AN: As always thanks for your continued support. I busted this chapter out surprisingly fast, like I finished it a week and a half ago...I don't know if that's a good thing or bad lol.

I thought this chapter would be a half Quinn POV half Santana POV, but that ended up not happening. It's ninety-nine percent Quinn for this chapter, with a tease of Santana that'll lead into the next chapter.

Anyways, read. enjoy. review!

Bubblegum and Red Hots.

Those are the first things she's consciously aware of. She can smell them in the air, swirling around, working like smelling salts to help her to come to.

A memory flashes across her mind, unwittingly, and before she knows it she's watching a ten year-old Brittany in her favorite My Little Pony t-shirt attempting to blow the biggest bubble that she could before it inevitably popped. Next to her is, of course, Santana in familiar overalls and two ponytails, chewing obnoxiously on the cinammon flavored candy that she claimed to be the 'candy of her people'.

It feels like just yesterday she was giggling at Brittany peeling the gum off her face or arguing with Santana that she could so handle eating one of those stupid red candies without spitting it out because it was too hot.

"You're too white, Quinn." Santana would always tell her, whenever she asked the Latina for a piece of candy. "It's a known fact that white people can't handle spicy food. Why else do you think 'mild' salsa was invented? We had to give your people something they could dip their tortilla chips in without tearing up like babies."

The memory makes her smile, even if a dull throbbing accompanies it, causing her head feel twice as heavy as it probably should.

She blacks out again.

For how long, she isn't sure. But when she regains consciousness, she can still smell it. Them. She knows she's still too weak but that doesn't stop her from trying to open her eyes. It takes some effort and in the process she becomes more conscious of just how much everything aches.

Though the bright light she's met with slightly deters her, she finds the will to keep her eyes at least partially open. It's uncomfortable at first but as soon as she's acclimated, she opens her eyes a little more. It's then that she's able to take inventory of her surroundings for the first time.

Ugh. A hospital.

She absolutely hates hospitals.

Unable to turn her head, Quinn looks as far over to her left as she can. Right away spots the source of the bubblegum she keeps smelling.

Brittany.

The blonde is fast asleep next to her and sure enough, when Quinn glances over in the other direction, Santana is on the other side, sleeping soundly as well. They're close enough to her that she can feel their body heat radiating onto her, but far enough away so that they don't accidentally rest any of their weight on her.

This bed is pretty wide, she thinks through what is probably the drug induced haze, If it can fit all three of us.

Her gaze flickers to the oxygen tube in her nose and down even further to the IVs in her arms. Now that she's paying attention she can hear the soft beeping of the monitors she's attached to.

Unthinkingly, she makes an attempt to sit up properly. And in response a sharp shooting pain splinters down her spine and branches off to every nerve ending she has, prompting a low moan to rush out of her.

Her eyes snap shut. Holy fuck.

"Quinn?"

In spite of the ever present pain, her eyes flash open the second she hears that voice.

"Jacob." she croaks, her voice filled with love and relief beyond measure. How she didn't catch sight of him before...

Jacob pushes away from the small sofa he'd been sitting on and appears by her bedside in one single stride. He leans across the sleeping Santana to get to her, pressing his lips to her forehead in greeting.

And while comforting, she would have much preffered an actual kiss.

But now as her own lips are pressing together she can feel how chapped and broken they are, so maybe that's for the best.

Jacob lingers and lightly nuzzles his nose against hers. The breath from his long shuddering sigh tickles her skin as he whispers her name. It's choked with emotion. It makes her breath catch, the gnawing feeling that encompasses her stomach.

The hell she must have put him through.

She can see it in his eyes as he's slowly pulling away. After a few silent moments of him studying her face, a tired sigh escapes him. His lips quirk but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"You keep this up Fabray and you'll leave me with no choice but to put you in a plastic bubble."

She cracks a smile. It hurts her face. "You do and I'll kick your ass back to Washington." she rasps teasingly.

Hearing her own voice for the first time makes her cringe. She sounded like an eighty year-old chainsmoker.

Jacob chuckles mildly. "I don't doubt that for a second." She watches as he turns and picks up a cup of water with a straw attached from off the bed side table. He encourages her to drink from it. Now she doesn't necessarily like the toddler treatment but she can't really move so...yeah.

The water, while cool and refreshing, hurts going down. Everything hurts really.

Fortunately before Jacob can comment on the pained face she undoubtedly just pulled, Santana shifts beside her, the sudden noise rousing her from her sleep.

As the Latina lifts her disheveled head and looks around through bleary eyes, Quinn notices for the first time the bandage on her cheek. She must have gotten that during the fight.

Santana's eyes widen the second she registers that an awake Quinn was staring at her.

She smiles weakly over at the darker girl. "Hey sleepyhead."

Santana hastily pushes herself upright. "You're awake."

"So observant." she teases, ignoring the ache in her cheeks.

Santana narrows her eyes back at her. "Shove it, Fabray."

On the other side of Quinn, Brittany slowly begins to awaken. A loud, sleepy yawn escapes her as she leans forward.

"What's going on?" she mumbles, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eye.

She glances at them both expectantly. Her eyes light up like blue christmas lights at the sight of Quinn. "Quinn."

Brittany looked like she was just about to burst into tears from happiness.

"Little B." she greets back wearily, her lips upturned.

A short laugh escapes Brittany just then. Her eyes well up. "You haven't called me that since we were like ten." she sniffles, still smiling.

"Well it's been a long time since you've been little." Quinn responds, chuckling throatily.

Once upon a time Brittany, believe it or not, used to be the short one out of the three of them. Borderline hobbit sized she was. Then puberty hit and in a single year she ended up growing over five inches, dwarfing both Quinn and Santana.

Things have been like that ever since.

"It's about time you woke up, Q." Said Latina mumbles, slipping off the bed to stretch out her limbs. "You sure took your sweet ass time."

Glancing over her shoulder, Santana adds, "By the way you look like hell."

She certainly feels like it. But in spite of this, Quinn is able to put on somewhat of a brave face. "Nice to see you too, Santana." she says, playfully rolling her eyes.

Her gaze falls back to Jacob. "How long have I been out?"

"Ever." Santana retorts before he can.

"Awhile." Jacob answers, turning his attention onto her again. He gravitates back closer to her side. "How do you feel?"

She thinks about lying, just so she won't have to deal with the sympathies, but everyone here knows her too well for that.

"Not great." she responds truthfully. She grimaces. "Everything hurts."

"Well let me call in the nurse." he offers.

Right on cue, before Jacob can even press the call button on the wall, the door opens and her nurse - in the form of a blue and neon green tracksuit - strides on into the room.

"One hit from a vampire and suddenly you're a method actor preparing for the community theater's production of Sleeping Beauty."

Coach Sylvester lifts her gaze from the clipboard in her hands and stares at her from across the foot of her bed. "I gotta tell ya, Q, I thought I trained you to be a little more durable than that."

Dear God. "Someone please tell me she's not my actual nurse."

Brittany speaks up first. "Well...in a way she kind of is." she murmurs, looking back at Quinn somewhat sheepishly.

As if to prove her point, Sue pulls out a ridiculously large syringe that instantly makes Quinn blanche. "What's that for?"

Doesn't she have enough needles in her already?

"You nearly died, Fabray." Coach begins loading the needle with an undiscernable liquid. "From what sandbags described to me to what the doctors here told me, that hit you suffered should've killed you instantly."

Quinn can't help but raise her eyebrows at that. Sure Sebastian had thrown her down pretty hard, but she hadn't thought he could've actually killed her with it.

She swallows hard and inadvertently winces when Sue comes over with the needle ready. "Ugh."

She hated needles.

Jacob shakes his head to himself. "A bunch of vampires intent on ripping her apart, that she faces head on. But a measly little needle on the other hand..."

"Shut up, Jacob." she scowls, glaring back at him.

"Unless you'd like to spend the rest of your life confined to a wheelchair, Q, I suggest you stop squirming." Sue advises, taking ahold of her left arm.

"More of your super soldier serum?" she guesses, purposefully averting her gaze. She's pretty sure she used Jacob's terminology for it, but Coach knows what she meant.

"You already heal faster than humans but this is just to help speed along the process a little more." Sue responds in lieu of a clear yes or no.

As she often does.

Quinn sighs, relieved. Coach was fast with the injection. "So how long until I'm fully recovered? A couple days? A week?"

"A month. Maybe two." Sue shrugs. "Maybe three. How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Months?" Incredulous, Quinn glances around the room, searching in vain for one of her loved ones to assure her otherwise.

"That warbler did a hell of a number on your spine, Q." Sue nods. "It's gonna take a lot of time and physical therapy before you're back to your normal self. This isn't gonna heal overnight."

The beeping from her heart monitor quickens with her rising pulse. "Then what the hell good is that injection for?" she demands, furious.

"Injections like these are the only reason you're still alive." Sue explains, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "And are what will help you to heal. The point is that you will recover. Without a doubt you will recover. Had this kind of an injury happened to you were you just a regular plain jane, you'd be chilling in the downstairs refrigerator instead of sitting here."

Coach Sylvester rises suddenly. "That being said I'm pulling you out of the field until further notice. No more training, patrols..."

Quinn stares up at the older woman, outraged. "You can't do that!"

"I can do whatever I like." Sue counters. "You're in no condition to jump back into the game, let alone walk back into it."

She jerks her thumb toward the wheelchair Quinn hadn't even noticed was in the corner. Her eyes widen in that 'you've got to be fucking kidding me' way.

"You're gonna be using that thing until you're healed. And you will of course be reinstated into the cheerios when that moment comes, but until then...you're off the squad. Sorry, Q, but it's a known fact that as soon as a cheerleader rolls herself out onto the field in a wheelchair, she becomes decidedly less effective at cheering people up."

She's suddenly having awful flashbacks to that wheelchair assignment last year in glee. Only this time she won't be able to get up and walk away from the chair whenever she feels like it.

"I'll have your RN come in and dope you up with some more morphine." Sue pats her knee on her way out and to Quinn's horror, she could barely feel it. It was like her legs were numb, but worse.

It was worse because she knew her legs hadn't just fallen asleep.

Quinn does her best to ignore the burning sensation suddenly in her eyes. She only speaks up once she's sure she has control of her voice.

"Can't imagine whatever is in these injections is FDA approved."

She lifts her gaze after glancing back at the injection site. "So how's she getting it past the doctors and all their lab testing?" she wonders, looking expectantly to the group.

Santana's the one who answers.

"You know Sue, she has people on the inside." she shrugs, sitting on the sofa armrest with her arms folded. "She's taken care of everything."

"And what, dare I ask, is the cover story?"

"Car accident." Jacob replies, this time cutting Santana off.

For which the Latina glares at him. "You were texting and driving, ran through a stop sign, and got hit by a truck." she explains easily enough, reverting her attention.

Okay.

Anyone who really knew her knows she'd never do anything as stupid as texting while driving, but she guesses it's the most plausible explanation that could account for the injuries she sustained.

"Anyone asks you were using Brittany's car." Santana adds. "Sue wanted us to total yours, to you know, make it seem legit, but we know how much you like your car..."

"So we used mine." Brittany finishes. "Not like I really use it anyways."

Quinn would shake her head if she could.

"We'll go over all the details later." Santana promises, catching the look on her face.

Suddenly tired, Quinn lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Or at least she attempts to. She can't even raise her arm two inches away from the bed without every inch of her body crying out in silent protest.

Why did everything have to be connected? Why?

"So..." She tries to distract herself from the pain. "Does my mother know about all this?"

A part of her seriously hopes not. But at the same time...Quinn doesn't even want to go there. She does and she'll only find disappointment.

"Yeah. She was here for a while." Santana confirms. "She left once visiting hours were over."

"Even though she technically could've stayed." Jacob mutters, shaking his head.

Yeah she's pretty sure her mother wouldn't have had to abide by the visiting hours but whatever. She has everyone she needs already here.

"So how'd you guys get to stay?" Glancing at the window, she can't tell through the slates in the blinds how late, or early, it was. If visiting hours were over and they weren't blood relatives...

"Sue." Santana answers unsurprisingly. "Everyone here is just as intimidated of her as they are back at McKinley. Whatever she says goes."

"Of course it does."

She sighs wearily. Right now she wants nothing more than to pull Jacob close and bury herself into his warmth, just like she always does when she's feeling lousy. But because she can't even move, she's stuck just lying in her bed like a bump on a log. She hasn't even been awake thirty minutes and already she was fucking depressed.

Santana must have sensed she needed some alone time because she abruptly stands up. "C'mon, B." She walks across the room, indicating to her girlfriend. "Let's go raid the vending machines. I'm all outta Red Hots."

Brittany instinctively gets up off the bed, but hesitates after a second and turns back to Quinn. "You gonna be alright?" she asks, geuninely concerned that she might not be if they left. Even to just get more candy.

Quinn would nod her head if she could. "Of course, B." she promises, offering the blonde a reassuring smile.

"Good." Brittany relaxes and smiles, happy to hear that. She leaves a light kiss on her cheek before pulling away. "Be right back. Would you like us to bring you anything?"

"Bacon." she answers only half jokingly.

Santana, lingering by the door, snorts. "Like we'd find bacon in a fucking hospital, Q."

"We could always stop by that twenty-four hour diner." Brittany suggests, glancing back at the Latina. "Get her a bacon cheeseburger from there."

Even though she doesn't have much of an appetite now, Quinn never turns down an opportunity to get some bacon. "Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Santana." she smirks.

Santana rolls her eyes at her.

"Chewing on solid foods is only gonna make your headache worse - and don't try to act like you don't have one." she warns, pointing a finger at the blonde. "That fucking eyebrow scrunch of yours is a dead giveaway."

She yanks open the door, encouraging her girlfriend to go through first. "C'mon, Britt. Maybe we can find the cripp some pudding or something."

Quinn's voice cracks as she tries to yell, "Fuck you, Santana."

The smirking Latina just flips her off on her way out.

Once the door clicks closed behind her, Jacob fixates his attention back to Quinn. "You want me to check on that nurse for you?"

She shakes her head. While she could really do with some more drugs, she doesn't want to get doped up again just yet. "No. I kinda just want to sit here with just you for awhile."

Jacob nods, understanding, and pulls up a chair to her bedside. He's quiet for a few moments before uttering a miserable "I'm sorry" to her.

"It's not your fault." she frowns, not expecting that, of all things, to come out of his mouth. What did he have to be sorry for?

Jacob shakes his head. "I always fight by your side. Always." he mutters to himself, looking away. "And the one time I don't."

"This isn't your fault, Jacob." she reiterates firmly, trying not to reach out to him like she instinctively wants to. "This isn't anyone's fault. It was an accident."

He stares at her sharply, disbelieving. "That Sebastian kid knew what he was doing, Quinn. He wanted to kill you."

She rolls her eyes briefly. "You know what I meant, Jacob. You shouldn't blame yourself." she tells him seriously. "Getting hurt is inevitable when fighting vampires." she reasons. "Sure it's not gonna happen every time I get in a fight, but...like you've said before, I'm a good fighter but I'm not indestructable."

Is she even making sense? She's not quite so sure. Her head's beginning to throb a lot more and the discomfort makes it hard to focus on what she was saying.

The logical part of her brain knows she needs more drugs, and rest, but she's too stubborn to cave into her own weaknesses.

"If only I'd gotten to him sooner." Jacob murmurs, shaking his head again. "If I'd been faster. If I'd been fucking paying attention..." he trails off with a frustrated growl and sharply rises from his chair.

The more he thinks back on what had happened, what should have and what shouldn't have happened, the more distraught he was making himself.

"Jacob, things were crazy over there." It killed her to see him hurting like this. Even more that she couldn't properly comfort him like she wanted to. She couldn't soothe him with her touch.

"You were focused on exactly what you should have been focused on: killing the vampires. You weren't worried about me because you know I can take care of myself."

He releases another bitter scoff, his eyes darting back to her. "Yeah and look where it got you."

Quinn sighs in frustration. This isn't going to get them anywhere. Jacob's just as stubborn as she is and while usually she has more energy for doing this back and forth thing with him, right now she's just too exhausted to try and get him to see reason.

"Were all the bodies taken care of properly?" she asks, deciding to change the subject.

Jacob nods distantly. "Yeah. The guys stayed behind and made sure every last bloodsucker burned. The place's spotless, according to Quil. No one would ever guess that something went down behind the theater."

"Don't know how we're going to explain the sudden disappearance of yet another glee club." she exhales, slightly groaning because things were just getting more complicated.

On the bright side, at least now they didn't have to worry about facing off with Vocal Adrenaline at regionals.

"Let Sue handle it." he dismisses, not wanting her to worry about it. "It's what she does, isn't it?"

"Yeah." she concedes with another sigh.

Silence passes over them for a few seconds. "All your friends stopped by." Jacob brings up, thinking of something else to say.

Quinn blinks her surprise. "Really?" She hadn't expected them to know about this so soon. But then again maybe it isn't as soon as she thinks it is. She still doesn't know how long exactly she's been asleep.

"Yeah, they hung around for hours." Jacob confirms. "They came as soon as they heard."

She figures Rachel had told them what happened, seeing as how she'd been there when it all happened. Santana and Brittany wouldn't have said anything, they would have kept things amongst themselves.

"Rachel and Kurt know the truth about it, but everyone else thinks it was a car accident." Jacob assures. He pauses, then mutters, "Those warblers stopped by too."

She raises her eyebrow. "They were all apologetic for what had happened." Jacob continues, his tone leading her to believe that he didn't necessarily buy it. "Said Sebastian acted on his own. No one knew what'd he do."

"They didn't stay long though." A small smirk graces his features. "Santana all but threw them out the second she walked back into the waiting room and saw them there. Nearly caused another scene. She was a little unhinged, to say the least." he explains.

"Well that's Santana for you."

At her slight scoff, Jacob stares at her seriously. "I don't think you realize how scared out of our minds we were. We honestly didn't know if you'd be okay or not." He swallows thickly, turning away uncomfortably. "We were all in pretty bad shape. I've never seen Santana and Brittany like that..."

Quinn sucks in a sharp, pained breath. The very idea that her girls had been suffering because of her sends guilt stabbing through her like a knife. It was bad enough Jacob had been...but to have all three of them?

"I'm going to kill that Sebastian Smythe the second I've recovered." she vows, wishing she could tear through him right this very instant.

Frustration fuels the tears that sting her eyes. As much as she wanted to blame him for everything, and she did in a sense, deep down she knew this was all her own doing. She'd provoked the warbler. She'd brought this on herself.

"Kind of took care of that for you." Jacob's voice snaps her out of her own self-loathing.

"What?" She stares at him, perplexed.

He nods, his tone unapologetic. "Ripped him apart, took his spine out and everything. I didn't think, just acted. Leech didn't even see it coming." He smirks slightly at that fact.

While she wants to be mad at him for not giving her the chance to exact her revenge on the snarky warbler, she knows that, if the roles had been reversed and Jacob had been the one injured, she would've killed Sebastian on the spot too. Would've done so without hesitation. Without mercy.

Seconds pass.

"I put you through a lot, don't I?" she murmurs quietly, sinking with the realization.

When Jacob looks at her questioningly, wondering where that thought had come from, she elaborates, "Not telling you about visiting Dalton, the...pregnancy scare. Now this." She scoffs bitterly to herself. And those were only the most recent things.

"It's not like you do it intentionally." he protests. "I mean...shit happens."

Her lips twitch into a smile at his oh so eloquent way of putting it. "Yeah, shit happens." she repeats, agreeing. "Which is why neither one of us should be blaming ourselves for what happened."

She knows it's going to take more than just saying the words for either of them to truly believe that but at least she can acknowledge that feeling guilty about it isn't going to do either one of them a cent of good.

"What's done is done." she hears herself continue. "No sense in wallowing the 'if only I'd done this and not that' thoughts. I don't want that for you or for myself. I just want to move on and get past this. We need to focus on more important things anyways."

"You're right." Jacob nods, sitting back down by her side. His lips curve upward. "But of course you already knew that."

She just smiles in response. She's always right.

"I'm glad you told me about it." he says quietly.

She blinks.

"The pregnancy scare." he clarifies, his eyes coming up to meet hers. "Even if it was negative, I don't ever want you to carry something like that around on your own."

Her smile falters. It'd been a terrifying experience to say the least. The most scared she's ever felt in a very long time. She'd hated how much it had affected her, how it still manages to do so. Jacob had been shaken up, obviously, what guy wouldn't be - and of course relieved when she'd confirmed that she wasn't pregnant. But that was to be expected.

What hadn't been expected was how she reacted after it was all over. She'd cried and bawled her eyes out as if those tests had been positive. She'd crumbled and broke down for her two best friends to see, sought solace in their arms. Then did so again with Jacob because just talking about it with him ultimately proved too much for her to handle.

She should have been happy, grateful, but she wasn't. She was relieved, sure, but somwhere deep down, she'd actually been a little disappointed too. Crazy, she knows - what sane seventeen year old would be disappointed about not being a mother? - but it's what she felt.

Now that she thinks back on it, was that why she'd cried so much? Because there'd been a part of her that actually wanted it?

Well if that had been the case, then she's seriously more fucked up than she originally thought.

Oh God. Ow. If she could she'd be lifting her hand to her aching skull. She really shouldn't be thinking such heavy thoughts right now.

The throbbing is so prominent she can barely focus on what Jacob was saying. "-cause we're a team. And just like everything else that's been thrown our way, we'll get through this together." He's telling her, his hand gently resting on top of hers.

She's so grateful to be able to feel the heat of his skin against hers. It comforts her like no other. "Wheelchair or no wheelchair you're still my girl." he reaffirms. "You're still Quinn."

His words make her smile. It's a tired smile but one nevertheless. "I'm just thankful this is only temporary."

If she had truly lost mobility in her legs, she doesn't know what she'd do. She couldn't not walk.

Thank God she didn't have to worry about that though - permanently, at least.

"But so much for having an enjoyable winter vacation." she whispers forlornly, able to clearly picture herself stuck inside the house the entire time, unable to do anything, go anywhere.

"Being in a wheelchair isn't the end of the world." he assures. He knows so because his dad was in one. "We're gonna have a great time. With no school, patrols, training, cheer, or glee, you'll have all this free time to do whatever you want."

"Or whoever I want." she says cheekily, raising a suggestive brow at him.

Jacob shakes his head at her and laughs. "Nice to know your injury hasn't affected your sense of humor."

Once her amusement subsides, she continues, "But seriously, we do still need to find out who's killing off glee clubs."

The New Directions were undoubtedly going to be the next targets and she couldn't let anything happen to them.

Jacob nods firmly. "And we will." He vows. "But right now we need to focus on your healing." he says with a pointed look directed at her.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." she sighs, glancing down. "I can't exactly roll after vampires."

Jacob chuckles. "But if you had to, you'd still make it work."

"Damn straight." she smirks.

Just then a nurse, a real one this time, walks into the room. "Time for more pain medication, sweetheart?" she asks, a syringe ready in hand.

"Yes, thank you." Quinn rasps.

"Here you go, honey." The nurse smiles as she injects the medicine into her tube. "You'll feel much better now."

"Thanks."

Once the door closes behind the nurse, Jacob rises from his chair.

Though she could feel the drowsiness already trickling through her bloodstream, a momentary panic hits her at the thought of him leaving her. It's not that she's clingy, but she doesn't exactly want to be left alone right now. "You're gonna stay with me, right?"

"Of course." He nods, sensing her unease. "No one, not even your whackjob of a coach could tear me away from you Fabray." She smiles weakly at that. "Not for a second."

He leans down, hovering over her, and gently touches his lips to hers. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

The last thing she registers before darkness closes over her is his warm lips dusting another kiss to her forehead.

—

Quinn ends up spending the last two weeks of school before winter break in the hospital. She would have gotten out sooner had her mother not insisted on keeping there longer. During her stay all the glee kids took the time to visit her, mostly all of them showing up together.

It was sometimes awkward and uncomfortable - she didn't want or need their sympathy - but she appreciated the gesture all the same. It was nice to know they cared enough.

Blaine had even stopped by, of course tagging along with Kurt, to once again apologize to her on all the Warbler's behalfs. Fortunately for him, he had come out of uniform otherwise Santana might've blown a gasket (those warbler blazers were a trigger for her now apparently, with her inner Snixx threatening to make an appearance every time she caught a glimpse of them - or so Brittany tells her. There's been a lot of near incidents down at the Lima Bean lately).

Things at home have been tedious to say the least. The loss of independence did not sit well with her ego and it leads to her temper flaring up more often than it usually does. She's been trying to work on her patience though. She knows she needs them for support, but for a girl like her, it's insanely difficult to allow herself to be okay with being dependent on others. She could hardly stand suddenly needing their help with what feels like every damn little thing.

She'll never take for granted being able to put on her own clothes by herself ever again.

It doesn't help that her mother's constantly around these days. Now she knows the woman means well and as a mother it's her unwritten duty to take care of her injured daughter but Quinn's so used to Judy not being around, that whenever she is around, it just stresses her out.

When her mother isn't hovering around her constantly, she's restricting how much time Jacob can spend with her (even though he's her boyfriend) and when she isn't doing that she's being, well Judy Fabray.

Between her mother, Santana and Brittany, and Jacob, she always has someone around for her when she needs it. And while great, having all of them together could, at times, also be quite insufferable.

Luckily for her, these days she's found a close friend in Artie.

Things all started when he visited her in the hospital along with the other glee kids. He'd offered to help her through her current situation and while she was touched by it, she didn't really have any intentions on bringing him up on his offer. She really didn't think she'd need it. She'd be out of this wheelchair in no time.

But then when physical therapy entered the equation, she'd sometimes see Artie around in the building as that was where he got his PT done too. So she figured she might as well stick with him, considering how much more experience he had with all this than she did. Gradually they started to hang out over the course of winter break, at first just during the breaks in between their PT sessions, then eventually outside of therapy on their own time.

Anyways, spending time with Artie was a nice breather from her support group at home.

And surprisingly, she found that she actually enjoyed hanging out with him. He was interesting, funny, a little self-deprecating like herself, and sure he was a little geeky, but in an endearing way. She never had anything against him before all this happened, but her job kind of kept her from getting too chummy with the glee kids, or with anyone for that matter.

Artie not only helps her in regards to using her wheelchair but more importantly he gives her someone to talk to who can understand what she's going through. Although she knows that their two cases are completely different. She will walk again, whereas Artie...

"Let's get physical...physical...I wanna get physical..."

Quinn, uncomfortable with where her train of thought had been going, is more than okay with the interruption that pulls her back to real time.

"Brittany do you have to sing that song every time we come here?"

She can't help but ask because while she's grateful for the distraction, that particular song always reminds her of Coach Sylvester and that disturbing music video she made with Olivia Newton-John last year.

And visuals like that aren't exactly the kind of things she wants to have floating around in her head while doing physical therapy.

"Would you rather her sing R. Kelly's Physical?" Santana questions, prompting her girlfriend to immediately change songs.

"Girl show me how you move...as soon as you take it off, off, off..."

"Brittany!" Mortified, Quinn glances behind her at the blonde pushing her wheelchair. "Keep your voice down." she hisses.

Santana rolls her eyes, walking along side them. "Chillax, Q. No one's even around."

True the hallway was empty, but everyone in this damn building was always required to be quiet, out of respect for the other patients, that even a person speaking in a normal voice could be heard for several doors down. Forget about someone singing.

But, of course, that doesn't keep Brittany from continuing. As the blonde wheels her through the open doorway of the training room, she leans down and sings not at all quietly, "I promise I'ma touch it, I'ma kiss it, I'ma lick it..."

Those lyrics just about gets the attention of everyone in the room. (If it wasn't for her bad back, Quinn would have sunk as far down as she could in her chair in that moment).

—

While she works with her therapist Santana and Brittany mainly act as her cheerleaders (it was a little embarrassing at first, but she's gotten used to it now - as have all the other patients that come in at around the same time they do), but at the same time they do pay attention to the advice her therapist gives her, so to better help her heal at home.

They help her with her stretches too. At first her therapist would guide them through the motions, then let them assist with the stretches. Gradually her therapist's been allowing them to stretch her out without his constant supervision.

Santana and Brittany take it all very seriously, utilizing the discipline they learned from cheerios and their other training to help her through all aspects of her therapy.

But, of course, they wouldn't be Santana and Brittany if they didn't try to lighten the mood every once and a while.

"You're so loving this, Fabray." While she's lying down on the table, Santana's helping her with some leg stretches. "Getting stretched out by your besties."

Quinn just rolls her eyes and focuses on the task at hand, not even bothering to dignify that with a response.

"Just don't get a lady boner." the Latina warns, a lazy smirk playing across her lips. "Or at least try not to - I know it's gotta be hard with all this lady loveliness being flaunted about."

Even though Santana and Brittany aren't the ones getting the exercise here, they wear their - borderline inappropriate - workout gear to these sessions anyways, much to delight of all the male patients.

"The same goes for you two." she grunts out, feeling the strain on her muscles.

"Too late." Santana and Brittany chime in unison. It obviously isn't a planned response by the look they share after and the way they bust up laughing.

In spite of herself, Quinn can't help but laugh too. Her friends are such dorks.

"Oh God." she breathes, once she has herself back under control. "You guys are gonna get us all thrown out."

Santana rolls her eyes, gently setting down her right leg. She goes to pick up her left. "You say that ever fucking time we come here. But we never do."

"Not yet at least." she murmurs, knowing her best friends all too well to think otherwise.

After all embarrasing her was one of their favorite hobbies. No doubt they'll put it on their college applications come fall.

"Yeah. Not yet." Santana echoes with a nod, a devilish glint in her eyes.

Quinn silently groans. She's got to remember to ask Jacob to take her to all of her therapy sessions from now on.

—

"Three more sets then you're done for the day." Her physiotherapist, Nick, tells her.

She exhales deeply and continues with the last of her reps. "Two more, one more." he counts down.

When she finishes, he gives her an approving nod. "Great job, Quinn. You should be proud of yourself. You're making astounding progress with your recovery. Truly. My other patients should be as lucky as you."

Quinn tiredly lifts her upper body into an upright position. She's a little sweaty and her body aches, but like it should, in the healthy post-workout way. "Thanks, Nick."

He pats her on the shoulder one last time. "Keep up the good work. At this rate you'll be back on your feet in no time. I'll see you next week, same time." Smiling, he turns his head toward Santana and Brittany and nods at them. "Bye girls."

"Bye Nick." They wave goodbye to him together, then rise from their seats.

"Damn. He's super fine." Santana appraises with a low purring sound once he's out of earshot. Her hungry gaze lingers on his retreating form.

Brittany does the same. "Mmm-hmm." she agrees, her head tilting to her side.

Quinn stares at her two friends questionably before glancing back at her therapist, who was checking up on another patient across the way. He was cute, she supposed. Nice features and all...but she was about as attracted to him as she was every guy that wasn't her wolf.

Which was not at all.

"Not my type." she shrugs, turning away without a second thought. She beckons for her wheelchair to be brought from its corner, so they could leave, only to find Santana and Brittany staring at her in that, Did you really just say that? kind of a way, or the Are you fucking blind? way in the Latina's case.

She must be if she's got two lesbians looking at her like that.

"What?" She can't help the smirk that tugs up her lips as she says, "You know what they say...once you go Black you never go back."

She gets a laugh out of both of them, though in Santana's case hers could have easily been disguised as a scoff.

"Oh God. That was..." Santana shakes her head, at an apparent loss for words. "Don't ever repeat that." Her laughter seeps through her voice, unable to be contained. "And I mean ever."

"Can't make any promises." she shrugs with a sly smile.

—

"So, Q." Brittany reaches across the table and plucks a french fry from out of the basket. "What's the first thing you're gonna do when you can walk again?" she asks out of curiosity.

Quinn takes a long drink of her water before answering. "Go on a major vampire killing spree, then get naked with Jacob and do very dirty things to him." she says, smirking against the straw.

She didn't even need to think about it. She's known for a while what her plans for that fateful day were. She's been looking forward to the day more than anything else - more than regionals, junior prom, or the first day of summer vacation, hell even graduation next year.

Santana gives her an approving nod. "Alright." she drawls, partially impressed by her candor. Mum's usually the word when it comes to all things even remotely related to her sex life.

And with good reason, but today she's feeling...well she's in a good mood, Santana and Brittany having reduced her to a mess of tears and uncontrollable laughter on more than one occasion during therapy today.

As Santana plucks another fry off the table, she makes sure to point out, "But you do know that even now you can still get your freak on, right?" She points her french fry at Quinn's lower half and makes a circular motion with it. "Cause the doc said all your lady goodness still works."

Quinn bites down on her lips in attempt to contain her smile. "Yes, I am well aware of that fact, Santana."

She lifts her smirking gaze and nods. "Well aware."

The Latina's eyes light up with surprise. "No shit." she gapes.

She exchanges an incredulous glance with Brittany, who was just as taken aback by the implication. "No way, really?"

"You dirty little skank." Santana exclaims, grinning broadly. She leans across the table and lightly nudges Quinn's arm. "When the fuck did this start happening again?" she demands.

"Not too long ago." Quinn shrugs, her head downcast, as her blush deepens under their teasing grins.

Santana shifts forward in her seat, hungry for the details. "Where'd it happen?"

Quinn hesitates for a moment before confessing rather giddily, "In Burt's garage." She buries her red face in her hands, embarrassed, but kind of loving it as Santana and Brittany hoot, holler, and cheer her.

"Kinky little Fabray!" Santana shakes her head at her, impressed. "You got down and dirty at Jacob's work! Damn. Who knew you had it in you." she snickers.

Quinn doesn't even try to contain the enormous smile and accompanying giggle that escapes her. "Well you know I've been spending a lot of time down there with him and he's been working late a lot, putting together the bike..."

For Christmas she'd bought him a motorcycle, knowing he'd been in the process of saving up for one. It wasn't a brand new bike though, a fixer-upper, one he could restore himself. He's been working on it every chance he gets, and has turned out to be quite obsessive with his new project.

She would have had a problem with it if she didn't like watching him work so much. His skillful hands were fascinating to watch in action. They looked too big for the delicate tasks involved in mechanics, but never failed to perform with ease and precision.

In short, it was such a turn on.

"And here I thought you'd be too self-conscious to do that while you're, well you know." Santana's gaze flickers downward.

"Just because I can't walk right now doesn't make me any less of a woman." she states matter-of-factly, tearing a fry in half and popping it into her mouth. "Though I will admit I was a little insecure about it at first." she eventually concedes.

"So what happened?"

Quinn flashes them a cheeky grin. "I got super horny."

"Quinn!" Brittany exclaims laughingly, shocked.

She waits until their waitress brings over their food, then leaves, before continuing with the conversation.

"What?" she responds coyly, pulling her salad closer. "It's not my fault. Jacob was just being too damn irresistable. Seeing him work with his hands..." She drifts off momentarily, the visual of his flexing muscles derailing her train of thought. "I mean I know better than anyone what those talented -" Godly, even. "- hands can do."

She's sure the smile that overtakes her face is borderline goofy but she can't bring herself to really care.

"Plus he's always wearing those shirts that show off his biceps and he's never not covered in grease...I never stood a chance against all that!"

Sure she likes to think of herself as strong-willed, but come on...she'd have to be a robot to not want up on all that manly...ness.

"And you should hear him talk about car parts and how they work! Long connecting rod forces the crank pin into rotation..." It's any wonder how she was able to behave herself for so long.

After she expels a groan that comes out sounding more like a moan, Brittany giggles and takes to fanning her off using her hand.

"Okay calm yourself, Fabray." Santana chuckles, flicking some ice water at her. "No need to spay the diner."

Quinn wipes the water droplets off her face with a playful glare directed at the Latina. "Bitch."

"Watch what you say, Fabray." Santana warns, once again pointing a fry at her. "Otherwise come your next therapy session, I'mma fucking dress you in neon spandex and matching sweatbands like Jane Fonda."

Quinn leans forward and bites the ketchup covered french fry being waved around in front of her face. "I'll take my chances." she smirks, chewing victoriously.

Just then their cell phones vibrate stimultaneously. Curious, they all reach into their purses and whip out the devices.

Quinn looks at the screen and sees that it's a text message from Rachel sent out to all the glee kids.

"Rachel wants to have one last glee get-together before school starts up again." Brittany announces unnecessarily. "Wants to know if we're in."

Santana groans. "Ugh. Come Monday we're gonna be back to seeing each other on a daily basis already. Do we really need to get in even more 'quality group bonding time'?"

"To be fair we've only hung out with everyone twice the whole break." Brittany points out. And both times were at the hospital when they all came by to visit Quinn.

"Yeah and there's a reason for it. They're fucking annoying." Santana retorts.

"You mean Rachel's annoying." Quinn corrects, disregarding the text in favor of finishing her food. She lifts her head as a thought comes to her, "How are things going with her anyways?"

Ever since the sectionals incident, she's had Santana and Brittany keeping an eye out on the magnet for trouble banshee.

"So what's the game plan o-fearless leader?"

Santana's leaning against one of the walls, her arms folded across her chest. "While Vocal Adrenaline is no more, according to the hobbit Jesse wasn't apart of the body count. He got away."

Quinn nods from her hospital bed. "Good."

Santana does a double take. Her brow draws together in confusion. "Uh, what?"

"If we can find and interrogate him, then maybe we get some answers regarding who turned Vocal Adrenaline and all the other glee clubs." she explains simply. "But in the mean time, we're..." She sighs as she corrects herself. "You're going to have to keep an eye on Rachel."

Santana snorts at the very idea. "Okay I think someone's had a little too much morphine today. You're talking crazy."

"I'm serious, Santana. And it's not just her you're gonna have to watch, it's all the glee kids. As of right now the New Directions is the only club left this side of Ohio that's still human. Whoever's been targeting the others is gonna want to come after us too."

"Yeah and Jesse still wants to get to Rachel." Brittany speaks up, perched on the edge of Quinn's bed. "He must want her real bad if he was willing to sacrifice his entire team for her."

Quinn shakes her head. "He wasn't. They were there with him to ensure he got the job done. But I caught him off guard when I intervened with the Warblers. He didn't seem to know about them being vamps either. His whole plan blew up in his face."

"All that and for what? Berry." Santana rolls her eyes. "I'm just glad he didn't get away with it. Pretty sure there'd be nothing worse than an immortal Rachel Berry. I mean she's already unbearable enough as it is, imagine her with all those heightened senses."

All three of them shudder as their minds do just that.

Santana shrugs. "Been patrolling by all their houses every night." she responds, polishing off half of her sandwich.

"We check up on Rachel personally every now and again, but nothing so far. Jesse hasn't tried to contact her so maybe he's given up." Brittany suggests, taking a bite out of her chicken finger. "It wouldn't be all that surprising, considering the reason he wanted her in the first place was to take over VA after he graduated. Now there is no team..."

"True, but that guy's never really been right in the head to begin with." Quinn stabs her salad with her fork. If it weren't for Jazz Hands and his attempt to abduct Rachel, she wouldn't be in this wheelchair right now. "And I don't think he's ever really gotten over Rachel breaking up with him. He might still try something."

"So...no go on Rachel's party?" Brittany inquires, phone still in hand to respond on their behalf.

"No go." Santana confirms. "I'd rather stay at home and watch paint dry."

Brittany sighs but nevertheless types out a polite decline to send to the short diva.

As soon as they finish with their late lunches, Santana slides out of their booth and rises to her feet. "C'mon." She drops enough bills on the table to cover the tab and tip. "Let's head over to the mall and score some froyo."

Only Santana would want frozen yogurt in January.

"Front row parking!" Brittany cheers, doing a wiggle dance to get out of the booth. "Whoop whoop!"

"Is that all I'm good for anymore?" Quinn bemoans, allowing Brittany to push her from behind. "Parking privileges?"

"Basically, yeah." Santana nods. "Well that and free transportation."

The Latina settles herself down on Quinn's lap, much to the blonde's dismay. "Órale Burro!" she commands, snapping her fingers toward the door.

"I fucking know what that means, Santana." Quinn glares, her nails purposefully digging into the other girl's side as Brittany wheels them outside.

"Well you should." Santana scoffs. "I've only been speaking Spanish around you for as long as we've known each other, Q."

"Shut up, Santana."

The Latina tsks her disapprovingly. "Spandex, Q." she reminds, wagging a finger. "Spandex."

"You come near me with anything remotely spandex and I will see to it that every meal you consume is laced with that Guatemalan hot sauce of yours." Quinn warns. "You'll never get another good night's sleep for the rest of your life and then before you know it you'll be committed to the nearest psychiatric ward, babbling nonsensically about how you just wanted to bop to the top."

The horrified expression that takes residence on Santana's face makes Quinn and Brittany erupt in a fit of laughter.

"It'll be the start of something new." Quinn piles on, barely managing to get the words out.

"But don't worry, San." Brittany rasps, her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. "We'll still be all in this together."

Quinn's laughing so hard, tears have started to form in her eyes.

Santana hops off her lap, scowling deeply. "Fuck this. And you're evil." She points at Quinn before throwing both hands up in the air and turning on her heel. "You blondes can just hitchhike to the mall. I'm outta here. Adios."

"Aw, San!" Brittany's amusement dissolves once the grumbling Latina starts walking away. Her lips draw together in a playful pout. "We're horrible." she sighs, now feeling bad.

Quinn ponders this and nods. "Yeah, but Santana wouldn't have us any other way." She glances over her shoulder in time to see the other blonde perk right back up.

"True that." Brittany agrees, her grin firmly back in place as if it never left.

The two of them fist bump before Brittany pushes her chair full force so they could chase after Santana before she actually does leave without them.

Though, deep down, they both know she'd never dare do such a thing.

So when they round the corner and find the Latina leaning by her car door, waiting, and impatiently tapping her nails against her arms, neither one of them is surprised.

—

She isn't by any means looking forward to returning to school, but Quinn knows there's no getting around it - it's just one of those things she's gonna have to suck up and deal with.

As she waits on her mother to finish up packing her lunch (she'd make it herself if the kitchen counter wasn't so damn high), the doorbell rings.

Knowing who it was bound to be, Quinn rolls out into the hallway and yells, "The door's open!"

Her mother comes around with her lunch and slips it into her backpack. "Shouting like that is very unbecoming, Quinnie." she says, prompting another eye roll from her daughter.

"You know what's really unbecoming? Being an alcoholic."

Was that jab uncalled for? Probably. But that's what happens when Judy decides to ban coffee in the Fabray household, citing that a girl her age has no business drinking caffeine in the first place.

Fortunately she has Santana and Brittany.

She rolls down the hallway toward them and automatically her brow draws together in confusion. They're both wearing civilian clothes. No cheerios uniforms in sight.

And yet they were all on their way to school...so...was she missing something?

Santana notices her staring and frowns. "What?"

Quinn stops in front of them and gives their attire an indicating nod. "You're not in your cheerios uniforms."

Santana scoffs lightly at her. "Yeah we know." she smirks.

Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes. She knows it's obvious but that doesn't explain anything. "What I'd like to know is why."

"We resigned." Brittany speaks up proudly. "Well temporarily, at least." she amends, after sharing a glance with her girlfriend.

Santana nods. "If you're off the team, then so are we." she explains with a casual shrug. "We have better things to do with our time anyways."

"Like what, exactly?" she wonders, still trying to process this bombshell. This was all news to her. Neither one of them ever mentioned thinking about quitting cheerios, let alone actually doing it.

"Taking care of you." Brittany responds easily, smiling brightly.

Her jaw tightens. "I don't need you two to take care of me." she snaps. She knows Brittany didn't mean it the way she ends up taking it, but she doesn't like being thought of as an invalid.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Relax, crazy. If you honestly thought we'd stay on the squad while you were off it then you really don't know us at all. We're either all on the team or none of us are."

"We're a packaged deal, remember?" Brittany smiles, coming around to push Quinn from behind.

She sniffles quietly, honestly overcome with emotion just then, to the point where she can feel moisture brimming in her eyes.

She has really fucking awesome friends.

Santana groans, catching sight of her watery eyes. "Oh jeez. Look the only reason we quit is cause we're tired of always wearing our uniforms every day. Has nothing to do with you, alright?" She pulls a disgusted face as she yanks open the front door. "Christ. Those meds those doctors have you taking sure turn you into one blubbering hot mess."

"Shut up, Santana." She's not even crying, thank you very much.

Now that Santana has a valid license again - though for how long she's able to keep it this time around, time will soon tell - and Quinn obviously can no longer drive, the Latina's the designated driver for the group these days.

Quinn still thinks the girl drives like a maniac and always sends up a quick prayer before getting into a car with her, but it's either Santana drives or Brittany - and of the two Santana is sadly considered the safer option.

While the Latina packs up her chair and puts it in the trunk, Quinn draws her seatbelt across her chest and clicks it into place. Parked next to Santana's car was her beloved mustang, just sitting there and begging to be driven.

It rarely gets out of the driveway nowadays, considering she can't drive it and Santana prefers to use her own car. Occasionally it gets taken out when she and Jacob want to go somewhere to be alone, but still it sucks to see such a beautiful car barely being used anymore.

One day. One day soon she will have her baby back. Then she'll drive it all across the state of Ohio and back.

She can't help the forlorn sigh that escapes her as they pull out of the driveway, away from her car.

She never realized just how much she missed driving until now.

"Here, Quinn."

Turning away from the window, Quinn automatically leans forward when she sees Brittany extending a coffee from the Lima Bean to her. "Thanks, Britt." she sighs appreciatively, inhaling the mind numbing aroma before taking a tentative sip. To her delight it's still piping hot.

"So what'd Sue say when you told her you two were resigning?" she asks once she has enough coffee in her to adequately hold a conversation without the urge to snap someone's head off. She can't imagine Coach Sylvester being okay with losing not only her head cheerio, but her other two best cheerios to boot.

"Same old, same old." Santana shrugs. "She was pretty pissed off but she knows we'll all come back as soon as you're healed. She's not too concerned about us leaving for good."

"We told her we could use the extra time to spy on Mr. Schue." Brittany nods. "To help take down the glee club and whatnot."

Quinn rolls her eyes briefly. If Sue only knew the real reason why none of her diabolical plans to destroy Mr. Schue and the glee club ever worked out.

Sure they were all terrible ideas to begin with but like the Unholy Trinity would ever let her get away with any of them. (Of course they covered their tracks each time. No one, not even Sue, could tie her failures to them, her precious cheerios).

"You realize that this will be the first time we show up at school not in our uniforms?" she brings up suddenly, the thought just occuring to her.

Santana quirks her brow. "Worried, Q?"

"No." But even to her own ears, it doesn't sound too convincing. She'll admit the idea of being without her cheerios uniform, a symbol of power and protection at McKinley, is a little disconcerting.

Showing up in a wheelchair probably has something to do with it too.

"Don't worry, Quinn." Brittany turns around in her seat to face her. "We got your back. And your front." she giggles as an afterthought. "We got all you."

Quinn smiles appreciatively at her. "Thanks, Britt."

A comfortable silence falls over them until the taller blonde comes up with something more to say. Brittany twists back around to face her. "You know something good actually came out of your accident, Quinn."

Her brow lifts of its own accord. "And what would that be?" She can't help but wonder. Because as far as she was concerned there wasn't any kind of upside to being confined to a wheelchair.

Brittany whips out her blue handicapped parking permit and waves it around enthusiastically. "Front row parking, yo!"

Both Quinn and Santana laugh harder than they probably should.

Leave it to Brittany to find the silver lining.

—

The day plays out just as Quinn expected it to. Every minute spent in the hallways is dedicated to ignoring the looks she can feel people giving her and tuning out the not so quiet whispering that goes on behind her back.

The sympathetic glances continue all throughout her classes, as does the talk, but at least in the classroom she doesn't have to work as hard to ignore everything, the lessons serving as the perfect distraction.

Santana spends the entire day in fiercely protective mama bear mode, threatening to go all Lima Heights on anyone who so much as blinks at her the wrong way. She'd nearly gotten in with some of the football players who'd crossed their paths with slushies in hand. Granted Karofsky and Azimio didn't throw them but the message they wanted to get across was receieved loud and clear.

It didn't matter if they were the Unholy Trinity, the three most popular girls in school, now that they were off the cheerios but still in glee club meant that they were fair game - subject to slushie facials like all the rest of their fellow gleeks.

Not that any one of them was intimidated by those lug headed jocks. They killed monsters for a living, for christ's sake.

(Not to mention they all had finely honed ninja skills - good luck catching them off guard.)

—

None to her surprise, by the end of the first week school has her back in a funk, similar to the one she experienced shortly after arriving home from the hospital.

She hates it. She hates feeling this way, but she can't exactly help it. Every time she rolls into the hallways of McKinley and sees her ex-teammates walking around in those red pleated cheerios skirts, she's hit with a pang of longing.

She misses cheerleading practice - now there's something she never thought would happen - she misses the formations, the somersaults, all the back handed whathaveyous; hell she even misses running suicides in the gym.

And sure she still has glee club to occupy her time with, but even that's not the same anymore. Being that they tied for sectionals with the Warblers, Mr. Schue wants to kick their dancing up yet another notch to ensure they secure the title at regionals. Which means more dance rehearsals, aka 'booty camp' sessions.

Quinn would have been a hell of a lot more enthusiastic about it had it not been for the fact that she was, you know, in a wheelchair.

How Artie could stand it is beyond her. After their first session, she nearly quit glee right then and there. What would be the point of hanging around if all she did was sit and watch? Okay yeah, Artie helped her better maneuver her chair and gave her pointers and all that, but still...these days glee club was officially depressing.

Things weren't faring any better at home. Because her mother's around almost all the time now, except for when she's at work, obviously, the amount of time Santana and Brittany get to spend at the house has been severely limited.

(While Judy likes Santana and Brittany, she doesn't like them enough to let them hang around all the time).

Quinn never thought she'd miss having them around 24/7 like she does now. Sure she's complained time and time again about them invading her privacy, annoying her to no end, being overall nuisances, but she never really meant it.

Okay, sometimes she did.

Most of the time, actually.

Anyways. Point is she didn't really mind making them meals, helping them with homework or doing their laundry (they never ask her outright to do it; they'd always just sneak their clothes into her own pile and hope she doesn't notice - she always notices, by the way). She liked taking care of them.

She, however, did not like being taken care of. Especially by her mother.

Which is why she spends as much time out of the house as she possibly can. Now that cheerios is over for her, after glee she typically hangs out at Burt Hummel's garage, keeping Jacob company while he works. It's the best part of her day; she loves hanging out with her wolf and his boys - her wolf boys.

And then, when she can get away with it, she'll tell her mother that she'll be hanging out at either Santana or Brittany's house until curfew (while they're out on patrol), when really she's with Jacob at his apartment.

She had to make sure he and the guys actually ate something other than pizza and takeout from Breadstix - it's a good thing they have fast working metabolisms otherwise those abs of theirs would've been long gone by now.

She hopes tonight she'll be able to make it over there again. And maybe this time she can get those boys to eat something leafy and green for once.

She's gonna have to sneak it into their food though. (Cause god knows how childish they get if they so much as see a vegetable on their plate).

Quinn rolls up to her locker and fiddles with her combination. The day was almost over, the weekend nearly upon them. She could hardly wait for it.

As she goes through the motions of switching out her textbooks, she once again has to deal with the inconvenience of suddenly being several feet shorter. At this height she struggles to get the necessary textbook from off of the top shelf without possibly causing an avalanche.

It's when she has her arms fully extended above her, her body straining against its seat position, that a hand comes out of nowhere and easily retrieves her books for her.

She automatically turns her head to see just whose arm it belonged to.

"Maybe you should request a lower locker or something. Make it easier on yourself." Puck suggests, looking down at her.

He's not the first person to make that suggestion and though he didn't know any better, he's sucessfully managed to aggravate her. "This is my locker. I've had it since freshman year and I intend on keeping it until I graduate."

Yeah, she knows she should drop the attitude - he's not purposefully trying to get a rise out of her - but she's entitled to be moody right now, given everything.

Or at least that's what she's been telling herself.

"Besides I'm fine. This is only temporary anyways. It won't be long before..." She trails off as Puck does the unexpected. Instead of handing over her textbooks, he walks around her wheelchair and puts them in her backpack himself.

While a sweet gesture, this instantly has her on guard. Puck is only ever nice unless he wants something. Okay that's a lie. Most of the time, she should say.

"Okay what do you want, Puckerman?" She figures she should cut to the chase now; she doesn't want to be late to class.

Puck frowns deeply at her, taking offense by her insuiation. "Why do I have to want something? Why can't I stop by and ask how you're doing?" He pauses, then adds not so confidently, "Things might've not worked out between us - " Yeah, cause you cheated on me with like half my squad. "But I still care about ya, Q."

When she meets his gaze, she's surprised to find that he was actually being serious. And honest. It's a side only a rare few see of him, one that she's fortunately accustomed with - although it has been awhile. Puck might've pulled a lot of bonehead moves while they were together, and she means a lot, but they definitely had their moments where they really connected with each other. Where he showed her that he was more than a dimwitted jock who only cared about banging chicks and playing football.

Moments like that are the reason they lasted as long as they did and the reason he was more than just a rebound from Finn for her.

Puck shifts his weight from one leg to the other uncomfortably. "You scared the shit outta all of us when we heard you'd been in an accident, Q." he murmurs.

"Believe me I didn't do it on purpose." she says with a small sad smile.

"I know that. But still...pretty stupid of ya. Texting and driving? Really? Even I know better than to do that shit."

"Yeah...won't make that same mistake twice." she assures, chuckling mildly.

"So you, like, are you in any pain?" Puck wonders. "Cause I know a guy who could help you out."

Her brow furrows and before she can ask him what he means by that, Puck's pulling something out of his wallet from his back pocket. Wordlessly, he hands over a small envelope the size of a credit card. She takes it out of curiosity and glances at the wording printed on the front.

The Chronic Lady.

The alias of one Sandy Ryerson, the current drug dealer to the McKinley student body and ex-glee club director.

Quinn politely hands back the thankfully empty envelope. (The last thing she needs is to be caught with posession of marijuana on campus). "Uh, thanks for the offer, Puck, but I don't do drugs."

"Figured as much." he shrugs. "But I thought I'd ask anyways. He gave me a real good deal when I told him a shark fractured my spinal cord."

She stares up at him quizzically. This was news to her. "And he actually believed you? How? If-"

Puck laughs. "Remember? Last year when Mr. Schue made us use wheelchairs for that week's assignment? When he made us throw a fundraiser for glee?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "The bake sale that was a huge success thanks to me?"

"Wait a minute." Quinn shakes her head, her mind just now piecing together the mystery that up until this point remained unsolved. "Tell me you didn't spike those cookies with pot."

She doesn't even have to hear an answer from him to know she'd hit it right on the nose. She should have known.

One day the club isn't selling squat and the next thing they know, Puck's pulling out his Nana Connie's 'favorite' recipe and suddenly their cupcakes are selling out like the latest Iphone, kids buying them two, three at a time.

"I didn't put enough in to give anyone hallucinations or get 'em high." he assures. "Just enough to give them a real case of the munchies."

Quinn stares at him, incredulous. "Puck I can't believe you."

She can't even remember how many of those damn cupcakes her, Santana, and Brittany bought between the three of them. They'd just tasted so fucking good.

Well now she knows why.

"What?" As per usual, Puck doesn't see what he did wrong. "It worked didn't it? We got that special bus so Wheels could tag along with us to sectionals."

Quinn just shakes her head at him and turns back to her locker.

"Hey, can I ask a question?" Puck leans against the lockers in attempt to regain her attention.

She raises her shoulders briefly. "Why not." She knows he'll ask away anyways.

"If I coped a feel right now would you be able to feel it?"

She glances back at Puck and fixates him with a look that basically reads, Did you seriously just ask that right now?

"Considering it's my feet and legs that I can't feel and not my breasts, yes I would."

Puck sighs, disappointed. "Worth a shot." he mumbles. He stops, then continues, "But your plumbing still works, right?" He has to clarify. "And you can like still do it?"

Quinn laughs in spite of herself. "Get out of here, Puckerman!" She pushes forward with her wheelchair, encouraging him back. "Go to class!" she playfully orders.

Puck backs up a step, holding his hands up in surrender. "As you wish, Lady Fabray." he chuckles.

Quinn resumes sorting through her things, still shaking her head. "Egghead." she mutters to herself.

"Heard that!" Puck calls over his shoulder, already walking away.

"Good!" she calls back. Even after he disappears around the corner, she finds herself still smiling.

"Hey Quinn."

Hearing her name, she turns around and sees the only other wheelchair bound person in this school rolling up to her. "Artie. Hi." she greets pleasantly. "What's up?"

Artie puts his brakes on. "I was just wondering if you had any plans this Saturday afternoon."

Quinn shakes her head. "Not that I know of." She looks over at him curiously. "What'd you have in mind?"

Artie smiles knowingly. "It's a surprise." he declares.

She hesitates the second the word 'surprise' comes out out of his mouth. "I don't do well with surprises, Artie."

She hates surprises, actually.

"Oh come on Quinn." he sighs in a playfully pleading tone. "It'll be no fun if I tell you."

"I fell for that line once before, Abrams." she reminds, giving him a pointed look. "And where did it land me? At a stupid comic book store for an entire afternoon."

The only reason she stayed was out of courtesy - if not for the bacon cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake he offered to buy her afterward.

Artie adjusts his glasses sheepishly. "I'll admit it wasn't the best planned trip but I promise this one is."

At her unconvinced stare, he caves and reluctantly goes into the details. "There's this skate park across town where a lot of kids like us hang out at and I thought you might like to meet some people in the same situation as you. But don't worry, they're all really nice and friendly, and I'm sure we could even get them to show you some new moves."

Quinn doesn't even know how to start her response. "Yeah, but I'm not..." she trails off, his words still echoing in her head.

Kids like us?

People in the same situation as you...?

Their situation is not the same. Not to sound like a bitch, but it isn't. Sure she's like Artie for the time being, but she shouldn't be grouped together with other disabled kids. She's well on her way to full recovery.

"This is only temporary." she continues carefully. "My doctors say it's only a matter of time before-"

Artie cuts her off. "Look I've been where you are, Quinn. I know what it feels like." He pauses, then releases another sigh.

Is that...exasperation she detects?

"But you can't keep denying-"

"I'm not denying anything." she snaps, immediately going on the defensive. "You're not me, okay? I'm not like you. This isn't gonna be my life. I'm going to walk again."

"And what if you don't?" he challenges. "When are you going to stop pretending like this isn't happening to you?"

Artie thinks he knows what he's talking about but he doesn't. He thinks she's some kind of a delusional little girl for thinking she's going to walk again and it seriously ticks her off.

Quinn takes her purse from out of her locker and slams the metal door shut. "Back off, Artie, would you?"

If he doesn't now she might just accidentally let something slip that she shouldn't.

"See you in glee." She nods curtly toward him, before he has the chance to respond. She maneuvers away from him, but before she can completely walk, er roll, away her purse - the one perched on her lap - tips over and knocks the contents onto the floor.

Great. Just great.

So much for a dramatic exit.

Bending as far over as she can, she reaches down and begins silently picking up her things. Thankfully they were all within reach.

"Uh, Quinn?"

"What?" She lifts her head just as Artie reaches down to pick up the wooden stake that had rolled under his wheel.

Oh shit.

Without thinking, Quinn quickly snatches that sucker up. (It couldn't have been a tampon, could it? Sure it'd still be embarrassing but at least that she wouldn't have to explain). "Thanks." She shoves the stake back in her purse without a second glance, but she can still feel Artie's awaiting eyes on her.

"It's for woodshop." she explains, off the top of her head. "We're learning about tents...camping and whatnot."

She ends the conversation with a lamer than lame "later" before quickly rolling away. As she rounds the corner, she shakes her head to herself.

Camping. That's what stakes are normally used for, right? Pitching tents and stuff?

—

Rolling down the middle aisleway of the classroom, Quinn turns and settles into her usual spot. In her head she's still worrying that blunder with the stake and Artie. She really has to be more careful - the last thing she needs is Artie going around and asking questions.

Once she's got the brakes on, she begins taking out her binder and pencil case. She sets them both on the table and flips open her binder. Her eyebrows lift of their own accord at the sight of the Puck's Chronic Lady envelope sitting on top of her homework.

How he'd managed to slip it into her bag, and into her binder, after she distinctly remembered handing it back to him is beyond her.

Sighing, she picks the envelope up with the intent of tearing it in half and throwing it away. But the second she gets it in between her fingers, she can't explain it, something stops her.

The more she looks at it and the longer she holds it, the more she realizes that something about it was seriously off-putting, and she means beside the fact that it's basically the calling card of an ex-teacher/possible pedophile for whenever students need 'medical' marijuana.

She stares at the card for a long time, flipping it over in her hand repeatedly. It's just a paper envelope, and she knows this will sound stupid, but something wasn't right about it. Her hunter's instinct was telling her so.

The bell rings, startling her out of her daze. "Alright, class." Her teacher claps his hands together and beckons forward. "Please pass up last night's homework assignment."

Quinn does so with one hand, while her other pockets the envelope into her jean jacket.

Whatever she was feeling would have to wait for right now.

An hour later, as soon as the final bell rings, she packs up her things and heads outside. She takes the back way, near the stadium, as a shortcut to the nearest handicap ramp that leads into the main building.

McKinley only has two ramps - one at the front of the school and one near the back - and while the one at the front has a nice and gentle slope, and is her usual preference, she doesn't feel like rolling herself to the other side of campus just to use it. Especially when the choir room is closer to where she is now.

But that's not to say she's looking forward to tackling the closer, but much steeper, ramp considering she'd only mastered rolling up it a few days ago with Artie's encouragement.

Her arms are still sore from it.

Pushing onward, she smiles to herself as she picks up a slight breeze from her wheelchair's speed. The nice thing about this shortcut is that rarely anyone else uses it, during school or otherwise - unless they're aiming to ditch class or sneak in a makeout session under the bleachers. Here there is no hallway congestion, no need for her to duck out of the way of backpacks that risk decapitating her.

She easily rounds the corner (she was a natural at turning nowadays).

And then it hits her.

Vampire.

If this were Lost In Space, that robot would be flailing his arms about, alerting, 'Danger Will Robinson! Danger!'

She stops short almost stimultaneously, her hand pulling on her chair's brakes before she can even think to do so, that everpresent sixth sense of hers working on instinct.

Her head whips around to find the source and sure enough, across the way under the bleachers was Sandy Ryerson in the middle of a transaction with Stoner Brett.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me." she murmurs to herself.

Well now she knows why Mr. Ryerson's calling card had given her a bad vibe. The man was a goddamn vampire.

Honestly. Is no one human anymore?

Quinn stays where she is, unmoving, but watches the man in question closely. Her brow furrows in thought. Is it possible that he's been the one who's been turning all the glee clubs?

He doesn't seem like mass murdering villiany type, but she knows better than to write him off solely based on appearance.

But still even if it was him, what would be his motive? The only glee club he had anything against was the New Directions...or more accurately the one he had anything against was Mr. Schuester. (He was still not over Mr. Schue taking over his glee club after he was fired or the fact that Mr. Schue kicked him out of Acafellas last year, or so the glee club gossip goes).

Even so, there's no way Puck giving her the marijuana card and then an hour later Mr. Ryerson turning up in her path was pure coincidence. She knows a sign when she sees one. This was the universe's way of telling her to investigate this guy.

And if he isn't the mastermind genius behind all this - which he probably isn't - then maybe he knows who is.

Reaching around, Quinn discreetly takes her gun from out of her backpack and safely tucks it into the inside pocket of her jacket.

She knew that some vampires, mainly those who know a witch with the right know-how, could walk around during daylight, but she never would've figured Mr. Ryerson to have those kinds of connections. And if a guy like him is able to make connections, there's no telling what kind of a vampire he is.

Which is why it's best she be prepared. She's already let one vampire get the drop on her. She isn't about to let that happen twice.

She doesn't relish using a firearm out in the open like this, though she supposes under the bleachers isn't that open, but she'll do what she has to, if she has to.

She does another quick scan of her surroundings, to ensure no one was around, before proceeding on her way toward them. Stoner Brett walks off with his weed at just the right moment.

"Mr. Ryerson." she greets, making her presence known.

"Yes?" He turns and lifts his gaze from the cash he'd been counting. Once he takes in the pitiful sight of her in her wheelchair, his shoulders deflate empathetically. A hand rests over his heart. "Oh you poor thing."

She ducks her head briefly, feigning embarrasment. "I don't normally do this..." she begins awkwardly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

"But the pain is too much." Mr. Ryerson finishes knowingly. "I understand."

She sniffles quietly, her bottom lip quivering, as she turns on the waterworks with ease. (Rachel's not the only one who can manipulate her way through fake crying).

"It's just that regionals for glee club are coming up and I really want to perform, even if it is in a wheelchair...but it just hurts so much," she chokes back a sob. "And I don't know what else to do. My doctors won't prescribe me anything stronger than I already have..."

The way Mr. Ryerson hones in on the words 'glee club' just proves that she was definitely on the right track here. "You're in the New Directions?"

She nods wordlessly, the flicker in his eyes having not gone unnoticed by her.

Mr. Ryerson clears his throat suddenly, briefly losing his train of thought - or so it looks. "You know, Ms...?" He pauses and looks to her expectantly.

Quinn stares up at him, brow raised. Because seriously? He honestly doesn't know who she is?

She's Quinn Fabray. Quinn fuckin' Fabray. Everyone knows who she is.

(She guesses if she's not an adolescent boy then she's just not on his radar).

"Fabray." she supplies, slightly miffed.

"Ms. Fabray." He nods before starting again. "You know I can offer you something much more," He pauses for a moment to find the right word. "Worthwhile than cannabis."

She quirks her brow. "Oh?"

Mr. Ryerson nods. "Now how would you like to be able to get up out of that chair right this instant and walk?" he brings up casually, testing the waters.

Admittedly she'd like that very much but she sure as hell isn't gonna turn herself into a vampire in exchange for the ability to do so.

"That sounds great, but that's impossible." She shakes her head and drops her gaze, sighing dejectedly. "The doctors say I'll never walk again. I'd need a miracle."

"Well then a miracle you shall receive." When she lifts her head, Mr. Ryerson's extending his arms in a half circular fashion and flashing his gleaming canine teeth, as if he was the fairy godmother to her Cinderella.

This was all just so horribly disturbing, she couldn't play along for another second.

With another shake of her head, she tells him as much. "Okay I can't do this anymore." She pulls her gun from out of her jacket. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" She's going to be late to rehearsal otherwise. "I know you're a vampire and if you tell me what you know about the glee clubs mysteriously being turned into vampires, I won't shoot your testicles off. Understand?"

His smile falters. Instinctively he takes a step back. "You know about the undead?" he questions, perplexed. "Oh dear." He says more to himself than her.

She takes the safety off her gun with a click. "Are you, or are you not, the one who's been turning all the glee clubs?"

Mr. Ryerson straightens up, his chin raised defiantly. "I don't know what you're talking about." he declares, waving a dismissive hand.

She shoots him a hard look. "Don't play dumb, it's annoying. It's obvious you do. You all but gave yourself away when you lit up like the fourth of july when I mentioned my being in the New Directions."

When she doesn't receive a response, she aims at his crotch without hesitation. "You know something, Ryerson. Now tell me or I will - "

Her words cut off just then, caught off guard by the sudden jab of a needle going into the side of her neck.

It happens so fast she doesn't even get the chance to turn to see who'd done it, let alone scream.

A second later everything goes dark.

Santana jiggles her leg restlessly over her knee, her arms folded across her chest.

Rachel had taken to the center of the choir room some ten minutes ago and was now fruitlessly trying to convince everyone that the key to winning regionals was performing original songs.

Like that'd ever work.

Santana was beyond listening at this point. Normally in these situations she'd strike up a side conversation with Quinn and Britt, but that was back when they all sat way up in the top row, out of earshot from Mr. Schue.

Currently her and Brittany were sitting in the bottom row off to the side. It's disgustingly close to Berry's front row center seat, but with her wheelchair and all, Quinn couldn't very well sit on the raised platforms. So naturally they changed from their preferred seating arrangement to accomodate their homegirl.

It usually didn't bother her to the point where she felt the urge to complain about it but today was different, seeing as how she was apparently sitting here for no good reason.

Quinn was MIA and while Santana knew it took her a little longer to get from place to place in her wheelchair, even with that taken into account, blondie should have been here already.

Everyone else was. And at the moment they were all forced to endure yet another Rachel rant.

Santana pulls her cell phone out of her bra and glances at the screen. Her 'Bitch. Where are you?' text had yet to be answered.

Sighing, she types out another message. 'If you ditched practice to go fuck your teen wolf I am going to kick your gimpy ass clear to Lima Heights.'

She waits impatiently for what feels like hours but in reality was only a few short seconds.

Still nothing.

She uncrosses her leg and begins tapping an uneven beat against the linoleum floor. C'mon...

Shit. Now that that damn bitch had her worried, she was really gonna kick that girl's ass the second she saw her.

Her thumbs glide across the keys for a third time. 'Seriously, Q. Are you okay?'

She's just about to hit send when Berry suddenly lets rip the loudest fucking scream imaginable.

AN: With 2-3 chapters more to go, I think it's safe to say things are just gonna get crazier.

Thanks for reading and hopefully you all stay tuned for the next chapter!