fanfic: you were sent here (for the rescue) [1/5]
Title: You Were Sent Here (For The Rescue) [1/5]
Author: Jocelyn (tempus_viator )
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG 13
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Child abuse.
Spoilers: Nothing I can think of.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee just the mistakes and I will eventually find myself a beta...
Summary: Everyone needs a little saving sometimes.
A/N: Hi guys! I am clearly such an angst whore. I started out writing some carnival fluff and then someone inceptioned this into my mind. Child abuse is one of the main things of this so if that’s not to your liking, hit the back button now. Also, in case you happen to like music to fit with your music, this was written under the influence of The Rescue by Tyler Ward where the title came from as well as By Your Side and You Are More by Tenth Avenue North as well as the acapella group, Rajaton’s Butterfly and Dobbin’s Flowery Vale. Enjoy! This is going to be approximately 3-5 parts long...because I have a short as hell attention span.
Her head flies to the right and she barely curbs the urge to make a noise. Long ago, she has learned the hard way that noise simply makes everything all that much harder and the blows will rain longer, harsher. Tightening her body into a small ball, she huddles closer to the wall, desperate to protect whatever parts of her body she can from the man that she supposedly calls father. Her eyes are bleary with the blood running down her forehead. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees her mother laughing at her.
A kick to the ribs makes her keel over and gasp for air. An audible snap echoes around in the room and she whimpers and tries to avoid another kick to something crucial.
“Such a weak, pathetic thing,” Russell growls in a low voice. He grabs the glass from beside him and takes another sip of the scotch in the cup before he throws it onto the ground, barely missing Quinn in the process. The cup shatters and she sobs and it’s only because his wife - her mother - manages to distract him long enough that she isn’t kicked in retaliation for uttering a complaint.
Clutching her ribs protectively, Quinn watches the two of them wander away, deliriously drunk. She wipes the blood, sweat and tears out of her eyes before she grits her teeth and leans heavily against the wall. How things got this bad, she’s still not quite sure. All she ever does is what her father wants but still, he’s never quite satisfied with her.
It’s with shaking fingers that Quinn dials a number she knows that she should not have memorized but does. She grabs the first article of clothing she can find and wipes furiously at the blow on her head, hoping to staunch the blood flow. Small tears stream down her face and she finds that she’s breathing harshly even as she tries to even it out and slow her thundering heart.
A sleepy hello greets her call after the second attempt.
“Rach?” she asks, hates the way her voice sounds so small and weak, a far cry from her normally confident self. “Can you come pick me up?”
Even half asleep, Rachel knows something is wrong immediately when Quinn uses her nickname in that voice and it’s like a bucket of cold water is splashed onto her. She’s up in seconds, assuring the blonde that she’ll be there in seven minutes exactly.
“Thanks, Rachel,” Quinn replies quietly as she leaves the bloody shirt on the floor and contemplates how she’s going to manage to sneak out of the house without her father catching her and being submitted to another beating.
Glancing at herself in the mirror, she winces. Now that the blood has stopped, the head injury didn’t look so bad. Her father is good when it came to aiming at places that aren’t easily seen. Her face, minus the tears and the slight smatters of blood, is still perfect looking. Quinn doesn’t even broach the thought of what other parts of her body might look like though.
Restraining the urge to curse heavily and to crumble into the fetal position upon the floor, she lifts her shirt up and wishes she didn’t. Older bruises stick out prominently against her skin along with fresh welts and bruises and every time she tries to breath, it hurts. Her hand tentatively creeps up to press gently against the discoloured skin. Muttering a quick curse, she tries not to breathe too deeply as she removes her hand.
“Definitely broken,” she decides. She glares at the image of the broken girl she sees in the mirror before she lowers her shirt and tries to clean up as well as she can. The tenuous task of climbing out of the window is not something she is looking forward too. Taking the door is an option she wishes she has.
Every move feels painful and she swallows several pills to numb the pain a bit before she as she stumbles to the window stiffly, unlocking it and looking out into the dark. She knows without a hint of doubt that anger will dominant her father’s features tomorrow when she returns after school but right now, she needs relief, a moment to let her guard down and Quinn is slightly disgruntled that she can’t confide her mother but instead has to go to Berry of all people. They hold a tentative friendship and she can count on the brunette in a way she can’t from Santana, Brittany, Finn or even Puck.
Climbing out of the window and taking the tree is a painful affair. She knows that as she sucks in another painful breath and tries to make it to the ground without injuring herself more. The quiet crunch of tires on gravel bounces around in the night and she feels hopeful, knows that Rachel is just around the bend and it sickens her at the same time to feel so ecstatic for her friend to be here.
She manages to make it down to the ground successfully, although slightly sore and she limps her way to the door of Rachel’s car as fast as she can. Pulling it open, she slips in, shivering.
“Thanks,” Quinn mutters as Rachel turns up the heating in the car before beginning to drive.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asks hesitantly, concern coloring her voice. She glances at Quinn from her peripheral vision.
“Yeah,” she responds shortly, nodding her head to emphasize her point. She’s exhausted and all she wants to do is sleep the world and its nightmares away. “Can I stay at your place tonight?”
“Of course,” Rachel agrees easily.
“Your parents won’t mind?”
Rachel surveys her once again. It’s dark but she swears she sees blood. She turns her head to look where she’s driving again. “I am quite certain that they will understand considering the current...situation.”
Quinn’s hackles rise at that. “There’s no situation. I just need a night away, Rachel.”
The brunette stops the car outside the Berry household, “If you say so Quinn.”
The blonde’s defensive mechanism slides firmly into place and she has a snarky retort on the tip of her tongue for the shorter girl but stops herself. Insulting her host would not do. She simply opens the door and the two of them get out and into the house in silence. Quinn follows behind Rachel as they progress up the stairs and the brunette stops outside the guest bedroom.
“You can occupy this room for the night,” Rachel says. “You know the washroom is down the hall. I will be back in just a moment with some clothes for you to wear.”
Quinn attempts the cover up how disarrayed her appearance is but there’s a knowing look on Rachel’s face that tells her the other girl suspects things. “Thanks, Rachel. I can’t…explain how thankful to you I am right now.”
“Not a problem, Quinn,” Rachel responds before she wanders further down the hall and into her room.
She steps into the washroom and winces once again at the girl staring back at her in the mirror. Her reflection makes her wonder how Rachel managed to hold her tongue and not interrogate her on the spot for her ragged appearance.
Rachel knocks on the door and she swings it open with a gasp. Sudden movements do not work with her right now.
“Clothes,” Rachel states. “I brought you a towel as well in case you wanted to take a shower.”
“Thanks, Rachel,” she sort of smiles, maybe a grimace, as she takes the assortment of things and wonders how many times she’s said those words in the past half hour.
“Sleep well tonight, Quinn.”
Quinn nods and closes the door. She takes off the clothes she’s wearing and contemplates burning them while she ignores the mirror before she steps into the shower. Enjoys and hates the hot spray of water that washes away any evidence of blood and tears. It hurts when the water hits her body a certain way and those tears that she refused to shed in Rachel’s presence fall now, fast and freely.
She is never quite good enough.
-
Rachel sits with her back against the wall outside of the washroom with a haunted expression. Deep inside, she’s hurting because although Quinn thinks she’s excellent at hiding the sound of her tears, she isn’t. She never has been and it hurts all that much more because Quinn doesn’t think she’s strong enough to take what the blond has to give.
Her head is bowed and unwillingly, she sheds some tears of her own.
Author: Jocelyn (tempus_viator )
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG 13
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Child abuse.
Spoilers: Nothing I can think of.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee just the mistakes and I will eventually find myself a beta...
Summary: Everyone needs a little saving sometimes.
A/N: Hi guys! I am clearly such an angst whore. I started out writing some carnival fluff and then someone inceptioned this into my mind. Child abuse is one of the main things of this so if that’s not to your liking, hit the back button now. Also, in case you happen to like music to fit with your music, this was written under the influence of The Rescue by Tyler Ward where the title came from as well as By Your Side and You Are More by Tenth Avenue North as well as the acapella group, Rajaton’s Butterfly and Dobbin’s Flowery Vale. Enjoy! This is going to be approximately 3-5 parts long...because I have a short as hell attention span.
Her head flies to the right and she barely curbs the urge to make a noise. Long ago, she has learned the hard way that noise simply makes everything all that much harder and the blows will rain longer, harsher. Tightening her body into a small ball, she huddles closer to the wall, desperate to protect whatever parts of her body she can from the man that she supposedly calls father. Her eyes are bleary with the blood running down her forehead. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees her mother laughing at her.
A kick to the ribs makes her keel over and gasp for air. An audible snap echoes around in the room and she whimpers and tries to avoid another kick to something crucial.
“Such a weak, pathetic thing,” Russell growls in a low voice. He grabs the glass from beside him and takes another sip of the scotch in the cup before he throws it onto the ground, barely missing Quinn in the process. The cup shatters and she sobs and it’s only because his wife - her mother - manages to distract him long enough that she isn’t kicked in retaliation for uttering a complaint.
Clutching her ribs protectively, Quinn watches the two of them wander away, deliriously drunk. She wipes the blood, sweat and tears out of her eyes before she grits her teeth and leans heavily against the wall. How things got this bad, she’s still not quite sure. All she ever does is what her father wants but still, he’s never quite satisfied with her.
It’s with shaking fingers that Quinn dials a number she knows that she should not have memorized but does. She grabs the first article of clothing she can find and wipes furiously at the blow on her head, hoping to staunch the blood flow. Small tears stream down her face and she finds that she’s breathing harshly even as she tries to even it out and slow her thundering heart.
A sleepy hello greets her call after the second attempt.
“Rach?” she asks, hates the way her voice sounds so small and weak, a far cry from her normally confident self. “Can you come pick me up?”
Even half asleep, Rachel knows something is wrong immediately when Quinn uses her nickname in that voice and it’s like a bucket of cold water is splashed onto her. She’s up in seconds, assuring the blonde that she’ll be there in seven minutes exactly.
“Thanks, Rachel,” Quinn replies quietly as she leaves the bloody shirt on the floor and contemplates how she’s going to manage to sneak out of the house without her father catching her and being submitted to another beating.
Glancing at herself in the mirror, she winces. Now that the blood has stopped, the head injury didn’t look so bad. Her father is good when it came to aiming at places that aren’t easily seen. Her face, minus the tears and the slight smatters of blood, is still perfect looking. Quinn doesn’t even broach the thought of what other parts of her body might look like though.
Restraining the urge to curse heavily and to crumble into the fetal position upon the floor, she lifts her shirt up and wishes she didn’t. Older bruises stick out prominently against her skin along with fresh welts and bruises and every time she tries to breath, it hurts. Her hand tentatively creeps up to press gently against the discoloured skin. Muttering a quick curse, she tries not to breathe too deeply as she removes her hand.
“Definitely broken,” she decides. She glares at the image of the broken girl she sees in the mirror before she lowers her shirt and tries to clean up as well as she can. The tenuous task of climbing out of the window is not something she is looking forward too. Taking the door is an option she wishes she has.
Every move feels painful and she swallows several pills to numb the pain a bit before she as she stumbles to the window stiffly, unlocking it and looking out into the dark. She knows without a hint of doubt that anger will dominant her father’s features tomorrow when she returns after school but right now, she needs relief, a moment to let her guard down and Quinn is slightly disgruntled that she can’t confide her mother but instead has to go to Berry of all people. They hold a tentative friendship and she can count on the brunette in a way she can’t from Santana, Brittany, Finn or even Puck.
Climbing out of the window and taking the tree is a painful affair. She knows that as she sucks in another painful breath and tries to make it to the ground without injuring herself more. The quiet crunch of tires on gravel bounces around in the night and she feels hopeful, knows that Rachel is just around the bend and it sickens her at the same time to feel so ecstatic for her friend to be here.
She manages to make it down to the ground successfully, although slightly sore and she limps her way to the door of Rachel’s car as fast as she can. Pulling it open, she slips in, shivering.
“Thanks,” Quinn mutters as Rachel turns up the heating in the car before beginning to drive.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asks hesitantly, concern coloring her voice. She glances at Quinn from her peripheral vision.
“Yeah,” she responds shortly, nodding her head to emphasize her point. She’s exhausted and all she wants to do is sleep the world and its nightmares away. “Can I stay at your place tonight?”
“Of course,” Rachel agrees easily.
“Your parents won’t mind?”
Rachel surveys her once again. It’s dark but she swears she sees blood. She turns her head to look where she’s driving again. “I am quite certain that they will understand considering the current...situation.”
Quinn’s hackles rise at that. “There’s no situation. I just need a night away, Rachel.”
The brunette stops the car outside the Berry household, “If you say so Quinn.”
The blonde’s defensive mechanism slides firmly into place and she has a snarky retort on the tip of her tongue for the shorter girl but stops herself. Insulting her host would not do. She simply opens the door and the two of them get out and into the house in silence. Quinn follows behind Rachel as they progress up the stairs and the brunette stops outside the guest bedroom.
“You can occupy this room for the night,” Rachel says. “You know the washroom is down the hall. I will be back in just a moment with some clothes for you to wear.”
Quinn attempts the cover up how disarrayed her appearance is but there’s a knowing look on Rachel’s face that tells her the other girl suspects things. “Thanks, Rachel. I can’t…explain how thankful to you I am right now.”
“Not a problem, Quinn,” Rachel responds before she wanders further down the hall and into her room.
She steps into the washroom and winces once again at the girl staring back at her in the mirror. Her reflection makes her wonder how Rachel managed to hold her tongue and not interrogate her on the spot for her ragged appearance.
Rachel knocks on the door and she swings it open with a gasp. Sudden movements do not work with her right now.
“Clothes,” Rachel states. “I brought you a towel as well in case you wanted to take a shower.”
“Thanks, Rachel,” she sort of smiles, maybe a grimace, as she takes the assortment of things and wonders how many times she’s said those words in the past half hour.
“Sleep well tonight, Quinn.”
Quinn nods and closes the door. She takes off the clothes she’s wearing and contemplates burning them while she ignores the mirror before she steps into the shower. Enjoys and hates the hot spray of water that washes away any evidence of blood and tears. It hurts when the water hits her body a certain way and those tears that she refused to shed in Rachel’s presence fall now, fast and freely.
She is never quite good enough.
-
Rachel sits with her back against the wall outside of the washroom with a haunted expression. Deep inside, she’s hurting because although Quinn thinks she’s excellent at hiding the sound of her tears, she isn’t. She never has been and it hurts all that much more because Quinn doesn’t think she’s strong enough to take what the blond has to give.
Her head is bowed and unwillingly, she sheds some tears of her own.