walk through the fire (and let it burn), part 2, pg
Title: walk through the fire (and let it burn), part 2
Author: intobrakelights
Rating: PG for this part.
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn.
Summary: Instead of Sunnydale, California, it's Lima, Ohio that has the hellmouth - and the Slayer. Written for this prompt at the rq_meme.
Spoilers: Buffyverse AU, so just about nothing. I'll probably steal some demons and such from Buffy, but yes.
Part 1
Quinn stares up at her ceiling and knows none of this can possibly be real.
(Rachel pauses dramatically, her eyes wide and earnest, and then rushes to fill in the silence with a bright smile, like an epiphany.)
Quinn wants to laugh and post cruel comments on Berry’s MySpace page mocking her insanity and her obvious mental illness. She wants to recommend men in white coats and reassure Berry that they aren’t vampires, so she doesn’t need to slay them. They’re just here to help you reach a safer place in your life, she would promise.
Instead she lies in her bed at midnight with her light turned on so bright it’s almost blinding. She doesn’t want to dream. She doesn’t want to feel her heart hammering in her chest as the darkness closes tight around her. She wants to see. She wants never to see.
This is impossible. It’s so ridiculously and obscenely impossible that Quinn thinks she might just believe it.
She stares up at her ceiling until dawn.
---
Quinn knows that this day is no different from any other. She knows that everyone will part for her as she walks through the hallways, knows that she must be prepared to impart a few glares on the infidels who still think they have a chance against her. She knows that she will need to remember how to be Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray, who never misses a step-who doesn’t even understand the concept.
But all she can feel is her heart pounding wildly in her chest and Berry’s dramatic reveal-vampire slayer-echoing and echoing and echoing in her ears and all she can do is try not to remember.
And even though they part before their ruler in the hallways, heads ducked low to avoid catching whatever look she might consider throwing their way, she cannot bring herself to focus on anything but the one inevitable truth that has been haunting her entire day: she’s going to have to talk to Rachel Berry.
No, worse: she’s going to have to engage in civil conversation with Rachel Berry.
While indeed the very idea is vomit-inducing, there is also the matter of her reputation to consider-if she is seen discussing anything with Rachel Berry apart from her hideous clothing mistakes or her questionable gender (which, fine, might not really be all that questionable, but that’s beside the point), she will be committing social suicide. Or, being that she is Quinn Fabray, she will at least be putting herself at risk. And she is not willing to take that chance, not just for the opportunity to talk to RuPaul.
(Rachel’s looking at with something almost like hope or maybe pride or maybe both, and after she is met only by silence, the falter in her smile twists something inside Quinn, something she dares not confess might be as utterly stupid as concern.)
After the final bell rings, Quinn manages to find herself just outside of the auditorium without having garnered much attention at all. On any other occasion, she would have found it horrifying-now, she feels a flood of relief with which she’s not entirely sure she’s comfortable. For a moment, she almost walks away.
But she knows what her night will be if she doesn’t do this now, knows that she cannot stand the thought of Rachel Berry keeping her from another night’s sleep-because no one, especially not the loser who makes every other nerd in the world look like a superstar, should ever have that power over Quinn.
So she turns the handle and pulls open the door, entirely unsurprised when she is immediately met with the sight of Berry onstage, singing a song Quinn doesn’t recognize. And though the first thing Quinn does is roll her eyes and imagine it’s probably some Broadway hit from a show Berry has seen five hundred times, each time imagining herself on stage, captivating a wide-eyed audience (which is really just pathetic, she thinks, and definitely not admirable, as Berry had tried to suggest), the second thing she does is-well, listen. Because no way is Rachel Berry not the most grating person Quinn has ever had the displeasure of knowing, but it occurs to her in that moment she has never actually heard her sing. And, well. She can sing.
Quinn’s not exactly a music connoisseur, or anything, but for a moment she almost forgets the annoying personality and the clothes-in other words, she almost forgets this is Rachel Berry-and she becomes one of those wide-eyed, captivated audience members, happy just to have the opportunity to listen to the wonder that is her talent. Too soon, Rachel comes to a soft, vulnerable, heart-breaking finish and Quinn remembers who she is and who that is and, God, if life wasn’t insane before, there is no chance it isn’t now.
Man Hands, she almost greets, but instead remembers the silent promise of at least an attempt at civility and says instead, “I need to talk to you.”
Berry looks up quickly, having been too absorbed by her own performance to notice Quinn’s entrance. Which, well, thank God, because she certainly does not need an ego boost in the form of Quinn Fabray enjoying anything about being in her presence. Regardless of whatever talent she might possess.
“I’m sorry, Quinn, I can’t,” she says, walking to the side of the stage and then down the stairs, returning so that she is facing Quinn. “Mr. Schuester needs to see me in his office immediately and I can’t keep him waiting.” She’s moving past Quinn, toward the door and Quinn almost lets her go because chasing after Rachel Berry to do anything but insult her is completely against her moral code.
But there’s still the murmur of vampire slayer that she can’t seem to escape and so she strides forward, grabbing Berry by the wrist and effectively stopping her in her tracks. “I’m not saying that I believe you,” she whispers, irritation sharpening the edges of her words, “but you cannot possibly tell me-that-and then refuse to discuss it with me later.”
“If you don’t believe me,” Rachel says, folding her arms across her chest like an insurrection Quinn knows she cannot put down right now, “why are you even here?”
Quinn Fabray knows she should leave now before she risks everything. Instead, she confesses, sharply but more quietly than she wishes was the case, “I don’t not believe you, either.”
“Look, Quinn, right now, there’s a town in need of protecting and I happen to be its only hope.” Quinn would have expected Berry to delight in the words, dramatic and self-involved as she is, but they’re raw, almost harsh.
Quinn is left standing in the auditorium, unable to understand why she tastes the acrid sting of loneliness in the back of her throat.
---
There are, she is certain, five thousand reasons why her behavior is completely objectionable.
Number one among them would be that this is practically stalking, and anyone stalking Rachel Berry instantly qualifies for an insane asylum or the depths of hell. But Quinn Fabray is not anyone, and that only makes this infinitely worse.
So, yes, it’s possible she happened upon the information that Rachel would be at this cemetery tonight. It’s possible “happened upon” might not be the description someone more objective might employ. And it’s equally possible that this is the reason Quinn is standing here in the middle of a graveyard at one-thirty in the morning, despite knowing that this is putting more than her reputation and her parents’ trust at risk.
Because although it still possible this could all be some elaborate prank, Quinn thinks maybe only she would be cruel enough to execute something like that. Somehow she has gone from not not believing to a certainty she cannot quite begin to fathom. But if she is right, if all if this is true, being in a graveyard at one-thirty in the morning might be the most idiotic choice she has ever made.
So when she hears rustling from the bushes, it’s really only understandable that she’s mildly frightened. And it’s dark and cold and why didn’t she bring a sweatshirt and this is a really, really stupid idea and for stalking Rachel Berry it’s likely she deserves whatever death that might be coming for her, but she really, really doesn’t want to die.
Except then it’s Rachel Berry herself who emerges from the shadows and Quinn wants to strangle her and also maybe hug her, so she settles for somewhere in between the two.
“Do you have to be so noisy?” she hisses, her unfamiliarity with fear lending annoyance to her words. Granted, she isn’t so sure having the girl sneak up on her quietly would have been a welcome improvement, but standing in a graveyard and attempting logic isn’t exactly her forte-besides, attacking Rachel Berry is remarkably comforting, especially given the circumstances.
“Aren’t vampire slayers supposed to be, like, sneaky or something?” she adds after a moment of allowing herself to remember how to breathe properly-and doing her best not to show it.
“Quinn?” Berry asks, eyebrows furrowing, looking altogether too puzzled by her presence to react to the insult. “What are you doing here?”
“Talking to you, obviously,” she says, sounding far less irritated than should probably be the case.
“But why?” Rachel presses. “It’s no secret that I’m far from your favorite person in the world and unless you’re hiding a slushie behind your back-which, even for you, seems a bit ludicrous-I can’t imagine what it is you think you’ll find here.”
“I told you we needed to talk,” Quinn finally concedes, although her tone is far from warm. “I don’t know how you expect me to react to the news that you’re the Slayer or whatever, but I can’t just walk through the hallways and ignore it.” She pauses, and then words begin spilling out more softly and vulnerably than she’d like. “Everything’s different now. I can’t just-I can’t exactly ignore it.”
“And this isn’t a trick?” Rachel asks, now looking more uncertain than bemused, although her head is held high and her arms are folded across her chest. “There are no Cheerios laying in wait and preparing to ambush me or videotape me?”
“Please,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes, “how self-involved are you? Like I’d really go to the trouble of bringing the whole team out here just for the sake of humiliating you? Get a clue.” Where her words should be sharp, they are almost more amused than anything else, and there’s a tug on the corners of her lips and she doesn’t know what any of that means.
Rachel nods resolutely and offers a tentative smile in return, like an olive branch. Until now, Quinn didn’t know it was possible for the diva extraordinaire to be tentative about anything. Not that she’s given it much consideration.
Just as Rachel opens her mouth to speak, something grabs Quinn from behind and clutches her so tightly she can barely breathe-and then, a second later, she’s being tossed carelessly onto the ground. Her head is spinning and she’s gasping for air, entirely disoriented, so by the time she blinks her eyes open and the world swims into focus, she is met with the image of two figures. One is Rachel, throwing punches and kicks that seem to land more often than not-and the other is someone with curly hair falling to his shoulders, a leather jacket, and ripped jeans who would probably look to be about twenty-nine if not for the way his face is distorted. Just like the ones in the library.
Vampire, she understands suddenly. Rachel is gripping something in her hand that Quinn thinks must be a stake (and it’s all so ridiculous that any of this could be true except that she is seeing everything, except that she is certain), lunging forward in an effort to reach its heart, because even Quinn knows enough about stupid vampire movies to know that one. And maybe that should make this lame, and she’s sure if she was seeing this all objectively it would be, except that Rachel’s currently fighting a vampire and Quinn is mostly just afraid.
“Dammit, Rachel,” she cries as the vampire knocks the stake out of Rachel’s hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be sneaky like him?”
“He’s nothing,” Rachel reassures, sighing even as the battle continues. “Honestly, he lacks balance and his coordination is atrocious.” She pauses, ducking beneath his attempted blows and turning briefly toward Quinn. “Stake, please.”
Quinn scrambles to her right, catching sight of where it is has landed. Her toss is almost impeccable, and Rachel catches it easily and stakes him cleanly through the heart. Just like that, he is dust.
“If he’s nothing,” Quinn says, doing her best to stand gracefully and smooth down her top while still retaining her dignity, “why did you take so long to kill him?” Her head is pounding.
“It is always important to practice as much as possible when the opportunity arises,” she says, smiling widely, the picture of self-assurance. Quinn can’t help but wonder how she looks now: there are grass stains on her jeans, she’s sure, and a rip in her blouse and a general loss of dignity that comes from being picked up and thrown around like a five year old girl. But she is still Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerleader, the girl who can send even the boldest seniors running with just the raise of an eyebrow. This thought should comfort her.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asks after a moment, casting Quinn a concerned look. “I really should have noticed him.”
Yes, you should have, she almost says, but something stops her. “I’m fine.” Under Rachel’s unconvinced stare, she simply shakes her head, adding, “I’m fine. But you are going to tell me everything.” A beat. “Please.”
Rachel nods, smiling again, and Quinn practically tastes her delight-like the honeysuckle she and her dad would pick when she was seven and he would hold her hand and smile at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
“I can accept those terms,” she says, even though Quinn hadn’t realized there were any terms at all. She’s finding, when it comes to Rachel Berry, there are a lot of things she hadn’t realized.
(And she shouldn’t care to know them, she will think later when she remembers this night, but it will also be at that moment she will realize that somehow, in the midst of all this madness, the self-obsessed, irritating, incorrigible diva became Rachel.
There will be a disquieting lurch in the pit of her stomach that comes with this realization.
Worse, while she won't be sure she likes it, she also won’t be sure she doesn’t like it.)
Author: intobrakelights
Rating: PG for this part.
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn.
Summary: Instead of Sunnydale, California, it's Lima, Ohio that has the hellmouth - and the Slayer. Written for this prompt at the rq_meme.
Spoilers: Buffyverse AU, so just about nothing. I'll probably steal some demons and such from Buffy, but yes.
Part 1
Quinn stares up at her ceiling and knows none of this can possibly be real.
(Rachel pauses dramatically, her eyes wide and earnest, and then rushes to fill in the silence with a bright smile, like an epiphany.)
Quinn wants to laugh and post cruel comments on Berry’s MySpace page mocking her insanity and her obvious mental illness. She wants to recommend men in white coats and reassure Berry that they aren’t vampires, so she doesn’t need to slay them. They’re just here to help you reach a safer place in your life, she would promise.
Instead she lies in her bed at midnight with her light turned on so bright it’s almost blinding. She doesn’t want to dream. She doesn’t want to feel her heart hammering in her chest as the darkness closes tight around her. She wants to see. She wants never to see.
This is impossible. It’s so ridiculously and obscenely impossible that Quinn thinks she might just believe it.
She stares up at her ceiling until dawn.
---
Quinn knows that this day is no different from any other. She knows that everyone will part for her as she walks through the hallways, knows that she must be prepared to impart a few glares on the infidels who still think they have a chance against her. She knows that she will need to remember how to be Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray, who never misses a step-who doesn’t even understand the concept.
But all she can feel is her heart pounding wildly in her chest and Berry’s dramatic reveal-vampire slayer-echoing and echoing and echoing in her ears and all she can do is try not to remember.
And even though they part before their ruler in the hallways, heads ducked low to avoid catching whatever look she might consider throwing their way, she cannot bring herself to focus on anything but the one inevitable truth that has been haunting her entire day: she’s going to have to talk to Rachel Berry.
No, worse: she’s going to have to engage in civil conversation with Rachel Berry.
While indeed the very idea is vomit-inducing, there is also the matter of her reputation to consider-if she is seen discussing anything with Rachel Berry apart from her hideous clothing mistakes or her questionable gender (which, fine, might not really be all that questionable, but that’s beside the point), she will be committing social suicide. Or, being that she is Quinn Fabray, she will at least be putting herself at risk. And she is not willing to take that chance, not just for the opportunity to talk to RuPaul.
(Rachel’s looking at with something almost like hope or maybe pride or maybe both, and after she is met only by silence, the falter in her smile twists something inside Quinn, something she dares not confess might be as utterly stupid as concern.)
After the final bell rings, Quinn manages to find herself just outside of the auditorium without having garnered much attention at all. On any other occasion, she would have found it horrifying-now, she feels a flood of relief with which she’s not entirely sure she’s comfortable. For a moment, she almost walks away.
But she knows what her night will be if she doesn’t do this now, knows that she cannot stand the thought of Rachel Berry keeping her from another night’s sleep-because no one, especially not the loser who makes every other nerd in the world look like a superstar, should ever have that power over Quinn.
So she turns the handle and pulls open the door, entirely unsurprised when she is immediately met with the sight of Berry onstage, singing a song Quinn doesn’t recognize. And though the first thing Quinn does is roll her eyes and imagine it’s probably some Broadway hit from a show Berry has seen five hundred times, each time imagining herself on stage, captivating a wide-eyed audience (which is really just pathetic, she thinks, and definitely not admirable, as Berry had tried to suggest), the second thing she does is-well, listen. Because no way is Rachel Berry not the most grating person Quinn has ever had the displeasure of knowing, but it occurs to her in that moment she has never actually heard her sing. And, well. She can sing.
Quinn’s not exactly a music connoisseur, or anything, but for a moment she almost forgets the annoying personality and the clothes-in other words, she almost forgets this is Rachel Berry-and she becomes one of those wide-eyed, captivated audience members, happy just to have the opportunity to listen to the wonder that is her talent. Too soon, Rachel comes to a soft, vulnerable, heart-breaking finish and Quinn remembers who she is and who that is and, God, if life wasn’t insane before, there is no chance it isn’t now.
Man Hands, she almost greets, but instead remembers the silent promise of at least an attempt at civility and says instead, “I need to talk to you.”
Berry looks up quickly, having been too absorbed by her own performance to notice Quinn’s entrance. Which, well, thank God, because she certainly does not need an ego boost in the form of Quinn Fabray enjoying anything about being in her presence. Regardless of whatever talent she might possess.
“I’m sorry, Quinn, I can’t,” she says, walking to the side of the stage and then down the stairs, returning so that she is facing Quinn. “Mr. Schuester needs to see me in his office immediately and I can’t keep him waiting.” She’s moving past Quinn, toward the door and Quinn almost lets her go because chasing after Rachel Berry to do anything but insult her is completely against her moral code.
But there’s still the murmur of vampire slayer that she can’t seem to escape and so she strides forward, grabbing Berry by the wrist and effectively stopping her in her tracks. “I’m not saying that I believe you,” she whispers, irritation sharpening the edges of her words, “but you cannot possibly tell me-that-and then refuse to discuss it with me later.”
“If you don’t believe me,” Rachel says, folding her arms across her chest like an insurrection Quinn knows she cannot put down right now, “why are you even here?”
Quinn Fabray knows she should leave now before she risks everything. Instead, she confesses, sharply but more quietly than she wishes was the case, “I don’t not believe you, either.”
“Look, Quinn, right now, there’s a town in need of protecting and I happen to be its only hope.” Quinn would have expected Berry to delight in the words, dramatic and self-involved as she is, but they’re raw, almost harsh.
Quinn is left standing in the auditorium, unable to understand why she tastes the acrid sting of loneliness in the back of her throat.
---
There are, she is certain, five thousand reasons why her behavior is completely objectionable.
Number one among them would be that this is practically stalking, and anyone stalking Rachel Berry instantly qualifies for an insane asylum or the depths of hell. But Quinn Fabray is not anyone, and that only makes this infinitely worse.
So, yes, it’s possible she happened upon the information that Rachel would be at this cemetery tonight. It’s possible “happened upon” might not be the description someone more objective might employ. And it’s equally possible that this is the reason Quinn is standing here in the middle of a graveyard at one-thirty in the morning, despite knowing that this is putting more than her reputation and her parents’ trust at risk.
Because although it still possible this could all be some elaborate prank, Quinn thinks maybe only she would be cruel enough to execute something like that. Somehow she has gone from not not believing to a certainty she cannot quite begin to fathom. But if she is right, if all if this is true, being in a graveyard at one-thirty in the morning might be the most idiotic choice she has ever made.
So when she hears rustling from the bushes, it’s really only understandable that she’s mildly frightened. And it’s dark and cold and why didn’t she bring a sweatshirt and this is a really, really stupid idea and for stalking Rachel Berry it’s likely she deserves whatever death that might be coming for her, but she really, really doesn’t want to die.
Except then it’s Rachel Berry herself who emerges from the shadows and Quinn wants to strangle her and also maybe hug her, so she settles for somewhere in between the two.
“Do you have to be so noisy?” she hisses, her unfamiliarity with fear lending annoyance to her words. Granted, she isn’t so sure having the girl sneak up on her quietly would have been a welcome improvement, but standing in a graveyard and attempting logic isn’t exactly her forte-besides, attacking Rachel Berry is remarkably comforting, especially given the circumstances.
“Aren’t vampire slayers supposed to be, like, sneaky or something?” she adds after a moment of allowing herself to remember how to breathe properly-and doing her best not to show it.
“Quinn?” Berry asks, eyebrows furrowing, looking altogether too puzzled by her presence to react to the insult. “What are you doing here?”
“Talking to you, obviously,” she says, sounding far less irritated than should probably be the case.
“But why?” Rachel presses. “It’s no secret that I’m far from your favorite person in the world and unless you’re hiding a slushie behind your back-which, even for you, seems a bit ludicrous-I can’t imagine what it is you think you’ll find here.”
“I told you we needed to talk,” Quinn finally concedes, although her tone is far from warm. “I don’t know how you expect me to react to the news that you’re the Slayer or whatever, but I can’t just walk through the hallways and ignore it.” She pauses, and then words begin spilling out more softly and vulnerably than she’d like. “Everything’s different now. I can’t just-I can’t exactly ignore it.”
“And this isn’t a trick?” Rachel asks, now looking more uncertain than bemused, although her head is held high and her arms are folded across her chest. “There are no Cheerios laying in wait and preparing to ambush me or videotape me?”
“Please,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes, “how self-involved are you? Like I’d really go to the trouble of bringing the whole team out here just for the sake of humiliating you? Get a clue.” Where her words should be sharp, they are almost more amused than anything else, and there’s a tug on the corners of her lips and she doesn’t know what any of that means.
Rachel nods resolutely and offers a tentative smile in return, like an olive branch. Until now, Quinn didn’t know it was possible for the diva extraordinaire to be tentative about anything. Not that she’s given it much consideration.
Just as Rachel opens her mouth to speak, something grabs Quinn from behind and clutches her so tightly she can barely breathe-and then, a second later, she’s being tossed carelessly onto the ground. Her head is spinning and she’s gasping for air, entirely disoriented, so by the time she blinks her eyes open and the world swims into focus, she is met with the image of two figures. One is Rachel, throwing punches and kicks that seem to land more often than not-and the other is someone with curly hair falling to his shoulders, a leather jacket, and ripped jeans who would probably look to be about twenty-nine if not for the way his face is distorted. Just like the ones in the library.
Vampire, she understands suddenly. Rachel is gripping something in her hand that Quinn thinks must be a stake (and it’s all so ridiculous that any of this could be true except that she is seeing everything, except that she is certain), lunging forward in an effort to reach its heart, because even Quinn knows enough about stupid vampire movies to know that one. And maybe that should make this lame, and she’s sure if she was seeing this all objectively it would be, except that Rachel’s currently fighting a vampire and Quinn is mostly just afraid.
“Dammit, Rachel,” she cries as the vampire knocks the stake out of Rachel’s hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be sneaky like him?”
“He’s nothing,” Rachel reassures, sighing even as the battle continues. “Honestly, he lacks balance and his coordination is atrocious.” She pauses, ducking beneath his attempted blows and turning briefly toward Quinn. “Stake, please.”
Quinn scrambles to her right, catching sight of where it is has landed. Her toss is almost impeccable, and Rachel catches it easily and stakes him cleanly through the heart. Just like that, he is dust.
“If he’s nothing,” Quinn says, doing her best to stand gracefully and smooth down her top while still retaining her dignity, “why did you take so long to kill him?” Her head is pounding.
“It is always important to practice as much as possible when the opportunity arises,” she says, smiling widely, the picture of self-assurance. Quinn can’t help but wonder how she looks now: there are grass stains on her jeans, she’s sure, and a rip in her blouse and a general loss of dignity that comes from being picked up and thrown around like a five year old girl. But she is still Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerleader, the girl who can send even the boldest seniors running with just the raise of an eyebrow. This thought should comfort her.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asks after a moment, casting Quinn a concerned look. “I really should have noticed him.”
Yes, you should have, she almost says, but something stops her. “I’m fine.” Under Rachel’s unconvinced stare, she simply shakes her head, adding, “I’m fine. But you are going to tell me everything.” A beat. “Please.”
Rachel nods, smiling again, and Quinn practically tastes her delight-like the honeysuckle she and her dad would pick when she was seven and he would hold her hand and smile at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
“I can accept those terms,” she says, even though Quinn hadn’t realized there were any terms at all. She’s finding, when it comes to Rachel Berry, there are a lot of things she hadn’t realized.
(And she shouldn’t care to know them, she will think later when she remembers this night, but it will also be at that moment she will realize that somehow, in the midst of all this madness, the self-obsessed, irritating, incorrigible diva became Rachel.
There will be a disquieting lurch in the pit of her stomach that comes with this realization.
Worse, while she won't be sure she likes it, she also won’t be sure she doesn’t like it.)