To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.
- Thomas Campbell, "Hallowed Ground"

The hunters at the Roadhouse drank their worries away, waiting until the sun went down before they decided what they were going to do that night. Ellen and Jo had long since retired to out the back of the inn, a few of the older hunters that they were closer with taking the guest rooms that they offered. Most of the younger crowd were content to sleep in their vehicles or even just on the floor of the saloon.

Sam, however, had somehow convinced Quinn into sharing a room with him at the motel Ellen had described, and was currently trying to get Puck and Rachel to join them.

"I think I'm just gonna stay in my car," Puck told him. He didn't really feel like socialising. The emotional baggage that he'd been carting around on top of his shoulders for the past year was becoming increasingly hard to hide efficiently. He wanted a break. He wanted to be able to worry in peace. But Sam, the annoyingly, overly nice son of a bitch, was relentless.

"Come on," the blonde whined, slinging an arm around Quinn, who smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy. "It's one night. Might even be your last."

Puck eyed him with curiosity. "I thought that you didn't like talking like that."

"I don't," Sam shrugged. "I thought it'd appeal to you, man."

"Well, it doesn't." Puck set his glass of water down on the unmanned bar. He was trying to flush the beer out of his system. He wanted to be completely alert tomorrow. He couldn't let alcohol affect him in anyway what so ever. "'Sides, you've got your partner, right? What's his name-?"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the change in Sam's expression. It was only for a split second that the man's grin drooped, his almost always wide eyes gliding to rest on the floor. Sam didn't have a partner anymore, he realised.

"Fine," he said quickly, trying to make up for his slip up. It wasn't often that he did these sorts of things for people – you know, did what they wanted for a change. But Sam was a nice guy, a good friend. "I'll come."

Sam's face lit up once more and Quinn, previously confused, laughed gleefully. "Awesome. I'll go get my car ready and stuff. You coming with, babe?" He asked the blonde woman next to him, who nodded and followed him out of the inn and to the makeshift parking lot.

Puck sighed. So much for being alone tonight.

He spied Rachel hovering by the nearby wall and walked over to her, wondering what she was doing. She didn't look up when he paused beside her. Instead, her eyes remained focused on the large wall of photos. He had never really paid attention to them before. He didn't like to remind himself of family.

The pictures ranged in colours and sizes. The largest was of Ellen and her deceased husband, Bill, on their wedding day. Puck just didn't understand the point in getting married when involved in hunting. Death was everywhere you went, at every twist and turn. It just didn't make sense to drag somebody down with you. And even though Bill had probably been a nice guy – he didn't know for sure, he'd never met him – that was what Puck had always thought that he had done; dragged Ellen and Jo down with him.

The other pictures were mostly of Jo when she was younger. Jo had been home-schooled, and as a result, had never had too many friends. There were photographs of her and various clientele – people that had almost raised her over the years. Jo, Ellen and Bill had had a large family - one that never stayed in the same place.

In amongst these photographs he recognised many hunters. There was that grumpy old Howard, who Ellen had told off earlier that day, and even a photo of Sam with Jo on his shoulders – back when she was about thirteen and he was barely nineteen.

"Is that your brother?"

Puck turned to look down at the small woman, his eyes widening. "Huh?"

She smiled shyly and pointed at a small photo close to her. Of course, she was right. It was hard not to be. The only real differences between the two were that Aaron was a little taller, was lacking Puck's 'hawk, and had brown eyes instead of hazel ones. Other than that, you couldn't tell the difference between them. Well, that was the case with appearances. With personalities, they couldn't be more different.

The photograph that Rachel's finger currently rested on was of the two Puckerman boys, standing by the Impala with their father, Ezra, standing behind them. The man looked like an older, exhausted version of the two smiling children. Puck remembered taking that photo. They had been about ten, which made it almost fifteen years ago now. Ellen had lined them up out the front of Roadhouse and told them to be quiet and just damn smile, would you? It had taken more than Ellen's stern words to get them to behave. In the photo, Puck's eyes were alight as he grinned mischievously at the camera, his two front teeth missing. Things had been a hell of a lot easier back then.

Quietly, unable to say anything, he nodded. Rachel turned to look at him quizzically, but he offered no further explanation so she decided to let it be. There was obviously some sort of darkness in this man's history, and she wasn't going to delve into it when didn't know him well enough.

Puck cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from the photograph and down at the woman before him. She wasn't smiling anymore. He noticed that she still held her gun in her hand, her fingers gliding across the cool metal almost methodically.

"Where are you staying tonight?" He asked her. It wasn't that he was interested in spending the night with her. Sure, she was nice-looking and all but she just wasn't his type. Puck's type was the kind of girl you could blow off in the morning. Rachel Berry wasn't like that.

"Wherever Quinn goes, I guess," she shrugged. Her eyes searched his face curiously. "What about you?"

"Sam forced me into joining him at the motel a few miles back. Quinn's staying with him-"

"Of course she is," Rachel sighed. Then, she rolled her eyes. "Just tell your partner not to get his hopes up. Quinn's only up for short term relationships – and by short-term I mean less than twenty-four hours."

He didn't laugh, although that had been what Rachel was hoping for. Puck didn't often laugh. "He's not my partner. And I don't think I'll be the one telling him that. He's already fallen in love with her."

She ignored his last comment. "I thought that you two worked together."

"We did. I mean, a couple times. But it wasn't like permanent deal or anythin'."

She was about to ask him if he hunted with his brother but decided against it. For all she knew, his brother could be dead. Rachel knew all about death. On their last trip to visit Quinn's family in Florida they'd discovered that her parents and older sister had been killed by a Rugaru. Quinn hadn't been the same since. Her partner hadn't grown up hunting. In fact, she'd been introduced to it after Rachel's fathers had solved a case for her then alive and well family. A harmless ghost had been stuck in their house, unable to move on to the other side. Quinn had been instantly attracted to a life so full of guts and glory. At least, that was the way she had viewed things back then. They hadn't exactly liked one another at first. Still, Rachel had needed a hunting partner and Quinn had been available. She'd taught her everything she knew. Eventually, over time, they had become almost like sisters.

Quinn had stopped viewing hunting as a glorious profession after the deaths of her family. Hunting was a duty – something that she probably never would have involved herself in if she'd known what would come of it. You see, the Rugaru attack hadn't been a random occurrence. Rachel and Quinn had been hunting the damn creature all across Florida. They weren't stupid, no matter how much other hunters disagreed with them on that point. The creature had particularly like Quinn's scent. He'd followed it, finding her family home and killing everyone inside of it.

They had arrived only a few hours too late. Still, it had been around the town. Quinn shot it. It was fitting, really, Rachel had thought at the time. Revenge wasn't exactly sweet. It was bitter and she liked to think that she wouldn't let it consume her if she ever did experience the loss of a loved one through such horrible circumstances. But it was what Quinn had needed at the time.

"Oh," she found herself saying. She pushed the images of the thick, red, blood soaked through Mrs. Fabray's prized mink rug, of the family terrier's half mauled body, its eyes still wide open and staring as it lay, dead, on the kitchen tiles, out of her mind. She didn't like to remember Charlie Fabray's still manicured hand, severed from the remaining parts of her body, the tendons ripped and snapped bones visible, still barely hanging from her mutilated wrist. "Well, we should get going then, shouldn't we?"

Puck watched as she made for the inn's exit, her eyes suddenly glassy and distant. He wondered what that was all about, although he wasn't going to ask. She was entitled to her privacy, just as he was to his own.

The night was not cold, as he had expected it to be. Instead, he found that the warmth of the wind soothed and calmed him. He had wanted to spend the night alone in his car, to ponder what he would do if he were to see his brother the following day. But perhaps, he thought, it would not be so wise to spend the night alone. Sam was right. Even though he knew that he was a good hunter, he also knew that there was a high possibility that he wouldn't be around this time tomorrow night. He would suck it up and be sociable while he still could.

They decided to travel in Sam's pickup, effectively minimising the cost of petrol. Whilst it killed Puck to leave his baby behind, he knew that nothing would harm the Impala. The hunters at the Roadhouse understood its significance – that it had been the only constant in his otherwise unpredictable and shaky life. The Impala had stuck with him through thick and thin.

Sam's truck was old, lined with dust and rusted with years spent in harsh weather conditions. They piled into the ancient fossil, Quinn and Sam in the front and Rachel and Puck seated in the back seat - which was littered with junk food wrappers and cut out newspaper articles. Puck couldn't help but notice Rachel's apparent disgust at the conditions the blonde man lived in. She daintily moved any rubbish away from her and, ultimately, toward him, looking at him apologetically. He didn't mind. He'd been in Sam's vehicle before. It certainly took some getting used to.

The drive to the motel wasn't long. It took only twenty or so minutes. During that time, Quinn and Sam made goo-goo eyes at one another and the two hunters in the back seat chatted civilly. Rachel learnt that Puck hadn't finished high school, and that she had moved around a lot as a teenage girl. Her fathers had taught her everything that she knew about hunting, which she had then, in turn, passed on to Quinn - who she had met just over three years ago.

Eventually, they piled out of the pick-up truck and gathered inside the motel. The place was cheap and probably infested with rodents, but they were used to such circumstances. Sam spoke to the woman at the front counter, who told him that they only had two rooms available that night. They each handed over their fake identification and watched with disinterest as Sam placed the money that he had hustled from pool that night onto the counter. It was enough to pay for both rooms that night.

When that was taken care of, they gathered their small amount of belongings and trudged up the creaky stairs, down the waning corridor and toward the two identical rooms across the hall from one another. Once there, Sam and Quinn began to give subtle hints that they wanted to share a room. Rachel wasn't exactly ecstatic about sharing quarters with the man she had just met, but Puck didn't seem to want to try anything on her. She'd deal with him for the night. It would be fine.

And it turned out that it was. Puck wasn't much of a conversationalist, as she had previously pointed out, and although he made more than a few semi-sexual remarks about her choice of pyjamas, he was very respectful of her. They were in bed by nine thirty. Well, Puck was. Rachel was in bed, indeed, but that didn't necessarily mean she was sleeping. Puck's incredibly loud snoring prevented that.

In the morning, they awoke quickly and dressed and clean themselves. They joined forces in knocking once, twice, then three times on the room across the hall, shared by the two blondes that had accompanied them to the motel. Then, when that didn't work, they used their deviant capabilities to gain access to the suite. In other words, Puck picked the lock whilst Rachel made sure that no one saw him do so.

They found Sam and Quinn sound asleep in each other's arms, their clothes still on and their hair mussed. Quinn hadn't bothered to remove her makeup, yet she still looked angelic with her flawless, pale features. Rachel wouldn't admit it out loud, but she had always been jealous of her hunting partner. She was beautiful in every way that Rachel thought she, herself, wasn't.

Puck had thought the sleepy look on Sam's face to be rather hilarious. He laughed loudly, startling Rachel, who was looking on at the pair, a dazed look on her face. "What's so funny?" She snapped immediately, an accusing look on her face.

Puck turned to look at the small woman next to him. He'd noticed overnight that she was sort of… high maintenance. He was glad that he hadn't given her any ideas. "Sam's face," he replied, smirking, "Look's funny."

She regarded him curiously. Then, deciding that they had better be going, she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the nearest cushion, which sat on the beaten-up old couch in front of the small, dodgy black and white television, and threw it at Quinn's head. The blonde woman stirred when it hit her lightly, a crease developing on her forehead as her eyebrows drew together in annoyance. Her eyes opened slowly, the light disorientating her. "Rachel?" She asked groggily, "Is that you?"

"No. It's the abominable snowman," Rachel snapped pleasantly, and Puck of all people had to commend her for her quick wit, "Of course it's me, Quinn. Now come on, it's time to go."

Knowing that her partner would listen to her – she always did – Rachel made for the door that led out towards the hallway once more. When she realised that Puck hadn't followed her – he was chuckling as Quinn tried to shake Sam awake, her frustration growing by the minute – she stomped over to him and grabbed him by the collar. It was quite a feat for a midget, he concluded, dazed, as he allowed himself to be dragged out of the room by the pint-sized dose of crazy.

They were in Sam's truck by eight thirty and at the Roadhouse by nine o'clock. They split up then; Sam went to help Puck check that his beloved Impala was still in tact. Indeed, it was. They unloaded Puck's large collection of hunting supplies and deposited them on to the table inside the saloon, where Ellen checked over everything to make sure it was up to scratch as they couldn't risk handing out dodgy weaponry.

Rachel and Quinn did the same.

Eventually, Ellen called them all together and sorted them into groups according to their own specialties. Since the four hunters were relatively inexperienced in hunting demons, Ellen ended up placing them in a group with the grumpy hunter, Howard. Puck groaned when the matron told him that; 'That's just the way it is, Puckerman. So don't go cryin' to your mama about it." He knew that Howard was a sorry old bastard who – yeah, no doubt, had experience – but was still stuck in the dark ages. He was a know-it-all, too.

They were to enter to building from the back. Puck hadn't known this, but apparently Rachel was quite a well-renowned hunter – known especially for her work exorcising unwanted ghosts. Still, hunting ghosts wasn't anything like hunting demons. Their goal in the mission was to obtain information. Puck sincerely hoped that he didn't have to read anything.

This time, after Ellen had bid them all good luck and they had gathered what weapons they needed – salt, holy water and various other helpful substances to help kick some demon ass – they set off in Sam's truck once more. Hell, they didn't want to be in there, but Sam had insisted, even after Rachel had told him that she'd seen a rat in there the night before. Puck hadn't laughed - that shit was nasty.

His mind was elsewhere – with Aaron in Lima. He didn't like the idea of being near him again. He'd avoided any cases in the town for exactly that reason. He just couldn't see him again. Although he knew that the chance of doing so was very slim, he knew it was a possibility. He tried to distract himself with those around him.

He watched Rachel as she triple-checked – or was it the fourth time she had checked? – her weaponry. She was wearing black skinny jeans paired with a tightly-fitting grey t-shirt. Her pistol was in a holster around her waist. He watched, slightly transfixed, as she polished her intricate, serrated blade with a dust-covered cloth. He raised an eyebrow at her. "What, exactly, do you think a knife is gonna do against a demon?"

Rachel looked up at him, surprised that he'd been paying attention to her. The three others in the car had mostly ignored him for the past hour – the drive to Lima was about an hour and a half away – because he had appeared so sullen. "Have faith," she said simply and returned to her work.

He shrugged.

Meanwhile, Quinn had turned around to look out of the back window. She peered through the glass to stare out towards the winding road that they were leaving behind. There was a sole pickup truck, older even that Sam's, tailing them.

"Do you think he's going to help… or hinder us?" She asked, genuinely curious. Puck turned to follow her gaze, his eyes landing on Howard, the man who was to help them fight any demons trying to interfere with their search for information as the other twenty or so hunters stormed the abandoned warehouse from the front, hopefully eliminating all threats. He realised that the Howard could see them gawking at him when the grump old man flipped him the bird.

"Definitely hinder," Puck growled.

"I just don't see why he refused to drive with us," Rachel was saying. She hadn't stopped polishing the blade in her hands. Puck noticed that its hilt seemed to be made of reindeer antler and that there was an inscription carved on the blade. "It really was the better option. Having two cars pull up near the warehouse might bring even more unwanted attention to us, ultimately resulting in failure. If the demons notice us first, we're, well, w-we're…"

"Fucked," the man with the Mohawk finished for her.

Rachel only frowned at him. "Well, essentially, yes…"

"I agree," Quinn said coolly. "We're going to have to maintain the element of surprise."

"I'm just gonna kick butt," Sam told them cockily. His hands were clutching the steering wheel as tightly as possible, his knuckles almost white. They shook slightly. Puck knew, without him having to say anything, that the cockiness was just a front that Sam put on to impress Quinn. He was just as scared as the rest of them. "The spawn of Satan won't know what him 'em-"

Slam. A masculine cry. Glass shattering.

Puck turned, his reflexes fast, to catch a last glimpse of his friend before he was torn from the car, right through the window. Tiny shards of razor sharp glass hurtled through the air, narrowly missing them for the most part. Quinn screamed loudly as the car span out of control.

The sound of Sam's distressed yell filled the night air around them. The panicked blonde woman hastily stretched her arms out to steady the spinning truck – but it was too late. The damned machine was going to fast, and her seatbelt seemed to have jammed. Rachel's heart was hammering in her chest as she raised her knife, bracing herself for another attack.

Puck's hand automatically reached for the '45 resting on his lap. He readied it and unbuckled his seat belt. "Quinn!" He yelled, his commanding nature taking over. He was struggling to remain upright. The car tyres screeched loudly as the blonde tried desperately to gain control over the spinning vehicle. Rachel and Puck tried to remain calm. Sam's screaming could no longer be heard. They were hurtling down the road, out of control.

"I can't reach the brakes!" Quinn cried, frustrated. Tears of shock were running down her face. They just hadn't expected it. They had been so certain that they'd had at least another half an hour left. How could that have been taken away from them? It just wasn't fair.

Puck swore and scrambled forwards, pulling a knife from his belt as he did so. Rachel quickly pulled her knife away from his body, which was now leaning over hers to try and get at Quinn's blasted seatbelt. "Hold still," he growled as Quinn's sobs racked her body. "I'll cut you out. Hang on-"

Quinn's piercing screech filled their ears as the car abruptly turned and Puck's knife slipped, slicing a large gash in her lower arm. He swore again as it fell from his hand, clattering to the floor beside her feet.

"What did you do?' Rachel shrieked at him, her emotions finally getting the better of her. She shoved him off of her and tried to attend to her long-term hunting partner, who was now trying desperately to stop the blood from spilling forth out of the large cut on her arm.

"R-Rachel?" Quinn whispered. Her eyes were wide, haunted with memories of her past, of finding her family torn to pieces by the creatures that she hunted. As the car began to spin faster, Rachel clawed onto the passenger's seat, which Quinn was now slumped in.

"It's me," she told her. "We're going to be fine. It's only a little cut. You've had worse. We'll be fine-"

There was another loud thud as Sam's attacker launched themself at the car once more. Quinn cried out as Rachel stared at her, helpless. Puck yelled and raised his firearm before taking a wild shot at it. Unfortunately, it was gone again before the bullet even left the gun.

"Rachel!" Puck shouted as the assailant landed on the roof, causing Quinn to shriek once more.

"Don't let them eat me, too," the blonde was sobbing irrationally, clutching desperately at Rachel's hands. The brunette didn't look up, her own eyes now wet with tears. She knew that she was imagining the Rugaru that had killed everyone she had loved. In her current state of shock she couldn't distinguish the past from the present. "Please," she whimpered.

Puck, meanwhile, was attempting to climb through the window. The upper half of his body was hanging out of the spinning vehicle when he felt very human hands grab him roughly by the neck. He managed to shake the aggressor off of him and take a few wild shots in the dark in the direction he assumed it had fallen.

"Rachel!" He yelled once more. This time, he caught the brunette's attention. "Take the fucking wheel!"

Finally, pushing any emotions out of her current thought process, she pried her hands away from Quinn's and tried to hoist herself over into the driver's seat. It was a tough ask and she struggled to get her leg over the glove box. In the mean time, Puck had clambered safely back into the car.

Rachel's hands slipped as she clutched at the wheel. Quinn was a sobbing mess on the seat next to her, cradling her bleeding arm and whispering to herself. Puck wondered what the fuck was going on. Just as her hands regained control of the steering wheel, the cars began hurtling forwards. Puck screamed a few obscenities as the person attacking them latched themselves onto the window once more. He paused involuntarily for a moment, searching their face. It was a woman; her skin dark and her hair in long, dark curls. Her eyes were completely black. He took a shot at her.

Rachel slammed her foot against the brake, but it was far too late. They were rolling downhill at great speed, the car having ceased its spinning. Her ears were wringing as she pushed down on the dodgy brake system. Puck was yelling something at her but she couldn't hear him over the roar of the tyres underneath them. They were flying over rocks and debris, the car thumping up and down as it hit each piece. Puck caught one last glimpse of the woman hanging onto the side of the pickup. She looked forwards, toward the direction in which the car was headed. Then, turning back to look at him through the window, she grinned sadistically before disappearing completely.

"I can't-" Rachel was screaming at him. He was yelling at her too, telling her to stop the car. But he knew that her attempts were futile. They were gaining speed, hurtling towards an inevitable death. Quinn was tossing and turning, her hands covering her eyes as she sobbed, her tears wracking her entire frame. Rachel stared, wide-eyed as a tree seemed the rise up out of nowhere.

"P-Puck!" She shrieked. His hand found hers as they crashed into the foreboding force of nature, their whole bodies slamming against the nearest solid object as they were rendered unconscious.

There was a ringing in her ears paired with a warm wetness spilling forth from her forehead. Rachel raised a hand to groggily stroke her own skin. It didn't feel like skin. It felt like the remains of what had once been skin. What had happened? Where was she?

Suddenly, the memories of the attack came flooding back to her. Sam being wrenched from the truck, the truck spinning out of control as Quinn scrambled to save them, Puck trying to help her when she was stuck, unable to move, in her chair, and accidentally injuring her when he did so. She recalled Quinn's hysterical screaming, then thought of the day they had discovered the Rugaru attack at the Fabray's home. She could practically hear Puck helplessly firing his gun at their attacker, who had latched onto the truck as it had hurtled onwards, unable to be stopped. She remembered Puck's hand finding hers, somehow, in the darkness, and how warm and almost content she had felt for that split second, that quick moment before-

She let out a low moan. Quinn. She forced herself to take in her surroundings, even though it was agony to even move a muscle. Her eyes were tired. Still, her desire to find her closest and only friend alive overpowered any pain she felt in her body. She tried to call her name even though at first it didn't sound like her name at all. Her throat was scratchy and she could taste blood in her mouth. "Quinn?" She tried again. Her voice was haggard. She didn't care. She wanted to see her friend.

"Quinn?"

The pickup was still upright. The front window shield had shattered completely, and Rachel brushed pieces of glass out of her hair. Her bare arms and face were cut up, her neck bruised and her hands grazed. Still, these injuries were nothing compared to that certain something she felt deep within.

Grief.

"Quinn?"

Her chair had remained virtually untouched by the accident. She forced herself to sit up right and turn her head to face her left. This caused an animalistic sound to burst forth from deep within as a spasm of pain rocked her body. It was white hot and it stung like nothing she had ever felt before. She cringed as she held back the tears that were beginning to form. She felt her nails digging into the palms of her scraped hands and her front teeth digging into her bottom lip, almost drawing blood.

Then, that was forgotten.

"R-Rach…?"

Rachel turned immediately, ignoring the swell of pain rising in her muscles. She opened her eyes and stared, horrified at what she saw.

She now understood why the driver's side had remained almost completely untouched. The truck had struck the tree on the left side, directly down the side that Quinn and Puck had been on. A wail got stuck in her throat as she took in Quinn's current state. The blonde woman was almost completely covered in blood - the vile, red, liquid spilling forth from her mouth as she coughed. Her whole body was bruised and battered and her leg was twisted at an odd angle. Rachel raised her fist to her mouth to stop herself from making a sound.

"Ra-" Suddenly, Quinn retched on the passenger's seat. Her body shook as she vomited bile and blood. Quinn had skipped breakfast that morning to impress Sam. Rachel realised that these details meant nothing now, but somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew that Sam wouldn't have cared if Quinn had scarfed down the whole motel. He was head over heels for her, as Puck had said.

Puck. No. He was probably dead, she told herself. She shouldn't try to worry about too many things at once. She would deal with Quinn. She would try to save her.

Quinn ceased vomiting. A little bile was still on her chin, something that Quinn would have been disgusted by if she had not been in her current state. She raised her eyes to stare at Rachel, who was trembling slightly as she stared at the blonde's injuries.

"W-what are you looking at?" Quinn asked her.

Rachel couldn't hold the tears back anymore. As they spilled over her eyelashes and onto her cheeks, she only shook her head. Quinn coughed again, her body shaking as she spit blood onto Sam's dodgy upholstery.

"Look after her for me."

The brunette blinked away her tears and stared into the eyes of her hunting partner. She wasn't a silly woman. She knew that this would have to come to pass eventually. She never really thought that it would be so soon, though. It was easier to speculate about than to actually face.

She nodded, her eyes rimming with water. Quinn's were dry and red, her face pale. "She'll need somebody to tell her what happened to me," she told Rachel, who was now sobbing silently. "Please."

Rachel reached out for her and clasped her hand in hers. The blonde's hands were shaking, frail and weak, covered in bile and blood. But Rachel didn't care.

"I-I… promise."

That was all Quinn really needed. She leant back and shut her eyes, her fingers gently tracing patterns on Rachel's palm. "I'm sorry we fought all the time," she told her. Rachel, at this point, was struggling to understand was Quinn was saying in-between all of the coughing and the gurgling.

"We didn't," Rachel insisted, her bottom lip trembling. "Only at the s-start."

Quinn didn't reply. Instead, she managed one last smile. That was enough for Rachel. Their friendship hadn't exactly been conventional, especially considering what they did for a career, but it had been a wonderful one. They'd been there for one another through thick and thin. This, Rachel decided, would be their last adventure.

"I'm going to see my family again," was the last thing Quinn ever said.

The man was dressed in a black business suit, the collar of his dark blue dress shirt stiff, and his dark hair gelled sleekly. His thick, sympathetic brow was creased only slightly as he stared at the mess before him. From inside the totalled pickup truck, he could hear sobbing and wailing. The loss of a friend, he noted, was especially devastating.

"Barbiel."

He turned toward the sound of his approaching brother, Uriel. He did not smile, for this moment was not a time for smiling – however, he did show respect by simply nodding in recognition.

"You do not understand why I am here, brother," Uriel told him.

The man was confused. He turned, unsure, to stare at the angel with whom he usually worked closely.

"You are correct in saying that," the man noted, a crease in his brow. His brown eyes searched the older angel's own wise orbs. "Why are you here, Uriel? Michael sent me here alone."

Uriel smirked. "I am merely making sure that you don't stray from your assignment-" he muttered, his eyes alight, "- like you did the last time."

The man was overwhelmed with memories; of days spent at the beach, the water soft and gentle as it lapped at his bare ankles, the breeze rifling his then light hair. Of course, he had been in a different body all those years ago. He recalled the feeling of lips tracing his collar bone, of a hand held in his, a soul mate that he swore he would die for. He hastily pushed these images out of his mind. They were no more. His soul mate was no more.

"I won't," he replied calmly, although on the inside he was not calm at all.

Uriel regarded him curiously, almost as if he could see into the younger angel's innermost thoughts and feelings. It was possible, the man thought, but impolite. They didn't often feel the need to do so. Still, Uriel wasn't like other angels. He was sinister, calculating. No body wanted to cross him.

"What are you waiting for?" Uriel asked him, raising his eyebrows. The man nodded without emotion and began to walk towards the smoking wreckage.

He had a lot to prove to his superiors, he thought sullenly as he neared the still-upright pickup truck. And he would prove to them that he would not rebel again. He was an angel of his word, regardless of the lies he had told all those years ago. He had experienced love and he had been punished rightly for it. He would not disobey his God again.

Rachel had moved to curl up against Quinn's side, her hands now slicked with blood and bile. She had shut her eyes and willed this to all be a dream. Where were Ellen and the others? Were they safe? Or had they all been killed, too?

She thought of Quinn's last wish. She would do it. As soon as she found the strength to move again, she would do it. She had promised her.

Puck.

He had not made a sound in the last twenty or so minutes that she had been awake. Was he dead, too? Like Quinn? Like Sam? Gone… forever? The thought made her feel hollow inside.

Her sensitive, trained ears picked up the sound of a twig snapping just outside the car. Immediately, her hand went to rest on the blade that was sheathed in her belt. She hastily removed it and quietly sat up, making her way over to the driver's side of Sam's truck and flinging the door open. She saw a young man dressed in business attire, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched her move toward him, limping as she tried to run.

She set out to kill him, the magical knife raised in her trembling hand as she made to stab him with it. She wanted him to die. He was a demon. Demon. A creature unnatural and wrong and filled with hate.

It was a good attempt, something that would have done away with any other creature, but he was too fast. He merely had to move out of the way when she ran towards him. Injured, she stumbled slightly, but she was a trained killer, a hunter, and she was after him again within seconds.

He clicked his fingers.

The knife clattered to the floor and she was frozen, completely unable to move any of her limbs. She screamed in frustration and the man swore that he could hear Uriel laughing in the distance. Despicable, he thought, to laugh at such a thing. The young woman before him had just lost three of her friends in the space of an hour.

She spat at his feet.

"You are vile," she hissed, her eyes filling with tears once more, "Disgusting, unnatural and I'm going to kill you!"

He was not alarmed at her outburst. Her face was red with rage, her fists shaking as she tried to fight off his power. It could not be done, he thought almost regretfully. He was more powerful than anything she had ever encountered before.

"I am not what you think I am-"

"A demon! An evil, twisted, sad sack of shit is what you are!"

His facial expression did not alter. "I am Barbiel, an angel of the Lord."

Her eyes shone with hatred. "How dare you? You have no right to claim to be such a thing, my God would never-"

"You are Rachel Barbra Berry," he began. "You dream to be an actress, yet you are stuck doing something you hate because you don't want to let your parents down. When you were eight years old, you prayed that an angel would come and take you away from the life that you had always known, into a family that didn't know about the evil that you dealt with everyday, into a family who's biggest problems were how they were going to afford the bills the next month, a family where you were just a child."

There was a long silence as she stared at him.

"How did you know that?" She snapped eventually, her chest rising and falling with her rapid intakes and outtakes of breath. The man before her had just described to her something that she had never told anyone – not even her fathers, who she loved more than anyone in the entire world, regardless of the values and beliefs they had thrust onto her – that hunting was a God-given responsibility, a servitude that she must complete without question, a duty that was always for the greater good.

"I listened. And, eventually, even if it was a decade later, I answered your prayer."

There were tears dripping down her cheeks as her expression changed. "The Julliard scholarship."

He nodded.

When she was eighteen, she'd received, without warning, a full scholarship for her freshman year at Julliard in New York City. The letter had come as a complete surprise, and whilst it was a dream come true, it was also a painful reminder that whilst she wanted it more than anything in the world, she couldn't have it without risking the relationship she had with her parents.

"I was too afraid to show it to my fathers, but I never thought I'd been so lucky in my life…" She whispered, her eyes shining. "Thank you…"

He nodded once more. Staring at him, dumbfounded, she opened her mouth to speak. "What should I call you?"

He looked into the soul of his vessel. "Blaine," he said, surprising himself as he said it aloud. It was so close to the last name he had lived by on Earth. Benjamin.

"Blaine," Rachel repeated slowly.

He disregarded her. "If I release you, will you try to kill me?"

She seemed to be struggling internally. Finally, she shook her head. "No."

With that, he let her go. She scrambled to retrieve her precious knife before looking up to see that the… angel had walked away, back towards the wreckage. He was climbing in through the back door, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Wait!" She called, hurrying after him, "What are you doing?"

"What I am here to do."

She stared, transfixed, as he settled on the back seat. For the first time, her eyes came to rest on Puck, who was nearly as battered and bruised as Quinn had been. Rachel started to cry again as she thought about her friend, who now lay dead in the front seat of the partially destroyed vehicle.

"Dead, as I suspected," Blaine spoke, seemingly to himself. She wasn't really listening to him. Instead, her gaze was focused on what he was doing. "It doesn't matter."

He let the palm of his hand rest gently on Puck's beat up forehead. Then he shut his eyes. Astounded, Rachel couldn't believe her eyes when she saw a white light emanating from the man's hands. She gasped when Puck's eyes started blinking rapidly, life flowing back into his body as Blaine poured his heart and soul into his work.

"What are you doing?" She snapped, although she already knew what was happening. Puck, before her very own eyes, was being resurrected.

Blaine didn't answer her. He shut his eyes as tight as he could before he released the last of his power, the man below him spluttering slightly as air filled his lungs once more.

He removed his hand from his forehead and scooted out of the battered truck. "I am done here," he stated simply, which seemed to infuriate Rachel, who stood, unrelenting, in front of him – blocking his way. Of course, this wasn't a problem, but she didn't exactly know that yet.

"No, you're not!" She exclaimed. "Help Quinn. Please."

For a moment, Blaine understood. Then, forcing himself to remember why he'd been imprisoned for the last century, he brushed her off, an emotionless expression on his face. "She is not important to us," he told the small hunter. The words seemed heartless, even for an angel. "There is nothing I can do."

Rachel was livid. "There's nothing you can do? You can save her, you asshole! Why is his life of more value than anyone else's?" She yelled.

Blaine tried to ignore her. "It is God's plan."

"God's plan my ass," she spat, enraged, "If this is what God believes in, then I finally understand why people see religion as so corrupt!"

He wanted to feel nothing. But, unlike any other angel he had ever known, he was unable to disappear into an emotionless existence. "I am sorry," he said honestly, and with that he disappeared.

Rachel dropped to her knees and cried. She cried for what seemed like hours, days even. Quinn was gone. Angels were real. Puck was alive… but he had been dead.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

"Hello?"

She ran to him, and although they had only known one another two days, to see him alive again was to be inexplicably happy for at least a minute. He appeared unharmed, almost entirely healthy save for extreme exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open.

"Rach?"

She bent down to gently stoke his ridiculous Mohawk. It was comforting for the both of them. She refused to look at Quinn's still body, laying not a metre away. "Yes?'

"I'm… alive."

"Yes. Yes, you're alive."

Puck blinked; once, twice, then three times. A face flashed before his eyes, a distant memory - the brother he had refused to admit that he had missed. "Aaron," he told her.

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Aaron. My brother. Take me to Aaron."

Author's Note: Just to be clear, this story will focus on the relationships between Noah, Aaron and Rachel, as well as between supporting characters such as Blaine (Barbiel), Sam, and Quinn. There are many more characters to be introduced but I don't want to mention them here, as I want them to come as a surprise to you. Please, please, please review this chapter with feedback!