Chapter 14:
Author's Note:
Bah! This was difficult to get right. Mainly because Rachel was no cooperating with me. I blew through Quinn's portion of this in about two nights. The rest of the time was spent dealing with Rachel and fighting with her on progressing the story.
Anyways; I'm trying to answer some questions/respond to some comments. I'm willing to do this more often, especially if something is unclear or you want clarification. Is this a shameless way to get more reviews? Yes. I have no problem admitting that. But I do want to know what makes no sense, or at least call me out on it.
w1cked: kinda? I mean we do have the IVF fairy and all, and it's not like they don't have friends who would require donors or anything. Friends they are really close to.
ShadowCub: Yes, exactly, on both cases. You'll see at least the thought of that in this chapter.
Janeway79: Things are getting a lot bigger here, so we'll see a bit more of Santana's role in a roundabout way. Brittany is Brittany.
Die Schreiberin: You know what? I've committed to stealing from one verse, might as well go all the way, so to answer your questions/comment: yes. Yes it does. It is very important. Just not useful. We're not going the way of Twilight and having a character with an uber power that defeats all others, because that's just silly.
Once again, I own nothing, sadly. Even if Quinn never got with Rachel in the show, I would have at least encouraged, I don't know, actual development instead of the crazy no plot must be not used that Ryan Murphy favors for her.
As always, please Read and Review,
SurrealSteamPuckk(WeOffendedShadows)
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Dec. 5th
Quinn ran through the forests that outline Lima with an abandonment she had not felt for a very, very long time. She made no tracks: no paw prints, no fur on the trees, or even a scent that was in the woods. In fact, she doubted that even a sighting of her would be possible. Not with the amount of life and power and love she felt.
Whatever anyone wanted to call it, magic, mana, life, it was all about perception and emotion, how a person can relate to it, and how it changes them and they change it. For Quinn, from the stories that she was able to get from her mom during the week, the Tiger clan were once mighty mages, capable of augmenting their physical selves in ways rivaled the Fae, whoever they were, and second to only the Wolverine clan in straight up magic use. Her mom did not have any real information, other than myths and suggestions for the library, which was annoying, but beside the main point she got it: her acceptance was based solely on her idea of self.
The vision she saw of herself in her mind, how she felt about herself and her surroundings, even the way she saw other people, all of it affected her in positive and negative ways, often at the same time. It was why she had been struggling at the beginning of the week in keeping her tiger-self down; she was frightened of so many things and the tiger-self wanted to lash out and protect her. He, Quinn finally reconciled that her tiger was a male, took in every detail, no matter how small and processed it so she could act. Just sometimes not act properly. The intake led to a sensory overload for her human-self. She could not handle all that information, and her extremely loud girlfriend only added to the issue.
But that problem was on hold for the moment. The fear and anxiety was held down by the elation that Rachel was okay with her oddity, really okay. Quinn side-stepped a tree and dove under a low branch, skimming the ground. When she first learned about acceptance and subsequent transformations, Rachel responded with joy and excitement, but she did not know all the details. Quinn did not know all the details. Her mom finally brought them to the light, she was ready to hear them, and needed to share them with Rachel.
Her lineage, her power, her purpose: Rachel knew it and accepted it, fully. She wanted a future with her. She wanted children.
The concept of children, even abstract and wishing, was bittersweet. Quinn missed her Beth. Giving her up was the right choice. The thought was the only way she could accept giving up her daughter. She was in no place to care for a baby at the time, and while she could offer love, she was not able to offer shelter, food, and safety. One paw, then two, then four up a tree until she could climb no more, Quinn jumped from limp to limp, from tree to tree. She could not be the mother she wanted to be, she should have been. Giving up Beth was the right choice. It had to be.
Rachel wanted more. Children. With her. She wanted to carry them and help her as she carried them. Quinn was pretty sure she could still give birth, but that was a situation that would come in time, when both of them were ready. The idea was enough to satisfy her tiger-self.
The Glee girls were having a sleep over at Rachel's, everyone but her. Quinn called off that morning, when she struggled to maintain some sense of decorum in the school. A rabbit was awake and she chased it for a minute, releasing it from her mighty jaws without a scratch in it. She had been struggling since Tuesday night, when Rachel allowed her finally go down on her, letting her return a favor she had not been able to. She was able to release most of her sexual tension, something that Rachel enjoyed greatly. The night had been wonderful, and after the sexual aspect, they curled up on a couch Quinn dragged to her basement over the summer, a television on and mindless conversation filling the dark room. It was perfect. They had a future, a real one.
The school week had been slow and calm. No Jesse, no more murdering of Skanks, which Quinn hoped was due to Santana putting the fear of God within St. James, no issues with Mercedes fighting over solos. In fact, Glee was going wonderful, and Rachel was enjoying directing and helping from the sidelines. She would be a wonderful teacher, once her ego was put aside. She waited outside a foxhole, smiling at the little brother as it stared back at her. Schue was okay with her, though he was more dealing with it. Not that he had much choice. Between Quinn glaring at him and Sue yelling at him, he had to accept the role of the diva.
That the cheerleading coach was on her side, in a great deal of things, and was showing up whenever there was a hint of trouble following Quinn, would have been frightening, but it was nothing new. The fox came out and sniffed her before rubbing against her cheek and taking off into the night. Not really. Even when she was removed from cheerleading due to Beth, Sue watched out for her, keeping the worst of it away. There was not much she could do, but what her coach did was enough to keep her sane. Like Santana and Brittany that year. The hierarchy had to stand. It always needed to stand.
Quinn learned a bit more about magic from Brittany during lunch on Thursday, at least enough to know that she was stronger. Her best friend taught her how her magic worked, or at least, a better understanding of her own magic, which led to her outing the next night. Santana pulled her aside during her free period and told her, no more like commanded her, which was really weird, since her avenger rarely ordered her, the boundaries of her protection, the true borders of Lima. Quinn chased the fox, following it step for step, over tree and creek. She did not understand just what the Latina could do, but that she was capable of some great deeds and acts were enough to make her wary. Not in fear in being hurt by her, but fear for her. Trust was never a factor. If Santana said something, followed with a sincere please, Quinn would have been a fool to ignore it. It was the closest to a command Santana would give her.
Within the boundaries of Lima, which varied from a mile outside the outskirts of the town to five hundred yards within them, Quinn stayed. It was nice that most of that space was either open farm land or forests.
She stopped short of her chase as the scream of some creature pierced the night. Pierced at least her ears. Twenty yards east of her, downwind, in a clearing just within the border of Lima. She covered the space in seconds.
Quinn paused in the thick brush and watched as a man in a ragged longcoat stalked around a small being some twenty-thirty yards away, though she could see barely any details beyond the man, which was strange. The vision was either fuzzy or dark, she could not tell. That fact worried her.
Nevertheless, she could see enough to know this was not a good situation. He held a jagged knife in one hand and a pick in the other that dripped of some liquid that smelled like nothing familiar. She smelt fallen rain and iron, though, which grew stronger as she inched forward. The voice of the man, laughing in glee at the being's pain, was one she wished she could forget.
"Fucking clueless gnome," Jesse St. James said, kicking the figure. The gnome, whatever that was, repeated its cry of pain and tried to move away, but its ankle, leg, limb, whatever, was caught in something. "Thinking that you could hide?" He kicked it again. "Thinking you could fucking run? From me?"
As she slinked closer and closer, the fuzziness dissolved into moonlight and everything sharpened, the smell included. Blood. She caught the strange scent of the gnome's blood, though its only wound was the beartrap its limb was trapped in. But St. James was dripping in it, his jeans and boots were covered in the blood of a non-human. None of it was its, though. Oh Lord, what had he done? What had he done? "Oh, it was fun, a nice little chase, you scurrying about, and all that jazz, but did you really think – no fuck that, your kind doesn't fucking think." He suck down with the pick, purposely carving a gorge on its face, from forehead to jaw.
"You just take and take and take-"
The gnome spoke, or at least, its mouth moved and some strange sounds were produced. She did not understand a single thing. Neither did St. James, though that did not stop him from kicking the gnome over again, and standing on its trapped leg. The cry was weak, exhausted. The gnome barely raised its arms against another swing of the pick, pinning his shoulder to the earth. St. James laughed the entire time.
Toying. He was toying with his prey. Oh, Lord. What kind of man was this?
Her mom would have called him a Hunter. Santana would have called him an evil bastard.
"Well, as much fun as this is," St. James said, "I have a caravan to burn to the ground." The gnome howled, not from pain but from rage. Quinn knew that sound well. Whatever will that was within him, however much extinguished it was before, lit anew and burned hotter and brighter. He swung a fist at the Hunter, hitting him in the chest only to bounce off. All its action earned him was a punch to the face, shattering its nose or skull, some bone there.
"No, you get no say in this," he continued. "You have no voice." His voice stumbled through the field as he kicked the gnome again.
"You and your kind are trespassing on the land of Man." He stood up slowly, though kept a foot the gnome's chest. "Traveling around, stealing from hard working humans, sucking dry our resources to feed your ever breeding cripples and retards. I name thee Blight and it's time to die." The joy, the absolute joy in St. James voice grasped her heart and squeezed it.
He leaned down on the gnome, grinding him into the ground. It just breathed out weakly, but still kept fighting, or trying to. "There's that fight, that will to exist. Such a strange thing to see in a beast. Oh, but it's so beautiful. A stolen diamond in a cesspit. IT'll be even more beautiful when I tear it from your body. My face, my power, will be the last thing you see, blighted one, and will be the last thing your caravan sees as I tear what you have stolen from Man from them. I end this now, Blight, enjoy the emptiness I send you to." The gnome screeched. St. James ignored it. Quinn could not. He raised the dagger into the air.
She was surprised by the roar that erupted from her throat. It did not seem like her to be that, well, aggressive. Her anger, her strength, was never really physical or loud, but icy and calm, a storm front that would shatter the will of lesser students. But the pounce from the brush towards the Hunter? No, that was exactly like her.
Quinn slammed her shoulders into St. James, sending him tumbling away from a gnome. She stepped over the creature, a large paw on each side of it. If nothing else, she could save this one being, one life. She could do that.
The Hunter struggled to climb to his feet, swaying back and forth on fully upright with his back towards Quinn. He whipped his head around, pointing the dagger towards nothing. "Who's there?" he shouted. "Show yourself."
Quinn growled at him. How she wanted to speak, to say the words that would force the student populace to tremble at her presence. But for now, the tiger would have its say. It knew more of this world than she, if only by instinct.
He turned to face her, almost falling over. For a moment, he could not focus, his eyes darting back and forth and taking in everything but her. She tracked his movements, watching the gentle twitches of his eyes, the blood dripping down his chin, the heavy breathes he struggled to take. "Who-"
Quinn growled louder, bearing her teeth. "I demand thee to name thyself," St. James shouted.
She leaned forward and tried to emulate the glare of the HBIC. This would not happen while she was aware. Never. Not in her home.
The dazed look on St. James face slide away, and he stood up straighter. The smirk returned as he spun the dagger and pick in opposite directions, any fear or anxiety slipping away. "A cat? A fucking house cat? Some stray were that stumbled upon the rightful duty of a Hunter. Pity that you should die-"
The roar tore through her, from tail to nose. Her body sung electric as she screamed in protection.
"Kitty got bite," St. James replied. His face darkened in night. The still perfect teeth expanded as that smile grew. Flicks of white danced in his frigid glare. "I love it. Maybe you could offer the challenge I need. Unlike those wretched beasts that talk."
The Skanks. Oh Lord. St. James killed them. This pathetic excuse of a man killed two strong were-wolves. He butchered Trish and Miles and played in their entrails. He tore them to pieces for the fun of it. Did he act this way with them? Taunting them about how he would end their lives, the lives of their loved ones?
"Will you give me that, pussy? A last hooray before I skin you for that pelt? I won't wear it, but it'll be fun to –"
Quinn bellowed again, and St. James stepped back. No more. Not now. Not again. He will not be allowed to walk free. He will not get away with this. I end this.
"It speaks!" He shouted, laughter overflowing from his words. St. James spread his arms and spun around. "Oh, what an adorable pallor trick. What else can you do, pussy-cat? Hmm? Can you do a little dance? Should make you perform for me before I tear those rotten teeth from your muzzle? I do love a good performance."
She spoke? Quinn relaxed and stepped back away from him. She spoke. Words left the tiger's mouth. Her words. No, their words. For the brief moment, both she and the tiger's will was the same. Your name Blight, they said.
He laughed again at her. "It's a parroting, O M G, that's even better." He staggered forward, nearly falling with each step. His shoulders dipped side to side. Her head began to pound, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. "You're not even smart enough to speak, properly."
You trespass. You die. She growled at him, though the sound slowly died in her throat. St. James continued to move forward, slow and steady.
"It's adorable how you try to be like Man, to emulate your superiors," he said, the smirk growing larger.
I end this, stttt. She and the tiger tried to say more, but her eyes burned. Her mouth was dry. St. James' movements were jerky as he approached her, from side to side. Side to side. Side to side. Never the middle. Just side to side. Side to side.
"Of course you do," St. James said. "Of course you need this. And by you, I mean me." He stood in front of her now, a foot from her face. "You poor beast, probably some wizard's folly of transfiguration or something stupid again. They never learn." He sighed heavily, the weapons slapping against his thighs.
Quinn exhaled, but the pain in the back of her head held her human-self still.
"Were you beast first? Or human?" St. James petted her nose. "Some stupid fool who thought that you could defy reality and be something great? Instead, you're this abomination." His fingers traced along spine, the tip of the dagger dragging against her, nicking her every other step as St. James walked around her. All Quinn could do was track him with his eyes. She shook as he stepped behind her, but her feet remained planted over the gnome.
"Are you one mistake? Or are there many?" He continued, stopping in front of her. "Is there someone out there who cares a beast like you? Who's name will you be trying to scream? Who you imprinted on?" Quinn did not see the pick, but felt it slam into her shoulder. Inside she roared and tried to pull away. She just stood still. "There is someone. Someone who you think about."
St. James bent down. "Someone who desires you, in fact. A pervert who would dare to love an abomination. A freak of nature." His words slid further and further away, and Quinn struggled to keep her eyes open. That same darkness around the gnome and St. James filled her sense of self.
She leapt too soon. She was so sure that this would be no issue. That she, a tigress of four hundred and fifteen pounds with a power the world had forgotten coursing through her veins, would be able to crush a mere human. That Hunters were nothing more than humans with foolish titles. That she could win.
But Quinn could not move. She could not speak. She could make no sound, no effort. Her muscles burned as she held the crouch against her will.
He leaned a bit closer, and the distance between her and the words closed rapidly. "Maybe when I'm done with you, done tearing that wretched coat from your body, done making you eat your own balls, done making ashtrays from your paws, when I finally allow you to die, I'll find your little beau and fuck her so she knows what a real Man is. Not some evolutionary reject. Not some beast who only has her because he forced himself on her."
Images formed within her mind, against her will. She struggled to grasp hold of her cold place, the HBIC place where the Ice Queen of McKinley lived and reigned. There, at least, she would find no imagination to give life to those words. But whatever St. James did to her, whatever hold he had over her, Quinn's mind was the sight of her fur covering St. James as he stood over Rachel. Her girlfriend's face held to his crotch, her hair torn away, a hand missing, and bruises all over her body. She saw the blank stare on her face and the dagger in his hand. As he came inside her, he drove down with the jagged blade into her-
No. Never. St. James would never touch Rachel. Never. She screamed. The tiger roared. They exploded from the darkness back into a pale shade of color.
Quinn swung a paw at him, all her claws fully extended.
St. James barely fell back from her. Quinn caught his shirt with just the tips, but it was enough to tear through the weak cloth and even weaker skin. He screamed in a pitch that she would have normally associated with Sugar's singing but it seemed appropriate for him. As he tried to evade, he dragged the pick out of her shoulder. Quinn struggled to hold her ground and stay away from him as St. James tore a chunk from her shoulder.
The tiger screamed. She roared.
"What the-"
Quinn lunged at him, both paws in the air. St. James evaded her again, but she caught his thigh a few of her claws, iron filling her nose and covering her forelimbs. Thunder exploded around her when she landed.
Cold azure filled the night.
St. James swung down with the crooked dagger, carving a thin line on her cheek, then stepped to the side. He spun with the movement, following with the pick swung towards her head.
Neither the tiger nor she made a noise.
Quinn bent her neck just enough to catch his forearm in her jaws, the pick nicking her neck. As she bite down, it fell from his hand. She brought a paw up to his shoulder and drove forward, all of her weight on the human arm. The wrist popped, then elbow, then shoulder. She just squeezed harder over the sound.
The blizzard of light grew around them.
St. James wailed and flailed with his dagger, driving it into her shoulders and ripping it back as he was dragged to the ground. But the ground was much stronger than him. Thunder roared in her ears as he landed. She heard the breath escape him, the dagger skidding away, and the intense pounding of his heart. He cried louder and tried to push her off of him, struggling under her grasp.
The tiger bite harder. Quinn shook her head. Once.
She kept her paw on his chest as she tore muscle off bone, her claws gripping into him, just enough to pierce only the skin. The struggling man stilled, making no sound, but she watched, both her and the tiger smiling at the silent scream and tears rolling down his face. Quinn spat out the meat and leaned over him.
There is no warning¸ she said, her nose almost touching his. St. James tried to reach up, but she pushed down and dug in deeper. He stilled again. This is only a statement. This is mine. This land, its people of any and all races, the air, the water. This is mine. And no upstart thief and murder is taking it from me.
He stared up at her with water in his eyes. "Wh-wh-what are you?" he said. "I'll do whatev-" She pressed harder so he stopped talking. His voice was grating.
You know nothing of who I am. You know nothing of my allies. You know nothing of my power. My will. There is no warning for you, St. James.
Quinn relaxed a bit, smiling as blood slowly trickled down cheek from his lips. "You," he coughed gurgled blood for a moment before swallowing it away, continuing. "You kn-kn-kn-know my-"
There is only a promise. The tiger smirked the best it could at him. Quinn steeled her gaze. You walk away by my grace. By my mercy. There is no warning. There is no second chance.
She moved to go, but the image he forced on her, the pain of her love hurt and broken and dying, returned in full front. Quinn pressed down as hard as she could, pushed her face into his and roared. Her jaws spread wide enough that she could have bite down and crushed his skull in one motion. I name thee Blight! I name thee Abomination! I name thee Cursed and Coward! I name thee Man. Her words were one sound, as the tiger took over and used all of their breathing power to force him to hear her. To feel her rage. To feel her pain. To feel her fear.
Beneath her paw, she felt the pounding heart, erratic and unsteady, of the Hunter. And the tiger smiled as he lost conscious.
Quinn felt nothing.
She pushed away one last time, and felt the burning enveloping her shoulders. The blood dripping down her whiskers and jaw. Her shoulder struggled to hold her up as she limped away, back towards the reason this started. The gnome was kneeling, staring up with her, azure light surrounding him, coming from him.
No. From her. Quinn dropped her head and saw where once was orange stripes was icy and cold glowing, filling the empty night around them. She was radiant, she was the frozen sun for the moment. But with each step the light grew weaker and weaker.
Young one, the tiger said, are you capable of returning to your caravan.
It spoke quickly, sounds jumbled together. Quinn caught none of it. It waved its hands about, and she heard the excitement, the joy in its voice, but that was all she heard. She barely heard the cries of birds or the chirps of squirrels. And was that a fox? She never knew the sound a fox made.
When the time comes, the tiger replied, we shall have Eden again. We shall have our Home back, young one.
The gnome stood up slowly, speaking as though its lungs were filled with dirt, and continued to wave about. It slowly walked towards her; how did he get out of the beartrap? Quinn wanted to step back, to ready to defend itself. But she remained still. She told herself it was because she was too tired to do anything else. The tiger stood regally, waiting for its subject.
I understand. I shall hurry to my mate and my avenger then, the tiger nodded. That is your repayment. That is your boon. It is all I can ask of you. It is all I will ask of you.
Quinn shook her head as it faltered, then its hands started to glow a vibrant green, brighter and stronger than she had that afternoon from Santana.
Be quick and steady. Then go, spread the word. This land will be ours again. Find Brothers Bear and Sisters Wolf. Find them. Tell them we are coming Home.
The gnome stood in front of her, the radiant hands raised slowly. It placed one on her shoulder, a thousand stings lit her nerves. The other settled on her face, cupping it gentle. Quinn met its eyes, seeing the silky mud in its obsidian eyes, the opal teeth filling a smiling mouth. It was kind. It was worried. It was gentle.
Her vision filled with the verdant energy, the life force that coursed with the land, with mana. She was back in the art room for a single moment, as the pain tore through her a second time, ripping out the flesh of wounds and knitting anew, pulling energy into matter and grafting it to her body. Quinn made no sound and did not move. The gnome held her face and shoulders lightly, but it supported her completely.
Slowly, the world lost its brightness, the moon returning to light the night. No more blues or greens. She would have fallen had the gnome not held her. It gave a gentle smile and a soft pat on her cheek. It stepped back and bowed at her until its face almost touched the ground. As it returned to its full height of three feet four inches, the tiger bowed briefly in thanks. The gnome spoke again, gentle and calm.
Be well, young one, the tiger said. Tell others of our return. Tell them that there will be a haven, and we welcome all who will protect it. Tell them, the time is coming.
The gnome nodded, offered a weak smile and ran away into the taller grass behind her.
Quinn remained in the clearing. Just the wind, the moonlight, and her. The moaning of St. James was irrelevant. She turned to look where the gnome had run off, but there was no indication of him moving through the grass. It moved like she did. Almost.
She still smelled the fallen rain and iron; its blood. Traces of it blood dripped through the stalks and moved further and further away from her, past the boundaries of Lima-proper. Past her knowledge of the land.
The Land. Oh fuck. The land was soon to be a haven, safety for its residents. The words the tiger spoke. She spoke. She had labeled herself as a protector. That she had the power and strength to do so. Oh fuck.
Santana was going to kill her.
!-!-!-!-!-!
Dec. 5th
The grandfather clock her Daddy bought at an antique store rang eleven. Normally, Rachel would have never heard it; she tended to pass out before one am, even when the Unholy Trinity was sleeping over. Brittany thought it was adorable. Santana thought of her as a lightweight. Quinn would just let her rest on her shoulder. Rachel wished that she was here now.
She stood alone in her kitchen, sipping on a tall glass of water, watching the start of a snow fall. Quinn was out there, somewhere, running as fast as she could. After the conversation on Tuesday, and the subsequent sexy times, everything was better. They talked. They laughed. They had some stolen kisses in various janitorial closets, though it was incredibly hard to find one that had not been vandalized by Santana and Brittany already. Like impossible. She had to make do that she was having pseudo-sexy times with her girlfriend in places that the pair had already defiled. It was a necessary evil, she figured, but one that she could work with and overcome.
Things in glee were wonderful. Even Mr. Schuester wasn't arguing as much as he used to with her "directing." While Mercedes was still somewhat a pain, in her refusal to listen to instruction sometimes, it was a start in the right direction. They were working better as a unit, and slowly, instead of simply being a group of individual talents, the club was becoming what it should have been in the beginning: a singular functioning unit.
Tonight was the culmination of those efforts. The glee girls, all of them, not just the Unholy Trinity in one group, the reminder in another with Kurt and Blaine hovering in and out, and Rachel left out, but all of them nine, well eight really, of them were in one house, without killing each other. It was as if they were friends(FRIENDS!). Rachel barely knew how to handle the amount of people in her home.
Hence allowing Santana to take charge of the festivities while she was merely the host. That meant alcohol and dangerous truth games and more alcohol and horror movies and even more alcohol. The sheer amount of alcohol would have been impossible to consume by anyone else, but Santana, Brittany and apparently Tina were able to handle most of it. Her best friend forever was rather proud that Tina kept with her drink for drink. It was eerie.
With the ringing in of the new day, Rachel excused herself from the still active set of girls who were getting a bit loud for her tastes. She needed a break from the excessive amount of yelling at the television screen at the stupidity of the female hero in another horrible horror felt she barely watched.
"C'mon, lightweight," Santana said, resting her head on top of on Rachel's. "You've had two and you're already hiding from us?" For once, Rachel didn't jump at the touch or sound. She was really tired. Normally, she would have, as she did at one particularly gruesome scene in the basement, moved quick enough away to hide behind some other object. Horror movies sucked without Quinn.
"As I've told you before," Rachel said, "After the last experience with alcohol, I'm attempting to avoid the same events." Really, high school students should not drink as much as they did.
"Please," Santana replied. She dragged her hands down her bare shoulders, tickling her with her fingers. "Brits is making me stop as long as you're in here and-"
"Stop what?" Rachel squirmed away and moved around the island, dragging her mug of tea with her.
"Kissing. Cuddling. Drinking." She tried to follow her, but she kept moving away. "So c'mon already, I want-"
"You drink too much as it is, and if me staying up here stops it, then I'm more than ready to make the sacrifice of those horrible movies and alcohol to save your liver," Rachel said. Santana paused in her pursuit, staring at her.
The Latina wore an unzipped hoodie over a tiny cheerio tank top and her sweaters were baggier than she had expected. Even without her uniform, including very light amount of make-up, Rachel felt inadequate compared to her. She wore just enough to frame her face, but she knew that she could never match what Santana and Quinn, Barbara, especially Quinn. What her girlfriend looked like without the effort was possibly even more beautiful than what she did with the make-up.
"Unless there is another reason to drink?" Rachel asked. "Is something wrong? I've read enough materials concerning high schooler-based depression and depression over indulging in various substances, and you have to admit that you do have-"
"Jeez, no," Santana said. She closed her eyes and shook her head, slapping her face with her freed hair. "No. Just fuck no, Berry. It's nothing like that. I ain't Q."
Rachel stood up straighter. She slowly placed down her mug down on the counter and stepped back from her. No, Quinn was not depressed. She was perfectly okay, and handling everything well, without needing something like alcohol to handle everything. Not that she didn't have things she needed to handle, what with being kicked out, giving birth at sixteen, the massive ups and downs of high school, struggl-
Two arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a well-endowed woman. Rachel blinked once, then twice, and relaxed into Santana's embrace. "I'm sorry. Seriously. That was wrong, I shouldn't have joked about that."
"Quinn's," Rachel said but any other word died in her throat.
"She's doing really well," Santana answered. "Really well. Things are a lot better this year than anything else."
"I mean, it'd wouldn't surprise me all things considered." Rachel sniffed and closed her eyes, ignoring the wetness that was forming. "She has had it pretty bad, I mean really bad, so if those thoughts were-"
"That was never an option for her," Santana pulled away and forced her to look into her eyes. "You have to understand. That was never, ever, ever a possible option for her. Ignoring religion and the beliefs on the topic, that was something that she would never do. I promise."
"It would-"
"Berry, we are seriously stopping this line of conversation before you start making me cry," Santana said. "Neither of us would like that. So stop it."
Rachel nodded, looking away from her in an attempt to calm herself. She already saw the edges of tears forming and a slight quiver of her lip with every third breath. Letting the Latina see her own tears would not help the situation.
Santana angry was scary. Santana polite was terrifying. Santana crying was the second worst thing in the world, right behind Quinn crying and far behind Brittany sad, and in front of her never achieving Broadway. This year had really adjusted her standards.
"Santana," Tina shouted as she ran up the stairs. Rachel pulled back from her best friend forever and stepped around her, grabbing her mug and forcing it into her hands in the process. She stood between the two gleeks, giving Santana the chance to refill the full tea mug and offering her largest Broadway smile. "Sugar is demanding we watch Saw XI."
"The first two weren't enough?" Santana replied. Rachel could hear the moistness in her voice as the faucet turned on and her mug was washed and refilled. Sigh, that was a fresh batch too. "We'd have to suffer through the last one? Of all of them, that one?"
"Right?" Tina said. "The only good parts are the traps and even then, they've gotten boring."
"Can we watch something else?" Rachel asked. "Like a musical or something, because-"
"That girl needs to learn a lot about films," Santana continued, spinning around and thrusting the glass into her hands. "Grab the first film in my binder, we're watching that next." Tina smiled and ran back down without a second glance towards Rachel. "Fucking Saw. Seriously, if I wanted a sixth Sev7n, I'd watch that shit six times in a row before watching Saw fuckin XI. Shit is the worst of them. At least Sev7n was good. Saw I was nothing but a rip-off and terribly done at that."
Rachel looked down at the cold mug. She'd have to make entire new glass from scratch now. Despite her saving Santana, it seemed it was at cost of a perfectly nice cup of tea. And a terrifying film. She wasn't sure which was worse. "What movie are we watching?" She asked.
"Audition." Santana opened the fridge and frowned at the sight. Rachel had done her best to give a wide selection of snacks, but clearly not enough for the meat eaters. Too many animals had already been harmed in the efforts of tonight, but apparently, everyone else wanted more. Especially Kurt. That Brat. He said he understood the plight of the defenseless animal but-
"Wait, what?" Rachel asked. Her best friend forever pulled out one of three vegetable platters with a larger frown, but ignored her. "Is that movie what I think it is, because I don't think-"
"Relax, Hobbs," Santana said. "You'll be fine."
"I've had to sit through three other horrible films, well six considering you and Mercedes wanted to fast forward through the first couple because they were, and I quote, terribly terrible and not in a good way. And now you're moving to J-horror."
"I am shocked," Santana replied. "You know what that is? You, of all people." She started to look through her pantry and pulled out a few boxes of vegan crackers, and her Dad's only box of non-vegan tortured snacks.
"Stumblupon was not my friend that night," Rachel said. "We're watching that of all films?"
"Please. It's not that bad."
"Not that bad? Santana that is possibly-"
"Fine, whatevs," She continued to make a second platter for them. "Rach?"
"Yes?"
"I drink because I can finally relax and not worry about pulling it in," Santana said.
"Pulling it in? Oh." After the little event in the art room, she had a better understanding? Idea? Feeling of the whole magick situation. Part of it was difficult to believe, in the idea that there was something greater than, well, anything and none of any one she knew had any real grip on just what it was. But Santana was probably the closest without actually being part of it. She drowned in it, every day. She fought so hard to keep the energy out of her body, and her strong emotions, especially anger, just made attracted it and she either had to control it or it would control her. Worse than any drug.
"When I drink, when I am coming down after cumming, whenever I'm really, really relaxed, my body goes with the flow, and," Santana said, shrugging. She refused to look at her, her hands kept fiddling with the vegetables on the platter or the crackers in the basket. How'd she find Daddy's secret cheese? She'd have to apologize to him later. "Brittany helps, a lot. She keeps me grounded. Keeps me in the now and here."
Rachel giggled, her hands covering her mouth as she looked away.
"I know, right? Strangest thing. But she does. You settle it, make the chattering noise of mana quiet. And Quinn." She trailed off, sniffing harshly.
"And Quinn?" Rachel stepped around the counter and grasped her wrists, pulling them to her side. Santana shook for a second, fighting it very briefly before letting her help her. "What does she do?
"It's just, I don't think I have a real word for what she does. I can barely describe it." Santana stared at the ground. She stood so still. Not like Quinn could, the way a predator could stand like a statue under any gaze. Rather, she stood like a tree, swaying with the breeze, but remaining in place against everything. "Just being around her, it's like, I don't know, it's like breathing in a frozen morning and exhaling the summer's night. It's like that last little moment before the sun sets, and you feel the decay of the heat and the gentleness of the night's embrace. It's the memory of the last sip of chilled glass of tea and extra lemon. Dias Mia, it's beautifully haunting, Rach. It's-"
"Santana! Rachel!" Mercedes said. Her voice really carried when she wanted it to. Too bad she was really lazy and – She should really stop thinking those horrible thoughts even though it would better the club if she could break the girl of her terrible habits. "Get your asses down here. We're starting the film."
"Or wait for the pizza," Kurt added. Rachel stepped back from the Latina, smiling gently at her.
"Yeah, do that instead," Mercedes said. "Either way, we're starting."
"Fucking hold your goddamn massive tits, girl," Santana replied. "You'll be fed like the rest of the zoo, fucking hippo."
Footsteps pounded their way up stairs and Rachel stepped back as Mercedes emerged from the basement, holding one of Dad's golf-clubs. "Who the fuck-"
"Need I remind both of you my fathers are upstairs," Rachel said. She stood across the kitchen, away from both of them.
"Fine, I'll kill her softly then." Mercedes stepped forward, slowly raising the golf club.
"There will be no murdering here tonight," Rachel said. "I'll wait for the pizza that you ordered and-"
"Plural," Mercedes corrected.
"Did you get a vegan one or-" She lowered the club and looked away. "Right, anyways, I'll wait here and you two can get down to watching the movie."
"Bitch does not-"
"That bitch is standing here and will fucking kick your impatient fat ass if you keep fucking asking for it," Santana replied. The club went back into the air.
Rachel sighed and stepped in front of her best friend forever. "Seriously, just go down stairs and don't break anything. Santana, go cuddle with Brittany and finish my drink, I think I'm done for the night. Mercedes, I'm sure that Kurt and Blaine will be more than happy to discus whatever you want, but please, just return the basement. I doubt-"
"I'm going nowhere with that fucking slut and-" This was not what Rachel wanted in terms of a Gleek sleepover, but given that Santana and Mercedes tended to butt heads during Glee and school, it should have been expected.
"Keep your fucking voice down," Rachel said. She knew that she was reaching the point when her loud voice would be required, but at least she had their attention. "My Dads are sleeping upstairs and I'd appreciate it if you kept your fucking violence at least down to a reasonable, quiet level."
The girls stared at her for a second before returning to each other. "At least I'm getting some from something other than tater tots," Santana said, her voice barely about a whisper.
"Oh you did not," Mercedes replied, at least at the same volume. Progress, she guessed. It would have to do.
"Course I did," Santana continued. "No one enjoys watching the way you shove them into your mouth with the grace of a tap dancing elephant, though I guess-" Mercedes screamed, again kept at a reasonable level. One that would not make her fathers regret having this many people over. Again.
The rapid knock at the door paused angry, growing angrier, diva, though spark a sense of something in Santana. She was so relaxed and loose before, but the sound tightened everything up in her, and Rachel felt the hum again.
The knock continued in a consistent four-four one hundred and fifty seven beat for seven and a half seconds before finishing with a solid slam, shaking the door and frame. Then the lights flickered. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
She hated horror movies, not for the jump scare, but the fact that her imagination tended to run rampant after seeing one. She had avoided them like the plague previously, but with the addition of friends(FRIENDS) she learned that horror films were the compromise she had to make occasionally. Three or four times at most. Usually Brittany called Santana out on it when Quinn couldn't make it, which was when she had the hardest time with the movies. Not that having Quinn made it easier to deal with, but that she could at least sleep knowing that the blonde would watch over her, and – she was really clueless about the whole Quinn being into her thing. At least she was aware of her own attract, so that soften the blow a little bit, but still. The rapid pounding renewed at a hundred and twenty seven beats, retarding rapidly this time. Another hard slump, and the door shook, but not the frame.
Rachel rushed over to the door, almost sliding into the garbage can next to it due to her adorable bunny slippers, but she grabbed the door handle and recovered. She peeked through the lacy curtains, but the porch light was out and she couldn't see a damn thing. Rachel sighed and began to unlock the door as the entity knocked three times, with longer periods between them.
Santana covered her hands and slowly pushed her away from the door. Only one knock before nothing. She stood really close to her, pressing her back into the diva. Rachel looked over her shoulder to see Mercedes a few feet from them, the club raised slightly in the air. The woman was ready to strike at anything, which was hilarious because if there was some serial killer-monster outside, a golf-club wouldn't stop it.
She pushed Rachel slowly back, enough for the door to open slightly, though she made no movement to do so. Rachel didn't want to press any harder into Santana, but the lights flickered again and she jumped against her back. A hand shot out and grasped her hip, pulling her closer to the Latina. Mercedes took in a deep breathe, Santana exhaled, and Rachel stopped breathing as the door opened.
A naked Quinn was leaning against the front porch swing, her left arm just dangling by her side. The entire shoulder was a battered and chewed up, and Rachel could have sworn she saw bone when Quinn took a deep breath. A gash ran down the right side of her face, from forehead to chin, dripping blood. Bruises covered her once perfect skin and she was shaking.
No. Quinn was shivering.
Her pale skin had turned almost ice-white, and frost collected on her messy hair. She hugged herself tightly with her good arm, but didn't bother covering up that she was naked.
Any other time, Rachel would have loved the sight. Instead, she screamed in her loud voice.