A remastered edition of Back to the Beginning.
This story begins just before Season 1: Throwdown, and it's dedicated to all the people that enjoyed the older version of this story.
Wondering where I am (lost without you).
Prologue
Pink dress, black tux, white wedding.
Each image was burned into the backs of her eye lids, forcing her to relive every moment over and over each time she closed her eyes, blinking had never been such an issue until now. She'd never really liked weddings to start with, they were long and painful affairs and she had an extensive list of things she'd rather be doing with her time, but of course she couldn't just excuse herself from attending — especially with this case in particular. Quinn just had to endure.
There were no justifications, or plausible reasons to get her invitation revoked. And she'd tried, she really had. But after seeing Rachel up on that stage, preforming with so much heart and love, she realised there was no other option — not this time. This decision had nothing to do with her, she had no right to tell them how to live and who to promise themselves to. So this time she wouldn't cause any drama or make a fuss, Quinn would just sit back in her chair with sad eyes, as her friends joined in matrimony.
There had been a moment, just a few measly seconds after the competition when Quinn was left alone with only her thoughts for company. It was then she realised that whether she saw this as a mistake or not, there was nothing she could do to change it. With only a few months left before she could pack up her life, and leave this cow-town behind for good, there were only so many memories left to make. Soon enough she would finally get the chance to turn away and start fresh. So no matter how nauseous the idea made her feel, she couldn't miss her friend's wedding. Even if it was going to end miserably.
Yes, she pretty much knew that for a fact. Call her a pessimist, but in this case Quinn was sure she was right. A last minute, teenage wedding was just a recipe for disaster, no matter what everyone else said, but if they wouldn't listen, then she might as well sit back and let things play out.
It was funny — in a disturbing kind of way — to think she spent so much time worrying about this whole wedding spectacle when the fates had spun something entirely different for her. It would've saved her a lot of trouble to know she would never make it to the courthouse, but she couldn't see the future, so what hope did she have?
If only she'd stuck to her original plan to forgo the wedding, then maybe she wouldn't have found herself driving down that dusty old road, applying a rushed layer of lipstick in the car mirror. She didn't have time to stop. Not only had Quinn decided to attend the wedding last minute, but she'd also came to the conclusion that if she was going to do this, then she would go all in and dress for the occasion. Bridesmaids dress and all. It would be easier this way, she had to jump in with two feet and rip the band aid right off, you only live once after all. And this was the way she dealt with things, she would go on pretending like nothing was wrong. That was the Fabray thing to do. You can blame her mother for that golden advice. Kudos to Judy.
Quinn was only a few minutes away, in all honesty, if anyone else had text at that moment then maybe she would've carried on, and none of this would've happened. She didn't blame anyone but herself, but the fact remained. The roads were empty, her phone was buzzing and a certain name was flashing on her screen. Her patience cracked and the blonde reached. She'd only be a second, what's the worst that could happen? With a sigh, Quinn took her eyes off the road. Just one second. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth and she tapped out her three word reply.
Her thumb lingered over the send button, momentarily, while she contemplated whether there was anything left to say. Quinn was completely oblivious to the destiny she had now assigned upon herself as the longer her head remained slightly bowed, eyes trained on the screen, the hope of her survival crumpled. She never got the chance to add anything more.
She didn't have time to cry or even scream.
The impact of the truck collided with her beetle, bending the driver's door inwards and consequently causing the short but crippling, bone crunching pain to surge throughout her body, just before it all went black. And the symphony of carnage jumped to life, just as she lost hers. The sounds of groaning metal and breaking glass played loudly as a soundtrack to the collision.
A tyre spun, fire burned and a voice cried out in pain.
It took a moment, but eventually Quinn came too and blinked open her eyes. She was blind, or well, that's what it felt like. And she felt a sudden twinge of dread coil in her guts. The smoke was too thick, making it nearly impossible to see clearly. Blindly, she felt around for her belt buckle, her hands tugging on the strap, but it wouldn't budge, if anything her frantic movements only helped to loc it in place. Her lungs ached from the lack of oxygen in the air. Her body hurt, but it was strange, it felt dulled somehow. In an unexplainable way. And judging from the consistent cries somewhere in the distance, her pain was nothing compared to the other person involved in the accident.
Smoke rose, clinging to the soft wind. It was nice day, warm and humid from the day's sun, but the heat she felt earlier that day was nothing compared to the blazing fire inside the car. The fire moved steadily closer. She knew in a matter of moments it would all be over. She tried to call for help, letting out a blood curdling scream, but it was useless, nobody could hear her cries.
A trickle of blood poured from her forehead and down the right side of her face, she tried to lift her hand to wipe it away, but it was futile. She was stuck with no way out and there was nothing she could do, except wait. Word's couldn't describe her suffering, there weren't enough, not to verbalise the torture of being burnt alive with no hope of freedom. It was the fiery torture traps of hell.
She wanted it over.
It had only been a handful of seconds since impact, but to Quinn those seconds were like hours. Was this her punishment? Is this the way she would serve penance for all her sins?
Click.
A glimmer of hope arose as her belt snapped open, giving her the out she'd been so desperately praying for. Quinn reached out, her trembling hand desperately pulling on the handle. Once, twice, and a third time. At this point, she wasn't beyond crying and wheezing for her mother. She forced her eyes to close tighter, to dream away the scorching heat as she slammed her hands into the car door. She does this over and over, ignoring the ache in her hands, the throb in her chest, the exhaustion riddling her muscles and bones… ignoring the clench of her heart and the wet drops sliding down her cheeks. She ignores every singly thought.
It wasn't fair. It seemed almost as though someone was mocking her, allowing her to defeat one obstacle before placing another in her path. Quinn was alone, though it didn't feel as such. It was unexplainable, but she could sense an audience comprised of a dozen ghosts which haunted the road. Victims of crimes and accidents of the past. Unnoticed and unheeded. She was trapped, exposed with nowhere to hide, leaving her open to feel the sympathetic gaze of the ghosts around her. Almost as if they knew exactly what was in store for her.
Quinn would give anything to be somewhere, anywhere else. She'd happily exchange her current situation for being stuck in the gymnasium, going through the same old routines, or running suicides until her legs physically couldn't take another step. She never thought she'd wish to hear Sue Sylvester screaming down that megaphone again, or listening to all the cheerleaders exchanging useless gossip and devising schemes in the locker room. To stand behind the auditorium curtains, before her friends in the choir room, singing yet every Journey in existence. It was those simple things wanted, to have another chance at getting right.
It was a pipe dream, or so she thought. Quinn never thought her prayers would be answered, but someone was listening, they must've been. As the world started to slip away around her, she felt a cold wind blow through the smoke, having no effect in clearing the acrid burning smell in the air, but allowed her to briefly glimpse the police cars and ambulances arriving on scene. They'd barely out of their seats before a tiny spark ignites her gas tank and there's a sickeningly loud explosion.
They were just too late in the end.
Quinn startled awake as a loud knock sounded from somewhere beside her.
Her brow furrows, images flitting through her mind of things she can't forget. She sees the fire on her dashboard. She sees her hands painted with blood. She sees the bright red and blue flashes of light in the distance and hears the faint sound of someone calling her name. But it wasn't help, it was a clear and distinctive male voice and a fist banging roughly on her bedroom door. A smile unconsciously tugs at her lips as she takes a moment to revel in the soft cushioned material embracing her. No longer in her dream, she was totally free of pain.
"Wake up, Quinn."
It's only then realisation snaps roughly into place and she's quickly thrown into reality, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of an explanation. She wasn't in any way prepared to wake up in her old family home. She scrambles to sit upright, a hand grasping tightly at her comforter while she listens to the gruff scoff as the man gives up and walks away. It wasn't possible, it had been over two years since she'd been in the same house or even state as her father. Why would he be here?
Quinn remained in bed, confused and anxious as she tries to put two and two together, but it's only when she spots the perfectly ironed and crisp Cheerio uniform hanging from the door to her closet that she slowly starts to understand. She cautiously squirms out of bed, stepping lightly as she walked towards her full length mirror. Her heart throbbing with every step.
Hazel eyes dropped to roam over her reflection. She can see it, feel it. Despite the fact nobody else has just yet. She closes her eyes and grits her teeth, sucking in a sharp breath through her nose. Her hand instinctively drops to her stomach, where she notices the tiniest little bump on her normally flat abdomen and there's no denying it now. Quinn was pregnant, she was in her father's old home, and she could bet — without a single doubt – the date on her phone would state that 2012 was a lot further away than it felt. Senior year was all but a memory.
An hour later and Quinn still couldn't wrap her head around it. She figures she just needs time to process, time to adjust, time to forget and accept. She just needs time. It's hard to understand something that simply doesn't make any sense. Last thing she remembered, her life was being ripped right out of her grasp and now she's sitting at the dinner table with her mother, discussing the obvious threat their new neighbour brought to the street.
"This isn't Wisteria Lane, Mom." She muttered and pushed a few pieces of bacon around her plate, as she'd been doing ever since she sat down, "I'm sure she's not up to anything."
"Quinn, honey," her mother pursed her lips, raking her eyes over the despondent expression on her daughters face and then to all her uneaten food, "you don't know that."
"No, but you don't know her either. All you've seen is the moving truck." Quinn scoffed, she'd forgotten how impossible her mother had once been. And it hurt. They were never that close, but they had been taking baby steps.
"Don't use that tone, it's not fitting for a young lady."
She took a sullen breath, swallowing down the rest of her statement and allowed a moment of silence to hit the room. It gave her a chance to recall all the meetings called between the housewives of their quaint little suburb. She remembers overhearing their hushed words and disapproving looks and the way her mother shrugged off the news once they learnt of the poor woman's situation. It turned out that Sally Preston was actually a widow, and completely innocent.
It was all so surreal. They were arguing over such a petty, trivial thing, when the collision was still fresh in her mind. Each time she closed her eyes, she replayed the accident and attempted as best she could to put everything into some kind of context. It wasn't a dream, it couldn't be. While it was possible the crash was just another nightmare, there was certainly no possible way to explain her two years of memories for things that are yet to happen.
"I also heard from Eleanor Price that she's a single mother."
Quinn's sucks in a sharp breath through her nose and fights the urge to roll her eyes, this wasn't her mother, not yet. It was the empty, shell of a woman that her father had created. Judgemental, full of suspicion and hate. So, you can't blame her lashing out, "And that makes her a bad parents?"
"It makes her a bad role model."
Her body physically jumped as the stern voice boomed from the hallway. Quinn tried to keep her expression neutral, but her façade automatically broke as her father strode into the room. Her eyes darted to the side and caught her mother staring straight at her, catching her reaction. A part of her wondered if she'd say anything, but that went out the window as her father continues his absurd point.
"Children need a father, Quinnie." He said, unbuttoning his blazer as he walked around the table and pulled out the chair opposite to his wife— how conservative. "No appetite?"
He was talking to her, and she was at a loss for words. There had been so many times she'd laid awake at night wondering what she'd say if ever confronted by her father again. There were several pages in her diary dedicated specifically to him, in preparation, but she hesitated and the weight of her nerves became too much.
"I think she mentioned something about a new diet, for cheerleading." And with just that sentence, she felt hope for her mother. No, she wasn't going to win any awards, but there were times — even in the early days — where the woman looked out for her. It was exactly what she needed, at a time where she was beyond afraid and confused, she was grateful to know her mother did care.
Quinn pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and nodded her head slightly. It was a complete lie and they both knew it. She kept eye contact with her mother, it would take years to get back the woman she'd lost. But for now, she would just have to pretend, imagining the speculating look on her face instead radiated warmth and support.
She dropped her head as she felt her eyes burn with tears as they started to pool.
"Yeah, it's a cheerio thing" she mumbled, swallowing the hard lump in her throat before adding, "I'm actually late for training, I told Sue— Coach that I'd help some of the freshman practice this morning."
She could see her father lean back in his chair from the corner of her eye, beaming with pride and it almost made her want to vomit. "Good for you, Sweetheart."
She walks until she's numb. Her heart throbbing with every step, but she doesn't stop, she just keeps moving. A part of her is scared that if she ever stops, she'll just crumble and let all the emotions she's fighting bubble up and spill over before she can contain it. And she'd better than that.
At some point she reaches McKinley, her subconscious seemingly bringing her to the place she felt most at home. It was where she felt safest, but at the same time, the most scared. The hallways were eerily empty, but she could put that down to the time of morning. It was early, too early for anyone except the janitors to be walking the hallways. The rest of her classmates wouldn't arrive for another hour or two yet. She was free, to be herself and not be forced to play this unwanted role.
The door to the choir room was locked, so her feet carried her to the auditorium, which she knew was always left open so the Glee Club could practice until late.
The piano bench was cold and hard, but it was so much better than a seat at her parent's dining room table. All she could see was a still darkness, giving her all the space she needed. Quinn took in a deep breath in and out, her eyes scanning the room for any sign that she wasn't alone, but judging from the silence nobody else was around.
She stoked her fingers along the piano keys, tapping on a few chords— slowly and quietly.
It must have been years since she last played, not that it bothered her. It was never her true calling. Her parents had signed her up for lessons as a child, but her technique was all wrong and she didn't have the patience for it.
Everything has been a daze, from the moment she woke up. The world had been spinning so fast and it was moving too quickly to keep up. When Quinn had said her plan was to throw herself into the deep end, she never thought she'd forget how to swim. But here she was, drowning, with some kind of anchor pulling her down.
Quinn sets her fingers back along the keys, pausing to check she has the right chord, before she begins to play. It doesn't matter that she screws up a few times, because there's nobody to tell her she's doing it wrong or to judge her mistakes. There's nobody watching. She starts to play harder, louder, faster, because she can't stop the images running feely through her mind.
Pink dress, black tux, white wedding.
She clenched her jaw, feeling her battle with tears raging up again. It was their fault. She could blame them — Rachel and Finn — had they acted like adults rather than selfish infants, then maybe she'd be at home right now, with her real mom— the one who accepted and supported her. The mom she needed to tell her everything would be okay, not the half-drunk housewife that cares more about the new neighbour than her daughter.
Quinn wants to hate them, she does. It would be easy to. Only they weren't responsible for the crash and she knew that. It was her choice to pick up the phone and no one else's.
But she was allowed to be angry, it was called for, because now she was more alone than ever… and she has to do it all again. Everyone liked to think they were a family in Glee Club, but they weren't at the start. None of them were ever there when she got pregnant, or even after she had Beth. The best thing she got was a song and a haircut. She'd needed someone to help her through it, to hold her hand. It'll be a long time until they start acting like a real family.
Her fingers stop mid-stroke, her breaths short and every muscle in her body aches. Quinn physically deflates, letting her posture break and pushes the air from her lungs as she lets out a harsh sob. She gives herself a minute, just sixty seconds to succumb to her distress, before she wipes the hot wet tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand and tries to compose herself. She's lost, and has no way of getting home.
Her eyes eventually lift over the piano, and she finds a small silhouette by the doors by the top of the stairs. She doesn't need to ask in order to know that it's her. They stay like that for a moment before her audience turns. And as the blonde watched the girl walk away—hazel eyes unconsciously dropping over a pair of long legs—she realized this could be her chance. She could go back and fix all of her mistakes. She could really make things happen. She was going to get her happy ever after. And Rachel Berry won't know what hit her.