Dirty Paws

by SurrealSteamPuck

Rachel Berry was not afraid of She had to repeat this mantra to herself as she ran away as fast as her short legs could carry The elliptical had prepared her endurance, but never for speed, and even then, she felt her knees start to ache, her legs burn, and her breathe It wouldn't be long before it caught up with *AU where Rachel meets weretiger Quinn*

15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

Author's Note: Quinn talks and thinks too much. Seriously. Ending up cutting out a massive amount of her internal dialogue. Also, apparently some other people can't shut up either. People talk to much. And I'm not too happy with this chapter, even though it advances the plot/character development, and sets the stage for something big coming up.

Sorry bout the delay. Apparently Actuarial tests require studying, who knew.

Anyways, first things first:

{Soapbox Rant – ignore it if you want}: I have a major bone to pick with authors these days, and it has to deal with depression. There are countless stories out there that a character is depressed because of something horrible that happened to them, that some event kinda "sparked" depression. I don't mean to say that isn't right, but it's starting to feel like we have to justify why a person is feeling the way they do. Why they are depressed. We are justifying mental illness I mean, if nothing horrible happened in a person's life, what right do they have to feel that way (which is also a reason why we have to stop using rape as drama)? The point being is we, as a community, need to step away and think of the tropes we are using and question just exactly what we are doing when we use them. {/Soapbox Rant}

So some responses:

Mary(guest) – that is a very good question and is addressed here. I couldn't agree with you more about it goes against the whole thing – but that's the issues isn't it. Quinn is cruel and violent. And sometimes, death is mercy. She did tear his shoulder off basically.

ShadowCub – Probably, not thinking that far ahead. And yes, she did. And I kinda address the whole Parents finding things out. The chapter refused to end and I had to cut something out, otherwise this would be about 26k update.

Jaeway79: I can't agree any more about why it was a huge mistake, which is kinda the point. We find out what the gnome did to her.

Rikkukashi – There's no shouting match mainly b/c of shock and well, Rachel will care that Quinn is alive than anything Santana does. It's a bit of a cop out, I know, but it works for the moment. And sets up the boundaries of magic.

Question for everyone: Would you prefer more cliffhangers & shorter updates, but sooner, or is the pace/method I'm doing right now better?

Once again, Glee is not mine, or we would have gone something like Game of Thrones in the first season and killed off 90% of the cast or tortured them. For the Lulz. Well, not really, but more like I kill off the annoying people and keep plot actually moving.

Please Read and Review(its like crack to me, so feed the addiction)

Always,

SurrealSteamPuckk(

!-!-!-!-!-!

Dec. 6th

When the reminder of the sleepover heard the scream, Rachel wasn't surprised that Daddy was the first in the kitchen, followed by Brittany. He pushed his way past the three of them, grabbed Quinn and carried her the two steps to the island where Brittany had all the towels and linens on the counter, everything else shoved to the ground.

She stood in the door way with Santana, shivering as the chill echoed through her.

Blaine was the second up the stairs and stepped over to Quinn, grabbing a few towels and pushing them into her shoulder. There wasn't much blood. Why wasn't there much blood? She couldn't remember seeing Quinn or the porch covered in it. Oh Barbara, please, don't let them.

"Mercedes, call-" Daddy said.

"On it," she replied, already pulling a phone from her hoodie and dialing what Rachel hoped was 911. Or anyone, someone. Just make things okay.

Brittany looked once at the injured girl and frowned before stepping over to Santana. Her best friend forever didn't move. She remained in the doorway, staring at the ground where Quinn lied, taking in short, staccato breathes. Once the blonde touched her, she nearly collapsed, falling to the side into her.

Rachel couldn't wipe her face, she couldn't even feel it. Everything was so numb; her hands tingled as they refused to budge frozen to her side

Tina and Kurt finally came up, but she had to catch him as he collapsed too, nearly tumbling down the stairs with him though. Dad reached down the stairway and pulled Kurt up, then dragged him over to the chair.

"Sannie," Brittany said. She pulled Santana completely into a hug, wrapping her tight and leaning over she was almost covered by her freed blonde hair. "Feel my chest. Focus on it."

"Now is not the time," Mercedes said. She stuffed her phone in her pocket. "They're on their way, but the storm is making it difficult."

Winter gripped her tightly, squeezing the breath from her.

"What storm?" Daddy asked. "It wasn't earlier." Rachel stared at Quinn; it was snowing. A lot. A great deal. Now, with the door closed, Quinn lying on the counter, still breathing, for how long she didn't know, she could feel that horrid blast of winter pierce through every layer of cloth and human she was until it grasped at her soul and squeezed tight. Her heart was pound, forcing the slush-blood to travel properly. Her hands shook, and she was pretty sure she had no color. But Quinn was more important.

"A blizzard, freak one too," Mercedes replied. "Apparently, just came out of nowhere, a freak polar wind or something."

"Saw a report downstairs," Blaine added. "While Tina was changing the movie. Massive temperature drops, over a foot of snow in a few hours, gusts of wind up to fifty plus. Expected power outages and such. Said it's gonna be bad." He threw the towel away and grabbed another, pressing down harder on Quinn's shoulder. "We need to get her cleaned up, as much as possible. Bandaged then. Just keep her stable, I guess, until they arrive."

"So most emergency systems will be focused on that," Brittany said. "Sannie, I need you to copy my breathing."

"It won't be enough," Tina said. "How can she even still be breathing?" Rachel took a step towards Quinn, shaking through the frost she felt like were coating her legs, then another. She was breathing, but barely, the breaths slow and long seconds apart. She didn't move as Blaine put pressure on her shoulder, or while Dad started to clean her up the best he could, wiping away blood, snow, and dirt. He covered her nakedness the best he could, a dish towel over her perfect breasts (stupid teenage boy thanking God they weren't harmed), and another thrown over her hips.

"I don't know," Daddy returned holding his medical kit. He kept a spare filled with various odds and ends that he thought were important for any emergency. He placed it between Quinn's legs and pulled out a saline bag and an IV. "Tina, I need you to hold this."

"Is, is it gonna help?" she asked. She was barely standing up, but at least she was. Kurt hadn't moved from his chair. Rachel couldn't even tell if his eyes were open.

"Until the EMTs arrive," He answered, though looked over at Rachel, frowning, "I hope."

It was the thought that Rachel knew everyone had. No matter what they did, how they helped, their efforts were going to be worthless. It was a miracle that Quinn was even still alive. Oh, Barbara, what had she gotten into? What did she do? She didn't deserve this, no one died. They were supposed to get married one day. They talked about kids. Barbara, they still hadn't had sex yet, and Rachel was certain that she would be very good at the sex.

It wasn't right that she was focused on that part of their relationship. But she couldn't help it. Any other thought would have been about her dying, her in pain, her not with her. She couldn't handle that. Sex was real and physical and progress. It was where they were headed. It was their future. Rachel needed to hold onto that.

She needed to ignore her wet cheeks.

"Sannie, please," Brittany said. "You need to calm."

"How can I, Britts?" She asked. Rachel barely heard the words from the blonde's chest. "She's, Dias Mia, she's-"

"I know," she replied. "But you need to calm down. Take a breath and focus on me. Focus on my heart. Focus on the beat. Stay with me. Sannie, please, with me."

"I can't control," she hiccupped and squeezed Brittany tighter. "I can't do it. You're asking too much, I-"

"Santana?" Rachel stepped over to them, close enough to where she was almost leaning on her, but she couldn't bring herself to step those last few inches. "What, are you-"

"She isn't going to make it," Brittany said. Rachel sucked a breath in, and Santana froze. "She isn't going to make it unless you do something."

"Mr. B's got this," she replied, and pressed her head harder against Brittany.

Blaine dropped another towel on the floor. The squishing sound was less evident. Rachel swallowed her breath and turned completely towards the couple.

"How long," Tina asked. "How long til they get here?"

"Twenty minutes, from the looks of the storm," Dad said. He stepped over to Rachel and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, trying to pull her away from the pair, but she froze as she listened to Santana mumble into Brittany.

"I don't even know how, it's not like I've practiced, even read it, Britts," Santana said. "What you're asking of me, what you want me to do-"

"I know, sweetie, I know," Brittany kissed her forehead and rested her head on hers. "I wouldn't ask if there was another way. But I also know if you can't."

Santana shook her head again, and leaned hard enough to push Brittany slightly.

Rachel finally gathered the strength to shake the numbness and ease towards them. "Santana?"

Brittany looked up with a sad smile. She had tried. Whatever it was, she had tried, but she wouldn't push her any more. Rachel could understand that. But Quinn was dying, bleeding out. Daddy was patching her up, covering her with bandages and rags, belts tied tightly around various limbs and spots to slow the bleed. But her shoulder, oh Barbara. So much was missing.

"Santana," Rachel repeated, and took another step towards her. She had to try. At the very least. Whatever Santana could do, if anything, would be more than watching. Then sitting back and- then nothing.

"Hobbs, I swear, I-"

She grazed her shoulder before sliding her hand down and wrapping it around her waist, pulling herself into the hug. Rachel rested her head on Santana's shoulder. "Whatever you can do, even if it just makes it easier for-"

"I could kill her," she said and breathed in heavily, wetly. "Me. It-"

"She's dying," Rachel replied. "She's dying right in front of us."

"Hobbs, I could kill her. It would-"

"I can't touch her," Rachel continued. "If I do, I'm afraid she'd fall apart under my hand, shatter. I can't touch her because if I do, I know it's real and I know she'd dying. Like stepping out onto a frozen lake. I'm waiting for the ice to break. I can hear its cracking under me. Santana, please, I can hear it."

Santana nodded against Brittany. "Will, will you be there?" She asked. "Both of you? I can't, it wouldn't work without you two."

"What is she rambling about?" Mercedes said. "Mr. Berry, shouldn't we-"

"Pumpkin," Dad said. "What are you talking about?'

"I can feel it," Rachel pulled her best friend forever. "I can feel it coursing through you, like it did in the art studio."

"It's raging to get out," Brittany added. "Just listen to my breathing. Just follow it. I'll take care of you. After this, after you save her, I'll be there."

"She's bleeding too much," Blaine said. "There's nothing I can do. We can do. I, I'm." Tina cried out, and Rachel pulled Santana tighter.

"Please." Rachel kissed the girl's shoulder. "Anything you want. Anything. Just save her. Save Quinn."

Santana slowly pulled herself out of the embrace. Her eyes glowed, like actually glowed, with a halo around them and everything. There was no pupils or irises, or even white portions of her eyes. Everything was this bright, vibrant verdant of power. Mana pulsed from her, rebounding in Rachel's chest with a solid thump that didn't move her at all.

"What the fuck?" Mercedes said. "The fuck's wrong with your eyes."

"Mr. B? I need a stretcher. Quinn needs a stretcher." Santana stepped further away from them, but not towards Quinn. She moved to the door, turning her back to the room entirely.

"Santana, if we try to move her, she will bleed out. It's barely slowed at all," Tina said. Blaine stepped back from her as she took over,

"And a plant. Something big, something strong and alive," she said, ignoring her. She turned around and stared at her Dad now, her head slightly tilted and never blinked. "It's gotta matter. It has to be important. Not like physical-importance, but emotional. Is there anything like that?"

"The oak outside Rachel's room," Dad replied. "We planted it when she was born. She's played, read, slept, relaxed, you name it, she's done it under it. Except with boys. Or girls I guess. It's pure, you know? Nothing sexual or anything and-"

"Dad!" Rachel said, stomping her foot. "Not now. Santana, will that work?"

"Yes, and thank you for the image, Mr. B 2," she said with no smile or laughter in her voice.

"Why, why would we need a tree?" Tina asked.

"The fuck you thinking about doing to my girl?" Mercedes screamed.

"I just need the bleeding to slow so she can survive getting outside," Santana continued.

"With what?" Mercedes replied. "What the hell is gonna stop the bleeding from a fucking hole in her shoulder? You tell me that? She's dying and-"

"Blaine?" Brittany asked. "Can you help?"

"Huh?" He had been staring at Quinn's shoulder, occasionally reaching out and tracing the air, but dropping his hand before he touched her.

"Is there something you could do?"

"I, I," he said, still looking at her. He raised his hand again, keeping it level with Quinn's shoulder and traced something through the air, moving rapidly.

"She's not human, completely," Brittany said. "You'll have to account for that."

"What? Oh, okay." Blaine looked up briefly before returning to whatever he was doing. Rachel stepped forward, but she froze before she could take another step. Her hands twisted around in themselves and she stepped back, standing still.

"Hold it," Mercedes said, reaching for Brittany's arm but only finding air. The blonde was standing next to Rachel, hand on her shoulder. "Just hold on. What is this about Quinn not being human? She's, she's, she's-"

"Anything else I need to know?" Blaine looked up, his fingers still dancing in the air as he pushed nothing back and forth at different levels.

"The overall average of all tigers in the world weight between four and five hundred pounds,"

Mercedes's jaw dropped slightly and she sputtered out words that Rachel didn't bother trying to listen. Blaine nodded once before bounding down the stairs, taking them three at a time. She stared at them, then where Blaine had disappeared to, before looking at her dads. "Mr. Berry, we can't-"

"I think," Daddy said, "it's time we trust them." He nodded at Dad, who grabbed Tina by the arm and dragged her away with him, away from Quinn, hopefully to get a stretcher like Santana asked. It was something. It would be anything. A chance to save her. "There's nothing else, we can do is there?" The diva said nothing, but crossed her arms and stepped in front of Santana, blocking her from Quinn.

The wind howled outside, scratching to get inside, and no one else moved. Santana and Mercedes stared at each, or rather, glared in the diva's case. She wasn't happy and Rachel couldn't blame her too much. At least her admittance to this whole mess was handled in a calm and collected manner that involved her being chased by a large tiger. But for everyone else, this would have to be a strange experience. She did not envy them. All she ddi was send silent prayers to whoever was listening to keep Quinn alive. Rachel kept her eyes on her chest, rising and falling rapidly, the towel shaking with each breath.

The lights flickered again by the time Blaine came back. Dad entered with a makeshift stretcher, two curtain rods with a blanket wrapped around them, Tina following him, frowning. In Blaine's hand was two small mason jars, one filled with blue and other green. Brittany stepped around Rachel again, avoided Mercedes's grasp entirely despite walking right by her, and took the vials.

"Half the blue, then the green, rest of blue," Blaine said. "It's the best I have on me."

Brittany nodded before looking down at the ex-Warbler then back at the vials. He smirked shyly and unscrewed the caps, then slowly pulled the soaked towel off of her. Mercedes moved around the counter and tried to pull her away, but once again, Brittany just slid to a different spot and she reached for nothing but air.

The blue ooze dripped from the jar and hisses of steam rose from Quinn. She didn't move. "Will it work?"

"For a human?" Blaine said. "Yes. But for her, since she's not-"

"Not completely, not completely human."

"Not completely human, I can't promise much. It'll hold for maybe a minute. At most two."

"I'm not going to stand here and let you kill my girl with your stupid backwater, pagan medicine," Mercedes shouted. She tried for Brittany again, going for her waist, but Barbara bless him, Dad stepped in front and slowly pushed her back without really touching her.

"She's dying," Dad said. "She's dying, and they're not getting here in time. The storm is worse. Can't you hear it?"

Rachel couldn't. She could barely hear the voices of everyone in the room. Everything sounded so distant. Except for the harsh and staccato breaths of her girlfriend.

"We can't just-"

"No one is coming," Brittany said. She stopped with half of the blue and poured the green substance, which acted more like a liquid now over the wound, then finished with the blue ooze. "The only ones who can help her now is us."

"Rachel?" Santana said. She turned and looked at her best friend forever. "When we go out there-"

"In this weather?" Mercedes asked, though Rachel didn't look over at her. She kept her eyes on the pulsing mana and life of Santana's.

"You're gonna anchor Quinn here, to you, okay?"

"How?" she asked.

"As you would whenever she was angry or sad: hold her hand," Santana replied, smiling. Rachel could do that. She could touch Quinn. She could hold her girlfriend's hand and keep her safe. Whatever it took. She'd offer up anything, everything, just for Quinn to open her eyes again. Her hands itched to reach out and grab it now. "Mr. B? Can you and Brit move her? Just slowly. Carefully."

"Blaine?" Brittany asked.

"Give it a few more seconds," he said, staring at the mess over Quinn's shoulder now. The substances twisted and curled together before the motion slowed down until it almost solidified. "You have a minute starting now."

"Then let's go," Daddy said. He took the stretcher from Dad and Tina and walked over to Brittany. She grabbed the other end, and between the two of them, with relative ease, they positioned the large blanket and rods next to the island. Dad and Blaine slid her off onto it, and the two carriers looked up at Santana. A swift nodded and she opened the door into the storm.

A swift breeze dug into her bones and Rachel wrapped herself up as Santana stepped into the night, into the snow and wind and ice. Everything was so harsh and cruel and she wanted to curl up in her bed, hid under all of her blankets, lights off and everything so far away. She wanted Quinn there. As Santana stepped outside, she didn't look behind for Daddy and Brittany, but the pair followed her as she walked away from the porch, both of them ignoring the freezing wind.

Rachel exhaled heavily, closed her eyes and took one step towards the cold. Than another. Then another. She walked slowly, each step hanging in the air for a brief moment before touching the ground again. IF she moved any faster, her nerve would have died and she'd have gone running far, far away.

Because whatever had hurt Quinn, oh Barbara, was still out there, in the frigid world that wanted to swallow them whole. It remained free, and it would hunt to hurt again. She stepped onto the porch, a few feet behind Brittany and Daddy. A hand rested on her shoulder and Rachel looked up to see Dad smiling down at her. "It'll be okay, sweetie. She'll be okay."

Rachel said nothing. She didn't smile or nod, or anything. She couldn't. Instead, she took another step on the path to her tree.

The oak had been one of the free things she treasured from her years in elementary and middle school, a place that wasn't tainted with taunts and cruelty. A place where she could sit and cry if she wanted to. So many tears watered that tree. So many starry nights had she sat under it, looking out into the open air for hers. The one that would guide her to a place where she would be loved. For someone else, someone besides her Daddy and Dad, to find her and befriend her. Someone else besides her posters and animals to talk to. Someone. Anyone.

Rachel gave up wishing freshmen year when everything went to hell. She had spent too much of her life wishing on someone else's star.

Now, in raging wind and biting cold, they struggled their way over to her tree, where Santana had already knelt down next to it, a hand pressing against the bark. Her eyes were closed, but she still felt that mana coursing around her, swirling in the storm. It was almost warm around her, but Rachel just hugged herself tighter as she followed Daddy and Brittany.

"Here, Leroy," Brittany said. "Just in front of Sannie, her shoulder right next to her." Daddy followed her directions, and with an ease she didn't think was possible, they pair lowered the stretcher down to the ground. "There we go. Thank you. You may go."

Daddy raised his hand and opened his mouth before shaking his head and stepping back. Rachel walked around him and knelt on the other side of Quinn. Brittany took her spot right behind Santana.

"Rachel?" Santana said. She swallowed and nodded. "I, I can't promise anything. I can't."

"Can you heal her?"

She shook her head. "I can transfer energy to her in order to speed up her own healing. In theory, that should take care of it. But her shoulder, I don't know, Rach. I'll do my best."

"But your," Rachel said, "magic, isn't it-"

"It doesn't work like that. A balance must be maintained. Matter cannot be created or destroyed. I must uphold that balance. All I can do, with all this energy, this power within me, is move mana, more the lifeforce."

"Then take mine," Rachel said. "Take whatever you need from me, just help her. Please."

Her best friend forever laughed and finally opened her eyes. Somewhere, behind the verdant light, were the tired and wet eyes of a seventeen year old girl. But all Rachel could see was this old matron who knew more than she ever should. "No, my caps would murder me if I did that. No, we're here for a reason." She pulled her hand away from the tree; the same verdant shade stretched from her finger tips to the bark. She twisted her hand around, stretching the lighted stuff, then twisted her hand into a fist rapidly, squeezing all of the light into nothing.

"I need you to anchor Quinn, keep her here as long as this thanks," Santana said. "I need you to remember what she looks like. Who she is. What she is. Can you do that? Can you keep Quinn in your mind and never waiver?"

Rachel nodded.

"Okay. Good. Brittany?"

"I'm here," she said. "I'm ready." Brittany slid up right behind Santana, one hand reached up and resting over her heart. The other moved down into her sweats and cupped her, almost pulling her up. She didn't make a sound. Instead, Santana opened her fist, releasing the green stuff into the air, and Rachel didn't feel as cold as she should have. She put one hand on the tree and the other onto Quinn's injured shoulder, into the wound. Barbara.

"Then we'll start. Rachel, take Quinn's hands and wrap them completely in yours. Good, now close your eyes and picture her. Remember her sounds, her image, her. Think of her. Hold Lucille Quinn Fabray, Tigress extraordinaire, Head Bitch in Charge, Miss Perfect, Love of your life, Your Mate. Hold her in your mind's eye. Gather your love. Your happiness. Your sadness. Gather everything she ever made you feel and squeeze it tightly. Very good. Keep squeezing. Keep squeezing, and hold it tightly. Whatever you, don't let go. Don't let of her hands. Don't let go of those thoughts and images. Hold them tightly. "

Santana sighed heavily and Rachel squeezed Quinn's frozen hands until hers hurt, until she felt the bone shift just a little bit. "And. Here. We. Go."

Rachel's world erupted into green and thoughts of Quinn. Everything else was nothing.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Santana tapped her head once, twice, then a third just to be sure, against the wall behind her. Her eyes constantly slid down, and her legs had given up on her an hour ago, traitors fuck. She hadn't even the energy to swear properly. Fuck, she was tired.

She sat on the carpet across from the bathroom, her knees pulled to her chest. No one was upstairs with her for the moment, or at least in the hallway with her. Brittany and Mr. B were downstairs, trying calm the fucktard diva and appease the Christian in her. But the bitch continued to want answers. Answers that none of them had. Only Quinn. She had answers, but she wanted to talk to Rachel first. So talk to Rachel she could.

After the ritual, Brittany caught her as she fell over and Mr. B was rounding the corner to reach Hobbs who was going to crash onto Quinn. But her caps woke up and caught her, pulling her into a tight hug. The blonde bitch reached over and dragged her into a hug as well, and Santana should have fought more because she was still fucking cold as hell. Whatever Rachel rambled on and on about Q being a fantastic heated blanket most days was wrong.

Q passed out holding them, and Mr. B had to carry her inside, but she wasn't bleeding any more. Santana made Brittany help Rach into the house, while Warbles came from inside and practically dragged her fine ass indoors.

Mr. B 2 had massive blankets for the four of them, and took Rach from Britts, forcing her into the living room, where a cocoon was waiting for her tiny diva. She did good. Real good. What they did shouldn't have worked, certainly not with a mundane as the anchor, but Dias Mia, did she do good. Hell, Santana wasn't even sure how it worked in the first place.

Her mami had been trying to teach all she could since Thanksgiving, trying to make sure she at least had an understanding about her powers, of mana, of how to spin a ritual like that. Santana hadn't lied when she said she couldn't use mana like that, she couldn't just heal someone. Every action had an equal and opposite reaction. She could move things: earth, plants, water. She could move them along, forcing them along paths of mana she created. But those were present already. Those she had something to work with. Healing? Creating fire? Or summoning, whatever the fuck that is? She couldn't even dream about doing.

With Q, the only thing she could do was steal the life force of something else and force it into her body. With Rachel anchoring the idea of Lucille Quinn Fabray, in term shaping said energy, Santana acted as she always and only could, a sieve which to guide the energy to its next location. She drained the tree dry, leaving only a completely white, petrified statue of a tree. No leaves would grow on it. The tall oak would never stretch and reach the sky as it should. Whenever she got home, she'd say a prayer of thanks for it, but right now, Santana was just happy Q was alive. Rach was alive. Britts, well, she was the same. All of that meant everything was okay, if only for a moment.

Q was still freezing, everything about her had almost this tiny hint of light blue and white, damn girl was so cold. She shook, not shivered the entire way, but she was aware at least. She was awake. She was alive. Dias Mia, she was alive.

Santana rested her head and swallowed deeply. She closed her eyes and tried to take slow even breaths, but every exhale was shaky. The mana within her was almost still, an empty and dead ocean with not breeze or current. Part of her felt off, but mostly it was nice for it not be spinning her head round.

The ritual had worked. They had repaired the various damaged parts the best they could. All it cost Q was her perfect skin. Not to say it wasn't still smooth without any flaws in it. But once the quintessential white girl picture was marred by a shoulder of an earthy tan, almost the same tone as her skin, same tone of bark. The entire wound was rebuilt and reformed using the mana of the tree, and Santana had done her best to move it in a manner that it was as close to human mana as possible. But some things she couldn't change. So Q was stuck with a fucking scar in the end. She couldn't save her completely. She couldn't make her what she was again.

"Santana?" Rachel said. Santana didn't move. She didn't hear the door open, which was strange since the upstairs public bathroom had this horrible creaking noise. "You've eben out here the entire time?'

"It's been what, ten? Fifteen minutes," Santana replied. "I'm good."

"Santana," Rach said. "It's been almost an hour."

"Oh." She wanted to look up. Her neck was sore as fuck, and pins and needles ran up and down her legs. She couldn't even feel her feet.

Rustling and a body pushed hers slightly, before settled really close, touching her entire side. Rachel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, resting her head on her shoulder. "Don't you dare," Santana said, offering the best growl she could.

"What?"

"You are not thanking me, you hear," Santana replied. "I, it didn't work out, and she, at least she's here."

"There aren't words to express, Santana," Hobbs said, "I don't even have a song. And do you know how difficult that is for me, to not have a song to express myself? I found one for almost every day freshmen year."

Santana slumped her shoulder and tried to move away. "No, you don't, I'm sorry. That wasn't nice of me. I, Santana, I'm so sorry."

"'S cool," Santana replied. She leaned her head away from Rach since she wouldn't let her go.

"No, it's not. I was just trying to show you how I have a song for everything. Everything. And I can't express what I'm feeling now."

"You okay?" Santana asked.

"Yes, you saved her." Rachel pulled her tighter, enough so Santana felt bare skin on her side. The sweatshirt she threw on much have ridden up. A second arm hugged her and nearly pulled her flush against the diva. "You saved Quinn. You saved me."

"Then, 's cool," Santana said.

Rachel just held her for a bit, and Santana kept shuffling about, trying to get comfortable. The floor wasn't as soft as she would like, and her ass had fallen asleep. "Quinn wants to talk to you."

Santana picked her head and looked around. The bathroom door was cracked open, and she could smell whatever fruity bubble bath Hobbs must have demanded that Quinn take. Whole she may be, her caps smelled awful when all was said and done.

"Do you," Rach asked, but just stood up slowly, hooking her hands in her armpits, pulling up.

"The fuck?" Santana tried to move, but she just let the diva do it. Not that she couldn't but girl had this incessant need to help everyone, especially her friends. At least she stopped squealing at the word. "Fine. But I can walk, mom."

"Good," Hobbs said, spinning her around to look at her. Brown eyes offered a very gentle gaze. She blushed and looked away quickly, trying to move towards the door. But her feet decided sleeping was more important and she nearly fell.

Rach caught her and helped her steady herself as the pins and needles dissolved along her legs and ass. A minute later she pushed her away. "Any longer and Q'd get jealous of you."

"Course," she replied, smiling brightly. A real smile, not one she remembered from freshmen and sophomore year. Thank goddess. "After all, you're the hotter one."

"Damn straight," Q said, and Santana smiled for the first time that night. She wanted to laugh, but it would be too soon. Not until her caps was up on her feet and moving again. Not until things approached normal.

Rach on the other frowned and stomped her foot. "You're not supposed to agree. You're supposed to say I'm hotter. I'm your girlfriend."

"Please," Santana said. "A hobbit like you versus me, Tauriel? Bitch please."

"Not Galadriel?" Rachel asked.

"Nope, that's cap."

Rachel tapped her chin and looked up thoughtful. "Fine."

"I'm glad you see it my way."

"Nope," Rachel popped the p, "I just lack the proper information to make an informed argument."

"Fuck," Santana replied. A powerpoint. Hobbs was gonna make her sit through a crazy powerpoint.

"San?" Quinn said. Whatever strength in her had flittered away into the storm around them, and that was before the ritual. Santana was exhausted, every muscle struggling to continue to move and each breath just a little bit harder because god-fucking-damn it, sleep was calling. She could barely keep her eyes open. And she cast the fucking ritual. Quinn had to suffer through it.

Healing is not a nice act. Movies and books and fucking video games make it seem like such a simple and gentle art that it's a blessing to be able to heal, to reverse time and make things right again, whole again. But fuck that. Reality is a fucking bitch and it made everyone else kiss its fucking ass before whipping them raw. And not in a fun way.

The ritual involves sending volts of almost infinitely expansive life through a body that was already suffering, possibly sending it into cardiac arrest or worst just from the electric properties of mana, let alone the actual work of the spell. Then once mana was within the target, it involved tearing the injury apart on almost molecular level to rebuild it piece by piece, but the fucking issue with that was it never did it right, so the mana constantly tore the body apart and rebuilt it. Hence the anchor. Hence having Hobbs hold Q together so her entire body didn't explode and cover them in goo. Besides killing their cap, it would have been a bitch to get out of her hair. And this was the fucking beginning.

Then, as mana rebuilt a person, it wasn't like they weren't aware, at least on some level. It was like those fucking things in math were a dot could approach something but never really get it, constantly getting closer and closer but never touching. For near-infinity. Yeah, that shit. That was what it felt like for Q. Being broken and rebuilt over and over again, faster than imaginable for longer than possible, Q suffered every little bit. And bitch was still awake afterward. So go her. Shit took some massive ovaries and bitch just proved why she was the strongest of them all.

Her and B talked about it once, how it wouldn't have really possible to do it on a mundane. Magic tended to remove a person from it, though kept the pain there as a very recent memory. But even a warden couldn't remain conscious afterwards. Q did. Fucking Lucille Quinn Fabray remained awake, aware, and responsive afterwards.

Brittany held her together, keeping her own current steady and flowing, connecting her body to two things that mattered most to her. Not sex, though that was awesome. No, her heart, her love, her life. Brittany S. Pierce was everything to her. She had just gained a girlfriend, a partner, and she'd be damn if she fucked it up enough to ruin it for them. There would be arguments, but come Hell and Heaven, no one, not even them, was tearing them apart. The second was something she never spoke about.

Santana's hands slide down her stomach as she wiped the sweat off her hands, pausing just below her belly-button for a breath. She shook her head and stepped towards the bathroom. A look back and Rach was smiling at her, shooing her in. Bitch.

Santana gave her shy smile; she opened the door just enough to slide in before closing it and looking it.

Quinn, otherworldly Quinn, had bags under eyes large enough to see even closed, bruises up and down her arms and on her chest, and her hair was a mess, soapy water dripping onto her shoulders, one pale and red, the other tan. An earthy and rich hue, but in a torn shape, with cracks reaching down her front and back. Her caps opened her eyes slowly and slide up in the tub until she was sitting straight up, not bother to hide herself in the bubbles (bitch seriously had a wonderful set of breasts and what the hell was that between her legs). She looked at her shoulder and smiled, then offered Santana a hand.

Her lip shook and her eyes were wet as she stepped closer to her. Santana's feet betrayed her as they approached the blonde. A step or two from the tub, she fell forward, catching the arm and herself so at least she wasn't a complete fool who smashed her head in a feelings-fit at seeing her friend alive and breathing and smiling. Q pulled her up and wrapped her in a hug. The water was cold, and soaking through her sweatshirt, but she pulled her tighter, resting her head on her good shoulder as the sobs shook them.

"Thank you," she whispered and kissed the side of her head. "Thank you." She cried out and squeezed her eyes shut harder, pulling her nearer to her, so she could feel her heartbeat.

It was her job to take care of them, to protect them. And she hadn't been able. But at least she saved her. Santana failed. But she was here, in her arms, holding her, when it should have been the other way.

Except her caps would protect her. Her caps took care of her. Q cupped the back of her head as she buried her face in her neck and cried, and cried, and cried.

Finally, once the blubbering mess that she was finished being a little bitch, Santana pulled back, laughing as she wiped her nose on the sweatshirt and sniffling heavily. "Sorry," she said, and turned away.

"Bout what?" Q replied. Santana nodded and smiled to herself, wiping her face dry the best she could. At least she wasn't wearing any makeup. Then Britts would ask questions about why she was crying and make her talk about her feelings instead of lady kisses tonight, well, morning. Fuck, soonish. She'd probably know anyways and make them do it anyways.

As she removed her soaked top, she heard the water splash. By the time she had her tank adjust so she wasn't popping out completely, Q had submerged herself until only her head was above the bubbles.

Santana cleaned up the mess Q had made best she could, all the suds and puddles around them, then sat next to the tub. She reached out through the bubbles and took her hand, intertwining their fingers. She couldn't speak and just waited as whatever thoughts were spinning through her caps' head settled enough for her to find the words. "I fucked up."

"I hope you gave as good as you got," Santana said, trying to give a smile. "Because fucking shit, you looked like burger meat." She drew circles on the back of her hand, watching as she tried to make each perfect.

"It was Jesse," Q replied. Santana stilled and looked up.

"The fuck-"

"Let me explain, please." She turned to her, staring at her with her piercing green eyes.

"This better be fucking good, Q, or I swear," Santana said. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms, squeezing herself as she glared at her cap. Bitch fucked up alright, and her story better be fucking good. Or she'd go fucking Lima Heights Adjacent on her sculpted ass.

Took less than thirty minutes to get the most detail about anything she'd get from Q, but Santana moved closer as she talked, and talked, and talked. For once, she didn't shut up. Kinda wished she did, especially since this was complete truth, not some story for them to enjoy and laugh about.

"A haven, Q? Really? The fuck is that shit you've gotten me fucking into," Santana nearly screamed at her, but she'd rather no one in the house hear the shouting match soon turned slapping match they'd get into. The shit that her caps got into.

"I know, I know."

"I mean, honestly, between you and me, we're barely inadequate, let alone anywhere near competent. How the fuck are we supposed to protect anyone? You do realize that's what you just fucking got us into to? Because, new flash, bitch, you got your ass handed to by Jesse fucking St. Jerkass." Santana squeezed her hand.

Quinn tapped some pattern on the back of hers. "It just came out. The tiger, he wanted to speak. He had to. I never felt like this before, that he needed to say. Hell, I did not know he could even do that."

She swung their hands back and forth. "And this gnome? You told to spread the word? Seriously, the fuck is that shit? To Brothers Bear and Sisters wolf? You fucking announcing yourself now? Announcing me? That we're gonna fucking play with the big boys now and all that fun shit?"

"It was word vomit, I swear, it just came out," Q said, running her nails along her knuckles.

"I told you Hobbs was gonna infect you with something."

"Oh Lord," Quinn sat up a little bit and leaned on her knees, pulled Santana's hand with her. "I am. I was rambling aggressively and I just went on and on, calling him so many things."

"Calling, or naming him?"

"Huh?"

"There's a difference, Q," Santana said. "A big one."

She stared at the bubbles, and Santana felt the waves as she pulled their hands under water. "I named him."

"What exactly. Please," Santana sat up on her knees and leaned on the edge of the tub, "I need your exact words. Hell, if you could repeat the tone, it'd help, but-"

What she spoke was not the voice of Q, not the voice of the HBIC, though the tone was remarkably similar to the angry one. It wasn't even the fucking ice queen, which Santana would have preferred. The voice and words came from something ancient. Something powerful. Something raging. And Q didn't shift at all. "I name thee Blight! I name thee Abomination! I name thee Cursed and Coward! I name thee Man."

Santana stared, for a bit, though apparently, long enough that Q had to push her mouth closed.

It started in her belly, and just grew and grew. She shook and had to pull away from Q. Her eyes watered and she could barely breathe. "It is not funny, San," she said, but Santana kept laughing, resting against the bathroom wall so she wouldn't fall over. "I sounded like an idiot."

"That is the most classic shit I've ever hear," Santana said. Quinn leaned over and slapped her shoulder.

"This is not funny," she said. "What does it mean?"

"That he's a Blight, an Abomination, Cursed and Coward, and the fucking world is gonna fucking know it. It almost makes up for the epic stupidity." Dias Mia, she needed that. Just the idea that St. Jerkass was gonna-

"San, please, I do not understand."

"Naming is important," She said through breaths, though the smile refused to leave. "Like, super important. That's why he did what he did to the gnome, even if no one else was gonna hear it. To Name someone like that, to Name him everything you did, to Name him what he named others, it'll define him. It isn't something you do easily, or regularly. It takes will and power, and more importantly, emotion. St. Fuckoff could only do one, but you, Q, named him four times. You defined him to himself. More importantly, it'll define him to others. That gnome will tell its caravan, who will tell everyone, and then so on and so on. Fucker's gonna be stuck with it for a long time."

Quinn sat back and shuffled under the bubbles again. She leaned her head against the edge of the tub and stared at the ceiling. "I wish I killed him," she muttered.

Santana crawled over to her side and rested her arm next to her, her chin on her arms. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Quinn," she said, and reached out to run her fingers through her hair, "you don't. Believe me you don't."

"Some part of me wanted to so badly," she replied. "To tear him arm and leave the carcass for everyone for see. To know I was there."

"But you couldn't."

"I did not. I, no matter what I felt or wanted, that thought refused to enter my mind," Q said.

"No, I mean literally you couldn't." Santana smirked and tilted her head. "You aren't a killer, Q. For all your anger and frustration, for all that fucking power you got, you aren't one. You are mean, hurtful, and downright cruel, but you would never kill."

"He deserves to die," Q replied. "He wanted, San what he said he was going to do."

"Sweetie, I know," Santana said. "When the time comes, I'll do it. I'll crush him for you. Keep your hands clean for your Hobbs."

"And you are a killer?"

She shrugged. "I protect you."

"Then, when you do something that stupid, I will hold you when you cry." Quinn looked over at her and smirked.

Santana laughed and splashed her, pulling away so Q couldn't respond. "You take that back. You take that back right now."

"Fine," Q said, her laughter ringing in the small bathroom, "I will tell no one that Santana Lopez is a big softie."

"Damn straight, you'd keep your trap shut." She sat back and crossed her arms.

"The pout is adorable, though."

"Shut it," Santana said. She tried to growl, but the sides of her lips kept curling upward and her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. "Probably should get out before you prune."

Quinn shrugged and settled back down. "When Rae brings me something to wear. I was not quite expecting this."

"It's okay," Santana said.

"I messed everything up, right? Things are going to be very difficult from here on out."

"Yes, but we're together. You're okay." She sat up slowly to her knees. "C'mon, Rach is probably freaking out about us in here and the peons are gonna want answers."

Quinn nodded and sat forward, unplugging the tug. She stood up as the water flowed away from her, flowed off of her, taking every last bubble with it. Fucking bitch. She raised an eyebrow and held out here hand, and just held it there.

"Bitch," Santana grabbed the towel and threw it at her.

"Go to Rae's room, and pass out there," she said, stepping out of the tub and drying off. "I will send Bri to you when I see her. Though she will most likely be in there waiting for you already."

"Q."

"This is not a request," she continued. "This is me taking care of you, as I should. I can estimate how taxing that ritual was on you given how exhausted I am." Q dropped the towel (bitch was bigger than Puck and that fucktard from Carmel and they would be talking about that later) and grabbed the clothing off the sink. Well, more like singular. It was a large, man's flannel shirt. On Q, it came down to her knees. She pulled her hair into a pony tail.

"I'm surprised you're standing," Santana replied.

"I am can assure you that the moment Rachel wishes to lie down with me, I will pass out. Maybe sooner. But until then, I can carry on." She smiled shyly. "Besides, Brittany will probably desire to speak on this situation, and of all of us, you are the one who is not required to attend said conversation."

"Except I'm the one who did the ritual," Santana replied. "I'm the one who healed you."

"Correct, but Brittany knows how you accomplished it. She will be able to tell your side, answer their questions if it truly comes to that. Come," Q said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You require rest, and I require my Rae."

"I really hate how you get all medieval and proper with your vocab when you get injured."

"Tis a gift," Q said, smiling wider this time.

She barked out a laugh as her caps led her out of the bathroom to Hobbs room. Things were truly fucked up with calling Lima a haven, and Santana had no idea how to fix it. But she didn't care about that. She didn't even care that St. Jerkass was still alive. Q was alive, her heart was still with her, and her best friend stuck around through it all. Everyone else could go fuck a goat for all it mattered. She had what she needed. They were happy and well, then so was she.

!-!-!-!-!

After she was sure that Santana was curled up with Rachel ridiculous amount of stuffed animals, Quinn walked slowly and awkwardly down the stairs, the voices already carrying up to her, even though they tried to be quiet and whisper. Mercedes was especially aggressive, though why, she could not determine. It was not as if she died or anything terribly important.

Rachel was quiet, while Misters Berry were attempting to make small talk. Kurt and Tina attempted to participate, and Blaine and Brittany were discussing something regarding ingredients and proper temperature. Despite her faith in the blondes' cooking ability, she had a tendency to ignore recipes and make some unique entrees. This had better not be one of those nights, especially with ingredients like lemon rind, eye of newt, toe of badger. Those had better be spices, or Santana was going to have to explain that not everyone had a cast iron stomach like her.

Outside, she could hear the sudden storm that had nearly consumed her, consumed them. Part of the reason she had decided to transform was the clear forecast. Not that the snow would have been too much of a hindrance, but she hated getting wet when she was a tiger. Well, more wet and cold. Her fur frozen and it tickled against her as she ran, possibly breaking a chunk off (she learned that the hard way at Rachel's grandfather's house).

No one noticed her as she padded into the kitchen, and Quinn was a little thankful for that small gift. It granted her a breath, before the excitement picked up and whirled around her. It was a single moment for her to adjust to the idea that the tiger and herself were not as separate as she thought. At least for the moment.

He was her and she him, but in truth, there was a distinction, and sometimes that distinction was small, like when she was sexually aggressive with Rae, or great, like when she acted on reflex with Jesse, speaking before thinking. It always existed though. She knew when she was tiger and when she was girl. She knew what line to cross in her acceptance to become either. But now, with Santana healing her in a way that only she really understood, maybe Brittany too, and could do, the line had become smudged and old. She could barely see it any more.

The tiger could not become angry. It could never get angry. That would mean losing her temper. That would mean losing control. That would mean him desiring her to accept him, and let him take care of the issue. Now, now, he was quiet. Nothingness quiet. She barely felt his presence. But the power, the idea, the essence of him. Everything that was the tiger was with her.

Quinn stepped in the kitchen and paused, a foot hovering and her balance perfect so she stood upright, despite a slight bit of weight in her crotch. Rachel was leaning over the counter, wearing a rather large Cheerio sweatshirt she stole from her a while back, covering everything except those long smooth legs she wanted to wrap around her body. They were in the air, kicking idly, and she watched the metronome in time with her heartbeat, slippers hanging on the edge of her toes, but never falling.

She cracked her knuckles, the sound echoing in her head, but it never reached anyone else. Quinn followed the velvety skin up her calf, over her knee, and to her thigh, pausing at the hem of the sweatshirt, which hid where the ass met thigh, and, oh Lord, she bared her teeth in a soft rumble as she could almost taste the-

"Quinn!" Rachel shouted, and her foot continued to the ground, where she caught an armful of diva. Rachel wrapped herself tightly around her, enough that she felt the pressure on her ribs, but unlike before, there was no movement, no cracking ribs, no loss of breath. "You're taller."

She blushed and looked away from her, but kept her in her arms. "Yes, I do not know for how long," she said. Rachel nodded against her sternum and did not let go. "Under normal circumstances, I would have lost these extra inches, but it seems I will remain with it for a bit."

"Either way, you're perfect for hugging," Rachel said, rubbing her chest and tickling her bare skin through the space between buttons.

"Thank you, I think." Well into their second month together, she still was not used to being at a loss for words. Words were her armor, her distance from everyone. But Rachel tore the steel to shreds and crossed the space in an instance, then refused to leave from her side. With the tiger quiet, it was her who wanted to run and stay at the same. A discerning thought, as she could no longer blame her mood swings on him.

"C'mon," Rachel pulled away, her hand drifting down to hers, and tugged her to the island, "Daddy's making vegan pancakes."

"Bacon? Please, is there bacon?" She kept her eyes on Rachel, though the silence tore through her and all eyes sat on her, waiting for something. "I am rather hungry, and-"

"Yes, your animalistic side desires sustenance as well, resulting in the death of those poor piggies." Rachel returned to her spot and pulled her flush against her back. She nestled in her arms and sighed, then kissed her hand before putting them on the counter, covering hers.

"Well, yes," Quinn said, "After all, I am a carnivore who accepts your need to feed me defenseless vegetables."

"Fear not, Quinn," Mr. Berry said at the stove, "no plants were harmed in the making of god's gift to the world."

"Even I can agree on that," Tina said. "Though, pork belly is so much better." While she had worn a great deal of Goth clothing in the past, the pastel green tee and black sleep pants were a bit brighter than Quinn would have expected.

"If cooked right," Blaine added. "Bacon doesn't need that." His white shirt and blue-black flannel pants were rather plain to what looked like silk suit his boyfriend had on.

Brittany had disappeared.

Mercedes stared, halfway between anger and confusion, at Quinn. She was standing the furthest away possible and still remaining in the kitchen, in the small circle of people. She felt it was best to continue as she had since the beginning of the year: Quinn ignored her.

Despite the kindness and generosity she received when she was pregnant, their relationship deteriorated through junior year, and certainly as senior year when on. Quinn would not stand for any cruelty towards Rachel, and the diva deserved her ire.

"Whatever is cleaner," Kurt said. "I am dirty enough from handling those bloody towels, mind you I had to forgo a shower to clean up, which I am seriously disappointed in, and would not want to further mess up my silk pajamas." Blaine kissed the side of his head and just smiled at his boyfriend.

"So vegan pancakes and bacon for everyone? Then bed, yes?" Mr. Berry said, his brown eyes glancing over the room. He looked a bit out of place in the vibrant, pink dress robe against his black skin with pink bunny slippers. Quinn stood only a few inches shorter than him now, but she still felt smaller under his gaze. She turned away before he could make eye contact with her.

The room settled into a silence, and she knew that the rest of them were looking at her, save Rachel, who kept shifting and cuddling her arms. Brittany was supposed to help with the conversation that everyone else wanted, now needed. Quinn was just the back up.

"I am sorry for disrupting your sleepover," Quinn said. "I had intended to remain away, but circumstances required assistance."

"I'll say," Blaine said. "Though that is possibly the biggest understating use of the word."

"What are you?" Mercedes asked.

"I am," Quinn tried to think of answer that did not completely expose her, expose the world she was growing into.

"Unique," Brittany said. She came up from the basement with Mr. Berry, extra paper plates and plastic silverware in his arms. He was at least more subdued with his attire, as usual, though the baby blue bunny slippers were a strange addition. He smiled at Quinn and walked over to them. "I believe that is the best word for the moment. Just as Sannie and Blaine are. Though I hadn't expected something as exciting as a special chemist like yourself."

He blushed and rubbed the back of his head. "Mom did it in her spare time, and I picked some here and there. Still working at my apprenticeship by correspondence, which isn't best, but yeah." Mr. Berry passed out the utensils, then plates to the group. Mercedes took hers and step back.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Kurt turned and glared at him.

"You never asked?" he replied.

"Enough about Blaine," Mercedes said, "I want to know what just happened. Why you came in all dying and then are walking less than two hours later. Why Santana had to take the three of you outside to do some heathen ritual."

Mr. Berry turned back from the stove, "I don't think-"

"No," she said. "We deserve the truth."

"You can't handle the truth," Brittany practically shouted, hopping in place and clapping once, her bare feet slapping the ground. Underneath her stolen hotel bathroom was probably just a small tank and extremely short shorts if past sleepovers were indicative of anything.

"We are so revoking your movie privileges." Quinn shook her head. Brittany stuck out her tongue at her.

"I watched you bleed all over this island," Mercedes continued, "and you are making jokes."

"What do you want me to say," Quinn answered.

"The truth."

"I believe Brittany has established, while in a copyright infringement method, the correct response to that statement." They could not. Maybe Blaine, since he was partially in the world, but if he was not aware of her or Santana's abilities, then he might have been as lost as her, stumbling in the dark and grasping at whatever she could. The tiger would have guided her, and she wished it could as well as it did yesterday. "There is too much that is dangerous, and I will-"

"Rachel knows," She pointed at the girl in her arms. Quinn could practically feel the Broadway smile on her face. "Is that just because she's your girlfriend? That earns her some special privileges?"

"Well, duh." Brittany stepped over to the other side of her and cupped her elbow. "She doesn't have sexy times with you. Like I don't share Santana anymore."

Quinn tried to hide her face in Rachel's hair, but her girlfriend had the audacity to grind her ass once against her. She felt the familiar twinge of something that should not be there, and it would be best to ignore it. Rachel must have felt it too; she froze briefly then relaxed again. At least, she did not grind against her again.

"That is not, Brittany, this is serious," Mercedes said.

"I know." Brittany shrugged her shoulders.

"I have a question," Tina said, raising her hand.

"We're not in class," Brittany answered, "so you don't need to do that, but go ahead."

"What happened to you Quinn?" She looked down and stepped a bit away from the island. "I mean, to cause you to need whatever Santana did to you."

"Witchcraft, call it what it is," Mercedes said.

"It isn't witchcraft," Brittany frowned. "Sannie isn't a witch, though she can be a bit of a-"

"I had a confrontation with someone who desired to harm some…one who did not deserve it. An innocent, if you will," Quinn tried to step back from Rachel, but she gripped her wrists and pulled her arms even tighter against her, resting them on the counter and she rested on them, pressing her breasts into them. "Despite eventually defeating him, I was injured far greater than I had expected, or at least, I did not expect the injuries to continue to be as extensive and pervasive as they were. I was lead to believe that they should have been lessened given some other events, but apparently, some other work was involved." Quinn looked over at Brittany in hopes that she would jump in, but she just had a dazed, far-off look in her eyes.

"Oh," Tina replied. She returned to the island. "But you're okay, now, right?"

"I believe so," She said.

"Of course," Rachel answered.

"That tells us nothing," Mercedes said. "You said nothing."

"I told you what happened," Quinn looked at her for the first time since talking to her. The gaze had transformed into nothing but anger and disgust.

"This is bull-"

"Language," Mr. Berry said, then turned to Quinn, smiling even brighter at her. "But you are okay, sweetie? Whatever Santana did won't have any lasting negative effects?" They were smiling at her? Did something change in the past week?

"I do not know," Quinn said. Brittany should have said something, but she was still lost in her world. "I do believe so but-"

"You're okay with this, this," Mercedes said, almost pointing at Quinn, but at least she kept her hands down. She felt a growl start in her chest, but Rachel kissed her hand and cuddled with her again.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Mr. Berry brought over a plate of pancakes for them. Quinn eyed them wearily, but grabbed a few for Rachel barehanded before she shoved a fork to be polite. The rest disappeared onto the remaining plates, save Mercedes.

"Because she's, she's," Mercedes stammered and turned to look out the window. The blizzard roared outside, and she could hear the trees twist and bend in the raging storm.

"Completely and perfectly normal," Mr. Berry added. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "Quinn has our complete trust." She turned and looked at him, her arms slacking on their hold and her eyebrows almost reaching her forehead.

It was not a lie. He spoke a complete truth. It was not a lie.

She stopped breathing. What had happened in the two weeks since Thanksgiving? There, he had told her that he did not thing she had deserved his trust, despite whatever she done since attempting to atone for her wrongs against their daughter. There, he revealed what he had believed, and it was just as true then as now. She had not changed. Rachel had not changed. No one had. Nothing had.

But he spoke the truth. He touched her, willingly. He had never done that before. Mr. Berry, Rachel's Daddy, had hugged her tightly and treated her like he did Rachel, but Mr. Berry, Rachel's Dad, was distant. Why, what had she done to deserve the trust? She placed herself in danger, and by extension Rachel, driven a massive wedge between Rachel and her grandparents, and now brought them into something they could not possible understand. Even she struggled to understand it.

"But what about, you know, before?" Mercedes glanced at Quinn before turning her entire attention to Hiram. He had a small smile directed at everyone else, his eyes focusing on everyone else, but never turning to her.

"That's in the past, Mercedes," Rachel said. "And it doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is that she's fine."

"But she's not," She shouted. "How can you say that? After what we just saw, some crazed witchcraft and-"

"Santana is not a witch," Brittany repeated. "I thought you understood. Do we need to go over it again?"

"Then what would you call what she just did? That is not natural. That is not God's work," Mercedes said. Quinn winced and tried to move further away, but Hiram's grip on her shoulder and Rachel's on her arms held her in place. "This is more like the-"

"Merc," Kurt said, "just drop it. Please." Yes, please, Mercedes, just drop whatever you're going to say. Quinn is alive, clearly, and we should just be thankful for that." Years ago, Quinn would have agreed to some point with Mercedes, though certainly not that it was witchcraft in any way.

"Why, why should I-"

"Because we are guests, and clearly this conversation is making Mr. B uncomfortable," Brittany said.

"If you are really uncomfortable around me, I could leave," Quinn said. Rachel squeezed her tighter.

"You are not running away this time," she said, shaking her head and rustling her ponytail against her shirt. "Not again."

"But-"

"Quinn, it's fine," Mr. Berry said. He let go of her shoulder and stepped to the other side of them, putting himself between Mercedes and his daughter. And Quinn. He was standing between someone else and Quinn.

She tried to push her nose through Rachel's hair into her head, but only succeeded in flattening her face.

"Why'd don't we eat, and we can continue this discussion in the morning?" Mr. Berry put the place plate at the island in front of Mercedes.

Quinn looked up and saw Mercedes never taking her eyes off of them, off of her, as she reached for the plate and pulled it away, then she leaned against the counter across from the island. Quinn could see no anger in her eyes. It was disgust or distrust, most likely both. The diva had becoming more and more opinionated, and while she agreed with the idea that Rachel should back off some, the talking down she received in Glee last month was meant to encourage her to try more, to work harder, instead it just solidified the idea that was more simply more talented than everyone else and did not have to.

Brittan spoke with Blaine and Kurt, drawing the fashionista into some strange conversation regarding Blaine's craft and his studies and how it can affect fabric. Tina, Rachel, and her dads tried to talk to Mercedes about some music, but eventually gave up as the diva choose to stare at Quinn. She felt like she was being eyed up, judged whether or not to be worthy or righteous. Her faith was such a strong part of her.

Quinn ate her bacon slowly off of her plate, which had to be separate from Rachel's vegan pancakes as by order to protect her vulnerable vegetables from the horrors of excellent meat. She tried to ignore the pair of eyes on her, instead simply rested on Rachel's bobbing head, smiling at the vibration of her excitement. But she could hear Mercedes' breath in time with the crashing winds against the house. She pulled Rachel closer, flattening herself against her back, pressing her penis into her.

There was no reason for her to possess it. Every other time she had grown the appendage, she had been close to the tiger, extremely close, enough that the distinction was small and she was going to accept fully, just a hint away. Usually that involved ears, a tail, and some fur and her markings. And a penis.

But the tiger was close without actually being there. She felt his essence as though it were in a field across from her, instead of right next to her. The strength, the power, the presence, including his male-ness, was with her now.

She was okay with it. It felt comfortable. Right.

"Quinn?" Rae said.

"Hmm?"

"We're gonna crash downstairs." She spun in her arms, wrapping hers around her neck. Quinn pulled away enough to rest her forehead on hers. Everyone else had left, Hiram and Leroy had returned to their bedroom, and there were four down stairs, talking under the television's program. Brittany must have gone upstairs to see Santana.

"You're gonna go sleep with Sannie," Brittany said from their side. Or not. Damn ninja.

"Huh?"

"You fell asleep standing up," she continued. "On Rach of all people. She struggled to keep you up towards the end."

"I'zorry," Quinn said, her eyes already closing again. "WhazbouRacel? Andzou?"

"Brittany and I will be downstairs, and we'll take care of any questions," Rachel said. She pushed up slowly, until her nose was against Quinn's, and nuzzled her. "Handle the issues with Mercedes."

"I'zorry," Quinn repeated.

"Never," Brittany said. "Never be sorry for being alive, and trusting us to make sure you stay that way."

"Kay."

"Can you make it up the stairs? Or do I need to get Mr. B?"

"I'll handle it," Mr. Berry said. Quinn must have been really exhausted if she could not hear two people approach her without hearing them. Smelling them.

"You sure, Dad?" Rachel asked.

"Course." Rachel set herself on the ground, taking Quinn with her, until she was leaning on her again. A hand touched her gently on the shoulder before she could relax any more onto her. "Sweetie, you've got about twenty pounds more than what you normally weigh, I bet, so you're kinda squishing her."

"I'zorry," Quinn stepped back a bit, swaying. She cracked her neck and opened her eyes, expecting to see Rachel in pain, but only her smile, genuine and full, was on her face.

"You and Santana sleep as late as you want," Rachel said. "Don't worry bout tomorrow, we'll take care of it."

"I ta'care ofzou."

"And tonight, that's my job." She looked over her shoulder and frowned at her dad. "Make sure she sleeps under the covers, please. She's still cold."

Any other time, she would have laughed. But Brittany cut in. "Put her right next to Sannie. Make them cuddle." No one argued with Brittany. Ever. Not anymore at.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Rachel kissed her nose and pushed her away into the Mr. Berry's hands. She tried to step away, but he held her shoulders and spun her around, quickly, away from her girlfriend and guided her out of the kitchen. Rachel's laughter followed them as they headed upstairs, then two sets of feet moved down behind a closed door into nothingness. Leaving only three heartbeats besides her own, one in a room ten yards away, one downstairs, and one beating rapidly besides her. They reached the stairs and he threw an arm around her shoulders, holding her steady.

Quinn wasn't that heavy. While she knew that she was denser than before, she also know that Mr. Berry was more than capable of supporting some of her weight. He carried Rachel up one night over summer when his taller husband was already passed out, a time before they were allowed to stay over. "I am sorry." She stood up away from him, but he kept his arm around her shoulders.

"I think the girls made it clear that you are not at fault here," he replied. She nodded, and they took the stairs slow.

"I was wrong," he said.

Quinn took another step.

"I was wrong to question, well, you," he said. "That I should trust you."

"Trust requires time to be built."

"We have trusted you with Rachel, and more importantly, you trust Rachel, you trust us. And I think we've abused that a bit."

"That does not make sense," Quinn said. She was halfway up now and supporting her own weight entirely, though didn't pull away from him.

Mr. Berry laughed. "I know. I know it doesn't. Rachel kinda read us the riot act after you left last Saturday."

"I am sorry, Mr. Berry," she said. He flinched.

"Yeah, Star was saying you had returned to calling me that."

"It is only respectful."

"From anyone else, I'd think you'd be lying, but manners are your armor, one of many."

Quinn said nothing. He returned to the previous topic, though avoided looking at her.

"Don't be," Mr. Berry said. "We should have stood up for you, I should have. I am a bit, well, Rachel called me a pushover, when it comes to Leroy's Mom." Quinn nodded and stepped over the last one, only to pause at the top when Mr. Berry did. "I've been so thankful for her taking me in, accepting me, that part of me-" He trailed off. "She welcomed me into her house, and honestly it was nice to have a family who wanted me there."

Quinn looked down the hallway and tried to see if Rachel's door was open.

"Right, sorry. I forgot just how vindictive Kathy can be sometimes, mainly because it was never directed at me. Brianna's husband, Remy, he earned her ire. They didn't showed up for anything entire time, or just Brianna would, and she was rather unhappy her husband was not really welcomed. Things are still a bit awkward between the two. Serafine repaired some of the distance, but not really. She holds a grudge."

Quinn looked back to Mr. Berry and cocked her head, standing almost perfectly still. She forgot to blink for a moment watching him. But he never turned away from her stare. She was not angry. These were things that were truths and did not concern her. She had accepted them.

"Going there, Kathy had reminded me a great deal of your history with my daughter. Certainly the negative parts."

"Mr. Berry, if this is meant to be some warning me off, I would greatly appreciate some sleep before I am required to leave, so-"

"No, I think the opposite. In my haste to make Kathy happy, I sided with her, and I forgot everything that you have done for Rachel. I forgot that you made her happy."

"I have hurt her."

"Yes, but you also helped heal her," he replied. He reached out, but Quinn stepped back from him. She was awake and aware enough to not want to get into a situation where she would run again, not with feeling as tired as she was. Not with Rachel and Brittany expecting her to cuddle with Santana. "You asked me if I forgave you and I didn't give you an answer."

"A non-answer is an answer, Mr. Berry," Quinn said.

"It is nothing except you reading into something I hadn't an answer for, a real one." Mr. Berry took another step towards her, and she backed up one, then two, until she was pressing against the wall. She wanted to lash out and swipe at him, push him away. But that would make Rachel unhappy. "I'm sorry."

"You spoke the truth."

"At the time, I had no answer for you."

"You do not forgive me, I have-"

"Quinn," Mr. Berry said. He raised his hands slowly. She flicked her eyes at them and his face, watching him and waiting for whatever was coming. "I couldn't give you an answer because I realized that, despite all that you've done to my Star, you are one of the biggest forces in her life. You are one of the greatest reasons for her to escape this town. At first it was to show you up, prove to you of all people, how amazing she really. I don't think that has really changed. She still wants to live up to your praise, to prove her worth to you."

"She never has to do that, Mr. Berry. She is without value, without compare. I-"

"Then, Quinn, then," he said. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she straightened, pressing herself as flat as she could against the wall. The smile was not comforting, despite whatever he intended it to be. "Then, it was to prove she was better than you. That her talent was more than your beauty could ever be, that she is more than you were. That she is greater than you ever would be."

"She is," she said softly, finally dropping her gaze and stared at the baby blue bunny slippers.

"We did our best with our daughter, but she was prideful, arrogant and selfish. Star wasn't always that way, but middle school and the start of high school brought it out of her. Her talent grew and so did the diva. She was the star and that was the most important thing to her and therefore to the world. More important than anything that everyone else thought, cared about. But, she didn't deserve the bullying."

"No, sir."

"She didn't deserve the isolation and the loneliness. Nothing she ever did, no matter what you may have thought of her. She didn't deserve that."

"I know," Quinn said. She kept her hands to her side as her cheeks felt wet very slightly. One deep inhale, and whatever water was pooled within her eyes was gone and only her frozen expression remained. Or at least, it would have, if Mr. Berry didn't squeeze her shoulders, offering the saddest smile she'd seen from him.

"And neither did you."

Quinn shook her head and tried to pull it all back in. Another shoulder squeeze and he was a bit closer.

"You didn't deserve the over-bearing, strict, emotionally distant and probably abusive father you had. You didn't deserve the alcoholic mother and the absentee parenting. You didn't deserve the bullying of Lucy, who Rachel assured me was an absolutely adorable middle schooler. You didn't deserve being kicked out of your house, then kicked out of your boyfriend's, because a mistake was made."

"Beth will never be a mistake." She took a deep breath and reached up to wipe a tear away. Maybe with them off of her, she could steel herself. Rachel had broken through too much and she barely held her walls up, her armor, her shell. It was the only thing holding her together these days.

"Of course not. You didn't deserve what Kathy did to you, the humiliation and degradation. And you don't deserve the distance I caused between you and us. Quinn, you didn't deserve everything that has happened to you. Rachel showed me that. I can't excuse your actions, no one can, but I can forgive you. I just hope you can for me."

"Huh?" he spoke the truth. He had not lied.

"I can forgive you, because you made, no make, Rachel happy. You've brought back our little girl who laughs and smiles and just enjoys the world, not so focused on winning and talent. She has relaxed so much since you've entered her life, properly, not as you were freshmen year. Not antagonist and competing, but together, smiling."

"I, Mr. Berry," Quinn said. His slippers were really adorable, and maybe Rachel would like some for Hannukah. Or something like it. Maybe something with stars and faux-fur.

"Quinn, can you forgive me? What will it take for you to call me Hiram again?" She looked up slowly. He gave her a sad smile. "To call my husband Leroy again? What will it take to erase that night?"

"Huh?" She stopped trying to dry her face, though blinking barely removed anyone of the water out of her eyes.

"I know I hurt you that night," he said. "I hurt you probably worse than Kathy did, because you thought you had done right by us, by me, by Rachel. You knew me, were close to me, in a way. You thought everything had moved on, even if we never forgot, we moved past it, and I led you to believe elsewise. I lied to you that night. I'm sorry."

"I, Mr. Berry, I do not, what-" She shook her head and tried to push his hands off of her. Not very hard, because he just moved with them and gently pushed her back against the wall as she tried to step away.

"I don't need an answer, not now, not soon," he replied. Quinn turned to look at the plant to her left, trying to hold her shoulder in front of her face. "Just, please, think of it. And don't do it for Rachel. Do it because you feel that you deserve it again. Not because I want you to, though I do. I want you to forgive me when you can, when you're ready. Until then, we're here. If you need us. Heaven forbid you and Star break up, we'll still be here."

Mr. Berry slid back, dropping his hands from her shoulders. Quinn nodded once before stepping through the few inches between him and the table and crossing the distance to Rachel's room. She opened and closed the door before leaning back into it.

She rested as still as possible, barely moving her shoulders and pressing a fist into her mouth, biting her knuckles. She barely listened to the room, to the shuffling of the feet as Mr. Berry walked away, back to his husband, to the sharp words exchanged in the basement under the television. She barely smelled sleeping Latina underneath the scent of Rachel. She barely felt touch on her arms as she tried to calm down, tried to ignore the wetness she felt on her face.

"Dias Mia," Santana said. "You even fucking cry pretty. This is not fucking fair, Q. Seriously."

Quinn chuckled, but it was cut in another silent, still sob.

"C'mon," she gripped her hand and pulled her toward the bed. "You can tell Auntie Snix tomorrow what's got the big bad tiger so sad. I'll kick their ass and you can watch and smile. Oh, and you get to be little spoon because I am not waking up with that in my back."

Quinn laughed a bit harder, and fought another sob dead. She let herself be moved and positioned as Santana forced her to lie down and curl into her front when she joined her.

"One day, we'll get you feeling and acting like a real human," she whispered into her hair. Quinn nodded and just pulled Santana closer. It was not Rachel, but it would do. For the moment. "Until then, I guess I'll just have to beat up whoever made you cry, because that's nearly as bad making the hobbs cry. Actual cry, not those fake tears she likes to use."

Quinn nodded.

"Mr. B 2 is right though," Santana said.

Quinn tried to speak, but it dissolved into another shake and wet cheeks.

"Both about that Rach didn't deserve the hell we put her through. We both know that shit. But you? That shit your sperm donor pulled with you? That's not cool. Not at all."

She shrugged.

"No, you get to feel this for once." Santana bit her shoulder and pulled back before she could retaliate against the Latina. "The shit the school did, that I did? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with us?"

She shrugged again, and tried to relax into the bed. There were some nights that she had spent sleeping in this, but it was different with Santana in the bed, certainly without Brittany. In one cheer camp, Sue decided that their survival skills were not up to standard so they were dropped into the Canadian Wilderness and ordered to make their way to a basecamp in Alaska.

"So what else he say?"

"You were eaves dropping," Quinn said, "So you tell me."

"Pshh," Santana blew against her neck and shuffled behind her. "I'd rather you tell me. This is supposed to be about you, though, let's be honest, it'd be better if it were about me."

"Everything is better when it's about you."

"Damn straight. Now talk."

"Can we please do this tomorrow?"

"Not if you want to have this convo with Rach, or worse, B," Santana said. Quinn spun in her grip and she slid her hips away from her. "Seriously, keep that away from me. It's unnatural."

"It is perfectly normal for me."

"I meant the size, bitch." She stared at the space between them, though it was covered by the thermal sheets and a quilted blanket. The rest had been discarded, though Quinn felt a few of the animals still rest on top of the pillows above her head. "Fuck, you're gonna break Rach. B and I got some toys and stuff, might be a bit bigger, but jeez. How the fuck is that gonna fit in a tiny girl like."

Quinn shrugged. "Lack of gag reflex?" Santana looked back up, a giant smirk on her face. "I should not have said it?" She shook her head. "Please just do not embarrass her too much. I would like to have Christmas Eve dinner with her and my family and her family. And you are not that much bigger than Rachel."

"I has experience and practice, and I know how to stretch."

"Oh."

"Am I going to have to have the safe lesbian sex talk with you?" Quinn turned to her stomach and shook her head. "Cause that shit ain't kosher, and you can talk to Brit about it."

"Is it lesbian if I have this?'

"Yes." Quinn pushed up and stared at her. "You're a chick, right? And Rach is. Both of you are crazy, and attracted to each other, who is a chick. Therefore, lesbian. Be tee dubs, great distractor, still doesn't get you out of answering my question."

Quinn lied flat again and groaned into the pillow. "I do not want to talk about it."

"Me or Britt. Decide now."

"Will you behave for ten minutes?"

"Maybe, spill."

Quinn nodded, but said nothing. The tears had dried a while ago, and while the dark was enough to keep her face hidden, she did not want to actively face Santana. "He asked if I could trust them again. If I could forgive him for what he did on Thanksgiving."

"Do you?"

Quinn shrugged.

"Can you?"

Another shrug.

"Do you want to? And words would be awesome. I know you have them. Miss- I have to constantly have to show off in Lit despite being a fucking Punk-bitch."

"I do not know," Quinn said.

"It was a lot to handle, huh? Him telling you that you had a fucked up childhood, which isn't news, and then apologizing. Like, someone actually apologizing to you. Fuck, when has that happened?"

"Puck, at the beginning of October, he and I had a conversation." Santana did not need to know more, like how she through a tire at him.

"Oh," Santana said.

"You never had to," Quinn replied. "You or Bri, you two and Rae never have to. I just need you here, and that's enough."

"Kay, cause, Snix don't do apologies."

"Sure softie."

"Fuck you," Santana said and rolled so she was facing the other wall. "For that you don't get a big-spoon."

"Well, I am under orders to cuddle with you from your girlfriend, so if you will not then-" Santana flipped over and pulled Quinn's back flush with her chest.

"Now go the fuck to sleep."

"I have read that one."

"I know. Then, do as it says and go the fuck to sleep."

Quinn stilled herself as much as possible, letting Santana get the sleep she needed, sleep that Quinn needed, too, but she doubted it would come, not after that conversation. Instead she counted the stars before her eyes and let her breathe even out. Exhaustion carried her to unconsciousness with only the sounds of a dreaming warden and a thundering blizzard to comfort her.