AN: Hi.
My name is Jules and I suck.
But the story has been revived, and Kayla is working away on her chapter and I'm working on the chapter that will follow hers, and hopefully you will not wait as long for an update again.
Speaking of…happy almost anniversary of the last update! Woo! Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry sorry.
This story is now also up on AO3, if anyone happens to prefer that platform. The user name I use is HatterRed, but the story remains the same.
Also, thank you to ankahikoibaat on tumblr for the Quinn-Stiles pet name suggestion, you did inspire what I went with.
Real quick, some things I think you need to know…..well, one thing. In the next couple of chapters—I'm not sure for how long, actually—you're probably not going to like Rachel very much. When she appears that is. You're actually probably going to hate her a little bit. It's okay. You can hate her. You can send me hate mail and angry letters and I will agree with you wholeheartedly, but it's a necessary evil. I'm sorry in advance.
In this chapter, just to give you a hint, a very big change will happen in the lives of our supernaturally inclined teenagers, and you'll find out just how long Rachel has been gone. Eventually.
Unfortunately, we were not gone for so long because we were acquiring the rights to these shows and characters, so they still do not belong to either myself or Kay.
Again, I'm sorry, forgive us, we love you.
And, go.
Quinn had begun keeping her phone on her desk during class, with the ringer on high. She knew Stiles, Scott, and Puck were doing the same—though Puck always did that, so it wasn't really out of the ordinary for him, at least—but even they knew that if Rachel was going to call, it'd be Quinn's number the brunette would dial first.
In the end, her cell phone efforts—and the four detentions she'd get because of it—wouldn't matter. Rachel wouldn't call. She'd just appear, suddenly and without warning or fanfare. But Quinn doesn't know that yet. And so her phone sits at the top left corner of her desks, waiting.
Just like Derek. Just like Puck and Scott and Stiles and Allison, Just like Santana and Brittany.
Just like Quinn.
Waiting on the girl they hadn't realized they'd need so much, miss so much.
The others kept asking her if this was normal—for hunts to take longer than a couple of days, as if Quinn knew. As if Quinn hadn't learned about Rachel's secret life only a day before them.
Derek was the worst. He kept pestering her, asking her questions she didn't know the answers to. Questions about hunting, and danger, about the men in the car Rach has disappeared into. If she didn't lo…like Stiles so much, she'd kill him for giving "sour wolf" her number.
She was honestly a bit surprised Derek hadn't gone after Rachel by now. Scott says that if it wasn't for pack, and the new wolves, he probably would have.
(And honestly, Quinn couldn't wait to hear Rachel's opinion on Derek turning Erica and Boyd, because while she understood the why of it, saving the two, and Isaac, from themselves and the people who hurt them, she didn't really agree with it, and she had a feeling Rachel would be very not-happy with the situation as well.)
The bell rang signaling for lunch and jolting Quinn from her stupor. She gathered her things, keeping her phone in her hand, facing up and in sight, and headed for the cafeteria for some barely edible "food."
Lunch was the same as it had always been, minus Rachel. Puck was there already, eating loudly and giving a running commentary on the girl's who'd been swayed to sleep with him this week, while Santana and Britt added in their opinions and snide comments on the girl's he was listing off.
Those two—Puck and Santana—had bought the story Quinn and Stiles had invented to explain Rachel's sudden mid-week Houdini act. And why wouldn't they? It was completely plausible that she—kind-hearted, compassionate Rachel B. Berry—would go visit a sick, on-her-death-bed-could-go-at-any-minute aunt in the middle of nowhere with no cell service or house phone or internet with no explanation or heads up despite the fact that neither of her dads have siblings. Really.
Puck was beginning to suspect something else was up, but Brittany was doing an excellent job of first, distracting him, and, second, not saying anything to the two not in the know, which Quinn found very impressive, since the other blonde usually had no filter, nor the clarity to know that some things should not be spoken of.
Scott and Allison were being extra lovey-dovey today…and yesterday and, Quinn's sure, tomorrow. She's pretty sure the extra love is due in part to the fact that the Argent's don't leave town when they hunt.
Isaac, Erica, and Boyd sat down. They had joined the group for lunch after their turning, and continued doing so. They left the seat between Puck and Quinn free, though they didn't fully understand why—to them, it was just a chair.
Erica had tried to sit there on the first day, sliding up to Puck with a flirtatious grin painted in bright red lipstick. The grin fell when Puck told her to "get the f out of Berry's f-ing seat." Stiles had had to hold Quinn back, ignoring her growling, and Scott had had to assert dominance and pull rank on the new wolves. No one has sat in Rachel's seat since.
Quinn sighed, watching the table and its inhabitants. She leaned back into Stiles—he'd gotten there seconds after her—on whose lap she was perched comfortably. (They had added three people to the table, but not three chairs, so the couples of the group had gladly acquiesced to the proposed solution of lap-sitting/chair-sharing.)
Stiles pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Was the long-suffering sigh a hint?"
"No," Quinn replied, "I was just thinking."
"About?"
"My math quiz this morning. I don't think I did very well."
"Well, you've got a lot on your mind."
"When has that ever mattered?" She asked with a raise of her brow.
Stiles laughed. "In our lives? Never."
Quinn smiled at him, kissing him languidly for a minute. "I was also thinking," she said between kisses, lips still pressed to his mouth, "that I'd really like to know what your first name is."
Stiles pulled away, shaking his head. "No. Nope, nope, not gonna happen." He looked over to Scott who was laughing. "And don't even think about it, dude. I know a lot of crap about you."
Scott raised his hands in surrender, still laughing, and Stiles turned back to Quinn.
"That is a secret I will take to my grave."
Her mom doesn't like Stiles. Quinn's not sure why—honestly, he's adorable -but that's the truth of it. Her mom doesn't like her boyfriend. (She wonders what it says about her that she kind of enjoys that.)
So, Stiles could only really be at her house whole her mother was not home—he wasn't forbidden, per say, they just had to sit in the living room when her mom was home, which was awkward and uncomfortable for everyone. And Quinn always felt weird being at the Sherriff's house, so they rarely went there.
Luckily, her mom was never home before 7:30, so after school the two head over in Stile's Jeep. She pulls him inside and up the stairs, to her room, grabs him in a kiss and kicks the door shut. They only had four hours until her mom comes home, and she wasn't going to waste a moment.
Stiles didn't seem to be against this plan, as he took control of the kiss, nipping at Quinn's bottom lip and propelling them both back until her legs hit the bed. Then they were tumbling, down, down, onto a white comforter in a flurry of kisses, shivers, and moans.
They had Stiles' exit timed to the minute—a feat which took a lot of practice and even more luck. His Jeep turned off one end of her street three minutes before her mom turned onto the other end. Those three minutes gave Quinn time to put Stiles' glass in the dishwasher, straighten pillows, put on her pjs, pull Facebook up on her laptop, and scroll down far enough that it looked like she'd been on for a while.
Same as usual, as every other day since she moved back in with her mom, Quinn sat through an uncomfortably silent dinner with the elder blonde, after which she did homework, chatted with Brittany and Santana on her computer, and texted back and forth with Stiles. She also fielded one call from Derek, and one from Scott at Derek's insistence, but both calls were short and to the point—no, she had not heard from Rachel, yes, she would call when she did.
She went to bed; sure she would be doing it all again tomorrow.
Wednesday morning started out normally; business as usual until lunch.
Quinn went to a quick Glee meeting before class, kissed Stiles against her locker until the bell rang, then went to math, where she got back the pop quiz she thought she'd failed yesterday. (C+, so not too bad.)
Afterwards there was turning in a book report in English, verb conjugations in Spanish, and more locker Stiles combinations that were really her favorite part of the day.
When lunch rolled around, Quinn met Stiles at his locker, and they walked to the cafeteria together, hand clasped. They stood in line and got their trays of what the school considered "food," then sat at the usual spot.
Quinn looked around the oddly silent table. Santana and Brittany were eating with the Cheerio's today—Quinn had waved to them earlier—and Puck only showed up every once in a while since Rachel had been gone, which really left the wolves and Allison at the table. All of whom were being suspiciously quiet and downcast.
"What? What's going on?"
Nobody answered, though Quinn did notice Scott's fist clenching on the table, before he slid it underneath and out of sight.
"Seriously, guys, what's up?" Silence. "Somebody please tell me what's going on!"
"Yeah, Allison," Scott bit out, "why don't you tell them what's going on?" He rose from the table, swinging his backpack over his shoulder roughly and storming off, ignoring Allison's pleading "Scott, wait!"
Isaac stood up slowly, giving Allison a small, meant-to-be-reassuring smile. "I'll go make sure he doesn't wolf out or anything."
Allison, who had half-risen from her chair, sat down again with a sigh and a rod, and Isaac picked up his stuff and followed Scott's path quietly.
Stiles was practically vibrating in his seat, so Quinn shook her head, gave him a peck on the lips, and smiled.
"Go on."
Stiles thanked her with another sweet kiss, before trailing after his best friend and Isaac.
"Okay, what was that about?" Quinn gave Allison a level stare. "Spill."
Allison sighed, staring down at her hands for a minute. Quinn watched the brunette visibly steel herself before looking up.
"My father has decided that I'm too close to too many dangerous things. So we're moving. He told me this morning."
"Seriously?"
Allison nodded, downcast. "Scott's not taking it very well."
"Where are you moving to?" Erica spoke for the first time since Quinn sat down, sounding strangely like the girl she'd been before she was bitten.
"Not sure yet. My dad doesn't usually tell me until we're halfway there. I have this theory that he doesn't know himself until then." She sighed again. "But I know it'll be far away from here."
"When do you leave?" Quinn asked.
"On Sunday."
"That's…quick."
Allison shrugged. "That's how we've always done it. He tells me, we get a few days to pack, and then we're gone.
She sniffled, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve.
"I really don't want to go." She sounded heartbroken, and Quinn couldn't blame her. She would miss the brunette. They weren't friends for very long, but they had bonded.
"Want me to come over after school on Friday? I can help you pack. We'll have a sleepover."
"Yeah," Erica nodded, an earnest smile on her face. "I'll help too."
Allison grinned. "Okay. That sounds good."
"And of course I will be there," Lydia appeared behind Quinn, making her jump. "I can't send off my best friend without a proper goodbye."
Allison just nodded in response, leaning into Lydia with a grateful smile when the girl sat down next to her.
They spent the rest of lunch in silence.
Friday dawned bright and early and too soon. Quinn wasn't ready to lose a friend, thank you very much.
But it was happening. So she packed an overnight bag along with her school supplies, ate some breakfast (pop-tarts—what she wouldn't give for some of Rachel's pancakes right now) and sat on the front steps to wait for her boyfriend.
His Jeep rounded the corner five or so minutes later, and Quinn jumped up to meet it. She hopped into the front before Stiles had the chance to get out—he liked opening her door for her, which was sweet and adorable and made her want to swoon like a cheesy romance novel heroine. She waved to Scott in the backseat, and he gave her a sad, sleepy smile in return, before leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes, obviously intending to catch a little more sleep before school.
Setting her stuff on the floor by her feet, she reached over and intertwined her fingers with Stiles', both keeping quiet for the sake of Scott's nap.
(She already felt bad enough that Stiles had banished him to the backseat whenever she was in the Jeep, she certainly wasn't going to interrupt his sleep.)
The drive to school was silent, Scott leaving them with a quick wave when they parked.
This time around, Quinn waited in her seat for Stiles to go around the front and open her door, giving him a peck on the lips in thanks. She left her overnight in the Jeep—she'd grab it on the way to Allison's car at the end of the day.
The morning went by quickly, passing in a semi-stereotypical blur, to the point that Quinn wasn't even sure she went to the right classes. At lunch, she and Stiles went to a glee meeting—pointless, really, without Rachel to annoy them all into staying focused, if only to make the small girl shut up about it.
After glee, there were more fuzzy classes, with the notable exception of sixth period, which she may or may not have spent making out with Stiles in his Jeep and which was definitely not fuzzy or blurry or hazy at all. (Except when he made her see stars; she's really not sure what happened after that.)
The end of school came slowly and yet far too fast—Quinn wasn't ready to say goodbye to a friend.
The bell rang, and she and Erica, who was in last period with her, made their way first to the Jeep, for Quinn's bag, then to Allison's car. Erica—who had called it that morning via group text—settled into the front, while Quinn slumped in the backseat. Lydia had opted to drive herself, which was fine by Quinn, since the other girl scared her a little.
Okay, a lot.
The drive to Allison's was quick and rather somber, Lydia's car trailing behind. They followed Allison up to her bedroom when they got to the house, Allison opening her bedroom door with a sigh.
"I knew I shouldn't have unpacked." The brunette flopped down face first on to her bed, making an aggravated noise.
"Well, this is depressing," Lydia commented. "If we're going to send you off, we're going to do it with a little less moping and a little more alcohol." The girl pulled a bottle from her backpack, sending Erica down the stairs for shot glasses, which the other blonde did after a moment of grumbling under her breath.
Lydia's grin seemed rather ominous to Quinn, and she wondered, not for the first time, if Lydia really was the puppet master and the rest of the world just her silly, little, puppets.
While Erica was gone—Quinn could hear her rummaging downstairs—Lydia picked up a small remote off of the bed and pushed a button, loud music filling the room, loud enough to make Quinn wince.
"Doesn't that bother you?" she asked the shorter girl.
Lydia shrugged "Nope."
Allison made a grab for the tiny remote. "Lydia, my dad…"
"Is making you move. He can deal with it."
They had almost everything packed up in a couple of hours—Allison had kept all the boxes from before, and declared that constantly moving around had the advantage of a limited accumulation of stuff to pack. Quinn was honestly surprised they'd been so productive, considering the bottle Lydia had produced earlier (and another filched from Mr. Argent's stock when he ran out to get more boxes) had been emptied. In short, the four were very, very drunk—well, Allison was. The three werewolves were well on their way, however.
The foursome collapsed down, Lydia and Allison on the bed, Quinn on the floor, and Erica on the desk chair. Quinn looked around the room, tipsy and dazed, at the walls bare of photos, empty closet, the boxes stacked in the hall for Mr. Argent to load on to the U-Haul.
"Now what?" Erica asked, also surveying the room, almost upside down on the chair.
Quinn's stomach growled loudly. "I vote food." It growled again, sounding suspiciously like Derek when he was pouty and trying to convince them all to do housework, making the other three laugh. "A lot of food."
Lydia nodded in agreement, so Allison picked up her phone. "The fridge is empty. Pizza or Chinese?"
Chinese food won three-to-one, so Allison placed an order for delivery and the group found themselves wandering down the stairs.
"Well…we packed the TV, but I think there's some board games still in the hall closet…" Allison trailed off with a shrug. Lydia only raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow before focusing back on her phone, and Erica was occupied with exploring the living room—bare except for the couch, so she must be a bit drunker than Quinn previously thought—so Quinn took it upon herself to answer the brunette.
"Board games could be fun. Just not Monopoly. Anything but Monopoly."
They settled on The Game of Life—not Lydia, who sat down on the floor to play with them begrudgingly and with much complaint—and played until the doorbell rang. Allison's dad had gone out—without explanation, and Quinn felt bad that she wondered if her wolfy friends were going to be alive tomorrow—and so the girls got up to answer the door, tipsy enough to decide that it'd be better for all of them to go, safety in numbers and all.
A vaguely familiar voice called out "delivery!," but Quinn was too far under the influence to place it. They stumbled to the door, giggling and shushing each other, sliding on the floor in their socks.
Allison shushed them all again, laughing, then turned and opened the door. The four erupted into giggles all over again as Scott and Stiles sheepishly held up bags of Chinese food.
"We intercepted the delivery guy," Stiles explained, moving further into the room and pressing a light kiss on Quinn's hair. He nodded to the glass in her hand. "What are we drinking?"
Quinn shrugged, looking at the contents of her glass, a light pink-purple colored liquid three-quarters of the way down.
"I don't know. Lydia made it."
Stiles just grinned, taking her glass from her and downing it. He coughed.
"Oh my god, that's terrible. What the hell did you put in this?"
Lydia shrugged, looking both innocent and devious at the same time. "A little bit of apple juice, a little bit of vodka, some cherry cough syrup."
"Dude, seriously?" Scott sniffed the glass in Allison's hand. "That's disgusting."
"Is that even safe?" Erica asked.
"I didn't put much in," Lydia answered. "Not enough to do any damage, that is. Just a normal dose, the amount you'd take for a cough."
Quinn frowned at her empty glass. "I'm never drinking anything you give me ever again."
Stiles shook his head. "Good plan, Wolfgirl. And good news—Scott and I brought provisions. Right, buddy?"
Scott gave them a sheepish grin, and held up a plastic convenience store bag.
"How the hell did you guys manage to get alcohol?" Erica eyed them suspiciously. "Scott looks like he just turned 15, and everyone in this town knows who Stilinski is—and who his dad is. No one would sell to either of you."
"Yeah….we had a little help."
The doorbell rang, and the door opened. They all turned to look, Allison's eyes widening as she realized people were pouring into her house, led by one Noah Puckerman.
"And that help had conditions. Party anyone?"
Quinn pushed her way through clumps of gyrating teenagers, towards Allison where she stood with Lydia and Scott in the corner.
"What's your dad gonna do if he comes back to all of this?"
Allison shrugged. "Probably freak out. But he is making me move, so he can deal."
Quinn glanced at the cup in Allison's hand, confused about the very non-Allison reaction, then at Scott. "Drunk?"
Scott nodded. "Yep."
"Cool." Quinn gave them a smile, watching Allison lean into Scott and snuggle her face into his shoulder.
She slid an arm around Stiles' waist, letting him lead her out of the room.
Quinn and Rachel used to watch 'How I Met Your Mother' during sleepovers, when midnight had passed and they were too tired to do anything but not tired enough to sleep. And if Quinn ever took anything away from those late-night marathons, it was that nothing good happens after two a.m. It's a rule she's decided to live by.
But every rule has the exception, and tonight was it.
By 1:45, the impromptu party had ended, and Scott, the only truly sober one in the bunch, loaded everyone left behind into a van that Quinn has no idea how he got. He refused to answer any questions, driving them in silence, aside from quiet radio sounds that she was too tired to attempt to identify.
Scott drove them into the woods, which would have been creepy if it wasn't Scott, and stopped. He herded everyone out of the mysterious van, and led them deeper into the woods, bringing them to a semi-clearing with a giant old stump in the middle. Quinn laid her head on Stiles' shoulder as the group stood around, all watching Scott. He pulled a backpack from behind the stump, unzipping it open and pulling out a bottle of champagne. He tossed the backpack to Stiles.
"You might need to watch him with those, Quinn."
Quinn furrowed her brow, craning her neck to see the contents of the bag.
"Scott? What made you think giving Stiles fireworks was a good idea?"
"When is giving Stiles anything a good idea?" Jackson asked, throwing an arm around Lydia's shoulders.
Scott gave him a look, then turned away to face Allison, a small smile on his face. He held up the bottle of champagne.
"Allison…" He trailed off, and the others shifted to attention, realizing that this was important, even through their various drunken hazes. Quinn examined the group gathered there while Scott paused—Jackson and Lydia huddled together next to Danny, Erica sitting cross-legged on the ground at Boyd's feet, Isaac lounging against a tree a couple feet away, eyes intent on Scott. Allison was on the other of Stiles, and the nine of them formed a semi-circle around Scott and the stump.
"Allison," Scott continued. "You turned my world upside down. In a good way, for the most part. The part about your dad wanting to kill me was a little less awesome than the rest, but you get my point."
We all gave a little laugh at that, even Allison who was wiping her eyes.
"And you made my life brighter, and anchored me. You got me into trouble," another laugh, "but it was worth it. And now you're leaving, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do without you. So I've gathered together all of your friends," Quinn narrowed her eyes at him. "Most of your friends," he amended, "to say goodbye. So know that you'll be missed."
He shrugged, smiling and holding up the bottle of champagne. "So…to Allison."
He popped the cork, holding the bottle away from his body so his clothes wouldn't get covered as the alcohol bubbled out.
"To Allison!" the rest of the group echoed. Allison was crying quietly, grinning at all of them.
Scott took a swig of the bottle, then passed it to Allison. She took her own swallow, passing it to Stiles. "Is this the only bottle you brought?" she asked Scott. He shook his head no, pointing to the stump.
"Behind the dead tree."
"Plus the fireworks," Stiles chimed in.
Quinn gently pried the bag from Stiles' hand. "Yeah, honey, no. You're not going to be doing this part. We all want to leave the woods alive tonight."
Saturday saw hangovers and long teary goodbyes, and on Sunday morning they all gathered on Allison's driveway and waved her off.
And then she was gone.
Scott retreated for the rest of the long weekend—they had Monday off school for some bureaucratic thing—and they let him be, even Stiles.
Quinn spent Sunday and most of Monday crashed out on Stiles' couch with him, watching B movies and making out during the boring parts.
Tuesday, unfortunately, meant school. So Monday night, Quinn went home and finished up some last minute homework before going to bed.
Stiles picked her up Tuesday morning, and the day passed uneventfully…at least, until the break before last period.
She was on her way to last period, yes wandering the hall for any friends to wave to, when she it. Well, when she saw her.
Standing across the hall, waiting outside of the admin office, was Rachel. The brunette was looking directly at Quinn with an unreadable expression. Quinn smiled and lifted a hand to wave, only to have Rachel turn away and pretend to be reading something on her cell phone. Quinn let her hand fall, not noticing the bell ring as she watched Rachel disappear into the office, never acknowledging the blonde.
It wasn't quite the way she'd expected the moment to go. She'd expected squealing and giggling and hugs, gossip and story swapping and HIMYM marathons.
She definitely expected something other than cold indifference.
It had been three months, after all.
