Based loosely on a LGBT promotion video I saw on the internet.I've had this for a while, but I decided to post after getting the Pezberry feels from the latest episode. One shot.

The day after she is outed because of Finnocence, several strange things happen to Santana. The first is the essay that materialises on her desk. She doesn't even remember about its existence until Miss Corcoran is sweeping through the classroom, gathering everyone else's and she just wants to slam her head on the table. It's not like she feels guilty or is at all worried about time wasting things like detention, but she's so tired she can't even be bothered to call upon Snix to argue for her.

When her teacher reaches her desk, she slumps back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, the 'I don't give a shit what you do to me' pout all set in place, but instead of yelling her out about crap like expectancies, respect and a wasted eduction, Miss Corcoran grabs something of her desk and adds it to the pile.

"Hey, what'd you just take?" She calls after her and earns herself a pair of raised eyebrows.

"Your essay, Santana." Santana cranes her neck to take a look at the paper on the top of the pile and much to her shock, there's a stapled, typed bunch of papers with her name scrawled across the top. Well it must be a sprinkle of divine intervention or whatever that crap's called because she certainly didn't do the stupid homework. She's not about to complain at escaping a detention though so she frowns at it before going back to her slouch.

Another, perhaps even stranger thing happens at the desk beside hers. Rachel Berry doesn't have her essay. "I'm so sorry Miss Corcoran, I was entirely distracted by my other commitments," she explains in a small voice with her head down. Another weird thing. Willow always talks a million miles per minute and as if her opinion is the only one.

Then the weird things all connect together and Santana looks from the magical appearing essay on the top of the pile to Rachel's empty desk but she can't think for the life of her why the hobbit would have done that for her. But again, she's not about to complain about getting out of detention and of course she doesn't feel the slightest bit of guilt when that privilege is handed to Rachel instead because she didn't ask the girl to do it and anyway, their Nazi of a teacher would probably just give them both detention if she confessed.

So she looks towards the front of the room and pretends to listen to whatever crap is coming from her coach's mouth like she actually cares because it's better than looking at the tears that are sliding down Berry's face that are once again her fault.

…

The day starts to get totally out of space weird when she sees that fat, black dick from the football team marching towards her, slushie in hand. It's been a while since she had a slushie facial and she knows she has nothing else to change into. She slams her locker door shut and turns towards him with a scowl, all ready to kick the shit out of his ass when she sees the equally fat white dude from the team carrying another two drinks behind him.

Sure she's totally badass and can bring it in a fight, but even she doubts her abilities to take on two hench football players alone. The other option is to tear it down the hall before they take the last few steps, but if there's one thing she does not do, other than apologies, it's run.

But then this midget thing leaps in from nowhere just as the jocks release the drinks and while Santana escapes the fire, aside from a few splashes that the tiny hobbit figure couldn't block, it's coated in three cherry slushies. The fucktards snigger and give each other high fives, although what they're so happy about Santana will never know because it's not even like they got the right person, but they're probably too stupid to have noticed. Or maybe they just can't see past all their chins.

A dripping Rachel Berry turns to her and Santana just wants to throw her. Of course it just had to be her because she's just not happy unless she's the centre of the spotlight and with most of the school giggling and pointing in her direction, she's certainly that. She wants to just scoff at her stupidity and storm off to punch someone more deserving, but she can't ignore the second set of tears of the day that are mixed in with the flavoured ice.

"Damn it Rupaul," Santana growls as she roughly grabs her by the arm and drags her to the nearest bathroom. She might be a bitch, but she's not downright cold like Quinn and it's not as if she can get any lower down on the social ladder, so she may as well destroy her reputation further by being seen with Man Hands.

But although she takes Santa's Helper into the bathroom and wets a paper towel, she doesn't make sure the water's warm and neither does she dab carefully around her eyes or be gentle with the action. If she does that, she will only fuel the ridiculous notion that the two of them are actually friends.

"Do you have a change of clothes?" She demands, as if Rachel is a child who has soiled herself and when she shakes her head, Santana only sighs angrily, like she's being deliberately insolent and unzips her Cheerios jacket aggressively. She yanks it off and thrusts it towards Rachel with a sharp scowl. "Take off that top and put this on," she snaps.

Rachel puts the jacket on the sink stand and reaches for the hem of her top, but Santana flings out her hand and stops hers in the action. "Not here," she hisses. "God, do you think just because I like girls now I'm going to want to see that. Fuck, even Beastie on Valentine's day isn't that desperate."

Her stupid Bambi eyes fill with fresh tears and she picks the jacket up and goes into a cubicle. Santana hears the bolt slide before a soft sob and rolls her eyes. Does Bambi really think that just because she's shut the door (which, by the way, has gaps both at the top and bottom), that no one will be able to hear her cry? She ignores the other feeling that isn't annoyance because that's the second time she's felt it that day and that is just too much crazy on top of the stupid shit that's already happened.

Santana is just about to give up and leave because Berry is taking so damn long when the door opens and she steps out with the Cheerios jacket zipped right up. Santana sighs again and stomps towards her and Rachel flinches, like she's scared that she might hit her or something, but she just reaches for the zip and pulls it down far enough so Rachel doesn't look like an frigid Eskimo, but not so far that she catches sight of any Bambi cleavage.

"Thank-you for the lending of the clothing. I shall wash it and return it to you within twenty four hours," Rachel promises, as if she's working for a dry cleaning business and Santana goes to roll her eyes again, but stops. She's not going to go as far as thanking Treasure Trail for taking the slushies for her, or even acknowledge that she's done it, but she will at least turn down the aggression and annoyance by the smallest notch. Not enough so she thinks they are friends or anything, because they totally aren't, but just enough so she doesn't make her cry again.

"Don't sweat it Berry," she says in the most normal voice she can muster. "Keep it, I have three others at home and it might save us from some of the atrocity that is your fashion sense." For reasons Santana doesn't even want to let herself think about, Rachel blushes and looks down at the floor, but not before she's caught sight of the grin that's spreading across her face.

The bells rings and Santana is relieved. No, that is most definitely not disappointment swirling inside her stomach. It's nothing but relief. Pure, happy, shiny relief. She storms out of the bathroom and thinks about Finnocence slipping into a vat of his own body fat to push out the image of Rachel wearing her jacket.

…

As soon as she enters the cafeteria, Santana knows she's going to be sitting alone. Brit is probably off having sit down sex with motor boy somewhere and she wouldn't sit on any table containing Frankenteen if hers were to spontaneously combust (with the day she's had so far, she won't rule it out). She dumps her tray down on the nearest available table, one between a table of way too cheerful looking nerds and way too depressing looking goths. How fucking perfect.

No one took any of the spare seats on her table and with a quick scan around the room, she realises that none of the glee kids are actually there, which makes her feel better in a strange way because although they aren't team mates anymore, she hopes they might still be on her side and if they're there and just ignoring her, she won't even have those losers to hang out with.

She sticks out her foot so a passing prep falls over it and face plants into her tomato pasta just so everyone will have something else to stare at other than her. You'd think that being outed would mean she'd had a fucking face transplant or something the way they are all craning their necks to take a look at her. It isn't like she is going to look any fucking different to the way she had looked yesterday. The girl with the shiny tomato face does though and Santana laughs cruelly at her handy work.

She keeps right on laughing until her eyes catch those big doe ones from the lunch queue that are gazing sadly at her, as though she's just disembowelled a kitten. Santana's laugh turns into a scowl and she glares until Rachel turns away and selects a salad from the choice of lunches.

"Hey Lopez! You saving yourself for some minge eating?" Azimo yells, with a sneer at her empty tray and Santana leaps up from her seat to throw some biting comeback, but her mind is empty. No one was ever supposed to know, not until she was older and out of that prejudice town in some place where no one cares if she walks around with a duck on her head, and she has no idea how to handle the situation.

"The dog's lost its bite," the jock laughs and Santana longs to storm right up there and punch him in the face, but then she will have a whole sports team to take on. She has just about decided she doesn't care and wants to feel his flesh on her fist anyway when those stupid doe eyes come into her head again. Physical violence is demoralising and inhumane. Now there's her totally irritating voice to go with it and as much as she wants to, Santana just can't ignore it and slog him.

"Aw," coos someone else. "And she doesn't even have any loser no directions to hold her hand." Anger burns inside her until she wants to flip the lunch table and beat the crap out of every person who so much as smirks before finding Finnocence and slowly torturing him to an early, giant grave. If there was actually one big enough to fit him inside it.

Her fingers fold underneath the table, nestling into the gap to make sure she has a proper grip on it, but before she can unleash the wrath of hell, she senses someone stop still beside her table and she decides that she might just turn around and punch them instead because flipping a table might look just a little bit too much like a temper tantrum.

She swings around with a furious glare raging in her eyes but stops her fist from curling when she sees Rachel Berry's Bambi eyes gazing back at her. Maybe she won't punch her, but only because she owes her for giving her the essay and taking a triple slushie facial for her, not because she doesn't want to hurt her or anything. It wouldn't be right to hit Bambi anyway, it'd like a wolf eating a rabbit. She's just so small and defenceless, it would be cowardly to start on her and if there was anything Santana isn't, it is a coward.

The words what do you want, Rupaul? Are on the top of her tongue, just about to roll of and shoot her down verbally instead when Rachel's own hand uncurls and extends towards her. It hangs in the air between them and a hush falls over the cafeteria for probably the first time since the world began.

"I'll hold you hand," she says, as simply as if she were offering her a jammie dodger. She speaks as if Santana isn't the same girl who slept with her ex boyfriend just to hurt her and announced it in front of all of their friends for the same reason. She holds out her hand as if she's not extending it to the same person who has swatted it away so many times with spiteful words and slushie facials.

For one moment that lingers for far too long, Santana thinks of doing it again. She imagines pushing Rachel to the floor with a sneer and telling her she's a lesbian, not desperate but it's the sadness in the other girl's eyes that tells Santana that's just what she's expecting her to do that stops her. She prides herself on being original and daring, to do something that predictable would spoil what was left of her reputation.

She repeated that to herself as she slowly, finally, took the hand that had been there for so much longer than the past seventeen seconds.