Hey! I'm back to stay this time, promise! I haven't had a lot of time with my computer, but I do have a gift for you: a new Glee one-shot. I know, it's been a while, but I got inspiration at camp. It's a little AU in the senior year, but I think you guys will get over it. Thanks for standing by me! Hugs and cookies all around! *smiles*
Summary: When Quinn Fabray was a little girl, she believed in fairytales.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. (Even the seasons on DVD! *frowns*)
When Quinn Fabray was a little girl, she believed in fairytales. Her older sister Frannie would tuck her in at night and tell her wonderful stories of handsome dashing princes saving beautiful princesses from their towers, of how they would slay the dragons and live happily ever after. Quinn would just listen, completely enchanted. Her dad would always call her his favorite princess and say that no princess could ever be prettier than her. Her mom always told her she would find her own handsome prince and that they would live happily ever after. It wasn't hard for Quinn to believe in fairytales.
From the outside, her childhood looked like a fairytale. The Fabrays had it all: a beautiful house, successful father, beautiful mother, and two charming daughters. But Quinn knew, knew in her heart that fairytales weren't like this. She remembers the bad. She remembers the sound of glass breaking on the floor, the sharp words being thrown back and forth. She remembers hiding with Frannie in her older sister's room, music drowning out the yelling downstairs. She remembers her mother's forced smiles the morning after, her father's morning gin glass shaking in her hand. She remembers her dad's rough kiss on the forehead when he was drunk. No, Quinn's childhood was no fairytale.
Quinn Fabray believed in fairytales, but she knew she would have to create her own.
High school was the perfect fairytale. She was the princess, the head cheerleader. Quinn had the quarterback, the prince, Finn. He was good and kind, if not a bit dumb, and he fit into her fairytale. Together they ruled McKinley, and everyone looked up to them. It was good. It was perfect. It was the fairytale.
What Frannie had never told her, however, was that the fairytale got boring. Quinn was happy, happier than she had ever been, and yet she was bored. There was something inside of her, something restless, that wanted more. Something more than this perfect fairytale. And that's where Puck came in.
Puck was the definition of the anti-prince. He wasn't brave or valiant, noble or kind. He was rude and cruel, sarcastic and crude. He had a Mohawk and liked to throw kids into dumpsters. He slept with cougars and chased after anything in a skirt. He didn't fit into her fairytale.
Looking back, Quinn knew why she slept with Puck. It wasn't that she was feeling fat that day. It wasn't the wine coolers. It wasn't Finn. It was that thing, that restless inside of her, urging her to do something. Go against the fairytale, it seemed to whisper. Get some excitement. Puck, if anything, was exciting.
Quinn cried when she saw the line on the third pregnancy test she took because she knew what that meant. It was the end of her life, her fairytale, the end of her dashing prince, her adoring kingdom. Quinn knew pregnant teenagers didn't get fairytales. They didn't deserve fairytales. She didn't deserve a fairytales. Because princesses don't sleep with their prince's best friend.
In the end, she was right. Quinn lost her fairytale, her prince, her kingdom, all of it. She had nothing, nothing but a baby she couldn't take care of and a hole in her heart. She tried so hard to hang onto the fairytale, but it did slip away. It had to. Quinn was faced with the facts, with reality. She wasn't a princess, and her life wasn't a fairytale. She was simply a homeless pregnant cheerleader with no plan.
Surprisingly, Quinn lived a little more about fairytales living with Puck. She learned that sometimes the supposed villains weren't just villains. Sometimes they were cool older brothers and devoted sons. Sometimes they had their own dreams, worries, and fears. Sometimes they went to get you chocolate chip ice cream at three in the morning when you just can't get it out of your mind. They helped you put on the shoes and talked to the baby inside of your stomach when they thought you were asleep. Sometimes you end up falling a tiny bit in love with them. Sometimes, Quinn learned, the villains have a story too.
Having Beth was the most painful experience of her life, but Quinn knew it was all worth it the minute she held Beth. This little girl was perfect. It was in that moment that she decided to give Beth away. She knew her life wasn't a fairytale, never had been, but she wanted Beth's to be. She wanted better for Beth: a mother, a family, that wasn't broken. Her baby girl would never know the rhythm of glass breaking on the floor and adults fighting like her own heartbeat. So Quinn agreed to let Shelby adopt Beth. She held her daughter one last time, kissed her cheek, and wished for as many fairytales for Beth as possible.
Giving up Beth hurt, more than she could've ever imagined. Quinn moved back in with her mom, and things were the same but different. There was no more fighting, no broken glass on the floor. Her mom was different, lighter, but she still felt like a stranger. Quinn dealt with her pain on her own. She worked out hours on end each day, trying to heal herself one pound at a time. She could've gone to Puck. He would've understood her pain and held her tightly when she cried, but she couldn't go to him. Beth had his eyes, and it hurt to look at him. Quinn might've loved Puck, but she couldn't be with him now, not with all the scars and bruises on her heart. She needed a new fairytale, another prince to save her. Puck, though a good guy, was no prince.
Sam was her second chance at a fairytale. He was cute and kind and totally under her spell. They made a good couple, blonde hair and all. He hadn't seen her ugly side, hadn't witnessed the drama of the previous year. It seemed perfect.
Of course, that fairytale ended because she just couldn't maintain the fairytale. She still wanted Finn, her original prince, and she got him for a while. That is, until Rachel Berry decided she wanted him back. Though she would never admit it to anyone, Quinn liked Rachel. She liked the short dark-haired girl who went after what she wanted, always spoke her mind, and never held back. Rachel was the type of girl who didn't need a prince to save her. She could save herself. Some days, Quinn wished she could be like that.
The drama continued, and sometimes Quinn felt like her life was more like an episode of Jerry Springer than a fairytale. The only constant in her life was that weight on her heart, the one that could never be lifted by any prince no matter how strong.
Senior year was Quinn's snapping point. She was angry and tired and sick of being angry and tired. She needed something, someone, to lash out at. Quinn was no longer the princess in her fairytale. She was the dragon, spitting fire at anyone who came close. She cut her hair short, dyed it pink, wore punk clothes and a bad attitude. She cut everyone out of her life and tried to cut them out of her heart, but she couldn't. Everyone in Glee club was entrenched there along with Beth because while Glee hadn't been a part of her fairytale, it was amazing and she would never take it back. (And maybe Puck had a place there too, but she would never really know.)
Of course, Quinn came back to Glee. She just couldn't stay away from it that long. She loved these people, and she loved performing and the way it made her feel, like the hole in her heart was just a bit smaller. It hadn't been a part of her fairytale, but for the first time she didn't care. Still, something was incomplete. She just didn't know what. She still craved a happy ending. She though Beth would fill that hole. She was wrong. She thought sleeping with Puck again would fill that hole. She was wrong.
Nothing was going right until she got her acceptance letter from Yale. It was startling, and for a moment she couldn't catch her breath. Then it hit her. She got into Yale. No one had done it forward. There had no dashing prince wielding a sword saving her from a tower. Quinn had saved herself through hard work, perseverance, and pain. The first person she told was Puck.
In the end, Quinn Fabray wasn't a princess, and her life had never been a fairytale. But now, however, she knew that was fine. She knew that there was more to life than fairytales. She knew that life was about love and hurt, about falling down and picking yourself back up. And she knew sometimes, just sometimes, the cheerleaders fell for the guys with the Mohawks.