Ungodly Forces

In a world where feisty cheerleader Santana Lopez has unwittingly insulted an immensely powerful fifth-level demon, there's only one person in the entire town of Lima to whom she can turn for help...her fellow Glee club member Rachel Berry. Rachel is the supremely talented star of McKinley High School's New Directions – she's also loud, opinionated, and a little bossy sometimes. Luckily for Santana, she also happens to be, unbeknownst to the rest of the student population, a fierce, highly trained and magically empowered demon fighter. Rachel and Santana have been developing a unique, sometimes rocky friendship ever since the cheerleader joined the glee club (along with her fellow Cheerios, captain Quinn Fabray and best friend Brittany S. Pierce), but with the threat of the demon hanging over Santana, Rachel, as Lima's guardian against demons, must now swear an oath to protect her at all costs – possibly even that of her own life.

Prelude: A Side of Rachel You Never Knew

Santana felt nervous as she stood outside Rachel's front door. She hated feeling nervous; it was not a feeling she was used to experiencing. Like many other things, it pissed her off. Not only was she nervous, she was angry. Angry at herself, angry at the situation - but most of all, she was angry that she actually needed help from Rachel, of all people. She was someone who could - and usually did - solve her own problems, but this...this wasn't something she could handle herself, much as she was loathe to admit it. Still, as she tapped her foot and waited for the pint-sized diva to answer the door, she reminded herself for approximately the hundredth time that morning that she needed to be nice – well, as nice as she could be, anyway – to the girl, because like it or not, Rachel was apparently the only thing standing between her soul and the dark oblivion of some horrific netherworld.

At least, that was kind of the impression Rachel had given her.

She thought back to the conversation they'd had the previous day in the bathroom at school – because that was where all important student business seemed to be conducted within the walls of McKinley – when Rachel had walked into the empty facility, caught her staring numbly at her reflection in the mirror and said:

"You look...troubled, Santana. How can I help you?"

"Help me? You?" Santana scoffed, taking in all of Rachel's barely more than five foot frame and shuddering at the memory of the demon's terrifying bulk, recalling the moment when it had revealed its true form to her. "Yeah, I don't think so, short stack. Don't you have a show tune to torture somewhere?"

Rachel's keen eye didn't miss the way Santana had shaken ever so slightly as she'd spoken, nor did her ears fail to notice the tension in her voice. Something had happened to the Cheerio, something bad, and her other senses instantly detected the true nature of what that something was.

"Singing is just one of the many things I do, Santana. For instance, it may interest you to know that as the daughter of Lima's foremost paranormal experts – my dads, of course – I am quite well-versed and knowledgeable in all forms of demon lore. And as such, I must tell you that fifth-level demons are nothing to trifle with. As you would know if you'd read the copy of my fathers' book that I gave to you and everyone else in the glee club at the beginning of the school year."

Santana's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, but she quickly schooled her features back into the familiar mask of cool indifference bordering on thinly veiled contempt that ninety-nine percent of the school populace knew as her default expression. It generally managed to keep the denizens of McKinley High School at arm's length, but for some reason, Rachel Berry had always seemed immune to it, much to her annoyance.

"Are you on drugs? Seriously, what the hell are you talking about?" She backed away from the sink, angled her body towards the door. "Maybe I should go get the nurse. I think you might have a fever, because you're sounding even more delirious than usual right now."

Rachel moved in front of her, blocking the door. "Santana, please. This is no time for your usual bravado. I can smell its scent on you." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Look, I can help you with this. In fact, I'm the only person who can help you with this. You just have to trust me."

Looking into the shorter girl's large, luminous brown eyes, Santana saw only the raw honesty for which Rachel had become known. She bit her lip, wondering if she could truly trust her, hoping against hope, as a convict on death row hopes for a call from the governor, that what she said was true. What do I have to lose? she thought. Berry's got no reason to lie, right?

"Okay, Thumbelina," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. "I'll tell you what happened. See, it all started when -"

Rachel cut her off with a sharp stop gesture. "No. Don't speak of it here. We don't want to draw its attention. It would be...unwise to inflame its anger any further at this point." She held out her other hand, palm up. "Give me your phone."

"What? Why?" Santana asked, puzzled. "And how do you know that it's...angry with me?"

"Just give it to me." She looked up at Santana with a fire in her eyes that the Cheerio had never seen before. "Now, please? We don't have a whole lot of time here. You're in grave danger. Also, third period will be starting soon, and I'd rather not be late."

Santana found herself strangely intrigued by the commanding tone of Rachel's voice. She'd bossed everyone around in Glee plenty of times, but never had she sounded quite like that. She hated to admit it, but it was kind of...hot. She shook her head, annoyed at her body's reaction, and grabbed the backpack that lay on the floor at her feet, to place it on top of the sink. She then pulled out her phone and placed it in Rachel's palm, drawing a smile from the smaller girl.

"Thank you, Santana, for trusting me." She tapped the screen a few times, typing furiously, then handed the device back. "That's my phone number and address. Come to my house tomorrow and we'll discuss things then."

"I have Saturday morning Cheerios practice. No way Coach Sue will let me miss it. She'd make me run laps forever if I even suggested it."

"Then come after that," Rachel replied. Her voice then dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And come alone. Seriously. Don't bring Brittany or Quinn. No one else can know. Promise me. It's important."

Santana chuckled. "Are you gonna make me pinky swear too, Rachel?" she asked lightly.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Rachel glared at her and spoke again in that strangely compelling tone. "Promise me, Santana."

Santana raised her hands in the universal gesture of surrender and then crossed her heart, rolling her eyes as she completed the sign. "Okay, fine. Whatever. I promise, or solemnly swear, or whatever."

The expression on the Glee Club star's face was grave as she nodded. "I guess that will have to do," she said. "The bell is about to ring. I'll see you in Glee. And remember – bring no one."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," Santana growled, turning her head to put her phone back in her bag. "Come alone. Later, fun size." When she raised her eyes again, the other girl was gone.

She'd never even heard the door open or close. It was as though Rachel had just vanished. What the hell - ?

"Ay, dios mio," she murmured to herself as she shouldered her backpack on over her Cheerios jacket. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

That thought was reverberating in her brain yet again when the door finally opened in answer to her third ring of the doorbell. What she saw then caused her brain to completely short-circuit, and she was embarrassingly unsuccessful in stifling the gasp that accompanied her stare.

Rachel stood in the doorway wearing only a sports bra and a pair of skintight, sinfully short workout shorts, sweaty and glistening. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a high pony tail, which was not a style she was known to wear in school. More shockingly, her body was all tanned skin and lean muscle, featuring the most amazing set of chiseled abs Santana had ever seen. The Cheerio's mouth went uncomfortably dry, and she suddenly felt very warm, and a little dizzy.

The diminutive diva frowned at Santana's open-mouthed, unabashed stare, then remembered her manners as a gracious hostess, opening the door more widely and stepping aside to grant her guest entrance. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was...concentrating on something and the ringing of the doorbell didn't quite penetrate immediately. Please, come in."

Santana's jaw snapped shut and she stepped inside without a word, still too stunned to speak. Part of her brain screamed at her to avert her gaze, to look somewhere, anywhere else, at anything but Rachel's sculpted, well-defined physique - but a stronger, larger part of her brain steadfastly ignored that plea, and she simply could not tear her eyes away.

Holy crap! Hobbit is in serious shape. But how the hell has she managed to hide such a rockin' body all this time? And why? I mean, damn, you'd think she'd want to show it off - just look at those thighs, those arms and shoulders! And oh my God, those abs...wow. I can't believe I'm thinking this, but yeah, I gotta admit - Rachel is hot.

At last her mind rebooted, but not completely, and she heard herself say, "Jeez, Rachel. When did you start working out?"

"When I was five," Rachel replied matter-of-factly. "May I take your jacket?"

"Uh...oh, um, yeah. Thanks." Santana shrugged herself out of her Cheerios hoodie, and her eyes followed the perfect curve of Rachel's surprisingly large, shapely bicep as the girl took the jacket from her, tracing the raised vein that ran along the hard muscle, unaware that she was licking her lips as she did so. Her mind reeled, and she was lost in thought, wondering how this could possibly be the same girl that walked the halls of McKinley High in billowy blouses and loose-fitting pants.

The sound of Rachel clearing her throat snapped her back to reality, and she blushed, finally looking around and taking notice of the walls of Rachel's house, which were covered with pictures of the girl and her two clearly adoring fathers.

"Nice place you've got here," she said absently. "Thanks for having me over. It'll be a relief to finally talk about...you know...with someone."

Rachel's eyes regarded the Cheerio softly; she could see how worried the girl was, no matter how she tried to hide it. "I know. Obviously, you have questions – not the least of which are concerning my current appearance and attire – and I'll be happy to answer them." She tilted her head and pointed down the hallway. "Downstairs."

Once again, Santana felt something quiver in her lower abdomen at that strangely irresistible tone in Rachel's voice. "Um, sure. Okay. Whatever you say, short and stacked." She bowed her head, covering her face with one hand, lamely attempting to keep the other girl from seeing the furious blush coloring her caramel cheeks. "I mean, lead the way."

"Are you all right, Santana?" Rachel asked, frowning slightly. "You look a little flushed. I've always thought that Coach Sylvester works you Cheerios too hard. I'll get you some water once we're downstairs." She turned and began walking, oblivious to the widening eyes that followed the sway of her hips as she moved briskly down the hallway. "Come on," she called.

Oh, lord. She should never wear anything but those shorts ever again.

"Yes, ma'am. Right behind you," she said quietly, a smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth. All thoughts of mortal peril were pushed aside, and she took her time following the Glee Club star. Things had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

A/N: As always, I own nothing. I want to dedicate this story to the one and only purrpickle, who so graciously allowed me to take this prompt and run with it. Thank you for the many hours of conversation we've had about this story. I can only hope that the end product will make you proud.