Title: Personal Demon

Author: Alex Gold (Ryzlin)

Fandom: Glee

Pairing/s: Brittany/Santana, Brittany/Artie, minor Quinn/Santana

Rating: R for very dark themes, violence and language.

Warnings: Murder, character death, suicide, almost rape, and other dark things.

Summery: Santana was never normal. She just never showed it to anyone other than Brittany, Quinn and the people she murdered.

Author's Note: I don't even know where this came from. This is a short story with six parts of different lengths. This is not a feel good story! It is Dark!fic. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything associated with Glee. Poor me.

Brittany had always known; she knew everything about Santana after all. When they had first met, Santana had looked at Brittany strangely before claiming that she would kill for the blonde girl. Brittany had just grinned; she hadn't known what death even was at that age. They were four.

Quinn had found out by accident. It had been shortly after they had become friends, at some stupid senior's party. They had been fifteen and the alcohol had been flowing freely. Quinn hadn't really wanted to get drunk, so she had stuck to one drink. She had been offered another, but had seen the boy slip something into it. When she refused, he got angry and had clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her upstairs. The boy had just slammed the door shut when it bounced back open. Santana stood in the doorway, a broken bottle in her hand. She quickly glanced around the room before moving forward and shoving the bottle into the boy's throat. Somehow she managed to guide the boy onto the bed, scrunching the bed covers up near the heavily bleeding wound to catch the blood. Then Brittany had come in and just sighed. She had hugged Santana quickly before taking Quinn home and telling her that everything was okay. The next day a rumour went around that Tom Johnson (turns out that that was the boy's name) had run away to California. Quinn convinced herself that Santana had scared him off after she attacked him, and that he was still alive. Because really, Santana wouldn't kill him, would she? Quinn believed it for month. That was until she saw the locks of hair Santana kept in her bed side table draw. None were the same colour as hers or Brittany's, but there was a very distinctive blonde with red tips. The same colour hair that Tom had.

Quinn had gone to Santana's house (after a week of talking herself up) to confront her. Brittany had been there, and really, that was the only thing that had saved Quinn's life. She had accused Santana of doing something to Tom and the Latina had just tilted her head before walking slowly to her door. She pulled a key out of her pocket and locked the door before moving to her walk in wardrobe. She came out a minute later holding a long bladed knife, the tip curved up slightly.

"You shouldn't have come here, Quinn."

Santana moved forward, and Quinn backed away.

"You won't hurt me."

"That's where you're wrong. I'm not just going to hurt you; I'm going to kill you. Could you please move into the bathroom? It's easier to clean."

"No way. You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you do this."

Santana frowned. "I don't like that word."

She surged forward and knocked Quinn over. Santana was straddling her and had the knife to Quinn's throat before Quinn could do anything. Santana's other hand ran through Quinn's hair. Sometimes she curled a lock around her finger.

"I always take the hair. I like looking at it and remembering."

Quinn whimpered as Santana leaned forward, a wide grin on her face. She could feel the blade starting to dig into her neck, not quite cutting yet.

"San, please stop. I … I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I like to keep my knife blunt. It means that it takes longer. Means it's more painful. I enjoy it more when they scream in pain. You'll scream, won't you, Quinn?" Santana's voice grew huskier with each word. She shuddered, letting out a guttural moan. It took Quinn a few seconds to realize that Santana had just orgasmed at the thought of killing her and other people.

The knife shook against Quinn's neck as Santana breathed heavily. Quinn saw Brittany get off the bed where she had been lying silently. She knelt down behind Santana, molding her body to Santana's before running her hand down the Latina's arm to the knife. Brittany's hand wrapped around Santana's hand, pulling the knife from Quinn's neck.

"Come on San. Let Quinn go. We'll sort this out differently. I'm sure she won't tell anyone."

Brittany guided the Latina to her bed and laid a kiss on her forehead. She placed the knife out of reach and grabbed the key in Santana's pocket. Brittany threw it towards Quinn.

"You should leave. We'll deal with you later. Don't tell anyone."

Quinn ran to the door and surprised herself by actually managing to unlock it. Her hands were shaking violently. She wrenched the door open and ran outside. She heard Brittany just as she left.

"Oh, God. Santana. Don't stop."

Quinn never did tell anyone. She did ask Brittany what the hell was going on. Hell, it seemed, was surprisingly accurate.