Title: The United States of Rachel Berry

Summary:For Rachel, having multiple personalities wasn't a big deal. Sure, sometimes she wasn't exactly herself. Because sometimes, she was Puck. Or Finn. Or Sam. But a chance encounter with an old friend, will have her discovering there is an even weirder reality than living with Disassociative Identity Disorder.

Disclaimer:Neither Glee nor United States of Tara are mine. As if. Also, largely inspired by This Same Rain That Draws Me Near by Dramatricks, which is an awesome story that everyone should read!

Author's Note:This follows a somewhat altered Season 4, obviously. Thoughts are in italics. Please enjoy, and don't forget to review!

1. PROLOGUE:

In which we meet Rachel, and Santana has an eventful luncheon.

Rachel Berry looked up at the sound of the front door slamming shut, and rapid footsteps thundering on their way to her bedroom. She cocked her head when she heard her roommate's frantic calls. This couldn't be good, she thought to herself.

"Rachel!" Santana Lopez yelled, closer to her room now. "Damn it, Hobbit, where the hell are you?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation at the typically childish nickname. "Honestly, S," Rachel replied, stepping out of her room and colliding with a panting Santana in her doorway. "Where else would I be?" The question is asked lightly, but Rachel can sense the underlying bitterness, and braces herself in preparation. Santana is an expert at calling her out on her bullcrap, as the latina so elegantly puts it.

Her defensiveness is unnecessary though, she finds. The other girl is simply staring back at her, eyes wide and unblinking. Rachel frowned, confusion and worry clear on her face.

"Santana, what's wrong?" she asks, even as she is pulling the unresisting girl into her room, and over to the bed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The ex-cheerleader was pale and trembling, causing a shiver to go down Rachel's spine. Santana was many things, but easily spooked was not one of them. For her to be this affected, whatever it is must be huge.

Rachel scooted closer, grabbing ahold of Santana's hands in concern. Please, she begs silently, mind racing with the possibilities. Her dads, Santana's parents, Britt. While the list of people she fears for might be short, they themselves are absolutely vital to Rachel's survival. "I can't lose them," she blurts out desperately.

This seemed to finally snap Santana out of her stupor.

She blinked a few times, turning her head to take in her surroundings. They were in Rachel's room, on the bed covered in sheet music, as always. She absently fingered a few loose papers before Rachel's impatient tugging on her hands brought her focus back to reality. This was not going to be an easy conversation, she knew. Well, here goes nothing.

"I owe you an apology," Santana began, clearing her throat and steadfastly avoiding Rachel's gaze. "I, um," she shrugged, before sucking in a deep breath, and then noisily exhaling it. "I didn't really believe that whole multiple personalities thing, you know. I mean, this is New York, and crazy is everywhere, and if all I had to worry about was you hitting on me a few times a month, that was okay."

She could tell Rachel was confused, and she couldn't really blame her. She had probably scared the little runt. "Hey, you okay?" she asked quickly, having just noticed the trace of unshed tears in chocolate eyes. "Why're you crying?"

Rachel stared at Santana, somewhat surprised by how much her admission hurt. "You didn't believe me?" she finally whispered, letting go of her hands as she'd been burned. "After everything in highschool, all those times..." she trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. It was like she was seeing Santana for the first time, only her best friend was a complete stranger.

"Come on, who believes that kinda shit exists," Santana defended herself, trying to grab for Rachel's hands. "For real, though? I'm sorry, okay, I should have," she grunted, frustrated by the other girl's evasion tactics.

"So, what changed your mind?" Rachel asked, still pulling away from her roommate. "Obviously the collection of men's clothes in my closet wasn't enough."

Honestly? No, it hadn't been. So what if sometimes Rachel wore men's football jerseys, and reeked of too much Axe body-spray? Or pulled tight muscle-tees over an obviously female torso, while obnoxiously flexing her 'guns' in Santana's face on occassion. Or had a wholly annoying Justin Bieber obsession at times, she shuddered at the memory. Rachel was an actress, after all; or studying to be one, anyway.

"Ever heard of role-play?" Santana offered, shrugging her shoulders. "Plus, I was in major denial back in highschool, as you very well know. I didn't want to believe any of it could be tue."

Rachel only shook her head sadly. While she had gotten used to the general disbelief and dismissal of her condition by now, she couldn't help feeling disappointed in her friend. "I thought we were friends, S."

The two of them had met up in New York after graduating highschool. Rachel had left Lima, Ohio, and it's suffocating atmosphere far behind, following her dreams of Broadway to the prestigious New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts. Santana had dropped out of college in Louisville, Kentucky, where her cheerleading prowess won her a full-ride scholarship. In the City That Never Sleeps, sharing a loft apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, they became best friends. The 'alters' had made Santana's life a little hellish in the beginning, but really, they were all boys, so her charm (and penchant for strutting around the loft in tiny bikinis) won them over in the end. It hurt to hear now that her acceptance had all been a lie.

Santana had known about Rachel's condition through the rumour-mill in highschool, of course. Everyone had known about the Berry Freak back home in Lima. When they first moved in together, Rachel had naively thought Santana's lack of reaction to it meant something else, though. But it hadn't, she realized now. Santana, even after living with her and Sam and Finn and Puck for months, still didn't believe her, didn't accept the truth of her disorder. She had been pretending all along, indulging Rachel's fantasies like she was a child with an array of colourful imaginary friends. Like they weren't real at all.

Rachel quickly shuffled out of her room, making her way into their tiny kitchen. She reached into a cabinet, searching for her special water glass; the one with the stars on it that she'd gotten from her mother for her last birthday. She groaned in frustration when she couldn't reach it, knowing Puck had put it further into the cabinet to mess with her. Sam was generally the sweeter of her alternate personalities, and Finn would never be so deliberately annoying.

"Here," Santana said, having pulled their handy step-stool closer. She immediately turned around at Rachel's huff, taking a seat at the dining table instead.

"Look, I know it's hard for you to listen to me right now, but you need to hear the rest, Rach." Santana listened carefully as Rachel filled her glass with water, waiting for her to acknowledge her presence.

"I don't want to hear anything else you could possibly have to say," came the harsh reply a few seconds later. Rachel quickly refilled the water glass. She was thirsty, nothing else, she thought, hoping to convince herself (and her other selves).

"I know," Santana said, sounding unsure yet determined. "But don't you wanna know why I finally do believe you?" she queried, still not looking in the other brunette's direction. Striving for a casualness she didn't feel, she continued. "I had a lunch-date with Lauren today, remember?" She heard Rachel sigh, and took that as her cue to carry on. "Right, so she has a new man in her life, and I was teasing her about him, as I do," she added, waiting for Rachel to scoff or something, like she normally would.

Nothing.

Well, okay then. "Next thing, she whips out her phone to prove he's real or whatever. But then the dude showed up to like, surprise her or something, and it was him, Rachel! Lauren's new boyfriend?" she stated in awe. "It was Puck. Your Puck."

Still nothing. No reaction, no gasp of surprise, no scoff of disbelief.

Slowly, Santana turned around to face the strange girl she called her best friend. Only, she wasn't there anymore.

"Oh, crap."

The smirk was both mocking and familiar. "No shit, Sherlock."