It's a simple truth we all need, just to hear and see
None of us are free, one of us is chained
None of us are free
Now I swear your salvation isn't too hard to find
None of us can find it on our own
We've got to join together in spirirt, heart, and mind
So that every soul who's suffering knows they're not alone
If you just look around you
You're gonna see what I say
'Cause the world is getting smaller each passing day
Now it's time to start making changes
And it's time for us all to realize
That the truth is shining real bright right before our eyes
~None of us are Free, Solomon Burke
(r a c h e l pov)
It's right before Glee rehearsal and you're walking down the hallway towards the choir room when you hear the crying.
For a moment, you consider not stopping. You think about all the people that could possibly be in the bathroom, sobbing their eyes out, and you can't really think of anyone that you'd like to help. More specifically, you can't think of anyone who would want your help.
You go in anyways.
You're well aware that the majority of McKinley High hates you passionately. You understand that they aren't ever going to except your tights and your animal sweaters. You don't expect the slushy attacks to stop and you don't expect people to stop defacing your locker.
But you're still going to offer your help to anyone who needs it, the same way you did for Quinn when she was pregnant.
Because your favorite thing about yourself is that you aren't like them.
You push the door open and slip inside, shutting it quietly behind you and meeting puffy eyes in the mirror. Deep brown eyes lock with your own and you notice the smears of mascara and eyeliner covering her eyelids and cheeks. She's biting her lips in what you assume is an attempt to muffle the sobs.
You could have told her that nothing stifles tears when they're determined to come.
"Hello, Santana," you say quietly, moving silently across the room to settle on one of the sinks. You turn to meet her defensive gaze and brace yourself for the insults that are sure to come.
"What do you want, Manhands?" she snarls in response, her eyes darting away from yours. You shift slightly in surprise at the lack of venom in the words, narrowing your gaze on the Latina in front of you.
"Everything," you respond calmly, swinging your legs back and forth and turning your head to look out the tiny window above the stalls. "What do you want, Santana?"
"Someone," she whispers in a broken voice before suddenly strengthening again, turning on you with a glare and a threat on her red lips.
You keep your gaze on the bright blue sky outside and respond before she can even start spewing insults at you. "So, tell me something," you say conversationally, crossing your ankles as your legs continue to swing underneath you. "Why are you so terrified to be who you are? Is it because you don't want other people to treat you the way you've treated me?"
She's silent for so long that you turn your eyes from the window to look at her. She's staring at you intently, her lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed. You think that she may be trying to decide how to respond, honestly or with a barb, so you sit quietly and wait.
You look back to the window and watch a fluffy white cloud form, slowly but surely growing in wisps of barely visible white. The bell rang quite a while ago and you know that the Glee club must be wondering where you are, but it's not like they'll come looking.
They all hate you anyways.
"Yes," Santana suddenly says, her voice startlingly loud in the quiet bathroom. You hear her move and look over to see her climb on the sink next to you, mirroring your position gracefully. "I'm not strong like you, Berry. Or, not crazy like you. Whatever. You can stand what happens to people that are different, to people that are themselves no matter the consequences. I can't. I'm not like you."
"You know, the first time someone called be a cruel name, it was in second grade? Quinn. She must have had some talk with her parents that weekend, or someone at her church said something, because she came to school that Monday and told me that I was going to hell for being the spawn of two immoral fags," you spit out the last word, your hands beginning to shake with hatred. You clench them around the edge of the sink and continue speaking. "I remember the teacher. She had been my favorite, she had taught me how to write properly and she had gifted me with a dictionary and a thesaurus so that I could improve my vocabulary. She was right there. And she said nothing. She let Quinn call me and my fathers names without saying a word," you shake your head back and forth, swallowing tightly to try and keep the tears out of your eyes.
"That story wasn't supposed to make me feel more secure about coming out, was it, Berry? Because if so, you really suck at this," Santana's voice is surprisingly shaky and her words startle a bitter laugh out of you.
"No, Santana. That story was supposed to show you that I'm strong because I had to be. There was no other option. What was I supposed to do? Beat her up? Break down in sobs? No. Instead, I went home, told my daddys that I loved them and that they were the best parents in the world. Then I went upstairs, completed my homework, and went to sleep." You state, shrugging in an attempt to get some of the tenseness out of your shoulders.
"But why?' she sounds almost desperate, her voice breaking on the short word. "Why would you not do anything? Not say anything?"
"Because I love my fathers. And if I said something, they would have ineveitably been called down to the school. And I would have had to stand there and tell them what that blonde hellion said about them, that the teacher I respected let her. They would have broken. Don't you understand? I've never had to be strong for me. I've had to be strong for them. For Finn and Noah and Kurt and anyone and everyone that needed it," you attempt to explain more clearly as you shift to lean back against the mirror and look at the scared girl sitting next to you.
"But…" is all she can choke out before she's breaking down in sobs again, her entire frame shaking with the force of them.
You reach out and grip her hand, surprised when instead of shaking you off she laces her fingers tightly through yours.
"You've actually got really soft hands, Berry. Extremely girly," she sniffles, her fingers tightening around yours.
You giggle and pull her closer, sitting up straight so that her slumped head rests on your shoulder. "I'll make you a promise," you whisper, glancing at the door and wondering how long it will be before one of the Glee members comes looking for Santana and finds the two of you there.
"Yeah?" she asks, her own voice nearly inaudible in the silent room, "what kinda promise?"
"I'll be strong for you too. Whenever you need it, all right?" you say as you hear someone shouting her name in the hallway.
She must hear it too because she tenses and you know she's going to pull away soon. Before she does though, her hand tightens around yours to the point of bruising. Then she stands and steps in front of you, slowly releasing her grasp on your fingers as you look up at her. "Pinky promise?" she asks childishly, sticking out the pinky finger on her left hand and making sure that your gaze doesn't leave yours.
You smile gently at her, the smile that you rarely ever use, and lock your pinky around hers. "Pinky promise," you respond as the voice calling her name gets louder.
You slip off the sink and grin at her, tightening your pinky for just a moment and then letting go, sliding from the room and leaving her to fix her make-up.
You start to walk down the hallway, getting to Glee without any detours this time. You sit in one of the front seats, telling Mr. Schuster that you had to stay behind to talk to a teacher and that you were sorry that you were late.
He says it's no big deal as the door opens and Sam walks in, Santana tucked possessively under his arm.
Her eyes meet yours for the slightest second, barely a moment, before she's sitting on the opposite side of the room from you, draping herself over Sam and talking to Tina about something.
Your pinky tingles where it rests against your leg as you turn your attention to Mr. Schuster.
It's a promise you'll never break.
So, sorry if you read Rolling in the Deep, I'm working on an update for it! Swear!
I just watched the show tonight and I had this idea. This was written in about an hour with no beta, so sorry if there's any mistakes. I don't own Glee or the song None of us are Free by Solomon Burke.
Please review and let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading!