Okay, so I'm late to the Glee scene, Santana's rant was my calling to spit some mean fanfiction.

1) This is Kurtbastian and it's not very Blaine or Klaine friendly. 2) Instead of in the damn school hallway, Santana's rant happened at a party she threw for Brittany,where she proposed. I added my twist on things.

I do not own Glee, I believe it belongs to Chris Colfer...I mean Ryan Murphy. Kurt would've been the most successful one to come out of that shitty school, if Glee belonged to me.

-gLee-

He'd told Rachel the truth, but not the whole truth. There are some things that you should probably refrain from telling your withering diva of a best friend, who had just lost everything, even though it felt as if he himself were losing everything. It was more than just Santana's unexpected proposal. It was also the harsh reality that he was becoming absolutely nothing. It was the fact that he constantly worried about losing his father after Finn's death. It was the fact that he practically had no choice but to accept Blaine's over-the-top marriage proposal to avoid gaining "asshole status" among his group of friends, who still held him at an arm's length. It was the fact that his ex, who had saved him (or pretty much gave him terrible advice, forcing him to be borderline sexually assaulted, forcing him to save himself), is now dating the man that is still in many ways the epitome of his post-traumatic stress disorder. It was the fact that he would go back to his old home, when in Lima, and lock himself in his old room, drowning in memories that made him anxious, depressed, or both. It was getting harder and harder to peel himself out of bed, or off the couch, or out of his own damn mind. Kurt Hummel was becoming weak. He had promised himself after being stuffed in a hot locker overnight, by Karofsky, the man who seemingly still had it out for him, that he would no longer let them see him sweat. He was on the verge of breaking that promise.

He didn't mean to sound bitter. He even told Rachel and Finn that they were too young for marriage. They didn't flip out on him like Santana was. "Maybe Brittany and I are too young to get married. I mean, after all, that's why it didn't work out with you and Blaine,right? Or maybe it didn't work out because you're a judgmental little gerontophile with a mouth like cat's ass. Maybe Blaine got tired of hearing your shrill self-aggrandizing lecture about how you felt the two of you were at the very apex of the gay rights movement every time you so much as cooked macaroni and cheese together, or farted. Maybe Blaine didn't wanna be with someone who looks like they just removed their top row of dentures every time they smile, or someone who doesn't dress like an extra out of one of Andy Dick's more elaborate wet dreams.

Boom. There it is. It wasn't Santana's usual "tough love" bark. This was a bloody, skin-ripping bite. It was in no way a "you need to be better" rant; it was an "I don't like who you are rant" and boy was this bitch one to talk. Basically everything that everyone- probably even his father and Rachel were too afraid to tell him, because he could verbally slash their tires. Santana was going full force on behalf of Blaine, who had become a menace to what little of a relationship they had left. Hot stuff Blaine Anderson was once again the center of attention. Santana didn't even know the details of the break-up, because who the hell would go to her for comfort? The pang that hit him gave him sick feeling in his gut and he could feel his face heating.

It was a gathering that was supposed to bring everyone together, even David freaking Karofsky and Sebastian god damned Smythe, apparently. Once he pulled himself out of his thoughtful fog, he could see the faces of his friends. The majority of them looked unsympathetic and some even amused. Was Blaine even going to speak for himself? Maybe just to defend Kurt, who has always defended him? Was he supposed to give in?

Maybe he grew weary of dating a breathier more feminine Quinn Fabray. Maybe he finally got freaked out by your strange obsession with old people that causes you to skulk around nursing homes like one of those cats that can smell cancer. Maybe he got tired of watching you drape yourself on every piano you happen past to entertain exactly no one with. Say some song that Judy Garland choked on her tongue in the middle of, or some sassy old Broadway standard made famous by dead alcoholic crump. Maybe Blaine woke up one day and said, 'You know what, I don't wanna marry a sexless self-centered baton-twirler. Maybe I need someone who knows more than three dance moves:' the finger wag, the shoulder shimmy, and the one where you pretend to twirl to invisible rainbow-colored ribbons attached to your hips, so you know what, maybe that's why it didn't work out, maybe it has nothing to do with me and Brittany, maybe it's just that you are utterly, utterly, intolerable. Maybe that has something to do with it."

He was paralysed. What was he supposed to say? He was used to being the one at fault when it came to these things, but was he really going to apologize?

"Santana, what are you even talking about? What's your angle, because i'm pretty sure that this was supposed to be about me not being excited for you and Brittany's doomed marriage, not about why you dislike me; not that I care, because every night, I go home and forget that you exist." Kurt said as calmly as possible.

Everyone was still staring at him; the eyes of one Sebastian Smythe burning a hole into the back of his head. He hadn't meant to add the snark, but this whole situation was causing him to put up those walls that Blaine bitched about on an hourly basis.

His arms were folded and his hip was jutted out, but his bitch-face was replaced by the new blank expression that he's taken up, to keep people from even thinking that he wasn't okay.

"Okay, Hummel, this is why I didn't want to invite you. Take a look around and notice that you're the only single person in Berry's depressing basement, while the man that you're so desperate for is here with the guy who eats chili cheese coneys for breakfast and who once made slamming your scrawny little ballerina-reject body into lockers his favorite pass time. If that doesn't say enough, then maybe you should just go into hiding, because your pathetic, whiny ass can't seem to catch a break. Look at you Hummel. You're all messed up, because you can't get your life together, but you want to tell me how to live mine? Those bags under your eyes are proof enough that you can't sleep at night, because you're a miserable, overbearing twink, who probably couldn't even land a role in the chorus of "Cats", because your squeaky voice and your jerky movements would make the production look like some weird porno that Sandy Ryerson has in five different languages, hidden somewhere in the choir room at McKinley. No one, I mean no one objected when your own father suggested that we not invite you, because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself to even go back to New York and live by yourself, but I think you should go back. I think you should stay there and-"

"Santana! Please stop. You're making Kurtie cry!" Brittany interrupted.

So he wasn't sweating. He was doing worse that sweat. He was shedding tears, in front of this group of people who he really no longer knew. They were much more intellectual than the perceptive daffy blonde. They knew exactly what was going on. Yet, all they did was stare. Mercedes, Tina. Rachel, Sam. All people who he'd go out of his way for, because he felt their pain. No one would come to his rescue this time. He'd offered these people so much, but all he got whenever his world started crumbling down was a pat on the back and countless "it gets better speeches". He blinked the welling tears away and tried to breathe. He couldn't. Kurt tried standing up straight, to allow his diaphragm to expand, but nothing was working and he was frozen. Everything was a blur, as he dropped to his knees. His eyes stung and he could barely feel his clammy hands. Why couldn't he just speak? His breaths were growing harsher and he knew that he was shaking, because he could faintly hear the voices of the frantic people surrounding him. He was losing his grasp on his surroundings and even time, as he desperately gasped for air. "Breathe, Kurt. You're okay. You're gonna be safe man, I just need you to breathe, little dude." He remembered Finn's slightly panicked voice chime. Suddenly, he could hear them.

"Fuck! Is he dying? Come on man! Come back to Puck!"

"Kurt, don't you dare die on us, before you get the chance to be Peter Pan, in a production that's actually meant for people of your age group!"

"Dammit, I didn't say die, Hummel!"

"White boy, what the hell is going in on? This is some scary white people movie shit."

"Is he having a seizure?"

"Look, his breath is slowing down! Fuck, is he about to flatline?"

"Lord Tubbington did this when I shared my marijuana with him."

"Kurt, please...just blink if you're okay."

"And to think I just came for the food-"

"Good fucking God, is cluelessness a trend with you public school cum buckets? He's having god damn panic attack. Get the hell out of his face.

At the sound of Sebastian Smythe's growl, his body twitched and he began to blink rapidly, as his body allowed to feel the warmth of the person kneeling next to him. There were fingers sliding down the moist skin of his neck, feeling his pulse line. The hand came up to wave in front of his face three times, prompting his eyeballs to unwillingly follow the motions. This jerked his body back to life, causing him to jolt into a sitting position. The hand was now supporting his back, which immediately began to slump.

"Hey hey, easy!" The voice soothed. He took in a few shuddering breaths and craned his neck to match a face to the rather comforting hand on his back.

That god damned Sebastian.

"You okay, Princess?", he questioned, boring into Kurt's soul with those piercing green eyes.

"I-I'm, um-" He attempted. All he really knew was that he was officially embarrassed and that it was awkwardly silent.

He couldn't do this,

The countertenor stumbled to his feet, only be surrounded by the whole population Lima.

"Woah man, watch it! You were just about to die!" Sam practically cried.

Arms and hands were grabbing him, fixing his now rumpled clothes and brushing him off, while that same hand was wrapped tightly around his bulging bicep, not letting him go anywhere. He used his surprise towards Sebastian's nurturing as an excuse for tuning everyone else out. He caught the tall Warbler's eye and searched for a way out.

"Once again, he had a panic attack. He's alive, so why don't you not crowd him. Thanks."

He rushed, gently pushing Kurt out of the room, then out of the house. Kurt turned and gave an uncharacteristically bashful thank you, and dragged his wobbly body to his new Chevy Lumina that he dipped into his savings to buy.

"You're not driving home, you'll really die then. So will someone else. Come on." Sebastian gestured with his hands.

"I'm fine. That's not the first time i've panicked. I always feel fine once I get going." He dismissed, attempting to stand up straight. He could see Blaine looking out Rachel's living room window now.

"Yeah, that's what i told my mom last year after I panicked so bad that I started to suffocate. Know what happened missy?" He asked pointedly.

Kurt shook his head, curious to know the story.

"I was exhausted the day of my Warbler lead renewal audition. (That sounded like something they would do) The dance was too much, even for my shapely body, and i passed out, like Blaine would at a Katy Perry 'Unplugged' concert." He finished, his lips curling at Kurt's strangled giggle.

"Not funny. They gave the lead to Hunter, who tried forcing me to take steroids and ruin my life. I didn't do i." He ranted, trying to keep the smile out of his voice.

Kurt sighed and took slow, short steps over to his only ally at the moment. "Just don't drive crazy. I don't want to panic again." He pleaded tirely

Sebastian opened the passenger door and helped his patient carefully seat himself in his car.

"Kurt!" Came his new least favorite person's voice. He turned and stared long and hard at her, around Sebastian's form. He didn't know what facial expression he had on now, because he was simply too tired to control his emotions. Whatever it was caused the trifling Latina to cry even harder than she had been. Crying was usually his weakness, but for her, he was suddenly immune. He tried waiting for her to speak, but her hard sobbing was causing all of McKinley's allumini and their hamsters to emerge from Rachel's living room to figure out what the hell was going on now.

"I'm so sorry. I just thought that you'd hurt Britt! I thought you were being mean. I didn't know that something was wrong-"

"Save it, Satan. You knew something was wrong four years ago, when i was being abused and harassed by every football player that you spread your legs for. You didn't do anything then. You were too busy trying to find someone to date, because you pushed Brittany away with the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, but at least something other than sperm was coming out of it, huh?" He could see Sebastian's jaw drop out of the corner of his eye.

"Let me break it down for you. If you don't want me around, i will gladly sache my ass back to New York, where i have a whole school full of people and the members of my own damn band who absolutely adore me. All of you can get the same treatment. He said, finally addressing the not-so-innocent bystanders.

"Don't be like that, Kurt…"

"Oh hello Mr. Schue. I see you're once again deeply involved in the sad lives of people who are half your age. I'll give you a call if i ever believe that you're worth my time." The man was giving him the stern teacher eyes and everyone else was looking at him as if he'd just fallen from Rachel's roof. Speaking of Rachel, she was opening her big mouth now.

"I'm no longer on my own time. I have to go." He said, defeated. He closed the car door as gently as possible, hoping that they leave his father out of this big, dysfunctional feud.

-gLee-

The ride wasn't as awkward as he assumed it would be, considering that he had to explain the reason behind the tension between him and his so-called friends, dating all the way back to his shitty sophomore year. Somehow, Sebastian was the most understanding, active listener he'd ever met. Kurt convinces Sebastian to drop him off at a motel, since he refused to face Burt, knowing that everyone was already spilling every last detail about the incident. One thing led to another, and Sebastian ended up staying in the room too, because Blaine, who he was crashing with on his break from college, was harassing him, telling him that "Kurt was off limits" and a load of other crap. Whatever. It never even came crossed either of the performers minds that they were falling asleep, pressed against each other, face to face, because they were both drained. They both knew deep down that if they woke up next to each other the next morning, and began to gaze into each other's eyes, they could never look back. Things would change, for better or for worse.

Boy did it get better.

This is not over! Review, suggest...drown me in compliments, because I am soooo nervous about this. I hope I got Santana right.