A/N: We're almost at the home stretch, patient readers. Just a couple more chapters to go. Thanks for reading and being so wonderful while I take nearly 3 years to finish a fic!

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: Attempted suicide. Please use discretion while reading.

The detective's name wasn't Colley; in fact, Quinn hadn't been sure what his name was at all, because she hadn't bothered to look at him as he walked her out to the car. At least she wasn't in cuffs. Still, sat in the back of the squad car she was cold, and she hugged Colley to her.

Cold means you're alive, and you're lucky to be that. Quinn rolled her eyes at herself. Her stomach still hurt, the product of having poison sucked out of her, she guessed. That and she was probably hungry. It didn't matter, though. She didn't want anything to eat. There was no point.

Santana had found her. Found her and dialed 911, then sank to the floor of Quinn's bathroom and cradled her sister's head in her lap, sobbing and begging her to stay. Quinn wasn't sure if she'd dreamed everything or if she'd been just conscious enough, but it seemed she distinctly remembered Santana telling her that she had a lot to live for, if she would open her eyes and see it. "I'll never leave you." Santana always said that.

She didn't remember anything about the ride in the ambulance or having her stomach pumped. She didn't know that if Santana had been a second later finding her, it would've been too late, and that Santana had offered up a quick thank you to God, for once, for a thunderstorm. She didn't know that it had taken Santana an hour to get to the hospital herself because she had to answer all the questions from the police first, all while wondering if her sister was still alive. Mami and Papi had spent $900 in money they didn't really have to fly to New York, and Mami cried when Quinn's brothers and sisters – even Anna who had gotten proposed to three days before – had insisted on coming with them. "We're like the Army," Papi once said proudly. "We leave no one behind."

She remembered coming to in one of the patient rooms of the ER. Her stomach hurt and her arm hurt like hell because apparently one of the nurses used an IV tube that was too big for her vein at first and had tried to push it in rather than use another. She heard the steady beep of the monitors, the drip of the IV; she opened her eyes and saw sad eyes staring at her from every angle and automatically her head and heart started to hurt. She'd never done this before, had never thought of doing this before, not to them. So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, not responding to Mami's questions or Papi's endless fussing over her. Eventually they'd left to get some food and she finally talked to the one person that could always make her come back to reality.

And now here she was, in the back of a patrol car on her way to the mental hospital. Alone.

Everything about this seemed familiar. Stuck in the backseat of a car, her few belongings held in a Ziploc bag (minus any belts or chemicals or anything that could be used for a 2nd attempt) and a scared girl clutching a teddy bear. But she wasn't wearing a dress and mary jane shoes at least; just Santana's old sweats (waist tie removed) and her tennis shoes – without the laces.

They'd checked on her every 15 minutes. It didn't matter that her room was full of parents and Santana and their siblings. It didn't matter that Mami sat next to the bed holding her hand and crying and that Papi kept alternating between fussing with her pillows and yelling at the doctors. A nurse had peeked into the door every 15 minutes, stared at Quinn, then left. Papi told Quinn she was lucky; normally a nurse would sit in the room.

Lucky. She glanced at the window of the patrol car; it was raining, making her reflection warp and melt in the glass. Her eyes were wet, alternating from clear to confused, as if Quinn was trying to figure out which "me" she wanted to be.

Scattered pieces of who I am…

The patrol car drove onward, bringing them closer to a destination that had always had a presence in Quinn's nightmares. She'd heard the stories. She'd watched and read One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. She knew the rumors about these places, and she was terrified to learn firsthand. She wanted home. She wanted home and her bed with its clean sheets and comfy blankets, Colley tucked under her chin as she fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. And yet she wanted nothing. She wanted nothing and everything, too much, all at once, and Quinn was exhausted with the battle.

She'd hit Rachel. Quinn couldn't stop thinking about it. It didn't matter if it had been one of the personalities; everything she'd done while switched was still her. She had hit Rachel. She felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks again and Quinn sniffled, using the cuff of her sweatshirt to wipe her eyes.

She'd done some weird, awful things while she was switched, but this… this was the worst. Beth was sweet, she did little more than cry and color, or throw tantrums when she didn't get her way. She'd kicked Papi and Santana a few times, but had never really hurt them. She didn't know the other personalities well enough, but she was fairly certain that they didn't do anything major, or Santana or her shrink would have mentioned it. But now one of them had done something she had never, ever wanted to do, and the knowledge had made her sick.

Made her want to die. And she'd failed.

"Sure you don't want to eat something?"

A shake of her head.

Santana sighed. "Q, come on. You know if you don't they'll keep you there longer. Just… a little something. To make Mami smile?"

"Don't bring her into this, I feel bad enough."

"Feel bad for her, or yourself?"

Quinn said nothing, only rolled over in the bed away from Santana and stared at the wall. She heard Santana sigh.

"I just know you don't… want to be here. And I don't mean in this hospital. I just mean here… in general."

"No, I don't."

"I know how you f-"

"Don't!" Whether Santana meant it to or not, her words had the desired reaction and Quinn shot up in her bed to stare at her sister. A nurse chose that exact moment to peek her head in, and Quinn clenched her fists, glaring at her until she left, and she turned back to Santana.

"Don't you fucking dare tell me you know how I feel. You have no idea."

Santana rolled her eyes, looking older than her years as she regarded Quinn wearily. "I've lived with you since you were seven, I think I have a good idea."

"Are you me?" Quinn asked. She twisted her hands in her lap, looking down at them. "Are you sitting in this bed waiting to be taken to a mental hospital? Because if you're not, I don't think you have any right to say you have a good idea of what this is like."

"So seeing you when you switch, seeing you turn into 'different people,' that doesn't count for anything? I've been there, Quinn. I've seen you switch, I've helped you, hell, I've fucking pulled you off of people when you hurt them."

Quinn winced. She knew that was true, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as having them live in her head… She hated all of it. Switching, losing her memories of what happened while she was switched. Not being able to stop it. Never being able to tell anyone without them running away from her. People at school laughing at her, calling her a 'freak.' Never finding another person who understood. Reading all the books she could get her hands on, endless hours spent talking to psychiatrists, psychologists. Medication to control her moods, to fight the depression. To keep her from being in a hospital, from trying to kill herself… She guessed she'd need a stronger medication now.

"Quinn…" Santana reached over, her hand around Quinn's. "We can get through this."

"Quit, okay?" Quinn jerked her hands out from under Santana's and turned her glare to her sister. "Quit trying to save me, when we both know you can't."

The hospital was 45 minutes from the city; Quinn hugged Colley closer to herself and closed her eyes. The rain fell harder against the glass; she thought she heard thunder and her first instinct was to curl up on the backseat, but the seatbelt prevented that, and she knew it wouldn't look good to the officer who had had to stay two hours past his shift's end to take her. His hair was blonde, like her da- like Russell Fabray's.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispered. "I'll be good, I promise."

In the mirror, the officer quirked an eyebrow at her, and Quinn shook her head.

"Nothing."

"I'm not trying to save you."

That made Quinn smile a little, even if it was sad, strained. Everyone had been trying to save her, from the moment she was seven years old. First whoever it was that had called the police – Quinn had never found out who it was, but she'd always wanted to give him or her a hug and say thank you. Then Mami and Papi, Anna, Juan, Santana, even Miguel, who had showed up in the hospital with his PSP, somehow thinking that playing video games would take Quinn's mind off not wanting to live. The ER staff, her shrinks, the annoying nurse with the sneer who once again poked her head into the room… they all wanted to save her. She wanted to turn her face to the wall and pretend she didn't exist. Pretend she didn't need help, therapy, medication. Food. Love.

"You've always tried to save me, Santana. And you ignore yourself to do it." Quinn reached out to touch her sister's hand. "Where's Brittany?"

When Santana flinched, Quinn nodded.

She'd seen Santana checking her phone repeatedly, her fingers furiously dancing over the screen sending texts. She knew it was probably Brittany on the receiving end. Santana hadn't said much about anything, just that she'd seen Rachel – yes she's okay, Quinn – and had talked to Brittany. Quinn could only imagine how that had gone.

"I think she really loves you, San," she said, toying with her hospital gown.

"I think she does too."

"And you love her, too."

Santana was blushing, but she nodded. "I think I do," she admitted. But her blush disappeared and she fixed her gaze on Quinn. "But this isn't about me, it's about you."

"Don't you see that that's the problem?" Quinn asked, exasperated. She shook her head again. "Ever since I was 7, it's been about me, Santana. Never about you, about what you want, what you need. You can't keep taking care of m-"

"Yes, I can, and I will."

She wanted to get up, to pace around the room, but there was that damn nurse again. She settled for drumming her fingers on her thigh, feeling hopelessly, utterly exhausted. She was tired. So very, very tired.

"I don't want this anymore," Quinn said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You're always giving up things for me. Jobs, an education, love, life. I'm tired of it, Santana. You deserve better than this, and I'm not going to let you keep doing it."

"So you thought the solution was to fucking kill yourself? You thought that giving me, what, life, meant you had to be six feet under? You're a fucking idiot."

"Please don't get a job as a motivational speaker."

That caused Santana to smile a little. Her phone beeped and she glanced down at it, then back up at Quinn apologetically.

"You love her," Quinn said again. "I know you love me too, but please stop making me your life, Santana. I can't take it anymore."

That was definitely thunder, and Quinn felt her hands begin to shake. No, she told herself. You're not doing this. You're not allowed. She snorted at the absurdity of it. Like Beth and the other personalities had ever listened to her before. If she'd been able to control it, stop it… Rachel wouldn't have been hurt. Rachel with her beautiful face, her beautiful voice, her everything. And now Quinn had ruined it.

She felt a little selfish, being more upset about hurting someone she'd only known for a couple of months, when she'd hurt the people in her family for years. But Rachel was different, she had been different. Quinn knew she didn't fully understand; no one who didn't have this curse could understand fully what it was like, but she was at least trying. And it had given Quinn hope, hope that this time, things would turn out all right. Things would be different, she'd finally be able to love someone and have them love her in return. She could have a life, and even if it didn't work out with Rachel maybe she'd at least have the courage to try again instead of giving up every single time. Keeping her heart at the bottom of a closet during a thunderstorm.

But nothing had changed.

"You're not my life, Quinn."

"Then you'll stay here when I go back to Lima?"

Santana turned pale. "So you're leaving?"

Quinn shrugged. "Mami and Papi want me to."

She leaned back against the seat and thought about what life would be like, back in Lima. Back to the little house at the end of the street. Back to her room with its quilt on the bed, the pale walls with her art posters and the toys in a box under the bed. Curling up on the couch to watch the news with Papi, helping Mami with dinner. And maybe they'd let her take classes at the community college, once they were convinced that she could be alone. Anna was getting married; maybe she'd have a kid soon and Quinn could help babysit, to get a little extra money. If things went well they might even let her get a part-time job somewhere. Library, maybe, that'd be nice.

She could always visit New York again. She didn't have to live there to be happy. She wouldn't miss it. Not their little apartment with the heating and air that never worked right. Her room with books and papers thrown everywhere, even on the floor. Not having to share a bathroom with people. She wouldn't miss the coffee shop on the corner, her classes at NYU. The sunlight on her face in the park.

A smile. A laugh. Argyle. A voice that seemed to touch God.

She wouldn't miss it at all…

"I guess I'll pack our stuff."

Quinn punched her mattress with her fist. "No, damn it!" Out of the corner of her she saw Santana draw back slightly, and the tears started.

"I w-won't let you," Quinn said. "I don't want you to go with me, I want you to stay here." She reached out and grabbed at Santana's hand. "Stay here, Santana. Stay here in New York, with Brittany, and be happy in your life for once, without worrying about me."

"Quinn, I don't need-"

"If you want to take care of someone, take care of Rachel!"

Santana quirked an eyebrow, and Quinn sighed. "I want you to take care of yourself," she clarified, then shifted her eyes to the wall next to her. "But, you know, if you can make sure Rachel's okay, in between taking care of yourself and Brittany…"

She knew Rachel wouldn't come back to her. How could she, after being punched in the face by someone who wasn't even mentally herself when she did it? She was so stupid to think that she'd ever be able to find love, anyone who would want her even with all the uncertainty, all the fear, all the ugliness of being Quinn Lopez.

But that didn't mean that Quinn didn't still want Rachel. That she wanted what she wouldn't be able to have: a life free from hurting, both herself and others. She just wanted somebody to love. For someone to love her.

So she'd given up. It was easier to just give up. To take the pills, to lie down on the cold bathroom floor and let them do the work. To know that she wouldn't have to hurt people anymore, and that she wouldn't have to hurt. She knew what people always said, that suicide was selfish, but no one had the right to judge, Quinn thought. So she'd just given up. And then she'd woken up in the hospital, her throat raw and her stomach hurting. To everyone's tears and Papi's pronouncement that she was going home.

The patrol car pulled up to what would be Quinn's home for the next week. Well, she hoped it would be a week, she knew the doctors had the power to increase her stay to nearly a month, if she needed it. She wouldn't need it. Quinn hadn't ever been in this position before but she was pretty sure she'd be able to play the system. All she needed to do was appear contrite, appear stable, and appear normal.

The officer opened up his door then came around to Quinn's side, opening her door and smiling at her, waiting for her to get out. She figured he was grateful that she hadn't acted too crazy, hadn't screamed or talked to voices in her head, hadn't thrown up in his backseat or worse. She couldn't smile back at him; he was like the chaplain leading her to her execution, and she'd refused his prayers for her salvation. Quinn rolled her eyes; too many hours in literature classes were making her melodramatic.

A passerby who somehow ignored the fact that they were on the main campus of another hospital would've mistaken Quinn's latest prison for a house, at least on the outside. Painted in white, with a black slate roof, numerous trees shaded the building and gave it a homey, peaceful look that Quinn knew didn't even hint at what was going on inside. Just like blonde hair, hazel eyes, and pale pink lips that nearly always curled upwards into a casual smirk. She hung back on the porch, just outside the door, wanting to dig in her heels and refuse to go.

The officer smiled at her and awkwardly patted her shoulder; Quinn recoiled away and clung tighter to Colley, staring at him. He cleared his throat. "You'll be all right," he said. "This is a nice place. Isn't that right, Amy?" He swung the door open and ushered Quinn inside, into the bright lights of the hospital.

Quinn blinked, feeling herself tremble.

The nurse who stepped in from one of the other rooms seemed to be the exact same age as Quinn, but with the air of authority that came with her position. Still, her smile was kind as she directed it towards Quinn; she came around the front desk to stand in front of them.

"Hey, John," she greeted the officer, quickly signing off on his paperwork. He tipped his head at her and left, eager to get home and finally end his shift so he could sleep. Now Quinn and the nurse were left alone with the door locked behind them.

"Hi there. What's your name?" the nurse called Amy asked gently, her eyes sweeping over Quinn and taking in everything. The sweats, the laceless shoes, the tired expression. The teddy bear.

"Quinn Celeste Lopez," she answered quietly. She saw the nurse staring at Colley and she momentarily panicked. She knew she wasn't technically supposed to bring anything with her but clothes, but she needed Colley. "Please don't take him?" she whispered.

The nurse smiled sympathetically. "It's all right, honey," she said. "You can keep him. You're going to stay with us for a little while, okay?"

She felt seven years old again. "I want to go home."

"I know, and you will. But not right now. We have to get you better first."

Better. Quinn almost snorted. She would never be better. Amy led her through a door labeled Intake, sitting her down and shuffling through a mound of papers before she began asking questions. Quinn zoned her out quickly, answering the questions automatically while her mind, as usual, went somewhere else. She thought about home, about Santana. Lima and New York, Fabray and Lopez. About Beth and Puck and everyone else crammed into her head like an overcrowded hotel. Names she knew, names she didn't.

No, she'd never be better. Thunder boomed outside; Quinn closed her eyes as she answered, and gave in. In five minutes the nurse would make a phone call to the resident psych, who would run downstairs as fast as his legs would take him. He'd skid to a stop in the doorway and stare, first at his nurse, and then at the young woman, the new patient… curled under the desk with her thumb in her mouth.

And as Beth kept crying in the mental hospital, begging for someone, anyone, to "find Ray, I want Ray," in the city Santana entered the ER waiting room and sat down, next to a girl with brown hair and worried brown eyes, and entirely too much argyle.