Title: Rachel Berry vs. The World

Author: animatedbrowneyes

Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Mike/Tina, Santana/Brittany, mentions of Quinn/others

Setting: Mid-season two, with Rachel and Finn broken up, and Quinn and Sam also are no longer an item. Spoilers from anything aired, I suppose.

Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, unfortunately, nor do I own Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.

This chapter isn't as funny as the first, but I'm sort of pleased with it, I guess. It's still cracky, though, trust me. Hope it is enjoyed!

In the aftermath of her first success against the infamous League of Evil Exes, Rachel's responsibilities as a student did not cease one bit—they continued with upmost persistence, as if the entire world didn't want her to keep Quinn Fabray for herself. Well, she didn't mind taking on the world. One more thing to her list, then. Whatever.

"Mr. Schuester," Rachel raised her hand, interrupting him mid-speech. "I have a request."

"I can't allow you to have every Barbra Streisand song," Mr. Schue retorted immediately, jumping to conclusions yet again.

"That is not my original intention, but we will discuss your absurd response later...anyway, I must ask you for an extension on my report on Peru," Rachel announced.

"What? Why, you're normally an excellent student," Mr. Schue questioned, confused. "You've always gotten everything in on time."

"To be frank," Rachel answered apologetically, "I'm in the fight of my life right now. It requires all of my attention."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's true," Tina nodded. "Rachel's in a life-or-death situation at the moment."

"Yeah, she chopped Mike in half the other day," Mercedes supplied.

Mike grinned.

"And she can't concentrate on a stupid report if she's busy fighting off my exes," Quinn added, stroking Rachel's arm. "She'll be busy."

"I'm watching you, Finn Hudson," Rachel declared warningly, when the boy sniggered under his breath.

"I didn't say anything," Finn replied innocently, fist-bumping Puck.

"I don't understand," Mr. Schuester interrupted. "Are you...are any of you on Vitamin D again? You're acting extremely...different."

"No!"

"Of course not."

"You think that much of us?"

"That was your crazy wife, not us," Santana remarked, eyeing him in disdain. "She gave it out."

"Ex-wife," Mr. Schuester countered automatically. "But I don't follow this."

"Basically, Mr. Schue, I have to defeat seven of Quinn's seemingly villainous exes in order to continue dating her," Rachel explained. "So far, I have only dealt with Mike, but obviously, there are six remaining, some even in this room. I don't know when they'll attack, or who next, to be honest, and as Quinn said, I can't write your time consuming report when I'm busy either defending myself or researching how to perform a blitz without an army."

"She's like Napoleon Bonaparte," Artie muttered. "Short and a military genius..."

"So, how did you 'defeat' Mike?" Mr. Schuester asked curiously, in spite of himself. "And you're dating Quinn? Really?"

Quinn sighed at his ignorance and lack of functioning eyes—obviously they were dating, why else would she be trying to cop a feel?—and nodded when Rachel didn't reply, who was busy rolling her eyes.

"She sliced me in half, like Mercedes said," Mike answered. "Awesome sword fight. I totally felt like I was Jackie Chan."

"Metaphorically, Rachel, or—"

"No, literally," Rachel insisted impatiently. "There were over twenty witnesses to the event. Mike exploded into dozens of coins when I defeated him, quite similar to a videogame. And then I bought some Junior Mints for Quinn to have with the money I received, along with a level up for my troubles, which is good, because I needed one."

"I'm jealous," Brittany mumbled offhandedly. "I love Junior Mints."

"I get you some later, B," Santana consoled. Brittany brightened.

Mr. Schuester stared at the glee club, nonplussed. What exactly were they smoking?

MR. WILLIAM SCHUESTER

SPANISH TEACHER/GLEE CLUB DIRECTOR

32 YEARS OLD

RATING: Oblivious as Helen Keller

"I guess I just had to be there," Mr. Schue replied weakly, looking awkward. "Right?"

"You'll probably see one at some time or another," Rachel shrugged, uncaring. "So...can I have that extension?"

"So, honey," Hiram addressed, "how was school today?"

"And glee practice?" Leroy inquired.

"Oh, they both went...fine," Rachel answered quietly, pushing her uneaten food around on her plate. "The usual."

"Is everything okay?" Leroy asked, scrutinizing his daughter's expression. "You seem..."

"Distracted," Hiram completed. "Did someone slushie you again?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Rachel replied. "Really."

"What's bothering you, then?" Hiram asked.

"I was wondering how to maneuver a roundhouse kick without exposing vulnerability to an opponent," Rachel mused. "But it may be impossible. May I be excused?"

"Sure, but—"

"Thank you!"

The brunette was gone before her father could finish, the sound of running feet and the slam of a door the only clue that their daughter had been there in the first place.

"Should I be worried?" Hiram wondered, setting his silverware down on the table.

"Probably," Leroy nodded. "It is Rachel, after all."

"Hey," Quinn smiled as Rachel entered her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. "Surprise!"

"I like surprises," Rachel offered coyly, grinning. "How'd you get in?"

"I scaled the side of your house," Quinn admitted. "It took, like, an hour to do it, because I didn't want your dads to see me and I fell on my back...twice. But I'm here, finally."

"Did you get hurt?"

"No, it was more of a shock than anything."

Quinn patted the spot on the bed beside her. Rachel agreeably laid down, resting her head on Quinn's chest, listening to the cheerleader's heartbeat.

"Who are your other exes, besides the three I already know and Mike?"

"I can't tell you," Quinn chided. "That would spoil the surprise. Don't you like surprises?"

"Not this kind," Rachel grumbled moodily. "Stupid boys...steal my girlfriend...ridiculous..."

"I know you'll win," Quinn encouraged. "You're way better than all of my exes. Really."

"I know I am."

"And there goes the modesty. Adios, humility."

"I'm not modest?"

"No, Rachel."

"I'm not modest in the special way you like, though. That's completely different."

"True," Quinn acquiesced playfully. "I don't mind that one."

Rachel smirked until a text vibrated her phone, interrupting her not-so-innocent train of thought.

Quinn reached over to the nightstand, and handed it to her. Flipping it open, and promptly scowling, Rachel muttered about radical preparations and drastic measures.

"What did it say?"

Rachel handed the phone over, and Quinn eyed the screen: UNKNOWN NUMBER.

7:49PM — PREPARE DIE TOMORROW, BERRY. DRESS COMFORTABLY.

"Morons," Quinn scoffed. "I can't believe I dated this kind of stupidity."

"I know!" Rachel exclaimed. "'Dress comfortably'? Why?"

"Apparently, so they can kill you," Quinn deadpanned. "Maybe not ruining your precious sweaters in the process."

"Well," Rachel declared, jumping up and striding to her computer. "I have to organize my defensive agenda."

"How?" Quinn complained. "You don't know what's coming. And we were about to—"

"Quinn, I don't have time for that," Rachel insisted. "They're toying with me. It's a common psychological strategy."

"But I climbed a wall for you," the blonde whined, sulking.

"That was lovely, thank you," the diva nodded sympathetically, "but I have to prepare for tomorrow, which involves researching war tactics and learning a few simplified judo moves, as well as practicing my karate. I will also be playing brain teasers and chess on my computer, in the event of a mental attack, however unlikely that may be, because your exes are generally dimwitted. Unless you'd like to cuddle with me later, which I could possibly fit in to my schedule."

"...fine."

"By dress comfortably, I'm pretty sure they didn't mean this," Quinn observed, sighing.

Rachel had decided to wear dark jeans, a black shirt, and had painted two horizontal lines under her eyes—referred to as eyeblack—quite similar to a football player's habit, and adorned running sneakers, all instead of her normal outfit of a sweater, skit, and loafers. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"The message cautioned me to be comfortable, and I am, along with stealthy."

"You look silly."

"For the umpteenth time, Quinn, I am unquestionably prepared to defend myself if necess—"

"RACHEL BERRY!" A familiar voice roared, and the brunette and her blonde counterpart turned to look at the smug, handsome face of one Noah Puckerman, standing tall on his truck bed. "I TOLD YOU TO PREPARE, AND AS QUINN FABRAY'S SECOND EVIL EX-BOYFRIEND, I CHALLENGE YOU TO A RACE!"

NOAH 'PUCK' PUCKERMAN

STUDENT/JUVENILE DELINQUENT/INSATIABLE SEX SHARK

17 YEARS OLD

RATING: Undeniably badass, more than you'll ever be

"No way," Quinn groaned.

"Don't fret, Quinn," Rachel stated, not taking her eyes off Puck. "I'll win it."

Puck stood, arms crossed, as Rachel wandered over to him, earning looks from other students, all recalling Berry's wicked moves from a few days ago, decimating Mike Chang.

"Berry."

"Puckerman."

"I'm your second foe, obviously," Puck explained, as if reciting a speech. "I count because I gave Quinn emotional support—"

"—support, more like wine coolers and telling her the obvious—"

"—and because she was my baby mama," the jock concluded, ignoring her comment. "Understand?"

"Let's get this show on the road," Rachel proclaimed impatiently. "Where are we racing?"

"In Lima, of course," Puck answered, eyes gleaming. "With a few conditions..."

"How did you manage this?" Rachel gasped.

All the streets of Lima—every single one—were deserted, lacking other civilians besides the jock and diva. Parked cars were still there, although scattered. An uneasy hush seemed to befall the roads and center of town, as if all humanity had been blighted off the face of the earth and she and Puck were the only ones left, which would have been a certainly dramatic twist of fate, just the two of them. Well, except for the chattering glee club, just arrived behind them by several carpools, and that suspicious old lady over in the distance, scowling and walking her dog, mumbling something that sounded oddly like, "damn teenagers, making a ruckus" and narrowing her eyes.

"I made JewFro spread a story about a sewer flooding," Puck replied, smiling proudly. "And an earthquake warning. Supposedly, those two together can make a sinkhole or something awesome like that. So, yeah, no one's outside."

"We live in Ohio," Rachel retorted critically. "That makes commute hours inconvenient."

"Tough shit."

"And it's nearly eight in the morning," the diva continued. "Your prank won't last long, you know."

"Long enough," Puck countered, waving a dismissive hand. "If you can defeat me, of course."

"I will," Rachel declared determinedly. "Make no mistake, Noah Puckerman. I will end you."

Puck chuckled.

"I wouldn't laugh, Puck," Mike called. "She's sick with a sword!"

"This challenge doesn't involve swords, Chang," Puck remarked simply.

"What does it involve?" Rachel demanded. "I will destroy you if that's what it takes to keep Quinn."

Quinn visibly, and uncharacteristically, swooned. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Damn," Artie muttered appreciatively. "She's totally sexy when she's angry. I never noticed it."

"Abrams," Quinn growled. Artie blanched at her ire, and intelligently chose to look away. Smart boy, that Artie Abrams.

"I told you, it's a race," Puck answered. "But with conditions."

"Must you repeat yourself?" Rachel complained. "State your trial or forfeit!"

"We'll be racing a marked course," Puck clarified, glaring at her. "Three times around, and then back here is the final finish line. There will be obstacles, Berry. If you lose—"

"—I won't—"

"—you'll have to back off Quinn," the jock surmised. "No funny business behind our backs or ACLU."

"I know, I know, I signed the wavier," Rachel grumbled. "Are we going to talk all day or are we going to race?"

Puck heaved an aggravated sigh, and stomped off heavily to his truck. Rachel shrugged.

Quinn bounded over to Rachel, and planted a kiss on her lips. "Good luck, baby."

"Thank you, Quinn. I assure you, I will be victorious."

Quinn stooped slightly, fixing a Bluetooth device on Rachel's left ear and smoothing her hair back into place.

"There. We'll all be on the same conference call, so you and Puck can talk to us while you drive."

"Safely, too. I approve."

Quinn gave her another kiss and skipped to the starting line, and held out a pom-pom high over her head.

Rachel eased her Volkswagen New Beetle up to the line as the club began to cheer, while Rachel was checking her mirrors and tightening her seatbelt.

You can never be too safe, the brunette mused.

"Really?" Puck protested from his truck, leaning out the window. "A pom-pom?"

"Quiet, Puckerman," the blonde chastised. "Unless you'd like to lose to my girlfriend?"

"He will," Rachel interjected firmly. Puck scoffed.

"Fuck that, I'm ready."

"Ready?" Quinn hollered, and swung the pom-pom down to her feet. "GO!"

[VS. MODE]

[PLAYERS: NOAH 'PUCK' PUCKERMAN, RACHEL BERRY]

[COURSE: LIMA RACE TRACK—STREETS]

The two engines roared and sped off, as the glee club simultaneously held their phones to their ears, listening to the already furious argument between Rachel and Puck.

"—completely immature of you to even suggest that—"

"—just a sexy idea, Berry, don't flip your shit—"

"—Quinn Fabray is mine, Puckerman, not yours, and I swear, I will castrate you—"

Rachel swerved suddenly, tires squealing as she avoided, dare she say it, a turtle shell? What in the world?

"See that one, Berry?"

"I did," Rachel acquiesced nervously. "A turtle shell, how odd..."

"Oops!" Puck cackled. "Forgot to mention this isn't just any race, it's real life Mario Kart!"

A shimmering, orange 2 materialized on Rachel's far right, unmistakably informing her of her inferior place in the race.

Puck was winning! This would not do. Rachel pressed harder on the gas pedal.

"Mario Kart?" Finn's voice hissed into the earpiece. "Holy shit!"

"I've infiltrated the security cameras on the streetlights," Artie's excited mutter crackled on the line. "We can now see their progress on my laptop for the rest of the competition!"

"Faster, Rachel!" Tina clamored animatedly.

"That's hot, tell her again—OW! God dammit, Rachel!" Puck yelped, mid-innuendo, his truck steering sideways. Rachel had clipped his bumper with her own, and streaked past in a reddish blur, her wheels zooming over a glowing, colorful strip of pavement, sending her Beetle flying forward like a bullet from a gun.

"Whoa," Rachel breathed.

"Those are the fast plates in the game!" Brittany yelled, clapping. "Good job, Rachel!"

[CURRENT FIRST PLACE: RACHEL BERRY]

Puck scowled sullenly, eyeing the crimson Beetle currently in the lead, and drove straight through a glassy, slowly rotating cube, with a cheerful ding succeeding the action. A quick list of options hovered to the left of Puck's windshield, and the boy eagerly chose his selection, pressing a button on his radio, with an obnoxious buzz following it.

This was Mario Kart, after all.

"EAT LIGHTNING, BITCH!" Puck roared.

Rachel's exclamation of confusion was drowned out as a deafening clash of thunder boomed in the distant, clear sky, and with a louder sizzle of ozone, a bright, single strip of lightning hurdled itself to earth and slammed to the roof of Rachel's Volkswagen, making the car shudder and shrink slightly in size.

"Huh?" Rachel squeaked, crammed into the suddenly disproportional vehicle. "What happened?"

Puck shot by her, howling with laughter, while Rachel could only putter along at a grandmother's speed, which was way too slowly.

[CURRENT FIRST PLACE: NOAH 'PUCK' PUCKERMAN]

"Oh, no!" Kurt squawked, as Blaine shook his head gravely at the latest turn of events. "He made you shrink!"

"It'll go back to normal, right?"

"...probably!"

Puck's truck was about a mile away when the Beetle surged, shivering, and returned to its usual mass and volume, and Rachel stomped on the pedal, eyes flashing with anger. Puck's truck, although in first place, lacked the power of Rachel's more modern engine design. Growling quietly in frustration, the brunette frowned suspiciously at the gleaming, silvery crate, suspended illogically in the air, but maneuvered through it anyway, where a scrolling inventory of options floated helpfully next to her window.

Thinking the decision over, she pushed a new, mysterious tuner on her dashboard.

The effect was delayed, however, as both cars passed the start/finish line, ending the first loop of the race.

[LAP (S): 1/3 COMPLETED]

With a triumphant sneer, Rachel yelled into her Bluetooth as a glob of black goo suddenly hovered near Puck's truck: "EAT INK, YOU DICKHEAD!"

"Where'd Rachel learn that language?" Kurt questioned disapprovingly.

Quinn hummed innocently, averting her eyes, while Puck's bellow of rage sparked loudly into their phones.

"ARGH!"

Windshield smeared entirely with sluggish black tar, Puck veered right, scraping a ghastly scratch along the side of his car with another parked automobile. Unable to see, he drifted from side to side as if he was a drunken driver, while an impatient Beetle practically rode his rear bumper, anticipating an opening to clinch the lead.

"Idiot, move already," Rachel ordered resentfully, baring her teeth. "Trying to drive here!"

"Bite me, Berry."

"Fuck you!"

"Berry learned a few swears, alert the media," Santana proclaimed, grinning.

"She's got some serious road rage," Mercedes commented, impressed, pointing out the identifying red dot on Artie's laptop display of the competiton. "She's not giving up."

"Has she even played Mario?" Sam wondered. "If not, she'll be a beast at it."

Dodging another spinning turtle shell, Rachel exhaled deeply, and sped forward, becoming neck-in-neck with Puck.

Rounding a corner, Rachel's eyes widened in alarm as a raised platform sat directly in the middle of the track. Puck snickered and pushed ahead, as Rachel drove shrewdly around it, dismayed to find Puck in the lead once again, due to the air advantage gained. That floating, glowing 2 seemed to be mocking her.

"Use those next time, Rachel," Artie advised. "They get you further without anything in the way."

"Got it."

"Don't worry, Rach," Brittany cheered. "You'll win it!"

"Don't I get support?" Puck complained, gripping the steering wheel tighter in concentration.

"I'm on your side, Puck," Finn offered surreptitiously, followed by Sam and a smirking Santana. Brittany sighed.

When another ramp was sighted on the horizon, Rachel filed her sensibility away for another time and zoomed her Beetle fluidly over it, soaring through the air—if only her fathers could see this, no, wait, scratch that, they'd get heart palpitations—and landing with a hard rattle of her axels and a jolt of the car frame, and unexpectedly rammed into Puck's truck, forcing him into a second parked car and yet another hideous scratch on his paint job. Rachel squinted at the familiar checkpoint in the distance.

"Go, Rachel, go!" Quinn yelled.

Rachel sailed through the start/finish line, and Puck followed soon after, swearing mutinously. No way was Rachel going to beat him.

[LAP (S): 2/3 COMPLETED]

[CURRENT FIRST PLACE: RACHEL BERRY]

Heart pounding excitedly with exhilaration and high spirits, Rachel hastened onward, beaming. She could do this. She could—would—win.

Hopeful to destroy Rachel's annoyingly unshakeable confidence, Puck delightedly rushed through an additional, translucent cube of choices to slow down his opponent, picked his hindrance, and watched in gleeful vengeance as a yellow object appeared out of nowhere and skidded right under Rachel's tires with a disgusting splat, making the Volkswagen skew sideways on the road, the tires screeching madly with Rachel's panicky effort to focus and correct her driving.

"A banana?" Rachel cried. "Really?"

"It's in the actual game, Berry!" Puck crowed. "Suck it!"

[CURRENT FIRST PLACE: NOAH 'PUCK' PUCKERMAN]

"Puckerman," Quinn warned through the Bluetooth. "Say that again and I'll rip your ears off."

"Oh my God!" Rachel yelled, the squeal of tires becoming a steady whine on the conference call. "I'm hydroplaning! I'm hydroplaning! Oh my God, I'm going to die! AHHH!"

The Beetle spun and swerved like a top, slowing to a stop in reverse of the destination she needed, a cloud of dust rising in the air when the car finally stopped moving.

"Hurry, Rachel!" Quinn shouted in her ear. "Puck's getting away!"

Grinding her teeth in determination and purpose, Rachel executed (as calmly as possible) a perfect three-point turn—while various glee club members shrieked urgent reminders in her ear—and when facing the appropriate direction, promptly pummeled the gas pedal, using several colored strips to quicken her car's pace.

Puck was still a long ways away, but Rachel was gaining ground, and swiftly. She wasn't going down without a fight.

When Rachel could see Puck's truck, only three cars's distance from her Beetle, she suddenly realized his weakness: arrogance. Puck still believed he could win, regardless of her little tricks. Well, that wouldn't be happening. She would need to rely on smarts and logic, not silly obstacles. As her speedometer tentatively rose to sixty miles per hour, and Puck's truck bumper just was a hair's breadth from hers, she used a conveniently placed, colored, glowing strip, and when they were riding alongside each other, voices screaming into the earpieces, both cars flying down the road and the finish line looming tantalizingly away, Rachel jerked the steering wheel hard to the left.

What happened next occurred in only a matter of seconds; Rachel's Volkswagen slammed into the side of Puck's truck so hard that he and his ride both unexpectedly shattered into hundreds of glittering coins—must've been the position of their cars and the timing of the finish, but was still a derisive victory—peppering Rachel's windshield with hard pieces of currency, and Rachel managed to zoom straight through the finish line, donuting to a heart-stopping, tires squealing stop, nearly flailing out of her seat.

Lucky for seatbelts, she thought grimly, but in relief. She won.

Her thoughts were interrupted as her door was yanked open, her seatbelt detached, and was hauled unceremoniously out of the driver's seat and pulled into a ferocious, hungry kiss by her ecstatic girlfriend, who moved away when Rachel needed to catch her breath, who smiled dizzily. Quinn's eyes burned with pride, awe, and maybe a little desire as the others hurried over, clapping enthusiastically and congratulating her. Rachel grinned exhaustedly, wiping a shaking hand across her clammy forehead.

[RACHEL BERRY RECEIVES +1,000 POINTS, +25 HEALTH, AND A LEVEL UP. FANTASTIC!]

[RACHEL BERRY'S NEW RATING: Smokin']

"Look, Quinn," Rachel remarked happily. "I'm smokin'!"

"Yes, you are," Quinn agreed. "Hands down. Way down," she added with a wink, and Rachel reddened.

"Good job, Berry," Puck grumbled petulantly, slamming his truck door closed and wandering over to the group, having reappeared unharmed by the starting line, wearily handing her a few dozen coins while Blaine and Kurt scampered to collect the rest for Rachel, who was too physically and emotionally tired to bother at the moment.

"Thank you, Noah."

"Oh, so it's Noah now? Not 'dickhead'?"

"Well, since I've beaten you, like I told you I would," Rachel countered bluntly, triumphant, "I no longer have the need to insult you in an episode of blind rage."

"Whatever," Puck muttered. "You've beaten the Second Evil Ex, five more to go, you'll lose anyway and probably die, blah, blah, blah..."

"Are you Noah Puckerman?" A voice asked. The group turned to find a scowling police officer.

"Who's asking?" Puck questioned rudely, but Santana elbowed him. "I mean, yes."

"Well, you owe a five hundred dollar fine for the vandalism you and your girlfriend caused, along with the rumor you started about the sewer break," the officer snapped.

"What?" Puck yelled. "No way!"

"Either that or back to juvie. Your choice."

"Fine, whatever, I'll pay it," Puck mumbled, and the officer cast a suspicious look at the glee club members before returning to his cruiser and driving off. Puck waited patiently until the man was gone to flip an obscene gesture in the general direction of the absent cop and to round on Rachel, who raised an eyebrow in question.

"You're so lucky you won. Otherwise, I wouldn't be paying this goddamn charity."

"It was your idea," Rachel pointed out. "I would've been fine playing it on a game console."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Puck groaned. "That sounds cheap...and safe..."

"Hopefully the next ex will be smarter than you," Rachel commented, taking Quinn's hand and calling over her shoulder, "and have more common sense."