A/N: I've been a bit obsessed lately with the ideas of Nerd!Santana and Superhero!Santana, so I combined them into one and decided to write her myself. Enjoy the fic!
Also, the awesome cover art was drawn by kapaowie - thank you! :)
Santana Lopez took pride in many of her traits. Santana Lopez was intelligent—her grade point average was a whole .01 above Rachel Berry's, who was considered to be the brightest girl in school. Santana Lopez was likable—she only received one slushy facial a day, whereas Artie Abrams received two slushy facials a day. Santana Lopez was interesting—if you liked to talk about liquid chemical compounds and the effects of boiling them. But, above all, Santana Lopez was popular—she had two and a half friends; half being Quinn Fabray, who would only acknowledge her existence when there was nobody else around. Santana Lopez was not, by any means, a nerd.
Or so she liked to tell herself.
Sure, her best friend was her Superwoman action figure, followed closely by her stuffed Batman plush. Sure, she memorized the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus in its entirety for her own personal enjoyment. Sure, she also happened to know every element in the periodic table of elements, as well as their symbols and their atomic numbers (she was still working on memorizing the relative atomic masses of the lanthanide and actinide metals—she always confused cerium with curium). Sure, her bookshelves were lined with everything from Marvel comic books to the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series to giant nonfiction novels about the history of the Roman Empire. Santana Lopez was a lot of things, but a nerd was not one of them.
Santana Lopez had a great fashion sense; she always made sure to match her sweaters with her button-down dress shirts, as well as with the shades of beige of her khakis. Her thick, black-rimmed glasses only added to the originality of her outfits (some people liked to tease her that she was copying Artie's style of clothing—little did they know that it was her style long before it was his, and that it was he who was copying her). Her attire, which some people would consider nerdy, was simply making a statement on today's more-than-inappropriate fashion.
Santana Lopez was not a nerd.
She was not a nerd because Brittany S. Pierce hated nerds, and she could never allow herself to be anything that Brittany S. Pierce hated. Brittany S. Pierce was a cheerleader, and the most popular girl in school. She had golden hair and sky-blue eyes and a heart-stopping smile and a wicked tongue. She was the most beautiful girl that Santana had ever known, and, she suspected, will ever know. You see, Santana was a lesbian, although it would take two limited edition Spock action figures and a couple hundred dollars for her to admit it. Santana was a lesbian, and she had a big, fat crush on Brittany S. Pierce. Brittany S. Pierce, who's only ever shown that she knew that Santana existed when she tossed slushies in her face and walked away, laughing shamelessly.
No matter how much Brittany loathed her, Santana has always, and will always love Brittany. That attraction, that later developed into merciless, heart-wrecking love, has been there since she and Brittany were in the same class in first grade. Brittany—popular, athletic, beautiful Brittany—never noticed Santana for long enough to appreciate the beauty of her personality.
You may think that this is a tragic story with a tragic ending. Santana certainly thought so. What she didn't know is what she really was. A superhero. And superheroes always got the girl, now, didn't they?
Santana surveyed her closet, a contemplative finger between her teeth. She was facing a great dilemma—should she wear her red and blue sweater with a white dress shirt or with a beige dress shirt? She sighed and rolled her eyes at the fact that this was even a dilemma. Why did everything have to be about fashion nowadays?
At last, she chose the white dress shirt and turned back to her room. Her Batman plush sat safely among her stuffed Ewoks on her Superman bed sheets, and the shelves of her room were heavy with her incredible amount of books and action figures. Her walls were covered with posters of Marvel comics, and on the strip of wall right by her bed was taped a small picture of none other than Brittany S. Pierce. Santana knew that it was totally weird to keep a picture of Brittany in her room, but it helped her fall asleep, knowing that Brittany was looking down at her with that thousand-dollar smile. She had gotten the picture from the yearbook; she scanned the page and, with her great Photoshop skills, increased the size of the picture while keeping excellent resolution.
She quickly dressed herself and hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her mother, Maribel Lopez, raised her gaze from the cooking eggs as a little smile sneaked onto her lips. "Good morning, mija," she said as she examined Santana's clothes. She left her place beside the stove and walked to Santana to fix her collar, which Santana really despised.
"Mom," she protested, "I'm not a little kid anymore."
Her mom smiled all-knowingly. "So you'd rather leave the house with your collar looking all funny?" she asked slyly. Santana sighed in defeat and turned her head away.
After eating breakfast and receiving her already-packed lunch from her mom, Santana hoisted her backpack onto her back and left for school, deep in thought. She was wondering if Eros, the god of love and sexuality, and Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, had ever engaged in sexual relations. It would be totally gross, because Aphrodite was Eros's mom, but…well, they had sex with practically everyone else on Mount Olympus, so she wouldn't put it past them to perform incest.
She was ripped out of her thoughts when she felt someone punch her arm powerfully. She gasped and snapped around, fists up in the air and ready to beat the crap out of whomever it was. She groaned when she found herself face to face with the colossal smile of Sam Evans—one of her two and a half friends. "Gotta watch your back, Luke."
"Excuse me? I assume that by calling me Luke you're referring to yourself as Obi-Wan, and I am so not cool with that," she rubbed her aching arm.
"What are you talking about, Lopez? I am Obi-Wan," he smirked.
"If you're Obi-Wan, then that automatically makes me Qui-Gon Jinn, because we all know that I'm better than you," she continued to walk down the street with a smug grin on her face, Sam by her side.
"Qui-Gon Jinn was not better than Obi-Wan. Darth Maul killed him in like two seconds."
"Whatever," she rolled her eyes playfully. She liked Sam (strictly as a friend, of course), and she kind of considered him to be her best friend. The other friend of the two and a half was Artie Abrams, who was also pretty cool, but he was a little too critical sometimes. Sam was easygoing, and it seemed like he and Santana never ran out of things to talk about.
"So," he began. "Prom's in two months."
Santana averted her eyes and gulped inaudibly. "And?" she asked matter-of-factly, trying to make it seem like she couldn't possibly care less about prom.
"Who are you gonna go with?"
Santana didn't answer. She knew very well with whom she wanted to go, but she also knew very well that it wouldn't happen even in her wildest dreams. Brittany was probably already asked to prom by one of the jocks. Santana never had a chance.
"Wait." Something suddenly occurred to her. She turned to Sam. "Why…? I mean, you're not… Are you?"
Sam looked puzzled for a few moments, his brow furrowed, and then it was like a light bulb lit in his head. "OH! No—I mean—I wasn't asking you to prom—I know that you're gay, so—"
"You what?" she all but shouted, utterly panicked.
"I—I mean—well, I've seen the way you look at her, and—" Sam seemed just as panicked as Santana felt.
"Look at whom?"
"I—" He glanced at her, defeated. "Brittany," he said finally.
Santana's cheeks flushed deeply and she turned her head away. Was it really that obvious? How many more people knew about Santana's crush? "How did you know?" she asked, so quietly that he barely heard her.
"I don't know, I guess I just…" He gazed at her uneasily. "I think I'm the only one who knows, though, so don't worry," he reassured her.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, Santana's eyes glued to the ground and Sam's hands fidgeting with anything he could get a hold on. "It seems like you really like her," he said after a little while, cautiously but earnestly.
"It doesn't matter," Santana muttered firmly. "It's never gonna happen. The only time Brittany ever looks at me is to aim her slushy so that it'd hit me square in the face. I don't even know why I like her so much… It's just something that's always been there."
Sam nodded understandingly, his worried eyes still on Santana. She desperately wanted to change the subject, so she cleared her throat and asked, "Who do you wanna go with, then?"
Sam smiled sheepishly and bit his lip. "Mercedes."
Santana let out a little sigh of disbelief. "Mercedes? As in Mercedes Jones? As in the biggest diva at school?"
"Well," he began defensively, "she's not the biggest diva at school. I think that title safely belongs to Rachel Berry."
"Whatever, Mercedes is enough of a diva," Santana chuckled amusedly. "So how are you planning to ask her?"
"I'm not," he said quickly. "I have about as much of a chance of going to prom with Mercedes as you do of going to prom with Brittany."
Santana turned her gaze back to the pavement. She didn't want to destroy his hopes, but deep down, she knew that he was right. Mercedes, while not as popular and not as arrogant as Brittany, had her own group of friends, who were all way above Sam and Santana in the social ladder. Not to mention the fact that she was black, and was known for only wanting to date black guys. Sam, with his ivory skin and bleached-blond hair, was about as far from black as was humanly possible.
They walked the remaining way to the school in silence, each lost in their own self-pity and hopeless love.
"Who can tell me how to find the inverse of a function?" Mrs. Hagberg droned boringly. Santana's hand shot up. "Yes, Santana."
Santana took in a deep breath and glanced at Brittany, who was sitting to her right, texting under her desk, before she turned back to Mrs. Hagberg and said, "You change all of the x's to y's and all of the y's to x's and then solve for y."
Mrs. Hagberg stared at her for a few moments, her eyebrows raised, and finally said, "That is correct."
Santana rolled her eyes at the teacher, who was now facing away from her and writing on the whiteboard. Of course it was correct—she could have taught this math class a hundred times better than Mrs. Hagberg, and in a much more interesting manner that would engage the students in the material and make them love calculus the way she loved it. Unfortunately, she had no college degree to prove her abilities, and therefore would never be considered for such a job at this stage. She had so much potential to be something big but no one seemed to care—just like Peter Parker.
Santana heard scattered giggles to her right, so she cautiously turned her head to find that the Cheerios in the class were all staring at her with those damned superior smiles that told her that she was at the bottom and they were at the top. Her eyes finally landed on Brittany, who, to her immense surprise, was not wearing the same haughty grin that her friends were. Her eyes sparkled and she was looking at Santana like she was the most interesting thing in the world. Santana's face reddened and she immediately turned away, wondering what on earth would make Brittany S. Pierce gaze at Santana Lopez the way she was now.
"Santana," Artie wheeled himself to their regular table at the corner of the cafeteria.
Santana hummed in response, her eyes glued to her iPhone and her fingers working feverishly on the screen.
"I wanna talk to Coach Beiste about that stupid Stick guy who keeps locking me inside the porta potties. Can you come with?"
"Can't," she mumbled, her eyes still on her phone. She heard Sam chuckle beside her.
"Why not?" Artie asked slowly.
Santana sighed deeply and raised her eyes to him. "Because I'm feeding my Xweetok. She's got the Sneezles and I have to find a Magic Cookie to cure her."
Artie stared at her, blinked once, and exhaled incredulously, "What?"
Sam snorted into his sandwich. Santana considered slapping him hard across the face, but decided that she'd get him back later by outwitting him, which was possibly her favorite pastime.
When she turned back to Artie, she found that he was still gaping at her in disbelief. "What the hell is a Xweelot or whatever you just said?"
"A Xweetok," Santana enunciated carefully. "It's a Neopet."
"Are you kidding me?" Artie exclaimed. "You still play that stupid game?"
Sam couldn't keep it together anymore, and he dropped his sandwich on his Ziploc bag and bent forward, roaring with laughter. Santana narrowed her eyes at him, making a mental note to kick his ass (with her words) later, and shifted her gaze to Artie once again. "It's not stupid, and I've got three Neopets who depend on me for literally everything. I was actually thinking of adopting a fourth one as well from the Pound, but I couldn't decide if I wanted a Shoyru or a Chia, because I've already got a Xweetok, a JubJub, and an Aisha, so—"
"Santana!" Artie slammed his gloved hands on the table. By this point, Sam was laughing so hard he was practically gasping for air. "Eight-year-olds play Neopets."
Santana looked him straight in the eyes. Taking criticisms from the popular kids at school was one thing—taking criticisms from someone who was supposed to be her friend was a whole other awful. "Your point?"
Sensing her bitterness, Artie quickly replied, "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. I still play with my superheroes action figures, so I guess I'm not really one to talk."
"Don't we all…" muttered Sam, who had recovered from his laughing attack.
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, each immersed in his or her own lunch, until Artie finally spoke up again. "Why was Brittany looking at you like that after you answered the inverse question?"
Santana raised her gaze to him, worried that he might've sensed her crush, too. "I don't know," she shrugged it off.
"Hm," Artie seemed to be deep in thought. Santana silently wished for Gaea to swallow her whole or for someone to rain a blitzkrieg on them. Anything to distract Artie from finding out about her undying love for her number one enemy.
It happened after sixth period, when she walked out of the Spanish room, Mr. Schuester's horrible pronunciations still ringing in her ears, and found herself staring squarely at none other than Brittany S. Pierce, who was obviously waiting for someone. When Santana began to walk toward the front doors and Brittany followed her (Santana did not miss the fact that one of Brittany's hands was hidden behind her back), she panicked a little. Was Brittany waiting for her?
Knowing that she'd have to face her sooner or later, Santana took in a deep breath and turned around, only to jump back three feet when she realized that Brittany was literally right behind her with a smile that could frighten Zeus into Tartarus. She gulped quite audibly and a most unpleasant shudder passed through her.
Brittany just stood there, her right hand still hidden behind her back, and smiled the most unsettling smile that Santana had ever seen. Santana quickly thought of possible escape routes—the front doors were about two-dozen feet behind her, but Brittany, with her cheer and dancing muscles, would have no problem tackling Santana down if she so wished, so Santana decided that it would be better to just stand here and take whatever Brittany was going to give her.
Finally, but still with that smile, Brittany uttered quietly, "You're very good at math."
Santana stared at her incredulously. Was Brittany softening her with a compliment before landing the big blow?
Brittany, completely undeterred by Santana's very obvious inner struggle, continued on. "Are you one of those geniuses who can calculate big numbers in their heads?"
Santana narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She was in fact able to calculate large numbers in her head, but she knew that admitting it would only push her another rung down the social ladder. Instead, she found herself entranced by Brittany's lips, how pink they were, and the way they stretched so beautifully into that taunting smile, and what they must taste like, and how they would feel pressed against her own lips, and…
Brittany spoke again, but it took a few moments for Santana to register her words. "How fast would you be able to calculate the time you'd need and the speed your body would have to be moving at in order to dodge this slushy?"
"I—what—" Santana stuttered, and the next thing she knew, the world became red and frozen. The sticky slushy oozed down her now ruined sweater, and even somehow got past her glasses and into her eyes. Some part of her could hear Brittany's cruel laughter ring through the empty hallway as she walked around her and out of the building. Santana removed her glasses and rubbed her stinging eyes on her perfectly white sleeve.
That night, as she lay in bed, a few rebellious tears trickling down her face, cursing herself for falling dumb once again to Brittany's callous hand, she wished that she had some way, any way, of winning the wild and untamed heart of the girl of her dreams.
The beeping of her alarm clock ripped through her room, and she quickly reached to her right to silence it, only to hit her hand on her desk. She grunted and rubbed her hand, yawning sleepily.
Wait a minute. Her desk?
Santana opened her eyes immediately. She was lying on her side, and her desk was right in front of her, when it should've been across the room. She must've fallen off of her bed and rolled all the way here in her restless sleep. Weird… Wouldn't she have woken up from the fall?
She brought her hand to the carpet to help herself up, but the carpet was about four whole feet below her. She frantically rolled around, and held back a scream as she realized that she was floating a good couple feet above the ground. What. The. Heck?
Was this some kind of joke? A prank? But who would play a prank on her in her own home? It was just her and her parents. And anyway, it didn't seem like anything was holding her up, so how could this be a prank?
A little more than panicked now, she tried to force her body downwards, but it wouldn't budge. She bent her neck upwards and began to move her arms in breaststroke motions, as if she was swimming in water. This worked a little better; slowly but surely, she began to swim through the air toward her bed. After five minutes had passed and she only made it halfway across the room, she sighed, frustrated, and tried to make her brain work.
Okay, fact number one: She was floating. Fact number two: She could swim through the air. Fact number three: Swimming was obviously not the right way to do it. She turned her faith to the only person she had ever heard of who had been in any situation similar to this—Clark Kent.
She remembered the countless comics, the movies, the old television series. There were two main forms that Superman would fly in—one with both of his hands straight before him, palms open, and the other with one of his hands straight before him and the other bent by his body, both hands in fists. She decided that if she was going to do this, she might as well do it the cool way. She bit her lip in concentration, balled up her hands into fists, bent her left arm and locked it by her boob, and straightened her right arm before her.
The effect was instantaneous—she was sprung forward so quickly and so powerfully that she crashed into the wall above her bed, hitting her head on the bedpost and landing on the mattress with an agonized wail. As she curled up on the bed and hugged her head in attempt to make the pain go away, she added one more thing to the list of things that she failed at: Flying.
All right. It was time to stop this self-pity party and focus on the real problem here. She was able to fly. Why was she able to fly? Sure, she knew that she was meant for great things—but flying? The ability to fly meant a lifelong commitment to saving mankind. She would become a superhero, loved and praised by the entire universe. It wasn't exactly the kind of publicity that she was expecting in her future, but, well, who could turn down being a freaking superhero?
By the time her alarm clock ringed a second time, all traces of pain and self-pity were gone and replaced by an unbelievably enormous amount of excitement. All her life she'd been reading about superheroes, their successes, and their achievements—who knew that she was actually a superhero herself? She leaped out of her bed and practically skipped to the bathroom, humming happily to herself.
When she left the house for school, the two sides of her mind that were always fighting with each other (she always imagined one side to be a little angel and the other side to be a little devil who lurked on her shoulders, just like in the cartoons) had already come to a firm agreement that she needed to learn to control her power as soon as possible. There were lives waiting to be saved, and she was far from mastering the art of flying. This must take precedence above all other activities—school and homework could wait. Superwoman was here.
Once again, Sam sneaked behind Santana and surprised her. This time, however, she was ready for him. Clark Kent was not only a good-looking flying man; he had super-strength and could lift an entire airplane by himself. She aimed her fist at Sam's arm, cocked her hand back, and sent it at him at full speed.
Sam caught her fist in his hands and chuckled playfully. "You may be able to outsmart me, Lopez, but I'm still ten times stronger than you."
Santana groaned in frustration and pulled her fist out of his hands, glaring at it. She was obviously not Luma Lynai—she had super-strength just like Superman. Flying wasn't as cool without super-strength, but she'd have to make do. She dropped her hand by her side and turned her glare to Sam, completely ready to reintroduce that fist in order to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face.
"What are you so sore about?" he asked curiously, making Santana roll her eyes and renew her walking. She pondered whether she should tell him or not. A superpower certainly was not something to gloat about—superheroes had to be discreet about their true identities. On the other hand, having a sidekick would be kind of awesome, especially if it was Sam. And especially if she could tell him all the time that he was the sidekick and she the superhero. So much for Obi-Wan, huh?
She turned her head to Sam, a pompous grin creeping onto her lips. "I'm not sore about anything. I'm actually very happy right now."
"Oh?" Sam cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"What I'm about to tell you has to stay between us, okay? Like, if you go and tell this to other people, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you. This is top-secret information, understand?" She made a big scene of snapping her head around to make sure no one was in hearing distance. Sam rolled his eyes, but looked interested enough to keep his mouth shut.
"All right. I'm Superwoman."
"You're—what?" Sam burst into laughter, but quickly stopped when he realized that she wasn't kidding. "Why on earth do you think that you're Superwoman?"
"Because I can fly," Santana replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sam eyed her suspiciously, and after a few moments of silence, he spat, "Prove it."
Santana stopped in her place and glanced around to make sure that no one would be able to see her. Once she deemed the area clear, she balled up her fists again, bent her left arm, and pointed her right arm straight above her, her eyes closed tightly.
Of course, by Murphy's Law, nothing happened. Sam snorted as she lowered her arm and sighed in frustration. "I flew this morning, okay? I woke up four feet above my carpet and then flew to my bed. Well, I flew into the wall above my bed, but that's besides the point."
Sam, naturally, looked entirely unconvinced. He had the decency not to tell her that she was completely insane, but she knew very well that he was thinking it. So much for superhero and sidekick.
During the day, she tried to find any excuse to exercise her power. She tried to float in her desk chair, at the cafeteria table, even above the toilet seat in the bathrooms. Her attempts were of no use—no matter how much she concentrated, how hard she squinted her eyes, she remained safely glued to the ground. Damn Newton and his stupid gravity law.
It was on her way back home that she finally got her first break. Luckily, Sam was there to witness the entire event.
It wasn't as smooth and awesome as it should have been—she tripped on a rock and simply never hit the ground. She braced herself for the pain that never came.
As soon as it happened, Sam squawked in surprise and stared at her, wide-eyed and incredulous. "You—you weren't lying!"
"Of course I wasn't lying. I'm Santana Lopez, I never lie," she stretched her lips into the most innocent smile she could muster.
Sam rolled his eyes, but still looked very disturbed. Santana was floating about two feet above the sidewalk and had rolled onto her side so that she could face him. She looked somewhat rattled herself, but was enjoying Sam's reaction far too much for anything to bother her.
"Okay," Sam began. "Can you actually fly, though, or do you just float like that?"
"I can fly—watch," she rolled around again so that her front was facing the ground. Tongue between her teeth, she bent her left arm and stretched her right arm before her.
Just like before, she began to fly much too fast for her to be able to control her body. She could hear Sam yell something behind her, but kept her eyes on the path in front of her. She realized, to her great dismay, that she was flying straight at a huge oak tree. She quickly retracted her arm, which made her unbalanced and caused her to flip over, still in the air. Well, at least she didn't hit the tree.
Sam quickly caught up, laughing in disbelief. "I can't believe that you can actually freaking fly, Santana."
"Pretty cool, huh?" Santana rolled onto her back and locked her hands behind her head as if she was simply lying on a towel at a sunny beach. Her grin only widened when she saw that Sam was gawking at her, completely in awe of her superpower. "I've already decided that you can be my sidekick."
"Wait—what? No way, I'm not a sidekick!" he said defensively.
"Are you just gonna wait for your own superpower to appear, then?" Santana taunted, enjoying every bit of this little banter.
Sam bit his lip, knowing that she was right. It was either be a sidekick or be a nothing.
His pride, however, would not allow him to be something as lowly as a sidekick, and especially not if Santana was his superhero boss. He would settle for being the best friend of the only superhero he ever knew. "Nah, I think I'll pass."
"Fine, then." She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, still floating a few feet above the ground.
"Can you at least talk to me like a normal person and stand?" Sam reprimanded, but Santana didn't miss the way his lips slightly curved upwards with his words.
"Uh—" Santana flipped around, facing the sidewalk again, and reached down her hands. She was close enough for her open palms to flatten on the cement, but there was still nothing to hold onto so that she could pull herself down.
She heard Sam snort above her. "Real superhero you are." His chuckle quickly turned into a cry of pain when Santana kicked his left leg as hard as she could.
She looked around and waited for a brilliant plan to formulate in her brain, but to no avail. With a sigh and the words "epic fail" ringing through her mind, she bent her left arm, shut her eyes as tightly as possible, and pointed her right fist to the ground.
She wasn't sure what she despised more—the pounding pain in her head or Sam's uncontrollable laughter. It was a miracle that she didn't break her glasses in the process. She sat up, her legs sprawled widely before her, and rubbed the right top of her head, which had hit the ground directly after her fist did.
When Sam finally caught his breath, and with a giant grin still spread on his face, he said, "I think you need some training."
"Ya think?" she muttered sarcastically, getting to her feet and still rubbing her head. She lifted her backpack onto her shoulders again and continued to walk down the street, as if all of this never happened.
"So can I watch you train?" Sam walked by her side with his hands on the straps of his backpack, and Santana thought with an appreciative smile that he looked like a little boy who had just met his biggest hero. She was reminded once again of why she loved him so much, as a friend.
"Yeah," she replied genuinely. Sam's eyes lit up and Santana sensed that he was trying very hard to force back his excitement. Her little smile stretched into a wide grin.
They agreed that the first thing on a superhero's agenda should always be rescuing humans, and that her trainings should begin as soon as possible, so they hurried to Santana's house and out to her backyard. Thankfully, her parents were at work, and there was a tall brick wall around her garden, so they had some privacy to try to figure out this superpower.
They realized pretty quickly that simply bending one arm and stretching out the other one, while standing, would not work. Santana tried to think. In the two times that she was able to fly, she fell and her ability sort of saved her. Maybe her power had to be prompted by panic—which was kind of annoying, but it was better than not being able to fly at all.
"Okay," Santana clapped her hands together. She climbed on top of a lawn chair and turned back to Sam. "I'm going to jump off of this and see what happens."
Naturally, jumping did not cut the deal, especially since she landed on her feet. Santana let out a frustrated sigh and turned around to glare at the chair as if it was the one responsible for the difficulties of her superpower. Mankind had better be freaking kissing her feet by the time she figured out this thing—now she could finally appreciate the hardships that all of her favorite superheroes went through.
And suddenly, she wasn't on her feet anymore. Sam pushed her forcefully at the chair, and the panic that had risen in her momentarily was enough to make her float aboveground. She spun around and tried to keep her balance for long enough to send him a good if-looks-could-kill glare. He simply shrugged in response and pointed out the fact that she could at least practice flying now.
Practicing flying, as it turned out, was a hazardous and possibly deadly ordeal. When she wasn't crashing into brick walls, trees, lawn furniture, and whatever else was in her way, she was spinning around uncontrollably, desperately trying to regain her balance. Sam did his best to steady her, and one time even jumped in front of her to stop her from flying into a flowerbed (which he deeply regretted later—putting your face in front of a flying woman's fist was not the best idea in the world).
After four labored hours and many bruises on her body to prove it, Santana was finally getting the hang of this whole flying deal. Turns out that all she had to do was let herself fall forward without trying to prevent the fall, and she'd instantly be floating. She became rather excellent at controlling the direction and speed of her flying, and by the time dusk rolled around, she was soaring through her backyard, doing flips in the air and pretending to be hanging off of branches. Sam was happy for her, but she could sense the jealousy lurking in him—and, well, she couldn't really blame him for it. If it were the other way around, she would most certainly be envious of him.
Later on that night, as she climbed into bed with a giant ear-to-ear grin on her face, she remembered how she felt a mere twenty-four hours before, and her wish for something miraculous to happen. Well, maybe wishes do come true.
When Santana woke up the next morning, surprisingly early for a Saturday, she had one thought on her mind and one thought only—every superhero she had ever read about was identified by his or her attire. She needed a Superwoman outfit.
She Googled the nearest costume store and, without going into too much detail, asked to borrow her mom's car. The drive only took fifteen minutes, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of a little shop with a sad excuse for a sign that read, "Uncle Laffy's Costumes Extraordinaire." She didn't know who Uncle Laffy was, and hoped that she wouldn't have to find out. Sounded like a creepy pedophile clown that offers kids candy from a van.
She walked carefully into the store, and jumped a bit when a little bell rang above the door, announcing her arrival. The store was, no surprise, completely deserted, and for a good reason, too—the costumes on the racks were cheap and completely disorganized, and she was pretty sure she smelled something like a dead animal. Well, if she were to be attacked, at least she could fly out of there. Literally.
She wandered further into the shop, examining the various costumes. She found several different versions of Batman—all crappy with polyester masks and one that was even in green and purple (she really hated when costume makers wouldn't stick true to the original characters; plus, the costume looked like some weird combination of Green Goblin and Robin more than anything else). She was examining a Captain Kirk uniform when she felt hot breath on the back of her neck.
She whirled around, fists raised before her and completely ready to whip out her nonexistent Kung Fu skills. She stumbled back into the costume rack when she found herself face to face with a man that she suspected looked worse than the Joker without his makeup. Hello, Uncle Laffy.
"Um—" Santana stammered. She couldn't find words to express her wishes—she was too focused on the fact that the middle-aged man only had about three teeth in his mouth, and they were all rotten, and that one of his eyes was looking in a different direction. His breath smelled like fish oil that's been fried and then fed to a pig only to be pooped out by that pig, and she was about 75% sure that there were bugs in his hair. Besides finding out that she could fly, this was the number one weirdest thing that had ever happened to her. Okay, well, maybe it was weirder than flying.
The man smiled widely and reached his hand to steady her. Santana cringed. "Hello, my girl," he hissed, and Santana noted that he may or may not be part snake. "Welcome to Uncle Laffy's Costumes Extraordinaire. How may I be of service?"
Every rational thought in Santana's mind screamed at her to get the heck out of there, but, for once, she decided to listen to her irrational side. She was a superhero, and superheroes were strong and courageous.
Well, forget the strong part—this man could overpower her without even trying. Actually, forget the courageous part, too—she felt like she was about to pee her pants. Knowing that the fastest way to get out of there involved some sort of communication, she stuttered, "I—well—um—I was looking for a—um—Superwoman costume."
The man's smile widened and, to Santana's immense relief, he backed away from her and turned to one of the costume racks. She didn't know how he found it so quickly in this mess, but in a few seconds, he had a red and blue Superwoman costume in his arms. And—of course—it was the sluttiest Superwoman costume Santana had ever seen.
At the moment, however, all Santana wanted was to get out of that horrid shop, so she quickly paid the snake-man twenty dollars and bolted out of the store, the costume in her arms.
She was back at her house and up the stairs in no time, and she locked the door of her room behind her before shimmying out of everything she was wearing except for her starry Wonder Woman undies. The costume, which comprised of a top, a bottom, a cape, and boots, was very simple to put on; a little too simple for Santana's liking.
Finally, she turned to the mirror. As soon as she did, her jaw dropped straight to the ground.
Is it weird to think that you're hot? Well, even if it was, it was so freaking true—Santana stood there, just gaping at herself through the mirror and appreciating the sight before her. The top was not the long-sleeve shirt from the comics; it was, well, a big blue bra with the red and yellow Superwoman logo on it. She had to admit that her cleavage looked pretty fine. The red skirt was too short to even be called a skirt—maybe an oversized cloth belt. Thank God she had the red cape to hide her ass, which would surely be hanging out. The cape, however, was so thin she was sure it would rip, and the boots were made of very uncomfortable plastic.
She released her hair from her ever-existing ponytail and slipped off her glasses. Well, if Brittany could see her like this—no one would be able to resist Santana Lopez the way she looked now.
That Monday, Santana practically skipped out of the house in excitement. She was wearing her regular attire, except under it all was the Superwoman outfit. It proved quite difficult to stuff the cape into her button-down shirt, so she ended up stuffing it in her pants. It was uncomfortable, and made her butt look huge and lumpy, but she could think of no other solution.
"Hey, Superwoman," Sam grinned when he appeared out of nowhere like he always did. "How's the flying?"
"Pretty awesome. I have my Superwoman outfit and everything now—I'm ready to start saving lives," she said the last bit in a deep, important voice. Sam's grin widened and he began to babble eagerly about how the whole world was going to look up to her and she'd become the most popular girl on the planet. Santana silently vowed to herself that no matter how popular she became, Sam would always be her best friend.
She waited the entire day for an opportunity to be heroic to appear. She found herself even wishing for somebody to fall off of a chair or something. But she knew that she had to keep her real identity hidden—that's how all the superheroes did it. Well, if no one recognized Clark Kent when he was without his glasses and in his Superman outfit, then surely no one would recognize her either, right?
It was when she was wiping a blue slushy off of her face in the bathroom that an opportunity finally presented itself. Quinn walked in and seemed beyond frustrated, so Santana slipped on her glasses and carefully asked, "What's wrong?"
Quinn turned to her, surprised, like she hadn't even noticed that Santana was standing there. Her eyes scanned the bathroom to make sure that there was no one else in there with them, and then she finally turned her attention back to Santana. "Coach Sue has this new number planned for us. She wants to shoot someone out of a cannon she bought, and, well, obviously nobody volunteered. Nobody except for pride-driven Brittany, who always has to prove how great she is. So now Coach Sue's gonna shoot Brittany out of this giant cannon, and I'm not too fond of Brittany, but even I don't wish her life to end so soon."
Santana froze, wide-eyed and panicked. Brittany's life was about to be cut short by one of Coach Sylvester's insane and irrational plans? She could not let that happen. It was time to introduce Superwoman to the world.
Without even saying goodbye to Quinn, she sprinted out of the bathroom and didn't stop until she was standing by the football field, half-hidden behind the school's main building. There was, in fact, a huge red and black cannon with orange flames painted on it in the center of the football field. A couple of Cheerios were helping Brittany up into the cannon, and Coach Sylvester was standing by, watching with a satisfied smirk on her face. Santana turned away so that she'd be completely hidden by the building, took in a deep breath, and began to pull off her clothes.
She left her clothes and her glasses on the dirt where she was standing, and examined herself briefly before turning her attention back to the football field. The other Cheerios were standing back now, and Brittany's body was halfway into the cannon. Coach Sylvester was walking to the operating switches. It was now or never.
She let herself fall forward until she was floating, and then bent her left arm and stretched her right arm before her, directing it straight at the mouth of the cannon. She rocketed across the football field at an amazing speed, but made sure to keep full control over her body. Before any of the Cheerios or Coach Sylvester noticed anything, she was already pulling Brittany out of the cannon and flying away with her.
Yeah, not having super-strength was really going to be a problem.
As Santana struggled to continue flying while keeping Brittany safely held in her arms, Brittany turned around, her expression utterly terrified, and shrieked, "Santana!"
Crap. Turns out losing the glasses and letting her hair down wouldn't be enough to conceal her identity after all. "I—um—" She lowered her voice, "I'm not Santana."
Brittany gaped at her incredulously, still obviously panicked that she was flying in the arms of the biggest nerd she knew who also happened to be wearing a Superwoman costume. A very…revealing Superwoman costume. Brittany tore her gaze off of Santana's boobs, which was a little hard since they were pressed against her face, and raised her eyes back to Santana's face. "Yeah, you are."
Santana cursed under her breath, and looked for a place she could land in where she wouldn't be seen. It sucked big time that Brittany could tell her true identity, but there was a more pressing concern at the moment—she was never much for working out, and Brittany, while very skinny, was getting incredibly heavy.
She landed on the roof of the farthest side of the main building and released Brittany from her hold, panting. Brittany stood back a little, just staring at Santana with a clear mixture of feelings. There were a million questions she wanted to ask, so she began with the most obvious one. "You can fly?"
Santana raised her gaze to her and nodded slowly, watching for Brittany's reaction. The latter simply continued to stare at her, biting her bottom lip and looking—to Santana's surprise—uncomfortable. She'd never seen Brittany act anything other than arrogant and superior.
Brittany wanted to ask how, but she was pretty sure even Santana didn't know the answer to that, so she settled for inquiring, "Why did you pull me out of the cannon?"
Santana's eyes lowered and she licked her lips. "Because you would've died if Coach Sylvester shot you out of it," she said quietly.
Santana wasn't looking at Brittany, so she couldn't catch the way Brittany's eyes were roaming her body, lingering on her upper thighs and the crevice between her breasts. Brittany was surprised with herself—she usually never regarded girls in such a manner, and certainly not anyone like Santana Lopez. But, to be fair, Santana Lopez didn't usually look like this, with her thin figure and wind-blown hair and her damp, plump lips and just so…delicious.
Brittany blinked a few times and shook her head. There was no way in hell she would ever date someone like Santana Lopez. She had a reputation to keep, and dating the world's biggest nerd would bury her at the bottom of the social pyramid. Desperate to get her mind off of that damn body, she cleared her throat and asked, "Why would you care?"
Santana looked at her, eyebrows raised in question. Brittany bit her lip uncertainly and clarified, "Why would you care if I died? I've been nothing but mean to you."
Santana fidgeted uneasily with the bottom of her skirt. When she realized that Brittany wouldn't let go of the matter until she got an answer, she inhaled deeply and said, "I don't know, I guess I just… No one deserves to die like that." She turned her gaze away again.
They stood awkwardly in silence for a couple minutes, Santana too intimidated to meet Brittany's eyes, and Brittany just examining Santana with great interest. She sensed that Santana's answer was not the complete truth, and she had a feeling she knew what this complete truth was, but for some reason, she didn't feel like making fun of her at the moment. She just continued to watch Santana with intrigued eyes.
Santana, who knew Brittany quite well, was waiting for her to unleash her cruel tongue. Something about how even with this Superwoman costume, not even a sex offender would want her, or how it was better for her to keep her glasses on, that way they would at least hide a part of her hideous face. Which reminded her—glasses. She could barely see anything without them. She needed to get contacts.
"So…" Brittany began, and Santana raised her eyes to her once again. "You gonna get me off this thing or what?"
"Oh." Santana mentally slapped herself. She had completely forgotten that they were still on top of the roof. But getting Brittany off of the roof meant holding her again, and while she had caught her breath and was ready for it physically, she wasn't sure she had the courage to be so bold again.
Brittany must've read her mind or something, because she was advancing towards Santana until she was so close that Santana could smell her perfume. Great, just another thing she could add to the things she loved but shouldn't love about Brittany.
Santana's heartbeat quickened instantly when Brittany slipped her arm around her neck and looked at her expectantly. She wrapped her left arm around Brittany's back and tucked her right arm under Brittany's knees, and glanced at her one last time before letting herself fall forward.
She could tell Brittany panicked when she did that—she pressed her head firmly into Santana's upper chest and her arms locked tightly around her neck. Santana gulped nervously and let herself slowly float off of the roof and down to the ground.
She didn't pay any attention to it before, but it seemed that she could control her flying even without stretching her arm before her. But Santana's angel and devil sides once again came to an agreement—it was way cooler to fly like Superman.
When Santana landed softly on the ground, she gently put down Brittany's feet, and Brittany released her hold on Santana's neck. Santana looked up at her cautiously, prepared for Brittany to make a snide remark now that she didn't need Santana's help to get off of the roof. Brittany, however, didn't seem like she would be doing any of that.
Santana thought that she looked even more beautiful when she wasn't sneering; she simply regarded Santana, sort of glossy-eyed, and seemed to be deep in thought. Just as Santana was becoming rather uncomfortable, Brittany finally snapped out of whatever trance she was in and came back to her senses. She glanced at Santana one more time, and then shrugged and said, "Thanks, I guess."
Santana nodded and watched as Brittany turned away from her and began to walk in the opposite direction. Before she could stop herself, she heard herself calling after her, "Don't let Coach Sylvester shoot you out of that cannon."
Brittany stopped in her spot and slowly turned around, her eyes completely incredulous. She gave Santana another one of those looks that made her feel like Brittany could read her thoughts, and Santana immediately regretted even speaking at all. Then, to Santana's immense surprise, she saw a small smile play at the corners of Brittany's lips. "Okay," she said simply, and then turned around and disappeared around the corner, leaving Santana gaping after her and more perplexed than she had ever been in her life.
By the time she entered McKinley High the next morning, she had already mentally prepared herself so that her feelings wouldn't get too hurt. She knew that her little encounter with Brittany wouldn't change anything—Brittany was still at the top and she at the bottom. She just hoped that Brittany hadn't already revealed Santana's superpower to the entire school.
She told Sam on the way to school what had happened. He seemed a bit concerned, but agreed that it was her duty to save Brittany's life, and especially because she had feelings for Brittany. They came to a decision that she'd need a different outfit, one that would really conceal her identity. Santana wanted it to be original, not some crappy polyester superhero costume. She wasn't Lois Lane or Luma Lynai or Laurel Kent—she was Santana Lopez, a real superhero. What she needed was a professional fashion designer, and she knew of only one person who would fit the description—Kurt Hummel.
Kurt wasn't usually seen with people of her social status, but he was nice enough when Santana approached him during lunch. He invited her to sit at their table, although this earned him some threatening glares from his friends, Rachel Berry and Mercedes Jones. Kurt smiled sweetly at her in expectancy. Santana swallowed her fear and began, quietly enough so that Rachel and Mercedes, who renewed their heated argument about whether Whitney Houston or Barbra Streisand was a better singer, wouldn't be able to hear her. "I need an outfit, and you're the most fashionable person I know, so I figured you'd be the best to ask."
Kurt smiled warmly at the compliment and inquired, "What kind of outfit are we talking about?"
Santana shot a worried glance around the cafeteria before turning back to him. "Um—a superhero outfit."
Kurt raised his eyebrows in subtle astonishment. "A superhero outfit?"
"Yeah," Santana shifted uneasily. "It's—I mean—I guess I just want to get a head start on Halloween." She bit her lip, watching for his reaction.
He seemed surprisingly intrigued. "So an original superhero costume? What's your superpower?"
Santana froze. Did Brittany really tell everyone that she had a superpower? If she did, everything would be ruined. She wanted to be able to live normally when she wasn't saving the world, but if everybody knew her true identity, a normal life would be out of the question.
Kurt cocked an eyebrow, and after a moment, went on, "Theoretically, that is."
"Oh!" Santana sighed in relief. "It's, um—I—I mean—the superhero I'm pretending to be can, um, fly," she replied, hoping she didn't give anything away.
"So, like, Superwoman?" Kurt pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"Um." She cleared her throat nervously. "I guess it's like Superwoman, but I want my costume to look different—original."
Kurt nodded, lost in reverie. After a few moments, he turned his attention back to Santana. "Any particular color scheme you'd like?"
"No, I trust you to pick it out," she answered, smiling coyly. A satisfied smirk lit his face, and Santana instantly knew that she had made the right choice.
"So Kurt said he'd make your new outfit?" Sam questioned when she returned to their regular table. Artie must've been at his Robotics Club meeting, because he was nowhere to be seen. It was just Sam eating a sad little peanut butter and jelly sandwich that must've done nothing to assuage his hunger.
"Yeah," she lowered herself onto the bench and pulled her awesome Legolas lunch box out of her backpack. "He was really nice about it, too."
Sam glanced at the table where Kurt was sitting with Rachel and Mercedes. "What did Mercedes say?" he asked hopefully.
She glanced up at him with a sad smile. "Nothing," she said apologetically. "Sorry."
He shrugged and turned back to his sandwich. Santana wanted to get his mind off of Mercedes, so she went on, "Kurt asked me to meet him outside of school today after the last bell rings. Said he wanted to take my measurements."
Sam raised his eyes to her again. "Wow, he's really professional, isn't he?"
"Mhmm," she hummed, unwrapping her own sandwich from the tinfoil her mother packed it in.
When she looked back up at Sam, he was staring down at her lunch box. "Gimli's better," he said finally.
"You wish," Santana muttered, but couldn't help the little smile that crept onto her face.
"Gimli could kill three Uruk-hai's with one swing of his battle axe," Sam challenged, a taunting smirk playing at his lips.
"Oh, please," Santana scoffed. "Legolas could kill an entire Oliphaunt and all of the Haradrim soldiers on it with one arrow. Not to mention the fact that he's unbelievably beautiful."
"I thought you were gay," Sam teased quietly, careful not to say it too loudly.
Santana shrugged. "He could be mistaken for a woman."
Sam snorted and took another bite out of his sandwich. With a victorious grin, Santana lowered her eyes back to her lunch box, and thought that if she squinted hard enough, she could almost make Legolas look like Brittany in very sexy Elven armor.
As it turned out, Brittany did not reveal Santana's secret to the entire school, nor did she continue to mock her and throw slushies in her face. Well, she was present when her stupid Cheerio friends gave Santana the infamous slushy facials, but at least she wasn't the one doing it. Santana found Brittany staring at her with that intrigued expression not once, but many times, and she didn't know whether she should feel intimidated or jump for joy. Either way, she found herself constantly confused and overwhelmed by a mixture of contradictory feelings.
It took Kurt two weeks to finish the outfit, but once he did and after he presented it to her, Santana decided wholeheartedly that it was so worth the wait.
The quality of this outfit, first of all, was a hundred times better than the quality of the cheap Superwoman one she had bought from the creepy snake-man. And the design—well, Santana had to admit that maybe there were different types of geniuses, who didn't know the entire periodic table of elements by heart. Kurt was certainly a genius. A genius in fashion.
The base of the outfit was a tight, crimson bodysuit that stretched from her ankles all the way to her neckline and wrists. Thin, deep lavender gloves covered her hands and lower arms, and a matching belt hung across her hips. Santana wondered where exactly Kurt had gotten a deep lavender leather belt, but didn't linger too much on the thought when he produced an amazing pair of leather boots in the same color. The boots covered her shins and stopped just below her knees, and were surprisingly comfortable. It was perfect, completely perfect—except for one thing. Every superhero had to have a cape.
Just when she was about to politely voice her concern, Kurt turned around and she found herself gaping at the item in his hands. It was a cape, all right—the most beautiful, glorious, amazing cape she had ever seen. This, too, was in deep lavender, and covered her torso almost completely. Kurt attached its top end to a little hook on the front of the leather belt, making a V shape with the cape on her chest. At the center of her chest now appeared a crimson logo that was sewn into the lavender cape, which showed a B inside a V. Santana, barely able to gather her thoughts because of her amazement at Kurt's talent and efforts, finally found her words, "What does the VB stand for?"
"Varied Bunting," he said as he examined his artwork with a finger between his teeth. When Santana slightly cocked her head to the right in confusion, he explained, "It's the bird I based your outfit on. My dad and I liked to go to the zoo when I was younger, and the Varied Bunting was always the bird that caught my eye first because of its very unique coloring. They're also known as shy birds, so I figured it would suit you well." He raised his eyes to her face, and smiled a little when he found her grinning from ear to ear.
"Wait, we're not finished. I made a mask for you, too, as you requested." Kurt turned around and produced the final piece of the outfit, the cherry to top the ice cream sundae. The mask was mainly made of crimson fabric, with hard, lavender material in the shape of wings attached to the fabric above her temples. The mask did not cover her entire head—only from the top of her forehead to just above her lips, with holes for the eyes and a little hole at the base of her nose so that she'd be able to breathe. Kurt tied the mask tightly under her hair, and then stood back to survey his final masterpiece. Santana, who was way beyond excited by now, turned to the mirror to examine herself.
She was at a complete loss for words. She had never felt more confident than she did now, wearing the number one coolest superhero outfit she had ever seen in her life. Kurt stood behind her, looking at her face through the mirror. "Do you like it?" he asked genuinely, but with a smile on his face that told her that he knew very well the answer.
"That is the understatement of the millennium," she smiled so widely that she feared her face would be stuck in that expression for the rest of her life. Kurt chuckled warmly. She shook her head in disbelief and turned to him. "You did all of this for a Halloween costume?" she asked in utter disbelief.
Kurt lowered his gaze, a smile still on his face. "A little birdie told me this wasn't just some Halloween costume."
Santana froze. She almost vowed to kick Sam's ass the next time she saw him, but then realized that if it weren't for him, this outfit probably wouldn't have been half as amazing. "Sam?" she inquired, even though she already knew the answer.
Kurt shook his head slowly. Santana stared at him incredulously. If it wasn't Sam, then it could only have been one other person, but—"Brittany?"
When Kurt nodded, Santana thought she was going to faint, and maybe never wake up. Brittany asked Kurt to help her? What on earth?
When Kurt saw her facial expression, he chuckled a little. "She's not all bad, you know. I mean, I know she's always been incredibly cruel to you, but Brittany S. Pierce has a soft side, too. You just have to know how to get past her protective shield."
Santana's mouth felt so dry that she thought she might be able to grow a cactus in it. "Shield?"
Kurt nodded and gazed at Santana earnestly. "She's only mean because she's trying to protect herself from pain—she thinks that if she's the queen of the school and feared by the entire student body, she'll never get hurt."
Santana licked her lips and sighed deeply. "Did she tell you that?"
"No," Kurt shrugged. "But I'm usually right with this kind of stuff. Just like I know that you hide behind your glasses and your sweaters because you're afraid that people will see what's under them and judge you by your looks. I assure you, Santana," the corners of his lips curved up again, "that if people judged you by what you look like under the glasses and the baggy clothes, all of their judgments would be positive."
Santana bit her lip. "You really think so?"
He nodded sincerely. "You're very beautiful, Santana. Don't be afraid to show it."
She looked away and felt her cheeks redden. Kurt wasn't one to lie, even if it was a white lie. She sensed that he really meant every word that he said to her, and she would never, ever be able to repay him for the huge boost of confidence that he gave her that day.
"Okay, this is by far the coolest thing I have ever seen," Sam stood back and watched in awe as Santana paraded around the room in her new attire.
"I know, right? Kurt's a genius," she grinned widely at him.
Sam nodded eagerly. "Wait, so Brittany told him about your superpower?" His expression turned concerned.
"Yeah—but he's not gonna go around and tell everyone about it, don't worry," she reassured him. "He's not that kinda guy." She didn't voice the matter that had been bothering her the entire day—that Brittany had helped her out without even telling her. Was she being friendly or was she just in agreement that the world needed a superhero?
"Okay," Sam still looked a bit worried, but when Santana let herself fall forward and started floating, he quickly turned excited again. "Now that you've got the outfit, all you need is someone to rescue." His head snapped in different directions as Santana flew around the room, her cape flailing wildly behind her. "So. Cool," he breathed.
It was only a week later, when their entire grade was on a field trip (Principal Figgins made it a rule that every student had to go on a field trip at least once a year…for some reason, he thought that this was an effective way to end school violence) to a historical museum in a nearby city, that an opportunity to prove herself as a superhero finally presented itself.
It was just like in the comics—a woman was standing at the top of a tall skyscraper, wanting to end her life because her husband had cheated on her or because one of her best friends was a backstabbing bitch. As soon as they came upon this, three familiar heads turned to Santana. They all knew what she was supposed to do.
Quietly, she sneaked into a side alley, Sam following closely behind her. She was already wearing her bodysuit under her clothes, but it took a little while to put on the rest of the outfit (she left her glasses at home that day—the contacts were safely in place). The woman on the roof, thankfully, was incredibly indecisive. Santana decided, however, that she would have to find a way to change into her outfit more efficiently.
Once everything was in place, she let herself fall forward and directed her fist directly above her, careful not to move too quickly or make her presence known. She saw Sam, Kurt, and Brittany's eyes following her as she crept up the building. Before she knew it, she was floating just above the roof, ready to pounce in case the woman decided to jump.
She was crying, very loudly and very miserably. Santana didn't know if she should try to comfort her, or if seeing a flying woman in a superhero outfit would just scare her and make her fall backwards. She had seen Batman Returns—multiple times—and she remembered very well how the Penguin and Catwoman framed Batman for pushing an innocent girl off of a building. She was not going to start her superhero career with a bad reputation.
Suddenly, and with no warning, the door to the roof burst open and a hysterical man ran through, completely oblivious to Santana's presence. "Karen! Karen! Don't jump!"
This man must've have been the reason for her being on top of this roof in the first place, because before he could get to her, she turned back to the busy street, closed her eyes, and jumped.
Santana didn't wait even a split second. She was soaring through the sky at an incredible speed, and it only took a few seconds for her to reach the woman, who was screaming at the top of her lungs. With much difficulty and strain, Santana was finally able to stop the woman's body and catch it in her arms. She heard gasps and shouting from below her, and the woman frantically turned her tear-soaked face to her. Santana couldn't read her expression—she didn't know if the woman wanted to kiss her or kill her.
She landed on the ground somewhat clumsily, releasing her grip on the woman as soon as it was safe to. The woman stumbled backwards and stared at her, wide-eyed and astonished.
Santana turned nervously to face the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kurt lean to one of the news reporters who were already at the scene and mumble, "They say her name is Varied Bunting, like the bird. Incredible, isn't she?"
All around she saw the same facial expression—utterly dumbfounded. She shifted uneasily in her spot, waiting for someone, anyone, to break this awful silence.
Slowly, hesitantly, a few people began to clap their hands. They were soon joined by the rest of the crowd, and the next thing she knew, she was being bombarded with microphones and cameras and reporters shouting, "Varied Bunting! Look here! Where did you come from? How did you acquire this power?"
Santana stumbled back, bewildered, and knew she only had one choice—superheroes never answered the reporters' questions. She let herself fall forward and flew out of there, leaving a sea of eager and disbelieving people behind her.
She was able to catch up with the group from her school a few minutes later, and thankfully no one really seemed to notice that she was gone. Sam greeted her with the biggest grin she had ever seen in her life. Jeez, his mouth was huge.
Nobody really cared about the history museum. Every student and teacher in the field trip was talking excitedly about the new superhero, and how cool she was, and how awesome it was that superheroes actually existed. She heard the name "Varied Bunting" everywhere, and a few people had already started nicknaming her "VB."
Santana didn't know how she expected to feel—proud, incredulous, popular? She found that she didn't care at all about what everybody else was saying about her. All she cared about, at this moment, was that Brittany was staring at her across the hall of the museum with the most genuine and warm smile that she had ever been given.
After the school bus dropped them off in front of McKinley High, Santana began to make her way down the street with a still ecstatic Sam by her side. She wasn't walking for long, however, before she felt a hand pull on her arm.
Santana's heart skipped a few good beats when she found Brittany's eyes sparkling at her. Brittany glanced at Sam, who got the message, said his goodbyes, and continued on without Santana. Santana turned her head back to Brittany.
"Do you like me?" Brittany asked, very suddenly, and catching Santana completely off-guard.
Santana gaped at her, trying to make her brain work so that she could form words. "I—I mean—yeah—you're pretty cool—"
"Not like that," Brittany cut her off, never taking her eyes off of Santana. "I mean, do you like me like me?"
Santana turned her eyes away as her cheeks flushed in shame. Finding the courage to save a woman who was falling off of a building was one thing—finding the courage to admit your deepest secret to someone who'd most likely torment you for it, well, that was a whole other story.
Brittany loosened her grip on Santana's arm, but didn't let go completely. Santana swore that Brittany could read minds, because she said, "Look, Santana, I know that I've always been super mean to you. But I swear, it's only been because I was attracted to you, and I didn't want to be. I thought that if I tortured you and belittled you enough, that my feelings for you would go away, but they didn't. I didn't want to be attracted to a girl, but…well, I just couldn't help it."
Santana finally met Brittany's eyes, and found that they were completely earnest. Before she could say anything, Brittany went on, "When you saved me from that cannon, I sensed that you returned my feelings, and everything changed. I'm really so, so sorry for making your life miserable for the past twelve years."
Inside Santana's mind, there was an entire parade going on with a float and everything. Outside, though, she was able to keep her cool, and simply smiled warmly at Brittany. The latter took this as a sign of forgiveness, sighed in relief, and said, "Anyway, I thought that if you liked me liked me, then I'd maybe go out with you on a date."
"Maybe?" Santana asked quietly, her eyes uncertain.
"Maybe," Brittany smiled widely, clutched Santana's hand in hers, and led her down the peaceful, deserted street.
A/N: I may write more if there's enough demand for it, so let me know what you guys want. :)