A/N: This is my first real AU story, so hopefully I'll pull it off. I'd just like to thank those who have voted for me for the finchelfanfictionawards. I'm so glad Sleeping Beauty has touched so many people. It was a special one for me, and the award means a lot. You guys are awesome! 3
I see through your clothes
Your nerve damage shows
The hit comes out of nowhere.
One second he is running towards the finish line, the goal post and victory so close that he could taste it, and the next he's flying through the air and landing on his arm, wincing at the unmistakable crack that comes with it. And then comes the deadweight, two large, mammoth-sized players landing right on top of him, one of them crashing with a grunt on his bent knee.
He thinks he hears another crack, but he can't be sure through the yell of pain that leaves his throat. The world is suddenly so very quiet and his brain is starting to get fuzzy, when he hears her shrill scream break through the white noise, screaming out his name.
The world comes back to him, and he hears voices, so many voices calling out his name. He tries to pull his head up to say that he's fine, but he can't seem to move. He feels the crushing weight lift off him and suddenly the Bieste is all up in his face, her expression filled with panic and fear and he wonders why she looks so scared because he feels fine, except for the whole not being able to move thing.
"Talk to me big guy. How many fingers do you see?" she asks urgently. He's trying to look, but he can't see her fingers. Where are they? he wants to ask, but his mouth's just isn't working. Great, he thinks. It's the first game of the season, and he gets the feeling he's about to be benched for the next few.
What a way to start to the year.
"Stay with me Hudson."
He blacks out.
Xxx
When he comes to, he's in the hospital and his left leg is up in the air, his right hand stuck in a cast. He kind of feels like he's been hit by a pick-up truck, and he's not so sure if he doesn't look it either. He tries to clear his throat, but his mouth is too dry and he ends up in a coughing fit, which wakes his mom up from the chair she's been sleeping on.
She's on him in a flash as she asks him if he feels okay and if he needs anything. He feels like shit and his throat burns, but she looks like she hasn't slept in days (has it been days?) and there's a crazed look in her eyes as she rests a hand on his forehead.
"I'm fine," he croaks out, trying to smile. "Can I just get some water please?"
"Of course baby," she answers, relieved. He watches as she pours him a cup and notices the way her hands are shaking.
"How long was I out?" he asks, when the water has smoothed down the burn in his throat.
"You hit your head pretty hard," she answers slowly. "Almost 48 hours."
Wow.
"Wow. That was some knockout, huh?" he says, his voice light as he uses his good hand to grab her trembling one. She grimaces as she stares at him. And shakes her head.
"Finn. I can't- if anything happened to you-"
She stops speaking and buries her head in his chest, and it sucks that he's making his mom cry like this.
"I'm fine mom," he tells her gently, trying his best to give her a hug with his good hand. "I'll be on my feet in no time."
She says nothing. He doesn't think much of it.
Xxx
The next time he comes to, the Bieste is all up in his face again, and he can't reign in the gasp of surprise that leaves his mouth.
"Hudson," she says gravely, standing over him with her hands crossed over her chest. "How are you feeling Quarterback?"
"Like I just got nailed to the ground by two meatheads," he answers, grinning. He's pretty much immobilized, what with that leg in the air and that hand stuck to his chest.
"You look like hell," his coach tells him and yeah, it's not like he doesn't know that.
"Evans is starting in your place for the next game," she tells him quietly and he feels that sinking feeling in his chest. This sucks. It's his final year. It's supposed to be his time to shine. He says nothing, his face grim as he looks away. The frustration is building up inside him. He's been stuck in this bed for days. He needs to get better, as soon as he can, because he'll be damned if he misses his chance.
"Hudson."
"Yeah, coach?"
"Have you talked to your doctor?"
"No." He frowns at her furrowed brow, because he suddenly gets the feeling that there's something going on. "Why?"
"You should."
"Why coach?" The door creaks open, and they both turn to see his mom walking in with his Xbox in one hand and his lap top in the other. She smiles at Bieste and they make small talk as she fluffs up the pillows behind him.
When Bieste finally leaves, he realizes he didn't get an answer.
Xxx
It's been two weeks, and people have been coming by in droves. The team comes by a few times, and he has a little trouble trying not to glare at Sam every single time. It doesn't help that the dude keeps avoiding his gaze either.
Puck comes by every day. He talks a lot of shit ninety percent of the time, but Finn's still stuck on that bed, and he's grateful for whatever company he can get.
The Cheerios come, and he doesn't understand why she's not with them. Santana avoids his gaze when she him tells she doesn't know.
He keeps waiting for her, for that soft blonde hair and her cool, green eyes.
It's been two weeks, and she never comes.
Xxx
"No. No, there must be something you can do."
He lies perfectly still on his side, his eyes still closed even though he's been awake for almost thirty seconds. It's just awkward to wake up in the middle of his mom and Dr. Chang arguing.
"Mrs Hudson, I understand that you're upset, but it's important that he-"
"This isn't about me," he hears his mom cut in, and he knows it when there's a silent young man at the end of her sentence, that his mom is giving the doctor her scary mom face. "I don't see the point in upsetting him any further when you tell me that it's still inconclusive-"
"That wasn't what I said. I said that there was a small-"
"There must be something."
He thinks there's a small crack in his mom's voice. There's a pause before Dr. Chang continues quietly.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Hudson, but Finn-"
He turns on his back, trying to make as much noise as he possibly can while still pretending to be asleep. He opens his eyes slowly and finds his mom's pale face looking down at him.
"Hey," he says hoarsely. "What's going on?"
"Nothing sweetie. Dr. Chang just came by to check on you."
Behind her, the doctor nods at him curtly.
"Cool," he says. He wonders why his heart is beating hard enough to jump right out of his chest.
Xxx
The Xbox is pretty fucking useless when he's got one hand in a fucking cast.
xxx
She finally comes when his leg finally touches his bed and when his hand is sling free. It's his second day of partial mobility, and he's realizing pretty quickly that a wheelchair is only fun when you can get out of one whenever you want to.
He's devouring a pretty sweet cup of jello, when he hears the soft knock and that familiar blonde head pops out from behind the door.
"Hi baby," she greets him brightly as she strides confidently into the room. He's still staring at her, a little in confusion, when she stops in front of him and lands a soft peck on his lips.
"What are you doing here?" He doesn't even mean that in a spiteful way. He's just honestly surprised.
"Visiting you, silly," she tells him affectionately, running one soft hand down his chest.
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?"
"I mean I've been in here for close to three weeks and you couldn't have cared less yesterday," he answers. If he's a little too pointed, she doesn't let it show.
"I told you, I've been really busy-"
"Yeah, I can tell."
"Finn."
"What?"
He's feeling snappish. He's restless as it is because in seven more days, he'll be in this hospital for a whole fucking month, and as much as he hates school, he hates these four walls even more. She's sitting carefully on the edge of his bed, one hand gently running through his hair while the other rests on his chest, and he pretends it's not even a little comforting.
"I was scared," she whispers quietly. "You didn't see what happened Finn. I saw everything. I saw the way you landed on your arm, and the way those two fell on you. You have no idea how traumatising that was. I'm sorry honey," she continues, looking him in the eye as one lone tear fall from hers, and he knows he won't stay mad.
Xxx
"I was so afraid that I was going to find you bruised and battered, you know how squeamish I am."
"Yeah."
"I'm so glad to see you looking better Finn," she tells him brightly. "You'll be back on your feet and scoring those touchdowns again in no time."
"Yeah."
She smiles at him, and continues talking about the Cheerios, and how pathetic the new batch of freshmen is. He wonders how she can't hear the doubts in his replies.
Xxx
"You're looking better," Dr. Chang remarks, looking at his chart. He nods his head enthusiastically. Puck came by after school, and he'd had the most fun he's had in a while as they rolled him repeatedly down a stretch of road in the middle of the garden, careening towards the wall of the hospital. Each time Puck had pushed him a little harder and took a little longer to reach him until he was literally two seconds away from crashing.
"I can't wait to get out of these and get back on to the field," he says confidently. Besides him, his mom tenses visibly.
"Finn," Dr. Chang says slowly. "We need to talk."
Xxx
He doesn't understand, not really.
So his knee split open. Okay, he gets that. And apparently some bones stuck out. Fine. He busted his knee cap, like, really badly and pulled a stupid nerve somewhere.
So okay, it was really, really bad.
But that's what this stupid cast is for right? That's why he'd spent almost three whole stupid weeks with his leg suspended in the air and being super uncomfortable, because it was supposed to fucking fix whatever the hell was wrong.
So what the hell does it mean when the doctor tells him he can't play football anymore?
What the fuck does it mean when he says that his leg won't be able to take it?
He thought they fixed it. Weren't they supposed to fix him?
The doctor told him that his damn knee won't be able to handle the pressure while his mom squeezed the life out of his good hand like that was supposed to make him feel better. It fucking doesn't.
He doesn't understand.
He's alone. His mom left to do God knows what, and it's crazy quiet. It's so quiet, he can practically hear his own thoughts as it bounces and echoes against the four walls. It starts to get a little harder to breathe as the room seems to get smaller than ever before, as his breathing gets more and more erratic. He feels his whole body shaking, with what he doesn't particularly know.
It could be fear, because the moment those words left the older man's mouth, and once his brain had finally registered them, a cold wave of anxiety had washed over him and it's still refusing to leave.
It could be frustration, because that has been simmering somewhere inside of him ever since he'd woken up to the sight of his battered body exactly 18 days ago.
His fist comes down hard against his mattress and as he releases that loud, broken sound from his throat, the tray of food that's been placed in front of him goes careening to the floor in a loud crash.
He realizes that it's anger.
Xxx
"Finn."
He stares determinedly at the ceiling, blocking her out.
"Honey, I know this is hard. I can't imagine-"
The sob rips out of her, and suddenly he feels angry again.
He's so fucking pissed at everything that he could cry.
"We'll get through this Finn. We will."
"Leave me alone mom," he says quietly, his eyes screwed shut as he tries to keep his emotions in check. "Please."
Xxx
Puck comes and leaves in five minutes, once he realizes that he's talking to a brick wall.
Quinn comes, and leaves after three, crying as she tells him that she's sorry.
The Bieste comes, and he pretends that he's asleep.
When his mom is in the room, he turns into a statue.
xxx
Nurse Johnson wheels him quietly into the room. He doesn't know what he's doing here, other than the fact that he hasn't really spoken to his mom in almost a week, and she tells him that maybe therapy would be the best idea. He'd said nothing to that either, even though his head was screaming at how pointless it's going to be. The only thing that would matter is if he'd wake up one morning and Dr. Chang tells him that he had misdiagnosed, that his knee is strong and good, and that he can play football again.
Nothing else but that would matter.
Xxx
They sit in a circle and he stares angrily at the wall. He doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong in the hospital. He belongs on the field, to the game that's coming up in two days.
He doesn't belong here.
He realizes he doesn't belong anywhere.
Xxx
"I know you."
He turns to find a girl next to him, sitting primly on one of the plastic chairs that make the circle. He's been to this stupid thing twice, and he never noticed her before.
Granted, he doesn't notice anything.
"You're Finn Hudson," she continues at his slight acknowledgment, and he swears to God, if she says anything about him being the school quarterback, he'll force himself to wheel away with his good hand.
"You threw a slushie at me last year."
The words startle him enough to warrant a second look. She's staring at him blatantly, her eyes large and brown, boring into his. He notices the way her dark hair frames her face and the way her voice stays light despite her words. He hasn't thrown a slushie at anyone for slightly more than a year, ever since he realized that he was popular enough to get away with not doing it.
He's never really been into the business of making other people feel miserable.
"I um- do you want me to apologize?" he asks stupidly. He thinks it's the first time he's said a complete sentence in two weeks. She's just startled him into speaking. She looks at him and shrugs her shoulders.
"You can do whatever you want with it. I'm Rachel Berry."
He stares blankly at the hand she extends.
"What's the matter? Afraid that you might catch my loser germs?"
Still, her tone is light. But she startles him into movement.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes earnestly, shaking her hand. Her grip is strong, and her hand is soft, and for a split second, her face breaks into the most illuminating beam he has ever seen.
"It's nice to meet you Finn Hudson."
Xxx
They don't say much. They don't really say anything.
He just finds her plopping down on the seat next to his wheelchair every three days without a word.
He's late one afternoon, and she's sitting in between the accountant–cum-robbery victim, and the dude who broke his legs in a car crash. There's a space on the opposite for him to wheel his way in.
He spends the next five minutes disrupting the session as he tries to force his way next to her.
"Hi," he whispers, once he's settled and Mrs Linklater continues with her sad story. She says nothing, and he thinks maybe she didn't hear him. Mrs Linklater pauses to take a breath, and she turns to him with a pretty smile on her face.
"Hi."