Part 10 –

For The Love of A Sister:

(Thursday, June 1st) 9:13am

"Welcome Home Quinn!"

Hiram yelled as he and the three others before him entered excitedly into the hallway from the front door. Quinn in her crutches beaming as Rachel pulled her along – their matching casts now reflecting all shades of the rainbow amidst their mutual adornments of signatures, doodles, and insignias. – and after all of this time, nearly a month in the hospital. They were finally home free – well, as home free as one in recovery could still be.

Rachel looped her good, uncasted arm around Quinn's elbow – her brown eyes teary with wonderment and joy as she looked up and simply sighed at the blonde who was smiling back down at her – could this all be real? And before another thought could catch either girl's mind, there was a raucous boom overhead and then the appearance of bodies and figures in varying states of excitement and awe as they yelled "Surprise" in a beaming welcome.

Confetti fell from the chandelier and Quinn's hazel eyes couldn't help but water as she and Rachel were softly bombarded by their friends and loved ones – smiling into warm embraces as tender eyes locked on everyone in attendance; Mr. Schuester, to Ms. Pillsbury, to Blaine Anderson, and Puck – it seemed as though everyone was there to partake in their own joy – and it was a rightful cause for celebration. And so as Quinn was slowly shuffled over to an overlarge "Welcome Home!" frosted cake she couldn't think of anything better to do than simply blow out the candles joyfully with a beaming Rachel by her side.

The party was spent in moments of observation and overall joy – but Quinn couldn't help herself from feeling at a loss as she sat at the kitchen table surrounded by all of the Glee Club – that she had missed out on so much. She had only been in the hospital for about a month – Puck's party was only a month ago. But as she sat and listened to the teenagers around her she became hyper aware of the fact that the world had kept revolving – and moments and situations laps and overran into one another without waiting for her to catch up.

"Did you hear about Azimio and Karofsky? Those numbskulls didn't even get suspended after getting caught trying to break into the vending machine by the science building on Thursday."

Quinn watched as Kurt's face had fallen at the words, and she turned her eyes to Santana who was sighing in her chair as she stared back at the blonde nonchalantly.

"They're still at school?" It was whispered, yes. But Quinn's small voice hadn't fallen on deft ears and as her admonition escaped all eyes turned curiously on her. Artie was the first to speak and break the silence. Santana was still staring back at her – but her gaze was a little more polished – refined, and searching.

"Why wouldn't they be Quinn? I mean, aside from recent events. Nothing's changed, they still slushie us sure – but they haven't done anything to warrant a heady suspension or an expulsion."

Quinn gulped, trying to quell the growing unease boiling in the pit of her stomach, and the violent swell of anger that was just breaking to the forefront of her vivid hazel eyes.

"They almost killed her! She coul –"

And just as she was about to tell them all of the incident at Puck's party, a small hand found her thigh and as she looked over she found deep pooling brown eyes smiling smally at her, showing her in the lightest of ways that she needn't go there. Rachel shook her head before her smile turned to a grimace and Quinn died down – if the Glee Club didn't know, she wouldn't tell them without Rachel's consent – but it didn't mean that she liked it. She didn't like it one bit.

As she quelled her tongue with a flick of her hand and a whispered "nevermind" she missed the dark eyebrow that arched at her outburst, and the way that her best friend's own eyes burned with anger – because if Quinn was this upset – it had to be something unforgivable, and she would use all of the willpower she had to figure it out from the culprits themselves.

A handful of eyes were still staring at the blonde with confused expressions on their faces – it took Rachel changing the subject dramatically for it to be dropped and/or forgotten. The brunette silently thanked the Gods that their friends were so unreceptive – excluding Kurt, and Santana of course. Those two had keen eyes and ears – much too keen. But she still sighed a breath of relief as the tone of conversation changed – ultimately bringing them to current Lima events. Baseball, and movies – celebrities, and summer gossip – eventually flowing full circle back to Lima.

"Anybody hear about that fire at the Fenton Hotel a few days ago? It was on the news, it looked crazy."

Everyone mostly shrugged, a few heads bobbed in affirmation before Mike continued talking amid his bites of cake.

"They said it was mostly contained, but that whoever caused it left the scene– I think they have prints, and they have a name but haven't been able to find whoever it was. They disappeared."

"Did they say who it was?" Mercedes chimed in half-heartedly. Her heart not really in the conversation but her mind unable to shy away from petty table banter.

Mike shrugged his shoulders as he shuffled another ginormous piece of cake into his mouth, speaking between crumbs and not minding as he licked his fingers between words.

"No name released. Some girl though – looked familiar."

Quinn rolled her eyes. Disgusted by Mike's show of table etiquette at her coming home party. She laughed when Tina grabbed a napkin and threw it at his face – silently beckoning him to stop talking with his mouth open/full. And just as things had begun – things had begun to end. After a few hours Quinn watched as her friends and "real" family made their goodbyes for the night. Stopping to kiss her cheeks and ruffle her hair sloppily (Puck) as they pronounced their happiness at her return as well as their goodnights. Promises were made for later visits with her and the Berry's and she couldn't help but smile up at the ceiling in happy exhaustion as she laid down on the large sofa – her casted leg propped up on fluffed up pillows.

Rachel was sitting on top of her now. She grunted when out of nowhere the brunette had jumped around the couch and softly landed on top of Quinn's lap, sitting up comfortably in a way that wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest but was oddly distracting for the blonde. She huffed as she was brought down from her thoughts as a small bell was rung over and over again above her face by small excitable hands.

Quinn grabbed the brunette's slender hips and forced her to lie down so that now the two girls were side by side (or rather, Rachel on top of Quinn) on the couch – it was mostly an excuse to get Rachel to stop ringing that goddamn bell – but also because she loved having Rachel leaned up against her - it was something she couldn't help but realize she was growing to like and want. She smiled when she felt soft lips brush lightly against her own.

"Hi." The brunette was beaming down into the blonde's face.

"I've been waiting to attack you all day since you got home." Rachel's voice was light and thick all at the same time, alluding to her playfulness while also dragging along the undistinguishable undercurrent of mischief. Quinn smiled up at the brunette and let her hands run themselves along her sides and still healing ribs, resting her thumbs on the fabric of Rachel's shirt.

"Hi, back."

Rachel laughed then before leaning down to meet Quinn's lips softly.

"Such a charmer, Fabray."

Quinn smiled in return.

"Only the best."

(Tuesday, May 23rd) 5:37am

Francesca:

Her eyes were still stinging from the smoke. And her lungs felt heavy and full with every breath. She must have looked ridiculous she thought, but she didn't particularly care. It was a miracle that she had gotten out of her room in the first place. She was so fucking tripped out – she can barely remember it at all. But as she stumbles around by the highway along the trees and shrubs she's suddenly re-gifted with her senses – and all of the emotions she's been trying to run from have quickly come back. She needs another hit – because she can't stand the pain of remembering, but she must have left her Aunt Nora at the hotel. She practically sobbed at the realization that she wasn't holding anymore. She walked and walked down the deserted highway, her feet dragging her off of an exit. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. Her clothes were ash stained and torn. She had cuts and bruises skirting her arms, legs, face and hands. And her pupils were dilated as fuck – because she was still fucking high.

It took her three hours. But after hours of walking she had finally looked up – and how ironic life could be – just then Frannie would have sworn that God really did have a fucked up sense of humor because when she opened her eyes she was standing right in front of her old home. And before she could think to turn around and walk away, the security light beamed on, and the door began to open into the early morning hours.

"Daddy." She said as she slumped to the lawn in a heap and passed out – her binge finally taking hold of her weary brain.

(Thursday, June 1st) 11:43pm

Santana wasn't stupid.

She was far from it.

She never was one to really care particularly for Rachel Berry – and she wasn't sure if she ever really would grow to legitimately like for the small brunette. But one thing was for sure – Q needed her, Q had always needed her. And although she wasn't much of a friend in the traditional sense of the word – she was damn loyal.

It had taken all of her strength not to call out the total gay parade on full display at Quinn's welcome home party – how could anyone not see the lesbiana all up in there. Perhaps it was because she had a particularly gifted eye for these things, but after observing Kurt – she knew that his gaydar must have picked up on it too because the midget and Fabgay were screwing all over her own radar. But revelations aside – she was secretly happy for Q, and the midget she guessed, sort of. Rachel was always a closet hottie – no one could have denied that fact. For goodness sakes, Puck hooked up with her. And there had to have been a reason for Finn to date her when he knew that she was social suicide walking on a fucking stick.

And so here she was – all up in Azimio's pants. She cringed inwardly – skating over his large biceps behind his garage. Boys were so easy to manipulate – they almost made this sort of espionage fun. Of course, he was falling at her feet as she latched on to his neck, sucking him there smoothly as she stroked over his arms again.

"Yea baby.." he was mumbling obscenities and false affections all over the place and Santana tried her hardest not to gag in his arms. She had to make her move soon, before he decided to take things any further.

"You deserved it, I'm just showing my thanks."

Azimio chuckled as he felt Santana bruise his neck with her lips and teeth. He grasped on to her with more force, as he breathed out.

"I don't know what you mean...?"

Santana rolled her eyes as she worked. These jocks were so insanely stupid she thought as she stroked his biceps again – making sure to writhe against him seductively to keep him going and interested, and from what she could feel – he was most definitely interested.

"At the party – you and Karofsky – that trick with Berry was genius – just showing my appreciation."

He smiled then, nodding as he recollected the incident that occurred almost a month ago at their football rager. It was a good prank – he was a genius for having suggested it, that Berry girl was just too goddamn annoying for her own good. Losers had to be shown their place at McKinley, and it was his duty as a football player to relegate them.

"Yea, I remember that. Classic – she deserved it."

And just when Azimio thought that all was going spectacularly well, the firm hand that had been grasping his bicep a moment ago, was now strategically placed at his groin – his eyes widened in overjoyed surprise, but once he opened his eyes and really looked, it was to stare into the blazing, fiery eyes of an evil Santana Lopez.

"Wha -?"

And before he could collect himself, that same hand was clenching him through his jeans and squeezing – hard. Santana used her leverage to push him up against the wall – her hand still clenched around his goods in a vice grip. She watched him maliciously as his face started turning purple from the pain of it. And that is precicesly when she drew a small razor blade from beneath her ponytail clip, and she brought it down to meet her other occupied hand, and started to work at his zipper. Azimio's eyes bugged out and he started splutter in fear as he bucked against her, trying to get away; seemed too shocked at the sudden turn of events to do much else.

"I'll give you three seconds Azimio, to tell me who else helped you that night, or else I'm going first after bean 1, then bean 2, and then señor Frank in rapid succession."

"You have fucking razor blades in your hair!"

"They weren't kidding. Santana Lopez. Does. Not. Kid. Three fucking seconds. 3.."

And just like that the large football player began to splutter and tear like a giant oversized baby. His now flaccid member still being fiercely clutched from the confines of his now exposed boxer briefs. Santana simply scowled as he named off the cheerios involved one by one in rapid-fire succession. Once he was done, she didn't immediately let go, instead slipping on the small pair of brass knuckles she always carried in her back pocket, and put them on – swinging a hard left and knocking Azimio fiercely across the cheekbone. She watched as he fell splayed to the ground, clasping his now bleeding and swelling cheek.

"If you speak a word of any of this to anyone... and I mean a word. I am personally coming after you in the dark, and castrating you in your sleep."

She scowled as she watched him nod his head frantically – he looked pathetic in his unzipped pants, his eyes wide with fear. Santana would never castrate the idiot; she was smarter and less obvious than that. But that didn't mean that he had to know it. She still really did carry razor blades in her hair – at least that rumor had some merit. And so with a final fake pump in his direction, she turned on her heel. Leaving him panting and bleeding against the concrete.

And on her way out of the boy's backyard all she could seem to think about was Quinn. Every time she engaged herself in a violent act nowadays, they always inadvertently lead back to the blonde. And while Santana would never admit it, she loved her ex-captain like a sister. And especially after the events of last summer – every moment was an opportunity to protect her family, most notably Quinn Fabray.

She scowled at the thought – life never seemed to catch the blonde a break it seemed. And so while becoming pregnant at sixteen, Quinn had also been graced with the privilege of being born into the shittiest family to walk the face of the earth. And while Santana knew this to a certain degree – their trip to Chicago had solidified it in spades. And since then – Quinn's safety and best interest have always been in the forefront of her mind, right along with Brittany's – because they were a fucking family. And so as she got in her car and sped of down the empty street, she let her memories overcome her – because they hadn't seemed to subside ever since she had seen Frannie at the hospital. Motherfucking Francesca Elizabeth Fabray.

July 4th, last summer –

Santana thought this place was sketchy ever since they set foot past the bouncer who didn't card. She watched Frannie and the Bouncer exchange words with highly observant eyes, her body language tensing at the wrongness of it all that she felt. However, this was Quinn's trip. This was a trip meant to build the bridges that Frannie had burned down a long time ago – and so the Latina stood aside, and tried to enjoy herself, even if she knew that she never really could, not with Frannie at least.

She watched the people milling around the bar as they approached, they were all so – for lack of a better word – grungy. And totally wacked out looking. She couldn't help but feel as though this wasn't common Chicago nightlife. But she shrugged her shoulders – and when the bartender – Jaime or Javier or whatever his name was hands her a tumbler full of liquor and juice she doesn't turn it down and simply downs it before turning to watch Quinn do the same. They stayed that way for about half in hour, sipping on cocktails and shooters. She watched Quinn's shoulders relaxing, and her now hazy eyes fixed on Frannie as she ascended a secret path of stairs towards the back of the club/bar. But before she could think to follow, or at least say something she felt a familiar buzz coming from her clutch. And as she opened it, she found Quinn's phone vibrating with an incoming call. She looked up to hand the phone to the blonde, but Quinn was out of it – and after seeing the name on the screen, Judy Fabray she thought against handing the cell over to her inebriated daughter. And so on a whim, she carted the phone out of the bar onto the cold street to take the call. Judy almost never called Quinn, and so this had to be of some importance.

"Hello?"

"Quinn, dear? It's mom –"

"Hi Judy, sorry, this is Santana Lopez actually, Quinn's friend from the Cheerios, Quinn and Frannie left for the bathroom, and so I thought I'd answer."

"Oh….I dear. I was just calling because I was wondering how the nursing home visit to grandpa Theo was going?"

What the fuck? Santana furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, she held the phone away from her ear abruptly as she tried to regain her composure – surely Judy had NO idea where they had really gone off too. And even though she was completely inebriated, her rage at Frannie was bubbling warmly beneath the surface of her olive veneer – the blonde had some nerve.

"Grandpa Theo?" She had to make sure that her voice stayed even and unassuming even though she was wrung with worry. Judy wasn't as strong as she once seemed – she was a shell of the woman she once was – and a simple crack on the surface could cause a rippling emotional wave of disaster.

"Yes, sweetie – Grandpa Theo. Did you guys not make it to Dayton yet? It's only a few hours away dear.."

And there was the etching break in the woman's façade – Santana could hear the worry rippling through her voice like acidic waves, and so she brushed off her earlier statements, laughing lightly into the receiver although she was anything but joyful.

"Oh, Judy – psh, don't be silly. Yeaaa, we're here. I just always thought Quinn's pop's name was Thomas or something. But no, he's good Judy. Don't worry – I'll make sure Fran sends you a picture on your phone."

She could hear Judy physically exhale on the other end of the line, and so in response Santana leant her body against the wall in reprieve. And she thanked whatever God was looking over her for the fact that Judy Fabray didn't know a flying fuck about technology.

"Oh honey, you know as well as anyone that I don't know how to work those gadgets that you kids are using nowadays. Just a few weeks ago Quinn was trying to show me how to read books on one of those digital reader things? – and frankly, I couldn't stand the thing, it was atrocious –"

"Yea. Okay, It was great talking to you Ms. Fabray, I'll make sure to tell Quinn and Fran you called!"

And just like that Santana pressed the END call button sharply, exhaling quickly through her nostrils as she shook her head quickly in order to clear it. She knew this was bad. Had she realized that Frannie had blatantly lied about their trip – she may have been able to drag Quinn out of it, and perhaps on a small get together with her and Brittany. Hell – knowing Quinn, she probably had no clue of Francesca's true motives for bringing them out here. It was terrifying to have your immediate underage future within the palms of Francesca Elizabeth Fabray – that girl was just unpredictable. And now that she knew that this entire trip was a hoax she needed to find Quinn – because the blonde deserved to know.

As she made her way back into the bar the first thing that she noticed in her hazy state was how much emptier it had suddenly become – looking down at her cell she realized that it was still only 12:15am. Perhaps the Chicago nightlife scene ended earlier than she had anticipated? She began her search for the blonde downstairs, making her way through bathrooms and past drunken twenty somethings mingling by the bar. There was no one around – and something was irking her so intently it hurt – but she couldn't quite pinpoint her discomfort in her daze, all that she knew was that she had to keep her guard up around these people.

It was another fifteen minutes of threatening the few patrons left at the bar – yelling at them all for answers, wondering scarily where everyone had disappeared to. Where was Quinn? And finally, right before she was about to punch the new unrecognizable bartender in the jaw as she clenched at the collar of his button up – a reprieve. She watched with angry squinted eyes as Francesca herself made her way downstairs from a hidden staircase behind the bar. She was leaning heavily against the wall and her pupils were blown. She didn't even recognize Santana as the Latina boldly approached her – staring directly into her porcelain face – and it was disconcerting in that one instant to feel as though she wasn't being seen at all. And that's when she promptly slapped Frannie fiercely against the face.

She watched as the taller, slimmer blonde fell disjointedly to the floor, smiling faintly as she hit her head against the wall behind her.

"You fucking druggie."

And then she was bounding up the stairs two at a time – past the smiling blonde at the foot of the stairs – and when she opened the door to the large room, she felt like vomiting at the scene before her eyes. Apparently this is where everyone had congregated – the freshly powdered cocaine lined up perfectly against glass coffee tables – and as everyone laid out in their early highs, she heard a scuffle to her right – a door hanging slightly ajar – a small cry for help, the falling of a soap dish to the tiled floor below. And she simply knew – and it took every ounce of her will not to kill him right then. Bounding through the door she spots her – crying beneath a firm – unwanted body – yelling for help that for so long didn't come.

"You MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE!"

And in a fury of rage that was so blinding Santana could barely recall it, she throws him off of her in a swell punch to his face first, and then a kick to his exposed groin. She sees red as he falls to the floor – and she can barely stop the tears from coming as she falls on top of him – kicking him and punching him and ramming him with the soap dish as she fights for a shred of sanity. And it isn't until she hears her – a small plea from a curled up position in the corner of the small bathroom.

"San. Take me home."

And then she really sees her. Quinn is trembling into herself – curled up into a ball – her clothes disheveled and ripped, her mascara running a track of despair across her cheeks. Her vision clears for the first time in minutes – and she finally sees. When she looks down at the man beneath her, he is withered and bloodied – his hands cover his face as he cowers away from the Latina. She jumps back from him as if burned, and envelops Quinn as fully as she can. She hurries the blonde out of the bathroom and down the stairs, cradling her against her chest – disregarding her now stained dress. They pass Frannie on their descent – Santana reels in her anger by a thread. And as they leave the small dejected bar behind she can hear Frannie calling for them through the fog.

"Wait, don't leave me here, you BITCH."

And Santana doesn't rise to her rambling – she simply cradles Quinn closer as she hails a cab on the street corner, muttering a whispered "Good Fucking Riddance." Into blonde curls as they make their way back to the hotel in the steely night.