It was yesterday in the car when I realized my way of thinking has totally changed.

When I used to think of home, I thought about how it felt to hang my jacket up in the coat closet, then head upstairs to my room to put my shoes away neatly inside the caddy that hung behind my door. Home used to mean going downstairs and picking the least fanciest cup from the china cabinet and pushing a button on the expensive fridge just to get a sip of water. It used to mean sitting at the kitchen island doing my homework in the walls of an empty house, trying to convince myself that I wasn't lonely and I didn't wish mom and dad took me with them when they spent evenings dining at the country club. Home meant untying the canopy over my bed and turning off the string of expensive LED lights that hung around my headboard in preparation for bed. It meant taking care of myself and feeling way older than I actually am.

We were in the car on the way home from Dayton when Mercedes tapped me on the arm to wake me up. I didn't realize I had fallen asleep until she tapped me and I picked my head up only to realize I had been laying on her shoulder the entire time. I don't know why, but her words rang in my head. I looked down at the hospital bracelet that they forgot to cut off for me and remembered exactly where I had spent the last week, and exactly why I had been there. And Mercedes' words bounced in my head like a soccer ball banging off all the walls of my mind.

Quinn, wake up, she said. We're almost home.

Home.

When I thought of home at that moment, I thought about the hearty scent of chili simmering on the stovetop — the kind of smell that makes you feel warm from your head to your toes — and the sound of eight little paws running on the hardwood floors. Now home means being licked all over my face and yanking a chew toy back and forth. It means sitting on the couch until the sun isn't shining anymore, begging mom and dad to play just one more episode of Shameless before casting me and Mercedes off to bed. Home means hearing mom's singing voice filling the kitchen and dad's eyes crinkling are the corners when he laughs and calls me "quinntessential." Mercedes said that we were almost home in the car yesterday, and I felt like a kid approaching the gates of Disney World.

That warm, meaningful feeling I had yesterday when I thought about home hasn't gone away. In fact, it's still there even as I open my eyes and take the moment to adjust and remember that I'm not in the hospital anymore.

My cheek is smashed into the couch pillow just like it was before I drifted off to sleep, and the TV is still playing the reruns of Law & Order. Whitney is still curled up and laying on top of my feet, and Bobby is still beside my head. There aren't anymore wide windows without shades that let the light blind me, there aren't anymore cold tile floors, and there aren't anymore railings on the sides of me to lock me inside the bed. I am home. I am in the living room. I fell asleep here. I am not dreaming. It still feels surreal.

Part of me felt like I was never getting out of the hospital. Every time a new doctor came in to check on me and put probes on my chest to look at my heart or make me swallow some godforsaken liquid, they would tell me that I was making process but I still couldn't go home and the whole thing made me wonder if I would ever be free. Then my mom showed up — my real mom — and she said that the hospital said I had to go home with her and I thought… I mean, I REALLY thought… that I was going to have to go back to her.

"When you want me to wake her up?" I hear dad's voice in the kitchen and it's the extra nudge I need to transition completely from sleep to consciousness.

My throat still feels like I swallowed acid and I can taste blood again, but the doctor said that I'll probably have a yucky taste in my mouth for at least another week. I feel like I need to yawn really bad, but if I yawn then I'm going to put myself in terrible pain and I'd rather not do that, so I resist the urge to yawn. I'm also really thirsty and the bottle of water mom brought me to drink earlier looks mighty tasty as it sits on the coffee table but again, it hurts so bad to swallow that I'd rather just not.

I lied. I know that makes me pretty terrible and I know it's probably going to bite me in the ass in the long run, but I did. I lied. The doctors ran a bunch of tests on me and asked me about the pain in my throat and the pain in my chest and I kept lying and telling them that I felt fine and that the pain was bearable but the truth is that I am miserable. I am so miserable that I'd rather sleep my life away so I don't have to deal with how badly it hurts. I just wanted to go home. I was tired of being in the hospital and watching everyone cry over the stupid thing that I did. I was tired of listening to mom argue and fight with doctors and social workers and tired of listening to Mercedes get upset over the things she should have known about me and tired of Rachel looking at me through the glass in the same clothes she wore for a week and I was just tired. I was tired of being sick and tired of being in the hospital and tired of knowing that I caused all these problems just by being reckless and stupid. I never meant for all of this to happen. I never meant to get everyone involved in custody battles and child services investigations. I just wanted it all to go away and I wanted to go home. I should've stayed in the hospital longer, but I wanted to go home. Now I'm in miserable pain and somehow… somehow I can't help but wonder if I deserve this.

"She fell asleep again?" I hear mom's voice in the kitchen next and I'm half tempted to tell them that I'm awake but I really can't talk. I really can't.

"Yeah. Her body's probably just tired, you know. It's been through a lot. But it's about time for her medicine, isn't it? You want me to go wake her?" Dad asks.

I blink a few times until my vision comes into focus and I can see into the kitchen from where I'm laying on the couch. Mom, of course, is stirring something on the stove with her favorite wooden spoon and I sniff really hard, I can smell something that sort of smells like chicken. Mostly, I can just smell blood but again, the doctor said that's normal since your nose and throat are all connected, but if I sniff really hard I can kind of smell chicken. Mom stirs and dad scrapes his finger along the rim of the pot for a taste.

"Nah, you can leave her sleep." Mom shakes a little bit of salt and pepper into the pot and puts the lid on top. "I ain't wanna give her that antibiotic on a empty stomach, so you can wake her when the food done and she can eat."

"Is it about time for her to get more pain medicine too?" Dad tucks one of mom's tight, black curls away from her face and lets his hand linger by her cheek. "It's going on 1:00. It should be time."

"'Bout 1:30 I'mma give her more." Mom sighs and even I can tell that something more is bothering her. At least, it seems like something more is bothering her. I'm not all that surprised when dad picks up on it.

"You know it's gonna be okay, right 'Trice?" Dad puts his hands on her shoulders. "Whatever happens, it's gonna be okay. Even if they step in and say she's gotta go back, there are other ways around it. We can appeal it to the judge, we can get her emancipated, we can —"

"I know all that, Jared. I was there when the caseworker was telling us." Mom kind of snaps at him and shrugs his hands away. She walks away from him and goes over to the back door and for a second, it looks like she's going to go stand outside even though it's snowing. She doesn't, though. She just stands beside the door and looks out of it like she needs a moment to breathe.

"Patrice…?" Dad keeps his distance and says her name so softly that I almost don't hear it.

"She called her 'Mom'..." She lies her head against the doorjamb and sighs so hard that I see her shoulders gyrate up and then down. "When she came up outta her room, that was the first thing she said. She looked at her and said 'Mom.' I know I shouldn't be thinking 'bout that. I know I should just be thankin' the lucky stars that she alright and I got her home with me, but. She called her 'Mom.' And I can't stop thinkin' 'bout that."

"Honey…" Dad walks over to her slowly and wraps his arms around her waist. "I don't think… I don't think she meant anything personal by it." I really didn't… I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Mom… I'm so sorry… "It was the first time she saw her mama in a while and —"

"But ain't I her mama?" Mom turns to face him and she's holding onto her necklace and tears are rolling down her cheeks and I want to get up and give her a hug and tell her that I'm sorry but I don't think I should interrupt… "Wouldn't it be all the same for you if Russel came up in that hospital and she ran to him callin' him 'daddy'?"

"It would suck, yeah," dad shrugs. "But I would try to let it go because Quinn's a little girl and she's confused. She knows who her parents are. She knows who's been there for her and who hasn't. It doesn't matter what she calls them or what she calls us, she knows in her heart who her real parents are. I know it hurt to hear her say that… and to see her run to Judy just for Judy to let her down again. I know. But that's her mother. And she ain't seen her in a while. She missed her mother. I can understand that. Can you?"

"Of course I understand it," Mom sighs and opens up the fridge. She grabs a can of biscuits from the shelf and grabs a spoon to open them. "I'm just sayin' I wish it ain't the case. I ain't tryna rip Quinn away from her mother, you know that. I'd love nothing more than to see them two have a good relationship. But I ain't gonna support that if Judy just keep hurting her."

As she presses the spoon in the seam to pop open the can of biscuits, I slowly but surely pick myself up off the couch. Even though it's going to hurt really bad to talk because I haven't talked in a while, I feel like it's important for me to go in the kitchen and put a stop to all of this. Mom needs to know that she is my mother and the only mother I'm interested in having at this point. She needs to know that no matter what, nothing will ever break the bond that we have. She needs to know that I love them both in a way different than I love my biological parents.

"And now we gotta go to court and listen to that woman act like she know what's best for Quinn, act like she cares and ain't abandoned her daughter for the past two months. Now we gotta go to court and listen to a judge tell us that she gotta go home and be with someone who don't give a damn about her. I gotta sit there while they send my baby back to the slaughter house. It ain't right." Mom throws the spoon in the sink and the sudden noise makes me jump.

"'Tricey," Dad tries to calm her down by putting his hand in the middle of her back.

"It ain't right!" She shakes her head and I can tell she's about to start crying again. "You heard what that social worker said. This is temporary. She gave us temporary custody of her just so she can heal and rest in the same place she's been. But when we go to court next week… they're taking her off of us, Jared. They're gonna take her. And it ain't right."

I watch from the hallway as dad forces mom to lie her head against his chest. Sobs rock her body and I have to squeeze my eyes tight to try and avoid tears from coming out because if I start crying then my chest is going to hurt and I don't want to go back to the hospital. The doctor said I need to take it easy and not do anything that's going to cause stress on my heart and I think crying would be stressful… wouldn't it? But how do I keep myself from crying when I can clearly see how much this hurts her?

It hurts me too. Because I heard what the social worker said, too. And I wish I could say that I have faith in the system to do what's right for me and keep me here, with my true mom and dad, in a home where I am safe and loved. I wish I could say that I trust that the right thing will be done. But I can't say that. I can't. Because nothing good ever works out for me and the social worker laid it all out for us. The only way I can stay here with them permanently is if my mom chooses not to fight and chooses to give up custody of me and I know that will never happen. I can get emancipated but that's a long process and I'll probably be eighteen by the time it's finalized, and if I run away then I could get put in juvie and I just… I don't know. Nothing good ever works out for me and the social worker told us how it's going to happen…

The social worker, I think her name was Courtney, filed to give emergency temporary custody of me to the Joneses, which the judge didn't sign off on at first. The judge told us that I had to go home with my biological parents. But Courtney made a case and told him that I had been living permanently with the Joneses for two months and that moving me while I'm still sick would be detrimental to my recovery. So the judge signed off and gave me to the Joneses, temporarily. There's a court hearing scheduled for next Friday where they'll reevaluate my condition and if I'm healthy enough, I have to return home to my mom and dad.

I knew that I couldn't stay with them permanently. I knew that this was going to come to an end eventually. I just wish that it would have came around a time where I'm strong enough.

I'm not strong enough to survive in the Fabray house yet. I can't go back there. I still need Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I still need to be here...

"Why did this have to happen, Jare?" Mom cries into dad's chest. "How didn't I know it was something bigger?"

"Shh," Dad rubs her back. "Shh. You can't go blaming yourself."

"I shoulda known though," she cries. No, mom… don't blame yourself… "She losin' weight left and right… she go to the bathroom right after we eat, she take the whole package of Chips Ahoy up to her room, she got them little red callouses on her knuckles… how ain't I know? How I miss the signs? I thought it was the damn stomach flu, I must really be an idiot…"

"N-No," I shake my head as I walk into the kitchen slowly.

I'm not going to let her blame herself for this. This is all my fault. And maybe… honestly… maybe it's Judy and Russel's fault too. I know I have the power myself to stop this and it's on me to have the willpower and control to just not throw up. But maybe if Judy or Russel would have gotten me help when this first started… maybe it wouldn't have gotten this bad. Maybe if they didn't sweep it under the rug and push it aside like every negative thing in the Fabray household… maybe if she would have DONE something instead of throwing away the scales in the house and taking me to see a therapist TWICE…

Mom pulls away from dad's chest quickly and starts wiping her tears when she sees me.

"Quinn," she sniffs and wipes her face completely clean. "I didn't hear you get up." She walks over to me with outstretched arms. "Me and daddy were just having a conversation, mmkay?" She wipes my tears with her thumbs and smooths my hair back. "Are you hungry? I made chicken soup. Homemade. I want you to try and eat before you take your medicine."

I want to tell her that it's not her fault. I want to tell her that she can't blame herself for a problem that existed long before she came into my life. I want to tell her that I know she wouldn't have let it get this far. That if she was my mother from day one, she would have noticed the signs and got me the right kind of help and I wouldn't be this sick. That this isn't her fault. That I'm not angry with her for not helping me. That this is solely Russel and Judy Fabray's problem and they're who I'm angry at. I want to tell her all of this. But instead, all I can say is:

"I wanna stay here."

I press my tongue up against the roof of my mouth to check and see if the Oreo is soft and soggy enough for me to swallow it yet. What has usually taken me about five minutes to eat has taken me about an hour now. I used to be able to grab four Oreos from the package in the pantry and dust them off in five minutes flat, licking the chocolate crumbs off my fingers. I've been working on these four Oreos since this episode of Extreme Couponing started.

It's simple, really. I break the Oreo in half so that it'll fit comfortably in my mouth, then I put it on my tongue and wait for it to melt. Eventually, it gets so soft that it turns to mush whenever I press my tongue up to the roof of my mouth and when it's mushy, that's when I know it's ready for me to swallow. See? Simple.

"What do you need thirteen bottles of barbecue sauce for?" Dad looks up from his crossword puzzle and watches the TV from over the rim of his reading glasses.

"I dunno, but she only paid three bucks," I mumble, only offering him a half-explanation because I'm so into the show. I know it's weird to find extreme couponing interesting, but I do. It's one of my guilty pleasure shows.

I think Mom and Dad both know that these are my last few days with them. Mom went out to the grocery store a little while ago and bought all of the ingredients to make my favorite pepper soup tomorrow for dinner, and Dad has let me have total control over the TV since I woke up. They're treating me differently and maybe it's just because I almost died and I'm still very sick, but I mostly think that it's because they know that next week, I won't be here anymore.

I'm still going to come and visit, I've made up my mind about that. I know it's going to be hard and every time I come here to visit them for a while, it's going to be hard to get back in the car and drive back home, but I still want to see them. I still want them to be part of my life and part of Beth's life, too. I know this is going to be a huge adjustment when I go back to Russel and Judy and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of what's going to happen, but I'm trying to be brave. I'm trying to keep up with everything I've learned during my time with the Joneses and I'm trying to rely on all of that to keep me sane when I go back home.

This might be one of the last times I'm able to sit on the couch next to dad and watch TV. It might be the last time I can scoot closer to him, put my head on his shoulder, and feel like I'm in the safest place in the entire world. This might be the last time I ever get to feel this way. So I scoot closer to him and put my head on his shoulder.

And I close my eyes even though I am really into my TV show…

"What's going on?!" I can't see him, but I feel him. I feel his hand nestled inside of mine and I hear his voice, breathy and panicked as he asks questions.

"She's coding, her heart is stopping. Push one of Adrenalin and get an O2 treatment started." A doctor says, then I feel something sharp poking my chest. It kind of hurts, but I don't really feel it at the same time. All I feel is scared and dad usually calms me down when I'm scared but he's scared too…

"She's flatlining. She's flatlining, I need that Adrenalin NOW! NOW, or we're gonna lose her!" Another doctor says. "How far our are we?!"

"We're preparing for landing right now!"

"She's not gonna make it into the hospital, I need a crash cart. Charge the paddles."

"What's going on?!" I hear dad say again and it kind of sounds like he's crying. It sounds like he's crying and I'm grateful to god that I can't open my eyes right now because I don't want to see my dad crying… "Quinn, stay with me. You hear me?! You stay with me, kid. Don't you dare go anywhere. You stay with me!"

I'm trying to stay with you, dad. I'm really trying... but I'm so tired…

I feel myself falling asleep a little as I'm laying on dad's shoulder, so I'm a mixture of annoyed and relieved when Whitney and Bobby both start barking and wake me up. I'm annoyed because I really did want to sleep even though that's all I've been doing since I got home from the hospital, but I'm also relieved because that's all I've been doing since I got home from the hospital. I feel like I'm wasting my last days with the Joneses by sleeping, but I can't really help it because the pain medicine I've been taking makes me really sleepy. It's a lose-lose situation.

Anyway, Whitney and Bobby are barking like crazy because someone's coming through the door and being that both mom and dad are already inside and it's going on 3:00, it's safe to assume that Mercedes is the one coming through the door and she's home from school.

As Mercedes takes her shoes and her jacket off at the door, my phone buzzes and it's the first time that someone has actually texted me since I've been home.

I grab it and unlock it.

New Text Message

Tuesday, December 17

2:56 p.m.

SANTANA: U up for visitors ? Mercedes said ur home today n doing better

SANTANA: Its ok if ur not ok I can just drop it off I dont have to visit n stay

2:57 p.m.

ME: drop what off?

ME: you can come visit me i'm okay

SANTANA: Just have stuffed animal n card for you

SANTANA: Dont get sappy it was brits idea LOL

ME: awww! well you can come visit me. i've just been sitting on the couch all day and bored. i'll like the company.

SANTANA: Ok be there around 5-530

ME: hey santana?

SANTANA: Yup

ME: does glee club know anything?

ME: i know mercedes probably told you the truth. & thats okay. i'm not really mad. but does glee club know?

SANTANA: Mercedes told me nothing

SANTANA: Rachel did

ME: huh?

SANTANA: She wanted me 2 check on u n make sure ur ok b/c she doesnt want 2 bother u when ur still mad. But she wanted 2 have a way to make sure ur ok so she made me swear not 2 tell anyone n she told me the truth about what happened 2 u

ME: okay… that's fair.

ME: what does glee club know?

SANTANA: every1 thinks u had stomach flu n threw up so much that it ruptured ur throat that's all.

ME: okay good.

SANTANA: I promised Rach I wouldnt tell n I promise u I wont tell either I'm glad ur ok

ME: thank you santana… i appreciate it.

ME: see you in a little while.

"Hey," Mercedes sits next to me just as I type my last reply to Santana. "How are you feeling? You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," I yawn and since dad got up to go to the kitchen for some reason, I scoot over in his spot to make more room for Mercedes. "I've been sleeping literally all day. How was school?"

"Eh, it was boring," she sighs and leans forward to rummage through her backpack. "I went around to your teachers and collected your homework. I knew you'd want to stay on top of it, so."

"Thanks," I mumble and try to return to watching TV, but it's too awkward to watch TV.

It's awkward because Mercedes and I have a lot to talk about now that I'm not high and loopy on a bunch of pain medicine and finally in my right state of mind. We have a lot to talk about that we've just been avoiding and pretending like it's not there. I want to talk to her, I really do want to. But I don't know what to say. I want to start by telling her thank you for being there for me that night I almost died, but I also want to start by telling her to back out of me and Rachel's relationship. I want to ask her if we can all talk together. I think she and Rachel have issues that need to be worked out and I can help… god, I have all these things I need to talk to her about and I have no idea where to even start.

"...I thought you were going to die," she breaks the silence and stares at the TV like she's interested in it. I know she's not, I know that she just doesn't want to make eye contact with me. "When I opened that door and I saw you there, I… I thought that was the last I'd ever see you again. I thought you were dead."

"I know." I whisper. "I'm sorry."

"You scared me half to death, you know."

"I know." I reach over in the empty space between us and grab onto her hand. "...You saved me, you know. You —"

"My dad's one that did CPR, I just stood there and screamed."

"No, Mercedes. It was you. You're the one who saved me."

"Quinn, I —"

"You brought me here. Last year when I was so broken and so lost and didn't have any direction in the world, you were the one who brought me here. You gave me hope. You gave me a house to come to and a home to call my own. You gave me… people. Who care about me and who love me. You showed me what it's all about. You showed me what it should be like. You saved me, Mercedes. That was all you."

One single tear glistens on her cheek and she grabs me by my arm and pulls me gently so that I'm close enough for her to hug me. "...No matter what happens," she talks through tears. "No matter what the judge says next week and no matter what anyone ever says. You're my sister. Always."

"Always." I nod. "...And I forgive you, okay?"

"For what?" She sniffs.

"I know you're beating yourself up for being so mean to Rachel," I mumble. "I know you think you should be nicer and you're upset with yourself for how you acted. I… I know you, okay? And I forgive you."

"Quinn, I just don't like it when —"

"I know. You're just protective over me. I'm protective over you too. But you don't have to protect me, okay? Not from Rachel. I can handle that. I… I don't know what's going on with us. I don't know if I'm ever going to forgive her and I don't know if we're ever going to be together again. But I can't work through any of it if you don't stop hating her. So I need you to stop hating her, Mercedes. I really need you to stop. I can't work through our problems and I can't see any other point of view when you're screaming at her and you're —"

"I don't hate Rachel," she sighs and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. "I know it seems like I do, but I don't. I… I hate myself, okay?"

"You what?"

"Myself. It's myself that I hate." She wipes her tears by rubbing her cheek against her shoulder and clears her throat. "I hate myself because I didn't notice that you were sick again. I wasn't there for you like I should've been and I… I didn't know. And she did."

"It's not a competition between you. You and Rachel… you're both two of the most important people in my life and I trust you both with everything in me. But you couldn't have noticed that. I hid it, Cedes. I hid it so much. Because I didn't want you to know."

"I know, I just…" she sighs again, not knowing what to say. I don't know what to say either. I don't feel like we got anything truly resolved because I don't think we can truly resolve anything until the three of us sit down and talk…

My phone buzzes again and I'm grateful for the distraction. When I unlock it this time and read my text message, my stomach sinks a little.

Speak of the devil…

New iMessage

Tuesday, December 17

3:10 p.m.

RACHEL: I'm outside…

RACHEL: Can we talk?

A/N: So I officially finished mapping this story out and it looks like it's going to be 78 chapters. So chapter 78 is when we say goodbye, just to let you guys know.

I'm already planning on starting another Faberry story, and I was thinking about posting the first chapter of it before I get done with All The Best, just so you guys can start to get a feel for what it's going to be about and the tone of it. I was wondering what you guys think. Should I post the first chapter of the new story before All The Best is done? Or should I just wait because it would be a little confusing? The stories are extremely different. The new story does have heavy topics in it, but it's nowhere near as heavy as All The Best, and it's a little less realistic. It's more of a fantasy story, and it follows Rachel and Quinn equally. It's not confined to one point of view.