AN: I don't know if anyone even cares about faberry anymore but with everything going on in the states, nothing like coming back to your old favorites. This story is slightly AU and takes place during the summer after their sophomore year. If you're reading this enjoy.
The summer sun beat down on Quinn Fabray as she shoved another duffel bag into the trunk of her mother's car. Sweat prickled along her spine, though she wasn't sure if it was from the heat or the tension crackling in the air between her and her mom.
"This will be good for you," Judy said, her voice brittle with the same forced optimism Quinn had been hearing for weeks. "Crestwood is one of the best camps in the country. They have everything—a lake, hiking trails, daily activities. You'll even have your own room."
Quinn didn't respond. Her grip tightened around the edge of the trunk, knuckles white, but she refused to look up. It wasn't the camp that was bothering her, not really. It was what her mother wasn't saying: You can't be here while I finalize the divorce. The words hung unspoken in the air between them, weighty and suffocating. Divorce. It wasn't a shock—how could it be, after everything? The shouting matches that shook the walls, the way her father would storm through the house, wielding his words like weapons. Russel Fabray had a way of making you feel small. Broken. Quinn had stopped trying to stand up to him a long time ago.
"I packed extra sunscreen in case you need it," Judy added, her hands fluttering nervously as she tried to fill the silence. "And bug spray. I heard the mosquitoes can be bad this time of year."
Quinn finally let go of the trunk and turned to her mother. "I'm not a kid, Mom," she said, the words sharper than she intended. Guilt twisted in her gut when Judy flinched, but she didn't apologize. Instead, she turned away and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat.
Her mother's hand hesitated on the door frame before she shut it. "I just… I just want you to have a good summer. You deserve that."
Quinn didn't answer. Because what she deserved wasn't a summer at some elite camp in the mountains, surrounded by perfect, happy kids with perfect, happy lives. What she deserved was something much harder to name—a way to escape the hollow ache in her chest. A way to forget Rachel Berry's wide brown eyes and the way they made her feel like she was splitting apart and being remade all at once. Camp Crestwood isn't going to fix me, Quinn thought bitterly. But she didn't say that, either.
The car hummed quietly beneath them, the engine the only sound breaking the thick, uneasy silence. Judy kept both hands on the steering wheel, her knuckles pale against the black leather. She'd always driven a little too carefully, a little too stiffly, as if the slightest mistake would send everything crashing down. It felt appropriate now. Quinn stared out the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The houses rolled by, their manicured lawns and white picket fences blurring into a single, oppressive image. This was Lima—always so perfectly put together on the outside, while the insides rotted away. She felt her mother glance at her, but didn't turn to meet her gaze.
"You should be excited," Judy said, her voice thin and hesitant, like she was testing the waters. "It's a beautiful camp. You'll meet new people. You'll have… fun."
Quinn snorted softly. "Sure. Fun."
Judy tightened her grip on the wheel, her lips pressing into a line. "You could at least try, Quinn. I'm doing the best I can."
Something in Quinn snapped. "The best you can?" she said, her voice cutting through the air like glass. "You're shipping me off to some camp because you can't deal with me right now. That's your best?"
Judy inhaled sharply; her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You don't want me here while you're dealing with Dad. So, what? You send me away like I'm the problem?"
"It's not like that," Judy said, but her voice faltered. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes weary. "I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to give you a break from… everything."
Quinn scoffed. "You mean from him." She didn't have to say her father's name; they both knew who she meant.
"Yes," Judy admitted quietly. "From him. And from everything that comes with him."
Quinn turned back to the window, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. She hated the way her chest ached at her mother's words, hated how they rang true. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence settled back over them like a heavy blanket, suffocating in its weight.
"You deserve better than this," Judy said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't clear if she was talking about the camp or something much bigger.
Quinn swallowed hard but didn't respond. Her throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, and she wasn't sure if she could speak without it breaking free. The airport signs appeared in the distance, their green letters bright and impersonal. Quinn focused on them, letting their simplicity anchor her as the car pulled into the departures lane. Judy parked and turned off the engine, but she didn't move right away. Instead, she sat there, her hands resting on her lap.
"I love you, Quinn," she said finally. "I know I've made mistakes, but I do."
Quinn's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She wanted to believe her mother. She wanted to say she loved her, too. But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and unresolved, and all she could do was nod stiffly before getting out of the car. As the humid air hit her face, Quinn felt the ache that had been following her for years start to rise again. It always lurked just under the surface, a gnawing weight she couldn't escape. And it always led back to Rachel Berry.
She could still remember the first time she saw her. Rachel had been in a hideous sweater with a star slapped across the chest, her hair in two perfect, shiny braids. She was laughing about something—laughing so loudly that everyone in the cafeteria turned to look. And Quinn, sitting with a tray of food she didn't really want and a group of friends she didn't really like, had stared too long. Too hard. Long enough to feel that first, confusing rush of warmth. At the time, Quinn had shoved it down, so far down she thought it would disappear. She told herself she was just curious, that there was nothing special about Rachel, that her laugh wasn't anything worth noticing. But it got harder to ignore. Rachel's voice filled whatever room she was in, her ambition blazed like fire, and her eyes—they were the worst of all. Deep, dark, expressive. Unwavering in their intensity. And when Rachel turned those eyes on her, even for a moment, Quinn felt like she might unravel completely. It wasn't fair. Rachel wasn't supposed to have that kind of power over her.
She'd tried everything to fight it. She buried the feelings under layers of denial, under her position on the Cheerios, under the vicious words she threw at Rachel, the slushies. She told herself she hated Rachel Berry, that Rachel was everything wrong in the world. But every insult she hurled only made the ache grow louder, sharper, harder to ignore. Dating Finn had been part of that denial. It had been so easy to tell herself that she liked him—that being with him made sense. He was kind and sweet and safe, and for a while, she let herself believe it was enough. But then Rachel happened. Rachel, with her bright eyes and her relentless ambition, swooped in and stole Finn's attention so effortlessly it made Quinn's head spin. She had hated Rachel for it, or at least that's what she told herself at the time. But deep down, she knew it wasn't just about Finn leaving her for Rachel. It was the way Rachel's presence in her life had gone from fleeting glances in the hallway to inescapable reality. First, it was Finn, and then it was Glee Club, and then Rachel was suddenly always there.
Every rehearsal was a new test of willpower, every performance a reminder of how much harder it was to pretend she didn't care. Rachel's voice cut through everything, piercing and undeniable. And when they sang together, when Rachel looked at her like she really saw her, Quinn felt like she might unravel completely. It wasn't Finn, or the Cheerios, or any of the excuses she had piled up over the years. It was always Rachel. And now, here she was, being shipped off to camp to "heal" and "escape," but she knew it wasn't going to be that easy. Her father's words still echoed in her head, sharp and cruel, carved into her like scars. Every time he looked at her, it was with disappointment, with anger, with the kind of disdain that made her feel like she was always one step away from being completely worthless. She had spent years trying to be what he wanted—perfect, obedient, normal. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never outrun the sinking feeling that she was failing. That if he ever really looked at her, if he ever knew what she felt when she saw Rachel Berry, it would be more than just words next time. Rachel wasn't someone Quinn could escape. Not when her voice and laugh and those eyes were already etched into Quinn's mind, constant and inescapable. She slammed the trunk closed and turned back to her mom, whose anxious gaze followed her every move.
"I'm fine," Quinn said sharply, though the words felt like a lie.
She didn't wait for a response before heading toward the airport doors, leaving a worried Judy behind.
Inside the airport, the air was cool and sterile, a sharp contrast to the summer heat outside. Quinn adjusted the strap of her carry-on and scanned the departure board for her flight. The bustle of travelers surrounded her, everyone with their own destinations, their own reasons for being here. It was easy to feel invisible in the crowd, and maybe that was the one small comfort of this place. She found the check-in counter and handed over her boarding pass and ID without a word, the motions mechanical, detached. The woman behind the counter gave her a polite smile, but Quinn barely noticed. Politeness wasn't something she was used to. Not from her father, and certainly not from herself. After checking her bag, she made her way toward security, weaving through the throng of people. She thought of her mother still outside in the car, probably gripping the steering wheel and wondering if she'd done the right thing. Judy had tried to say all the right things that morning, but her words never seemed to land the way she wanted them to.
"This will be good for you," Judy had said, over and over, like a mantra. "A fresh start, a chance to breathe."
But Quinn didn't feel like she could breathe. Not here, not at home, not anywhere.
The line at security moved slowly, and Quinn shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying not to dwell on the tightening knot in her chest. Her father's voice echoed in her head—always sharp, always cold. You're wasting your time, Quinn. Always running away from things you can't change. Her jaw clenched, and she stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly against the sudden burn in her eyes. The knot only grew tighter as she shuffled forward, handing her boarding pass to the TSA agent and stepping through the metal detector.
By the time she reached the gate, the boarding process had already started. She slid into line, barely registering the announcements over the intercom. Everything felt muted, distant, like she was watching herself from the outside. When she finally stepped onto the plane, she let out a long breath and sank into her seat, staring out the window. The plane took off, the town below shrinking into nothing, and for a moment, Quinn let herself imagine that the distance might make it easier to leave everything behind.
The flight passed in a blur. Quinn barely registered the hours, only the dull hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of the flight attendants. She had tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, her mind kept circling back—to her mother, to her father, to the suffocating weight of everything she couldn't put into words. And, of course, to Rachel. By the time they landed, her muscles ached from being still for too long, and exhaustion settled in her bones like an old friend. She grabbed her carry-on from beneath the seat and moved with the sluggish crowd toward baggage claim, her expression set in a permanent scowl. The airport was smaller than she expected, nothing like the ones she'd flown through before. The walls were lined with cheesy murals of mountains and pine trees, Welcome to the Great Outdoors splashed across one of them in bold lettering. The air smelled different, too—cleaner, fresher, like it belonged to a place that hadn't yet been tainted by the weight of expectations.
She hated it immediately.
It didn't take long to find her luggage. The duffel bag came tumbling down the carousel, and she slung it over her shoulder before making her way outside, stepping into the blinding midday sun. And there it was—the bus to Camp Crestwood. She spotted it immediately, parked at the curb with its crisp white paint and the camp's logo stretched across the side: Camp Crestwood: Where Summers Shine. The words were written in the kind of font that practically screamed forced enthusiasm, and Quinn had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.
A small line of campers had formed near the bus, waiting to check in with a counselor who stood by the door with a clipboard in hand. The counselor looked young, probably in college, with a bright smile that Quinn immediately distrusted. Shifting her bag on her shoulder she stepped into line, her eyes flicking to the other campers. Most of them seemed to know each other already, laughing and catching up like this was some kind of yearly reunion. She kept her gaze low, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tightly.
When it was her turn, the counselor glanced up from the clipboard, her smile widening. "Name?"
"Quinn Fabray," she said quietly, trying not to wince at how her voice cracked just slightly.
The counselor scanned the list and made a quick mark with her pen. "Got it! Welcome to Camp Crestwood. You can toss your bag in the storage compartment under the bus and grab a seat. We'll be leaving shortly."
Quinn nodded stiffly and muttered a quick "Thanks," before stepping aside. She hoisted her duffel into the compartment, avoiding the other campers' gazes as she climbed onto the bus. Inside, the chatter was louder, a mix of laughter and conversation that made Quinn's head throb. She slid into an empty seat near the back, pressing herself against the window and staring out at the parking lot. She told herself this was fine. She could get through this summer. She just had to keep her head down, stay out of the way, and keep ignoring the one thing she couldn't seem to forget—Rachel Berry.
The bus rumbled down a long, winding road, surrounded by towering trees and too much nature for Quinn's liking. She could already feel the exhaustion creeping in, mixing with the irritation she'd been carrying since she boarded the flight. The other campers were still chatting and laughing like this was some kind of exciting adventure, while Quinn sat pressed against the window, watching the trees blur past. Then, finally, the camp came into view. The bus pulled through an arched wooden gate with Camp Crestwood carved into it, and the place was exactly what Quinn expected—like something ripped straight from a postcard, trying too hard to be charming. There was a massive lake reflecting the sunlight like a mirror, endless rows of cabins tucked between the trees, and too many rustic wooden signs with painted arrows pointing to things like Dining Hall and Arts & Crafts. The whole place practically oozed camp spirit. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.
As the bus rolled to a stop in a gravel lot, the campers around her buzzed with excitement. Quinn took her time standing up, waiting until most of the others had rushed toward the front before she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped off. The air was thick with the smell of pine and fresh-cut grass, and the sun beat down relentlessly. She barely had a moment to take it all in before someone called out, "Welcome to Camp Crestwood!"
She turned to find a tall, athletic-looking guy in a staff t-shirt grinning at them. He looked like the human embodiment of camp—tan, overly enthusiastic, the kind of person who probably talked about teamwork unironically. Quinn immediately disliked him.
"My name's Jake, and I'll be helping you all get settled in," he announced. "If you could line up by the table over here, we'll check you in and assign you to your tribe."
Quinn followed the small crowd toward a folding table, where a few other counselors sat with clipboards. The check-in process was quick—when she reached the front, one of them, a girl with an equally bright smile, asked, "Name?"
"Quinn Fabray," she muttered.
The counselor scanned her list. "Alright, Quinn! You'll be in the Fox Tribe this summer." She handed Quinn a bandana with an embroidered fox on it. "Tribes are for activities and competitions, so get ready for some friendly rivalry. You'll meet the rest of Fox later!"
Quinn took the bandana in her hands, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Fox Tribe. Sure. Whatever.
"Your cabin assignment is Cabin 12, Room 4," the counselor continued. "And at 3:00, we'll have our Opening Ceremony at the bonfire pit. That'll be followed by a big grill-out and party night to kick off the summer!"
Quinn nearly winced. A party. Fucking perfect.
"Any questions?" the counselor asked.
Quinn forced a tight smile. "Nope."
"Awesome! One of our junior counselors will lead you to your cabin."
A younger girl, maybe sixteen, gave Quinn a quick nod and started walking. Quinn followed in silence, trudging along the winding dirt path past rows of identical cabins and even more of those damn cheerful signs. When they finally reached Cabin 12, the junior counselor gestured toward the door. "Here you go! You can settle in before the ceremony. Enjoy your summer!"
Quinn didn't bother responding. She just hauled her bag over her shoulder and stepped inside. The cabin was nice—too nice. It had that cozy, Pinterest-perfect feel, with warm wooden walls and big windows letting in too much sunlight. The front area was set up like a shared lounge space, and off to the side, a hallway led to what she assumed were the rooms. She walked down until she found Room 4 and pushed open the door.
Inside, there were two twin beds, both neatly made and waiting to be claimed. A small desk sat against the far wall between two dressers, and the whole room felt suffocatingly cheerful in its neatness. Quinn lingered for a moment, glancing between the two beds. The one on the left was closer to the window, where the afternoon sun was already streaming in, casting warm patches of light on the sheets. The one on the right was tucked further into the corner, more shadowed, less exposed. So much for having her own room.
She chose the right bed, dragging her bag over and tossing it onto the mattress. The room already felt too open, and at least the corner gave her some semblance of privacy. With a sigh, Quinn sat down on the edge of the bed, her elbows resting on her knees. She stared at the floor, letting the silence settle over her. She was here. Camp Crestwood.
Quinn stayed in her room for about an hour, unpacking just enough to make it look like she belonged there without fully settling in. She didn't want to be here longer than necessary, and the last thing she needed was to make it feel permanent. The room was too quiet, though, and eventually, the silence started to grate on her nerves. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the bed and grabbed her water bottle before stepping outside.
The camp was still buzzing with new arrivals, campers dragging their bags to their cabins, counselors giving overly enthusiastic welcomes. Quinn kept her head down and her pace steady, avoiding eye contact as she wandered toward the main part of camp. If she was going to be stuck here, she might as well figure out where everything was.
The Dining Hall was impossible to miss—a massive wooden lodge with a wide porch and a carved sign hanging over the entrance. Through the open doors, she could see smaller tables, each designated for a different tribe, with banners hanging from the rafters in corresponding colors. Further down the path, she found the Bathhouse, a separate building with a row of doors labeled for showers and restrooms. At least it wasn't as rustic as she feared—there was actual plumbing, not just some nightmare of outhouses and cold water. Small victories. Beyond that, there were open fields, a lake glimmering in the distance a large boathouse to the left of it, and what she assumed was the Activity Center, judging by the sign listing things like climbing walls, arts & crafts, and indoor hockey.
Everything looked exactly how a summer camp was supposed to look—warm, welcoming, like a place built for making memories. It made her stomach turn. She checked her watch. 2:50 PM. Might as well head to the opening ceremony. The bonfire pit was set up in a clearing near the lake, ringed with wooden benches and torches that weren't yet lit. A few counselors were already there, setting up what looked like a small stage area, probably for some kind of welcome speech. A wooden box sat on a table nearby, campers already hovering around it, writing on slips of paper before dropping them in. Quinn frowned. Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it.
She chose a seat on the edge of one of the benches, far enough away that she wouldn't be pulled into conversation. More campers started arriving, filling in the spaces around her, their chatter blending into the sound of the lake lapping gently against the shore. She exhaled slowly, bracing herself. This was only the first night. She could get through this.
By the time 3:00 rolled around, the bonfire pit was packed with campers, counselors, and the kind of forced enthusiasm that made Quinn's skin crawl. The wooden benches creaked under the weight of everyone filing in, their chatter filling the air like a swarm of bees. Quinn stayed seated on the edge of her bench, arms crossed, doing her best to ignore the energy around her. At the center of the pit, a junior counselor was lighting the torches that ringed the space, their flames flickering to life in the afternoon breeze. A large wooden stage had been set up just behind the fire pit, where a tall man in a camp polo was clapping his hands, trying to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, everyone, settle down!" he called, his voice carrying easily over the noise. He had the kind of voice that sounded like it was born to lead camp songs. "Welcome to Camp Crestwood! My name is Dave, and I'm the camp director. We are so excited to have all of you here for an unforgettable summer!" The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but Quinn barely lifted her hands to clap.
"Before we dive into all the fun stuff, we've got a few things to cover," Dave continued. "First, I want to give a huge shoutout to our amazing counselors and junior counselors who work so hard to make this camp run smoothly. Let's give them a round of applause!" More cheering. Quinn shifted uncomfortably on the bench, wishing the ground would just swallow her whole. He then went into a standard spiel of camp rules -stay on camp property, no bringing in items on the banned list, he droned on and on. Quinn resisted the urge to snort. If only she could get away from this place.
"Now," Dave said, his tone turning a little more serious, "We've got a special tradition here at Crestwood and I'm sure you've already seen some people participating. At the start of every summer, we ask each camper to take a moment to set a goal or make a wish for the season. Something you want to achieve, experience, or discover during your time here." He gestured to a table set up near the stage, where the wooden box Quinn had noticed earlier was placed. Next to it was a stack of small slips of paper and pens.
"You'll each write your goal or wish on a slip of paper and drop it into the Summer Box. At the end of the summer, during our closing ceremony, we'll toss these into the final bonfire as a way to release those hopes and celebrate everything you've accomplished." Quinn frowned, her stomach twisting. The idea of putting her thoughts on paper, even anonymously, felt ridiculous. She wasn't here to grow or change—she was here because her mother didn't know what else to do with her.
Dave clapped his hands again, breaking her thoughts. "Alright, everyone! We'll start with the front rows. If you haven't yet, come up and write your wish or goal. After that, we've got a grill-out and party night to kick off the summer!"
More cheering. Quinn barely suppressed an eye roll as the first rows began to line up. She watched as campers scribbled on their slips of paper, smiling and chatting like this was the best idea in the world. When her row was called, Quinn stood reluctantly, shuffling forward with the rest of the group. The pen felt awkward in her hand as she stared at the blank paper in front of her. What am I even supposed to write? She thought bitterly. The truth? That she just wanted to survive the summer and go home? Her grip tightened on the pen as her mind wandered to everything she'd been trying to ignore—her father's voice, her mother's guilt, the ache in her chest that always came when she thought about Rachel.
Her jaw clenched, and before she could overthink it, she hastily scribbled:
"Understand myself."
The words felt raw, uncertain, but truer than she was ready to admit. Before she could dwell on it, she folded the paper tightly and dropped it into the box, watching it disappear among the rest. She didn't look back as she returned to her seat, her expression carefully neutral as the ceremony ended.
The grill-out started right after the opening ceremony, the bonfire pit transforming into a scene straight out of some teen movie. String lights hung between the trees, casting a warm glow over the clearing as counselors manned grills piled high with burgers, hot dogs, and skewers. Tables were set up along the edge of the space, loaded with bowls of chips, potato salad, and cookies. Laughter and music filled the air, campers mingling effortlessly like they'd all known each other for years. Groups broke off to toss frisbees or dance by the speakers, their voices blending into an upbeat soundtrack that made the whole scene feel too perfect, too cheerful, too much.
Quinn sat off to the side, perched on the edge of a bench, her plate of food untouched. She poked at the bun of her burger with a fork, more interested in the rhythm of the party than anything else. It was strange, watching it all unfold. The way everyone seemed so at ease, so happy. Like they belonged here. The kind of kids who would actually write things like have the best summer ever! on their slips of paper for the Summer Box. It felt like she was watching a movie through frosted glass, close enough to see but not enough to feel.
She caught snippets of conversations as campers walked past her—plans to meet at the lake tomorrow, inside jokes, introductions between old friends and new ones. She heard their names but didn't bother remembering them. None of it had anything to do with her. Someone bumped into her bench, jolting her out of her thoughts. A boy with shaggy hair and an apologetic smile turned to her. "Sorry about that!" he said brightly before jogging back to his group. Quinn blinked and shook her head, staring down at her plate. She wasn't sure why she felt embarrassed when no one was even paying attention to her. The party carried on, but she didn't feel like joining it. She stayed where she was, finishing half her drink and none of her food before standing and tossing her plate into the trash. As she walked back toward the cabins, the sound of laughter followed her, growing quieter with each step.
The cabin was quiet when Quinn returned, the muffled hum of the party fading into the distance. She climbed the porch steps and pushed open the door to Cabin 12, already feeling the tension in her shoulders ease just slightly at the absence of people. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way down the hall to Room 4, her hand resting on the doorknob for a moment before she pushed it open. She froze. The room wasn't empty anymore.
A second bag now sat on the bed by the window—a neatly packed duffel in a bright pink that stood out sharply against the soft wood tones of the room. A matching garment bag was draped over the dresser, and a tote decorated with a loud, star-shaped pattern sat propped neatly against the wall. Quinn's stomach dropped. She knew those stars. Her eyes drifted to the tote, and she couldn't stop herself from leaning closer. There was a small tag on the handle, printed in a precise, looping script: Rachel B. Her pulse quickened. Rachel Berry. Of all the people in the world, it had to be her.
Quinn stepped back quickly, as though the realization had physically struck her. She pressed her lips into a tight line, her mind spinning. Rachel wasn't just here. Rachel was her roommate. Her first instinct was to run. To grab her bag and tell a counselor there had been some kind of mistake. But she stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the bags like they might somehow vanish if she waited long enough. She felt a sick mix of emotions swirling in her chest—panic, frustration, and something she couldn't quite name. Whatever she'd imagined this summer to be, it definitely wasn't this. Quinn let out a shaky breath and moved to her own bed, dropping onto it heavily. She buried her face in her hands, her mind still racing.
Rachel Berry.
The girl who had haunted her thoughts for years. The girl she had spent so much time running from.
And now, for the next three months, she was going to be sharing a room with her.
A/N: I have a lot of ideas for where I'd like the story to go! But glad to hear any thoughts/comments/concerns. Honestly haven't decided if I want to incorporate the Beth storyline or not. Plan on having the next chapter out either before or by this weekend.