Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters, nor do I own any of the songs mentioned in the chapter.

A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry I've been so long, but where I live, it's fast season for me. I have music performances galore coming up (thanks to the three bands I'm in) along with the mountain of work that's been piling up. So I've come to the conclusion that I'm only going to be able to work on one story at a time. To cast your vote, go to my profile and vote on the poll—Make sure you read the other stories as well. I'm not even sure I'll be able to update once a week, because I've been so busy the past few days. Happy birthday to my Mom, who is wonderful in every way. Thanks to Musicfutbolfan6, annalovs2smile, writing is love, tangle of emptiness, Gleeek, Achelette, bathoeb, ScorpioP, Chilipeppers1980, thetamarine, aquarius127, killforlies, gleefulness, ms-rappy-sleeper, RVFlordia, Willowfan, Cate53, suspenceme, grangergirl22, razberry1, spizle, k-la 15, fussyviolet, KW05, Sannie, Queen Nan, Music and Reading Lover, nickd93, Raving through life, Buffy-Obsessed, PennyLane93, ch3lsk0, erw-fan, hotmesh, Smayz, smartblonde317, daewoo1992, I-Heart-Quinn-Fabray, celebritygrl09, , RandomOtakuFromTumblr, garotaentediada, Princesakarlita411, SDM56, BleachedBlondeDork, MissMassacre99, Bleach-Glee-Lover, breaking on the inside, broadwaybound2016, slamdimekicks, Myriddin, , eternallymontyp, AbstractRainbow, wake06, physcob2002, amazinglife18, Erise, JDH714, babygirlicetee, MsChloeMa, and checkersismygame21 for their amazing support. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please leave a review so I know this story isn't dead. (Question: Should I get a tumblr…? Hmmm…)

Chapter 6: Crimson Shadows

Rachel had never thought it was possible to go over the subjunctive tense more than a dozen times within a class period. Once again, however, it seemed that Rachel's assumptions were proven utterly inaccurate.

For the fifth time that week alone.

Mr. Schue was ineffective and unqualified as a Spanish teacher. He focused the first twenty minutes of class on lecturing, then gradually drew away from the topic at hand (subjunctive) to talk about what fabulous ideas he'd amassed for Glee club.

And even then, the ideas that Mr. Schue came up with weren't… 'fabulous.'

He had a fondness for Journey songs. Already he'd put together several Journey Medleys, each more disjointed than the next, with poor dance routines (if circling a piano multiple times or having random dance parties could be considered forms of choreography—really bad choreography).

What scared Rachel the most was the fact that New Directions had already used a Journey Medley last year at Regionals and not even scored a single blip on the judges' radar.

If the Glee club wanted even a single shot at survival this year, they needed something better. Something with a little bit more of an edge. And as much as Rachel loved Journey (Chamber Singers had a tradition of singing 'Don't Stop Believing' before going on stage), she knew it wouldn't be enough to gain a fighting chance at Regionals.

Rachel borrowed a DVD of the Regionals performance and studied it exhaustively. Watched each person as they moved across the stage, right down to each execution of the assigned choreography (Tina handed over both the stage plans and the DVD after Rachel asked during a particularly dry Spanish lesson), jotting down notes in her English notebook.

Besides singing and dancing, the only thing that had carried over into Rachel's life in San Diego, one of the few pieces left of her shattered twelve year old self that had remained intact, was her obsessive compulsive needed to find flaws within her personal performances and right them.

Maria teased her for being 'so fucking anal' about choir performances. She often placed her iPhone within the pocket of her shirt, set it to record, and played back the song several times to find everyone single fail in enunciation or fall in pitch (the phone tended to pick up Maria's voice—the two friends were located right next to each other in the setup—which often led to heavy bickering about Maria's performance and the eventual voice lesson that would accompany said argument).

But Rachel's stubbornness regarding vocal perfection paid off over the years. She grew to become one of the Chamber Singers' strongest singers ('you are the strongest fucking singer, smurf,' Maria snorted on several occasions), possessing perfect pitch and an unfaltering, powerful voice.

New Directions definitely had some incredibly powerful assets. Brittany S. Pierce, the ditzy (she'd commented on more than one occasion that Rachel was a kickass midget, dwarf, elf, etc.) blonde that had helped Tina the first day of school was spot on in choreography. In fact, she seemed to be a bit bored by the simple footwork, simply staring at the ceiling absentmindedly as she moved in tandem with the sweat-drenched figures of her teammates. Pair her with Mike Chang (Rachel had been pleasantly surprised to see the same flawless technique in the footballer's lanky figure) for a number, and the judges could be seriously blown away.

Mercedes Jones, the girl who had so disrespectfully addressed Rachel on her first day in Glee Club, turned out to be quite the vocal powerhouse. Even in the background vocals, one could distinctly make out the soulful, powerful edge of her voice. Her dancing left a bit to be desired, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be rectified with the proper amount of practice.

Santana Lopez, though she drove Rachel up the wall daily with her snappy remarks regarding Rachel's petite stature (Rachel was sure to respond with an equally bright smile and a good 'fuck you, Lopez' each morning), possessed a smoky voice that could send a series of pleasant chills up your spine. Her dancing was above average, thanks to Cheerios no doubt, and the girl possessed a sort of sass in her voice that could undoubtedly add an edge of originality to any song she sang.

Tina possessed a sweet, genuinely smile-inducing sort of voice. Her vocals never failed to make Rachel smile (she'd heard her companion sing during Spanish many a time over the past few weeks). With the right amount of vocal training, Tina could be a solid female lead.

Like Quinn.

Rachel bit the end of her pencil, leaning against the table contemplatively.

Quinn Fabray wasn't the Glee Club's strongest singer by any means. In fact, Rachel noted during Quinn's performance of 'I Think I Love You' (which elicited shock from a majority of the Glee Club, much to Rachel's confusion), that the Cheerio's vocals were extremely delicate.

But Quinn's voice had its own merits. It was sweet and smoky, perfect for old-fashioned rock or modern pop (so long as the musicians backing the Club didn't overpower her). She was occasionally sharp (much to Rachel's utter dismay), but otherwise a perfectly amazing singer.

And although Quinn didn't have the most vocal prowess of the Glee girls, she certainly had enough intensity to bring the club under control.

She was able to get a rebellious Santana to follow orders (which astounded Rachel, since Santana always seemed to be an 'I'll-fucking-kill-you-if-you-try-to-tell-me-what-to-do' personality) without question. Her directions were clear and concise. She was never unkind to anyone in New Directions, nor did she show any favoritism when Club was in session (though she did hang out ritually with Brittany and Santana outside Glee).

Quinn was a role model: beautiful, talented, and mutually respected by all the sane (Rachel didn't count the Jocks or the rest of the cheerleaders as part of the equation) individuals in the school. In fact, Rachel could readily admit that Quinn Fabray was the perfect, all-American, wholesome teenage girl. Of course, she had a few dents and dings on her record (the pregnancy and her lie to Finn being the most prominently ones) but it seemed the Cheerleader had been all the better for them.

Rachel sighed as she felt the now familiar, nostalgic tingle slowly spread up the course of her spine, chewing idly on her eraser as she stared up at the ugly, gray tiled ceiling.

Quinn Fabray always seemed to have an eye on her. Granted, as of late, the staring had dwindled into nonexistence. Ever since that first uncomfortable week, Quinn had relegated herself to only a few, quick glances at the petite brunette.

But Rachel could feel those hazel eyes when Quinn did look at her. She knew what they looked like, what sort of molten gold hue they seemed to take on whenever she sang, the soft green that flooded the one-of-a-kind irises whenever Rachel cast a look in her direction.

Rachel knew what it was like to have Quinn look at her. She'd learned it after three days of constant attention: in the choir room, in Spanish, during passing period, and even while she tried to eat lunch in peace. It unsettled Rachel, who was trying rather hard to ignore the fixation (her mind constantly echoed Maria's ridiculous theory of Quinn 'wanting in your gold-star panties'—as the redhead had chirruped disgustingly over the phone with that smug smile wrought across her features) by distracting herself with the people about her.

She'd asked Quinn what she wanted once during a Glee Class about a week or so ago. The cheerleader had smoothly said that 'she was lost in thought' before crossing her arms and staring at the single word Mr. Schue had written on the board with rapt attention.

"Rachel!"

Brown eyes snapped up to the board to a frowning Mr. Schue as he tapped his sharpie against his desk impatiently.

"Yes Mr. Schue?" the girl answered respectfully, nonplussed.

"Conjugate comer in the subjunctive," the teacher tapped the verb on the board as Rachel sighed.

Oh yes. The subjunctive.

"Present subjunctive?" the singer asked dryly, though she knew perfectly well which form he wanted. So much for this being a Spanish III class. "Imperfect subjunctive?"

"Present, Rachel," the teacher's frown deepened. "Weren't you paying attention?"

"Comer, to eat. Coma, comas, coma, comamos—Would you like the vosotros form as well?"

"Ye-."

"Comáis, and coman, Señor," the girl finished, before casting an annoyed glance at a highly amused Tina, scowling grouchily.

"…That's…" Mr. Schue looked bewildered, much to Rachel's chagrin (how hard could it be to conjugate a simple verb?). "Correct."

The guitarist rolled her eyes, eliciting a stifled giggle from her Gothic companion. Spanish class converted her into a pessimist. It seemed that in order to get an A all you had to do was show up. A sore disappointment, because Rachel loved foreign language more than any other subject in school (excluding Chamber Singers, of course).

Señor Cortez would roll over in his car (there was a running gag that Cortez was a little too fond of his cigars—he spent the entirely of lunch sitting out in the car with the French teacher, smoking fancy, imported smokes from Madrid) if he saw the atrocities committed in Mr. Schue's class.

"Okay, since you all seem to have a handle on the present," Mr. Schue erased the board, before smiling and writing 'the imperfect' in several messy strokes of the Expo marker. "Now we can go to the imperfect!"

A chorus of groans sounded through the entire classroom (Rachel stifled a laugh). Mr. Schue assumed the popular 'guys, I am so disappointed' in you stance: hands at his hips and a scowl on his face, as he observed the mass dissatisfaction.

"Oh, come on guys, it's not that bad!" Mr. Schue tapped the green ink. "Just add an-."

"Mr. Schue, no disrespect or anything," one nerd said, straightening his tie. "But we're a little… tired of the subjunctive. Could we learn another tense, perhaps?"

"While I appreciate the enthusiasm, Melvin," Schue smiled (Rachel kind of wanted to punch him in the face—couldn't he see everyone knew subjunctive in their sleep?), "I have to stick to the standards. This is what the district wants."

"But… since we're already ahead in the lesson," Schue put a finger to his chin. "How about we take a little breather? Get to know each other a little bit?"

"Get to know each other….?" Tina murmured, brow furrowing. "Mr. Schue, school's been in session for five weeks, I think I kn-."

"The person next to you extremely well," the teacher interjected with a large smile. "But not all of you know the person across the room. The person who sits behind you, maybe the person who sits diagonally from you."

Mr. Schue traipsed over to his desk, fumbling with the keys (how he did when there was only two of the little suckers on the chain, Rachel didn't know) hanging around his neck before opening the drawer and drawing out some rather yellowed pages.

"Pair up," Rachel's eyes automatically fluttered over to a nodding Tina, "with someone who doesn't sit next to you or immediately in front or behind you. Go through the sheet, write the answers down."

"Shit," Rachel cursed as she watched an apologetic Tina be snatched up by Mike Chang. There went her security blanket. The only person she really got along well with in her entire Spanish class (and probably the rest of McKinley High) taken.

Out of the corner of her eye, Finn's lumbering shape grew larger by the minute. 'Another reason why I keep Tina near me at all fucking times,' she thought miserably to herself.

Rachel had nothing against Finn. In fact, she found him to be quite nice, despite the fact that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. But the 'little' crush that Rachel sensed the lumbering Jock possessed for her had since worsened.

Each morning, he tried, without fail, to walk Rachel to Spanish, big, dopey smile spreading across his equally dim features. Tina quickly learned that it was prudent to locate Rachel in the morning (the guitarist had spoken on more than one occasion about her 'Finn problem') and walk with her to class. At lunch, his attempts to sit with Rachel at lunch were foiled thanks to Artie's insistence that he needed 'a place to rest his feet' (Rachel hadn't thought Finn would actually fall for that one) after a long day in the wheelchair.

But for all of Rachel's anti-Finn tendencies, she couldn't avoid him in Glee Club.

Much to Rachel's utter chagrin, her 'audition' for Glee Club (meant to be a subtle 'fuck you' to the idiots who doubted her ability to sing, ended up being cause for Mr. Schue sticking Rachel with Finn whenever possible. In fact, Rachel found herself singing a large amount of solos within the first week of Glee, all paired with Finn Hudson.

And there, again, lay one of the Glee Club's greatest problems. Rachel could not figure out, for the life of her, why Mr. Schue had placed Finn Hudson as the male lead of the Glee Club.

Noah Puckerman, the mohawked punk that Rachel had met the first day, was the much better singer between the two masculine voices in Glee. In fact, Noah's voice had polish and finesse. Had Rachel not known that the punk impregnated Quinn and slept with anything that moved, she might have gone for him.

Finn's voice lacked control. His performances were hardly consistent: his voice usually felt flat on his cues and his dancing, for lack of a better word, sucked.

But Mr. Schue, still insisted on casting Finn as the male lead. And since Rachel had taken on a fair amount of the female leads (Quinn hadn't complained a single bit about losing one of her many solos), it ensured the two of them spent almost every Glee practice together. And no matter how many times Rachel struggled to perfect Finn's technique, he ended up worse off in the end.

"…Rachel?"

The singer's eyes flickered toward the source of the voice. Sitting next to her, a pitying smile on her lips, Quinn sat, one of the yellowed assignment sheets in her hand.

"Oh, uhmm," Rachel smiled sheepishly. "Hi. What can I do for you…?"

The cheerleader's hazel orbs flashed with amusement as she let out a faint chuckle. She waved the assignment in front of the dazed singer's eyes.

"The assignment?" the cheerio provided. The smile spread across rosy lips, exposing pearly whites as Rachel regarded her blankly. "Do you want to work with me?"

"Thank God yes," Rachel groaned in relief, making another fresh stream of giggles erupt from between those delightful (wait… delightful? Since when?) lips.

Finn approached the table moments later, that eager, puppy-like grin caught on his kid-ish face. Rachel's relief gave way to pity. He really did look like he was excited to finally work with her outside of Glee Club. She always did hate the sad little frowns he gave her whenever she turned down anything from him.

"Hey Rach?" the boy gave her another of those hopeful, wide-eyed doggy pouts. "Wanna work together?"

Rachel opened her mouth to speak tentatively, before a sharp, almost biting voice cut through whatever statement she'd been intending to make. "Rachel and I are working together, Finn. I suggest you go find yourself a new partner."

Reddish brown eyes widened and flitted over to their partner.

Quinn's orbs had turned a shade of harsh, wild gold that bit and tore into the oblivious, scowling teen. The smile that played across the edges of her lips disappeared, replaced with a tight, thin line of disapproval. A delicate hand tightened against the pleated material of the bright, sinfully red cheerios skirt the girl wore.

Finn's features hardened. "I was asking Rachel, not you."

"Well Rachel's still-."

"I'm sorry Finn," Rachel interjected. "I said I'd work with Quinn. After all, for the good of the Glee Club, it'd be beneficial for the two leading ladies to get along."

The boy's face softened. "…Alright. We'll work together some other time…?"

"Of course," Rachel smiled.

The edges of Rachel's lips fell as the boy went back to work with some creepy kid named Jacob Ben Israel (he seemed to have a disgusting crush on Rachel, since he regularly asked her for an article of her… undergarments), her shoulders falling. A questioning eye went to Quinn's stiff figure.

"Are you alright?"

Gold turned to bright emerald as the girl's icy stance melted away. Shoulders slumped forward as the girl gave a faint nod. "Yes… I just…" She gave a heavy gulp. "Finn and I haven't been… on the best of terms lately."

"Well," Rachel patted the cheerleader on the shoulder. "Thanks for helping me. I know it can't be easy for you… what with the way Finn treats you… I appreciate it."

"It seems I've been helping you out of a lot of these situations lately, hm?" Quinn smiled playfully. "The hallway save, now a classroom save. I'd say you owe me."

"Oh really?" Rachel quirked her eyebrow. "I thought that allowing you to work with me was the perfect way to pay you back."

"No, I really don't think so," the cheerio smirked. "But I'll tell you how you can pay me back by the end of the assignment, alright?"

"That sounds like something I can agree to," the singer said uneasily, pulling a pen out of her pocket and looking down at the sheet. "'…How old are you?' Seriously? The assignment's not even in Spanish?"

"I thought you would've gotten used to it by now," the Cheerio hummed, pulling a pencil from her binder. "Spanish class here… is really a joke. The most you learn is how to say 'hello' and 'goodbye' along with the subjunctive."

"That's…" Rachel's nose crinkled, "kind of-."

"Sad? Yes. Pathetic? Very," the blonde quipped. "I'm seventeen, to answer the assignment's question."

"Same here," Rachel replied, writing down the answer. "I'm seventeen, I mean. Eighteen in a month or so."

"You get older so early," the Cheerio smirked as Rachel gave her a scowl. "What? I don't turn eighteen till March. I don't know many Juniors who's birthdays are so early in the year."

"Nice save," Rachel scowled, before turning back to her paper. "Favorite color?"

"Red."

Rachel's eyes wandered down Quinn's figure. "Somehow I just knew you were going to say that."

"Meaning?"

"You spend the day traipsing around in red, Quinn," the girl jotted down on the yellowed paper. "So naturally, it would have grown on you, especially when it represents your power over the student body."

"…So in English," Quinn provided, "you think I like it because it's my power color."

"I suppose you could say so," Rachel replied. "I think the way I put it was better, though."

"Everyone wants the abridged version, Berry. No one wants the fancy, ornate classic."

"No wonder people are so stupid nowadays," Rachel quipped. "Navy blue's my favorite."

"I would've picked you out as a pink."

"Hah hah, very funny Fabray."

"It's not a joke, you really do look like a pink sort of girl."

"In an alternate universe in which I was incredibly obnoxious and an overachiever, yes," the singer stated wryly. "But I am thankfully myself."

"But obnoxious perfectionists are cute."

"Haha, very funny… Favorite movie?"

"That's… kind of a hard one," Quinn bit the tip of her eraser. "'Twenty-Seven Dresses.' I know it's cheesy, but I like my happy endings and my comedy."

"'Funny Girl' on my end," Rachel smiled bitterly. There were so many different memories surrounding that movie… who knew a stupid film could elicit so many unpleasant emotions. The girl choked back her tears.

Quinn frowned. "What's wrong?"

"…Sorry it's just that…" Rachel brought a hand to the back of her head, staring down at the surface of her desk. "…When I was little, my Dads and I used to watch Funny Girl all the time, it was our favorite movie. Then the divorce…"

"I'm so sorry," the cheerleader put a soft hand atop Rachel's callused fingers, sending a series of shivers down the guitarist's back.

"It's alright," Rachel drew in a trembling breath. "It's been five years but…"

"It still takes a toll on you," Quinn said softly, threading their fingers together. The blonde bit her lip. "I know what it's like to have your parents separate. My Mom and Dad divorced at the end of last year."

She held up a single digit as Rachel tried to blurt out some sort of apology. "Things hadn't been alright for a long time between them. My Mom became so artificial, my Dad was being a, pardon my French, asshole about every. Single. Little. Thing."

"He wanted me to be perfect. The 'perfect' daughter with the 'perfect' boyfriend and her 'perfect' smile," she shook her head. "Then I got pregnant… and everything just fell to pieces around us. Now that they're not together anymore, my Mom is much happier and my Dad… I don't know where my Dad is."

"And… you're okay with that?" Rachel asked tentatively.

"My Dad wasn't exactly the nicest guy in the world," Quinn scribbled idly on the yellowed page. "But it's still hard sometimes. I'm so used to having my Dad around. But you know, my Mom's coming back into herself. So I guess it's not a question of whether I miss him or not. It's asking myself if I'd rather have my parents be together and be miserable, or be apart and be happy."

Rachel smiled to herself. If only things could be so easily between her Dads. If only things hadn't ended on such a sour note.

If only her Dads hated each other. If only things had ended on a more final note.

But Rachel had seen her Papa sit over her Dad's picture for many a night, tracing the contours of his face with tear-stained fingers. She'd seen the way her Dad stared longingly at the picture of Papa sitting on the hearth in the cold living room.

She knew there was some sort of love between the two of them. She'd seen it in their eyes during the final moments they'd spent with each other. The desperation, the questioning that lingered amidst them, overshadowed by the severance of Rachel from her Father.

Her parents had been miserable together and miserable separated. So how could anything ever be nailed shut if there was no sort of finality, no sort of understanding between her parents?

There'd been screaming, there'd been yelling. Rachel could still hear it echo in her ears as loudly as the day it occurred. But she could also feel her father's tears seeping into the shoulder of her night dress. She could see the way her Dad looked at her eyes with such a look of utter wanting and desperation.

She knew they still loved each other.

But she didn't know why they'd left each other.

That was why she'd come to Lima, though. To find out what happened between her Fathers. To find out what had gone so wrong.

'And maybe,' Rachel thought to herself as she worked through the rest of the questions with Quinn. 'Maybe I can fix it. Fix what broke.'

As the bell rang, Quinn stood from her seat, pushing her papers into her binder.

Rachel bit her lip, before opening her mouth to speak. "Hey, Quinn?"

The Cheerleader whirled about, eyes, still the same easy green, fixated on the quiet singer. "Yes?"

"…Thank you."

A smile spread easily across the blonde's lips, emerald orbs coloring into a perfect, jeweled mixture of delicate greens and sparkling gold. Some sort of cocktail of emotions spread across those delicate features, coloring the Cheerleader's normally stoic figure.

"You're absolutely welcome, Rachel," the singer's name flowed easily off Quinn's tongue. "But don't forget, you owe me."

"Did you figure out a way I can pay off my debt, O Almighty Head Cheerio?" Rachel smirked, bowing mockingly before the girl.

Quinn put a hand to her chin, stroking it thoughtfully. "How about… coffee? Friday morning? We can get to know each other a little more 'for the good of the team.'"

Rachel smiled. "I think that's a reasonable request."

"We can exchange contacts later, yeah?" the Cheerio motioned toward the door. "Right now, I need to get to Chem."

"Of course, I'll see you in Glee Club."

"I'll see you later, Rach." The blonde gave the singer a wink before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

Rachel stared after her into the empty doorway, shaking her head with a mild bit of shock fresh in her system.

Once again, Quinn Fabray never failed to throw her for a loop. She provoked things in Rachel that she hadn't felt in a long time. A myriad of emotions bubbled within Rachel stomach. A myriad of confusing, almost infuriating emotions that made Rachel's skin crawl at its unknown implications.

Quinn Fabray was another mystery for Rachel to unravel.

And she would do it.

She would figure out Quinn Fabray. She would unscramble the puzzling history of Lima, Ohio.

She'd find herself again.

"It's okay, kochav, it'll be okay."

Papa rocks you against his chest, sings softly to you under his breath, running his fingers soothingly through your hair as you sob freely into his shoulder.

"D-Daddy," you whimper against the twill fabric of your Papa's shoulder. "Wh-where's Daddy?"

You feel Papa's muscles tighten. The rocking ceases as he presses you further into his chest. "Daddy is… Daddy is mad at Papa right now, sweetheart. So he's somewhere where he can't hurt you. He doesn't want you to see him like this, kochav."

"But doesn't he know…" you grip the soft material. "Doesn't he know that he's hurting us by not being here, Papa?"

"No, sweetheart," he whispers against your temple. "No, I don't think he understands that, Rachel. I just think he's feeling a bit… out of character lately, sweetie."

You hang onto Papa for a few more minutes, drowning yourself into the spicy scent of his anise smelling cologne. But the biting dryness in your mouth overrides everything else, and soon you're detaching yourself from him, smiling timidly through the onslaught of tears.

"Papa," you swallow with great difficulty, "can I have some water?"

"Of course, kochav," he presses a kiss to your forehead, ruffling your bangs before walking out the door with a sad curve to his lips, eyes hidden behind the steam of his glasses.

And you're alone again. Alone in this big room beneath the fading warmth of your sheets without your Daddy's muscular figure against your back, reading you stories in his deep, rumbling voice. Your Papa isn't in here, singing to you softly or talking about the latest goings on of the day.

Your room is frightening to you when you are alone. Because your parents aren't in the room next to you. You're alone upstairs. And suddenly the biting thirst in your mouth (or is it sadness…? You can't tell anymore, you're thirsty so often now) isn't as terrible as the slow crawl of loneliness slithering through your veins.

You climb out from beneath the warm flannel blankets, shivering as the cool air hits your skin. Creeping steadily to the door, you run your trembling hand over the cool mahogany wood, almost afraid of the screaming or shouting that will emanate forth from behind it. It's been your only defense for the past few years. The only thing defending you from your fathers' rage.

But still, you can't be alone anymore. You can't take being alone.

You pull the door open, staring down the lighted hallway, releasing a trembling breath as you start down the length of it.

Your foot hits something… wet and sticky, cold against your toes. You swallow heavily as your eyes fall to the ground, and you release a loud scream of horror.

Crimson fluid paints the floor in heavy, shining ruby drops. It stinks of iron as it congeals, shining an oxidized brown under the bright fluorescents.

The scream of agony you'd heard earlier. The shatter of glass against the ground, the squeal of tires as Daddy fled the scene.

The world swims around you as you fall to your knees, trying to gather yourself. But you can feel the cool, slimy texture of blood, your Daddy's blood, seeping through the material of your nightdress and painting your knees red, dying your skin.

You hear glass drop at the end of the hallway and Papa yelling out in alarm. You feel the warmth of his small figure about yours. You feel him lift you into his strong arms and pull you away from the crimson mess upon the floor.

You're not alone anymore, you realize amid the chaos in your mind.

But you're not sure you want to be here anymore, on your knees in a pool of blood.

You're not sure if you want to be with Papa anymore.

"Rachel, sweetheart!"

Rachel felt herself be wrenched forth from the bed, felt the sweat beading on her brow, and the tears running down her cheeks as pained whimpers fell forth from her mouth.

Her Dad, clad in only a pair of black sleep pants and a white t-shirt, shook her gently, fright etched into every crease of his face. A muscular arm had fought its way against her trembling figure as the other swept back her bangs as gray-ish eyes peered down worriedly at her.

"D-Daddy," Rachel whimpered, squeezing her eyes closed as she clenched her father's shoulder. "Y-you're here…"

"Yes Rachel," he whispered, folding his arms around her small frame. "I'm right here, baby girl. I'm right here."

"You're not going to leave me… a-are you?" She buried her face into his strong shoulder. She needed to ground herself. Needed to feel that her father was tangible. That he wasn't going to drive off again when she needed him most.

"No sweetheart," he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "No, I'm never going to leave you again. You don't need to worry about that anymore."

Rachel's eyes closed as she drew in heaving breaths. Browns bore into silver before the singer spoke softly. "Daddy…?"

"Yes, baby?" he whispered.

"Daddy," she swallowed, "I'm… thirsty."

Leroy let out a watery laugh before drawing her closer to him, tears pouring freely from his cheeks. "Me too, baby... me too."

A/N: End chapter. Leave a review if you liked the chapter :) And don't forget to vote for the story YOU'D like me to finish first on my profile's poll! And again Happy Birthday Mom! who inspires me to work hard every day of my life.