for the rest of her life. don't worry, quinn's still quinn and faberry is on. judy, frannie, sam, joe, brittana, puck, and rachel all appear.
an (1) : basically just my weekly fixing of headcanon. quinn doesn't need any romantic relationship right now, let alone someone she barely knows. she needs her family and her friends. so i did that, lol. hopefully this quells some of your rage at the latest episode. enjoy, review. you guys are pros by now :) i adore you all! x
an (2) : my references pay tribute to the beatles. if you want something new to check out, here's joshua james' beautiful cover of sufjan stevens' "to be alone with you"]]
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i'll follow the sun
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(i get by with a little help from my friends)
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one. all the lonely people, where do they all belong?
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The first night in the hospital when things are really real again, Quinn cries. It wakes Judy up, which makes Quinn cry harder, because she can't remember the last time she'd seen her mother so disheveled.
Judy comes and holds Quinn's hand, starts whispering the beginnings of a fairytale.
But then she mixes up the princesses, and Quinn is about to correct her when Judy's fingers move up to run through Quinn's hair like a comb.
Quinn closes her eyes and leans into her mom's touch, feels the life there, and, as her mother softly tells of Cinderella and the seven dwarves, Quinn smiles just a little and falls asleep.
.
It's strange, having Judy help her with everything. They'd never been particularly close—Frannie had always been the golden child, thin, pretty, smart, a talented painter from preschool—so the first time Judy comes into Quinn's room after she's gotten released, Quinn has to fight back about seven thousand different forms of the word no when Judy shyly asks, "Do you want to take a bath?"
But Quinn really does need to take one, so she simply nods.
Judy walks purposefully over to Quinn and says softly, "Lift up your arms."
And so Judy helps Quinn take off one of Frannie's Stanford t-shirts, careful to not touch any of the bandaged incisions along Quinn's ribs. Then Judy silently brings gentle hands to Quinn's hips, and Quinn uses what little arm-strength she still has to lift up enough in the chair so that Judy can pull her old Cheerio's sweatpants down, then her underwear.
Judy doesn't say anything, and Quinn maybe wants to die in that moment, but then Judy simply wheels her into the bathroom adjoining the guest bedroom, where a bath is already drawn.
Judy's surprisingly strong—like Frannie—and the transfer from Quinn's chair to the tub is a little clumsy but generally smooth, and Quinn finally relaxes a little when the warm water envelops her skin.
Judy smiles this tiny smile at Quinn, and then Quinn says, "Thank you."
Judy shakes her head.
"No," Quinn says. "I know this is really hard for you, too."
"Oh, Quinnie," Judy says, and—even though Quinn despises that nickname, she smiles just a little—Judy looks sad, but she continues. "I was so scared. If I—for a parent to comprehend losing a child is just—"
"Mom," Quinn whispers, because she thinks of Beth and the pain is so intense she understands, and then Judy leans over and kisses her forehead.
"I'm just so glad you're here. And I'll do whatever I can to help you get better, okay?"
Quinn nods, and Judy takes a deep breath.
"Do you want me to wash your hair? I know you told Dr. Lopez your ribs are still sore."
"Sure," Quinn says.
Judy nods and Quinn leans back so her hair gets wet, and then Judy's hands are gentle along her scalp, and her shampoo smells the same as always.
"I like your hair like this," Judy says. "Short. It suits you."
"Thank you," Quinn says. "I like it too."
And as Judy rinses off the suds, Quinn thinks of baptism, and cleansing, and redemption.
…
two. whisper words of wisdom, let it be
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The first time Quinn goes out after the accident, the first time after she's released from the hospital, she actually ends up going to church with Judy.
It's painfully embarrassing, the whole ordeal, because people greet her when she arrives like she's a patron saint or something, and they hug her like she's about to break, and she really just feels sore and tired and also like a complete and total idiot, because this whole thing is pretty much her fault.
She sits through the service with perfected feigned interest—she knows the words to the liturgy and the Nicene Creed and the Lord's Prayer and all the hymns by heart—until they're supposed to take communion. Because she really can't get up the four red-carpeted steps and kneel on the altar, the pastor and the deacon walk over to her, and, before she can even really comprehend what's happening, they're standing in front of her, offering her communion.
She takes it blindly, manically, her hands shaking, and her skin feels clammy and flushed. The wine is bitter and the little wafer sticks to the roof her her mouth, but then she closes her eyes and just breathes, and her mother seems to notice and not shrink away, so when Judy's hand wraps around Quinn's firmly, she only holds on.
After the service, there's more fragile hugging and nervous questions, but then Sam's little sister Stacy runs up and hugs Quinn, full-force.
Sam jogs behind her, with his brother, and immediately begins to apologize, but Stacy just starts rambling about how she'd missed having Quinn over to paint her nails, and that she was so glad that Quinn was out of the hospital, and can they paint her wheelchair pink? and, even though her hug had kind of hurt a little, Quinn smiles at Stacy and then grins at Sam.
He smiles back, ruffles Stacy's hair, puts his hand gently against Quinn's shoulder and squeezes.
"It's good to see you back," he says, and it's the first time all day that she's really wanted to be there.
.
Sam comes behind her in the hallway, grabs the handles to her wheelchair without asking, which makes her smile.
"It's been tough without you in AP English," he says. "Santana doesn't want to cheat off of Rachel, so we really have no one to tell us what's going on."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Really, the unit we're doing isn't that hard."
She expects him to say something light, or funny, but he doesn't. Instead, she feels the wheelchair come to a stop, and then Sam's in front of her.
"How are you doing?" It's so serious, the way he asks, that it makes Quinn's breath catch.
"I'm okay," she says. "Some days are better than others. I'm still tired all the time. My ribs are still sore."
"No, I mean—"
"I know," Quinn says. "I—it's really hard," she admits, and it feels good to tell someone. "I'm mad, all the time. And sad. And scared. Really scared."
And then Sam doesn't ask what she's scared of, or anything else. Instead he just nods and says, "If you ever want someone to talk to, or pray with, I'm here."
She says, "Thanks," and he grants her enough dignity to walk around to the back of the chair so she can wipe her tears, and then she says, "Don't make me late for my first class back."
Sam laughs, and he pushes the chair down the hall, dropping a light kiss onto the top of Quinn's hair.
…
three. you have found her, now go and get her (remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better)
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Dancing is probably what she misses most. She'd appreciated it before; she'd loved it before. It's frustrating to need help getting dressed in the morning. It makes Quinn so angry—the anger she felt when she was pregnant, the same anger she let overtake her during the summer before senior year—when she can't roll over in bed because she's so exhausted from physical therapy and sore that the idea of using her goddamn motherfucking core to move her heavy, long legs is one that literally makes her lay in bed at night and cry hot, furious tears. She feels scared at the prospect of living her entire life like this, at going to Yale and then somewhere else and maybe even somewhere else after that, and constantly explaining to people whyshe was paralyzed.
But not being able to dance—when Brittany tugs on her arms and pain jolts all over her body for a variety of reasons—is what makes her feel profoundly sad. It's an ache she's never felt before, and Quinn can't help but think that it's ironic, because losing half of the feeling in her entire body is the one thing in her life that has caused her more pain than anything else.
.
Santana and Brittany follow her out of the bathroom.
"Quinn," Santana says, and it's forceful enough that Quinn actually stops.
"Q," Brittany whispers, coming and tucking a strand of hair behind Quinn's ear.
And Quinn hates crying at school, so Santana looks quickly and spots an empty classroom just down the hall, motions to Brittany, who wheels Quinn quickly into the room.
And then Quinn sits in that room, and she screams her frustrations and fears and terrible, consuming sadness at Santana, who does nothing but stay still and then hug Quinn after it's all over.
Brittany joins them and then says, "And we still think you're hot. And so does Rachel."
Quinn sniffles and ungraceful laugh, and Santana sits back against one of the desks. "Remember when I dated Karofsky?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Quinn says.
Brittany adds, "It really was gross, San."
Santana rolls her eyes, but she says, "Exactly my point, in a way. That'd be like you and Joe, Q, only, like, way more Christian and with much worse hair."
Quinn laughs a little, and Brittany smiles.
"Besides," Brittany says, "Rachel would probably like a chance to be on top."
"Brittany!" Quinn says.
Santana grins. "Brit's got a point, Q."
Quinn rolls her eyes, but she says. "I have super abs now, did you know that?"
"I'm sure you do," Santana says.
"And my hands—"
"—Okay, Quinn." Santana stands and pats Quinn gently on the cheek. "Brits and I trust you about your—abilities."
Brittany says, "So, you know, tell her."
"And, don't lead Joe on, okay? He actually seems like a decent guy."
Quinn laughs. "Not all men and/or Christians are awful, San."
"Still," Santana says.
Quinn looks down. "Thanks, you guys. For not freaking out when I started yelling, and for just being—"
"—We love you too, Quinn," Brittany says.
Santana nods, then adds with a smile, "And we've also seen way worse tantrums from you."
…
four. nothing's gonna change my world
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It's horrendously ironic that the first thing she feels again—really, concretely feels—is Joe's penis.
It would gross her out even if she wasn't—even if she did like him.
So when he says something about faith and not getting in the way of it, she thinks back to all of those celibacy club meetings, and stopping make-out sessions to pray with Sam, and it's kind of perfect.
Quinn smiles. Quinn says something about how it's nice that faith is always there. That that feeling—and, for her, knowledge, because if faith was based on feelings right now, she'd hate God, but she does still believe in Him—is wonderful.
And her faith, that's real. If nothing else, she's sure Joe actually does understand that.
.
He kisses her. She lets him. It's awful, and it makes everything in the world wrong but also sure.
Quinn knows. Knows.
So the next day she asks him over. He arrives, hopeful, and Judy glances at her once with a little, amused smile and a raised eyebrow before she goes out back to start gardening.
Joe sits down at the kitchen table and Quinn wheels into the spot cleared for her across from him. "You're really wonderful," she says. "And you've been so nice to me lately, but I just can't—" his face falls, and she takes a deep breath, because she needs to be fair to both of them— "I can't handle a relationship right now. I'm really, really flattered, and maybe if things were different, but I need right now to be about me."
He nods, and he doesn't actually look mad or anything, just really deflated, and he says, "I understand. I—I'd still really like to be friends."
And Quinn smiles. "Me too, Joe," she says, and very much means it.
…
five. the girl with kaleidoscope eyes
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One particularly tough day in the hospital, Puck comes and is surprisingly quiet. He sits by Quinn's side, holds her hand with the normalcy and intimacy only he has in her life.
"Tell me about Beth," she says, commands, and he looks at her sadly that she almost wants to cry.
But then he starts listing her latest accomplishments, and how big she's gotten, and he pulls out his phone and opens an email that Shelby had sent him—and Quinn—with pictures from a recent trip to the park.
Things get heavy when the idea of tiny, beautiful Beth enters into the room, always, for the two of them.
Puck says, "Tell me what you're going to do at Yale."
And then Quinn starts talking about dreams of dorms and roommates and drinking games—Puck laughs loudly—and dancing (dancing), but mostly she talks about classes and reading.
And writing.
He gets her to talk until her sentences aren't really coherent anymore—which she blames later on morphine—until she's mumbling about Walden and The Catcher in the Rye and Anna Karenina all in the same breath.
Puck smiles down at her, brushes aside her bangs, kisses her forehead. "Just go to sleep, Quinn. I'll stay."
When she wakes up a few hours later, he's still there, making his way slowly through The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Quinn recognizes a jolt of fear in that moment imagining if anything ever happened to him. He's crying, so Quinn smiles a little and makes sure he's still holding her hand, then pretends to be asleep.
.
Beth's walking now, and Quinn feels an unfathomable inadequacy when she realizes her child can walk but she can't. She'd always been broken over this child, and a part of her always would be, but now it's physical. Now people would see.
But then Puck puts Beth gently in Quinn's lap, and Beth touches Quinn's face gently, like she knows they must look just alike. Their eyes are the exact same warm, striking hazel.
Beth smiles and claps her hands and places a slobbery kiss against Quinn's cheek, and Quinn feels every single part of her heal a little, tingles down her spine, stitches tugging together the trenches in her heart.
…
six. the darkness only stays the nighttime, in the morning it will fade away
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"Greetings," Frannie says, coming into Quinn's room with a bright smile when she sees Quinn up in her chair.
"You're so weird," Quinn says, wheeling around a little in a circle.
They're not really in her room room; they're in what used to be the guest bedroom, on the first floor of the house, although Judy and Frannie and Frannie's boyfriend Robert had moved some of her stuff down: pictures and books and part of her DVD collection, her record player, some vinyl.
Frannie laughs and whacks Quinn lightly on the head with a big white paper bag from—Quinn could tell anyone this in hersleep—Anthropologie. "Be careful what you say, miss I've-seen-every-Alfred-Hitchcock-film-at-least-five-times."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "He was a film genius. And you're an artist. You're weird, Fran."
Frannie shrugs. "You're a writer."
Quinn stills halfway through a circle. "I'm not."
Frannie flops down on the bed. "You totally are."
Quinn can't help the little smile that sneaks its way onto her face. "You think so?"
"Yeah," Frannie says towards the ceiling. "You're talented."
Quinn can't help the little smile that sneaks its way onto her face. "Thanks."
Frannie sits up, looks at Quinn seriously. "You're welcome."
Quinn clears her throat. "So, what's in the bag? I'd guess, but I think I just sustained a traumatic brain injury from it."
Frannie's smile slips a little, and Quinn immediately regrets her words—she'd only had a minor concussion from the accident, but Santana's dad had told her that that was a miracle—and almost starts to apologize.
But Frannie pushes on, like she's always done, and says, "So, I—uh, we looked in your closet and—you probably won't want to wear a lot of dresses right now because you can't, well, um—" she motions to Quinn's current position in the wheelchair— "but I didn't think you'd only want to wear sweats to school, and you only had like one pair of jeans, and I figured you probably wouldn't want Mom shopping for you, so—" Frannie takes a few pairs of jeans from the bag, and then puts them in Quinn's lap.
"Oh, Frannie," Quinn whispers.
"If you don't like them or whatever, you can have Mom return them, but they're all your size and they fit me, so they should be okay, and I thought they were all cute and everything."
Quinn shakes her head. "No, no. They're perfect. It's just—" Quinn takes a deep, rattly breath and looks up at Frannie.
"I know," Frannie says, then takes Quinn's hand. "I know this is like so much to deal with right now, and you're being amazing, Quinn. Okay? Amazing."
Quinn nods, then sniffles a little. "Thank you. And, for the pants, too. I love them."
Frannie smiles, kissing Quinn's forehead. "I think you look adorable in sweats though, just so you know."
.
It's in August, and Quinn's visiting for just a few days before she leaves for Yale, and Quinn stands up and then sits down, then stands up again.
It smells oranges like in Frannie's little sunny apartment in San Francisco, and Quinn takes a deep breath and runs her hands along one of the bookcases Frannie has crammed with art history textbooks.
"Quinn," Frannie says. "You're making me nervous. Just tell me."
Quinn takes a deep breath, then sits down on the little couch by Frannie, takes her hand. "So, I, um—when everything happened, even though it was—" she closes her eyes— "awful, I—we got to be friends again."
Frannie bites her bottom lip and looks down.
"And I have something I need to tell you, and you're kind of the first person in our family that I'm really going to tell, but I want you to—I want you to know me."
Frannie meets Quinn's eyes. Frannie's have always been more green—their mother's eyes—but they're so much like Quinn's all the same. "Okay."
"I'm gay," Quinn says, certainly but quietly, a gentleness to her voice that she hadn't even been expecting.
"How long have you—have you known?"
"A long time. At least most of high school," Quinn says.
Frannie nods. "Are you happy?"
Quinn squeezes Frannie's hand. "The happiest I've ever been."
And then, unsurprisingly, blessedly, Frannie smiles. "That's wonderful. I love you so much."
And then Quinn feels Frannie's yoga-thin, pilates-strong arms wrap around her.
"Quinn?" Frannie asks into Quinn's hair.
Quinn feels her sister's tears, and she's crying too. "Yeah?"
"Are you dating Rachel?"
Quinn feels a little laugh bubble up out of the deepest recesses of her chest. "I want to. Maybe soon. How'd you know?"
Frannie sits back and wipes Quinn's tears. "When you were in the hospital—those first few days, Rachel wouldn't leave. The way she looked at you was—"
Quinn nods.
Frannie smiles. "I always knew you'd find someone who was even more annoying than you."
Quinn playfully slaps Frannie's arm. "Be nice. I love her."
And then they both just laugh and laugh, and they cry, and then Frannie says, "Thank you for telling me."
And Quinn says, "Thank you for listening."
…
seven. take these broken eyes and learn to see, all your life you were only waiting for this moment to be free
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Finn and Rachel actually do break up before the end of summer.
They've been apart for a few weeks towards the end of June when one afternoon, just after Quinn's finished an exhausting session of physical therapy in the pool, she gets a text from Rachel: Can we talk?
Without even taking a shower—regrettably, because she smells like chlorine and her hair has been taking a beating from the chemicals in the water—she throws on a t-shirt and running short and actually uses her wheelchair to get out to the car as quickly as possible (instead of the walker she'd staunchly insisted on using instead now), Judy trailing behind with a little smile.
When they get back to the house, Quinn sees Rachel sitting on the front porch in a bright sundress. She has sunglasses on and she looks incredible, and Quinn feels a little inadequate when she looks down at the spots of water that have soaked through her t-shirt and shorts (although they do kind of highlight her boobs and her ass, so it's not the worst thing in the world).
She opens the door and Judy rushes to help Quinn hobble from the car. She doesn't even bother to use the walker to get to Rachel, who stands nervously before Quinn makes it to the porch steps. When Quinn sits, Rachel does too.
Judy smiles a little and then says, "I'm going to run to the store. Do you girls need anything?"
Quinn wants to say Thank you and she really wants to just tell Judy everything, but instead she shakes her head. "I'm good, Mom. Thanks."
Rachel nods.
Judy gets back in the car and waves, turning down the street.
"Were you swimming?" Rachel asks.
"Attempting to," Quinn says. "But things are going better."
Rachel looks down. "Can I—maybe, next time, would it be okay if I came to your next appointment?"
Quinn smiles. "I'd love that."
Rachel helps Quinn inside and they turn on Top Chef reruns. Quinn's completely worn out, and Rachel automatically wraps her up and then throws a blanket over both of them, teasing about Quinn's disheveled hair a little before Quinn starts to fall asleep.
But Quinn can feel her legs and she can feel Rachel, and there is nothing in the world she currently thinks to worry about.
.
They kiss for the first time in September, the first time Rachel comes to visit Quinn in New Haven. It's starting to cool down and some of the leaves are turning.
It's on a Saturday afternoon and they're just walking around campus, holding hands while Quinn points out where some of her classes are, when Rachel tugs on Quinn's hand.
Quinn turns a little, so they're facing each other, and Rachel whispers, "Are you—is this okay?"
Quinn doesn't have words for a response, so she presses her lips against Rachel's.
Rachel touches a tiny scar just in the middle of Quinn's right palm—from a piece of imbedded glass from the shattered phone—and Quinn smiles into Rachel's mouth when she thinks of resurrection.
…
references. (obviously these are all beatles' lyrics.)
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title. "i'll follow the sun"
quote. "with a little help from my friends"
one. "eleanor rigby"
two. "let it be"
three. "hey jude"
four. "across the universe"
five. "lucy in the sky with diamonds"
six. "all things must pass"
seven. "blackbird"