I wanted this to be about Santana, which it is, but Puck went and elbowed his way in with his pretty guns. Warning: There's a lot of swearing.

Catastrophic

Puck pulled out his buzzing phone from his pocket and scrunched his nose up. What was she doing ringing him? He stuck a finger in his ear trying to hear over the all singing, all dancing, dining service frolicking on the TV screen in front of him.

"Puck."

"Yo."

"I need... are you watching 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

"Hell no! My sister is. What do you want Fabray?" He demanded, sounding snappier than he intended. Why wasn't she calling Goldilocks von Bieber-lips?

"Whatever. You need to get over here, now." The urgency was clear in her tone of voice and without a second thought he jumped up and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

"I'm coming."

Puck's truck screeched to halt outside the Fabray residence. He jumped out and ran up the path pausing as he caught sight of a glass bottle flying through the air and landing in the neighbours yard. He changed course and made his way around the back.

Quinn was sat on the ground, her back resting against the back wall of her house, sheer relief was visible all over her face as she realised he had been as good as his word and come over. Sitting next to her, or to be more accurate, slumped next to her was a very, very drunk Santana busy necking a bottle of vodka.

"Thank God," Quinn gasped, dragging him down to sit beside her.

"What the hell?" He asked.

"I found her outside the liquor store trying to get a tramp to buy her more booze."

"She's bleeding," he said referring to Santana's scraped knuckles.

"Yeah, she tried to fight my car."

"The what? What's she doing?"

"Trying to drown herself with alcohol. She got violent when I tried to take away the bottle."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" Santana screamed, ignoring the two whispering beside her. A beer bottle smashed against the garage wall across the lawn and the amber liquid ran down the brick.

'Britt,' Quinn mouthed the word to him ignoring the flying bottle as though she were used to the action by now. Puck looked worriedly from Santana to Quinn, his eyes asking 'What do we do?' She shrugged and shook her head not knowing the answer, so they just sat there as their friend glared off into space, her mind stuck on only one thought.

"Where's your Mom?" asked Puck, wondering why Mrs Fabray hadn't called the cops already. It was a well known fact that Judy Fabray was not Santana's number one fan.

"D.A.R. meeting. She wont be back 'til late."

Puck and Quinn sat in a strange companionable silence as Santana tried to out-stare the lawn. It was the first time they had spent any time together since Beth had been born and the first time they had had anything resembling a normal conversation despite the evenings subject matter. Eventually Puck pushed himself up from the ground next to Quinn and sat down the other side of Santana. Now she was stuck in between them where they could keep a better eye on her.

"Listen San." He stopped as she took another deep swig of vodka finishing the bottle and dropping it onto a pile of beer bottles at her feet. He couldn't think of anything to say. Anything that would help. "We're your oldest friends, we've known each other forever."

He struggled for more. Quinn cast him a nervous glance.

"Listen," he leaned in closer to Santana careful not to touch her as there was no telling what she might do if she was provoked. "You were there for me, you had my back when everything happened with Beth," he added the next two words with a whisper, "And Quinn. You're the best friend I've got and... I've got your back too. No matter what."

Santana's head lifted. They paid closer attention, hoping he had got through.

"I need you to help me hide the body," she slurred the words.

"No," snapped Quinn. Then softer, soothingly. "I don't think it would go down very well with Britt if you murdered Artie."

"Who the fuck said anything about Artie?" screamed Santana.

"No one. No one said anything. Shhh, it's OK. It's OK."

Santana reached into her jacket and from a well hidden pocket pulled out a bottle of tequila. "Fuck the fuck off the lot of you." She took a deep swig of tequila her eyes screwed shut as the burning liquor poured down her throat. She was going to drink herself into oblivion or die trying. "It's not so bad if he's already crippled. I'd be doing him a favour," she muttered to herself.

'Where's Britt?' Mouthed Puck across the top of Santana's head to Quinn.

'Date,' replied Quinn. A light bulb went on in Puck's head and he gave Quinn a questioning look. She gently nodded in silent reply. The terrible twosome weren't known for doing proper dates. This one was different.

'Is this what I think it is?' he asked her silently.

Quinn nodded.

Shit, thought Puck. 'This is it. This is happening now?'

She shrugged. Santana wasn't there yet but tonight could be the night.

Santana glared hatefully at her feet. If she drank enough alcohol then maybe it would fuel laser beams to shoot out of her eyes and set fire to her sneakers. Laser beams, yeah, cool. Brittany would like that visual. She took another mouthful of the disgusting drink. Fucking Artie. Of all people. It's like she wasn't even trying to piss her off. Which made it worse. She hugged the bottle in her arms.

What was happening to her, she wondered to herself. It was like everything inside was crumbling down. All the barriers she had spent years unconsciously and in some cases, knowingly building, all safe guards had been shattered within seconds. She was crumpling inwards. The whole world was tipping upside down and she felt like she was falling. Small, tiny, insignificant Santana Lopez and the one thing which could anchor her, the one thing...

This could not be happening. She had defences, walls, protocols, plans to deflect and hide any feelings. Something had just flown over the top without any interference, ignoring every fail-safe, get out of jail free card and lie she had ever spouted and hit the target. She was fucking falling. Fuck.

"San," said Quinn quietly. "You can talk to us. Or just out loud if you want. We could listen. Or not."

"No," growled Santana. It was hurting a hell of a lot too much to think about Brittany so Santana tried to distract herself with the first thing to come to hand. "Pucks in love with you, Quinn."

"What!" Puck practically screamed. "I am not! Shut the fuck up Lopez." His chest heaved with deep breath. The fuck was she doing?

"Since 7th grade."

"I am gonna kick your ass if you don't shut up right now!"

"It's OK," said Quinn quietly.

"It's not fucking OK and it's not true so just shut up," spluttered Puck. "And anyway, you're in love with Brittany and have been since fucking kindergarten so shut up and admit it."

"Fuck. You." muttered Santana.

"And everyone..." he continued.

"Puck," warned Quinn, not wanting him to make things any worse than they already were. But he was flustered over his great big fucking secret being outed and continued.

"... fucking knows it."

Santana remained silent. They all leaned back against the wall, Puck trying to steady his heartbeat and Quinn feeling a wave of melancholy wash over her at how she had treated Puck since the summer. The sound of a car puling into the Fabray driveway interrupted the awkward silence. Awkward for two of them anyway, Santana was past giving a shit at this point.

"Crap my Mom's back, I'll go head her off," said Quinn, jumping up. She had to go and lie about why Puck's truck was parked out the front and why a drunken Cheerio was sprawled on the back lawn shouting obscenities across the neighbourhood.

Puck held his head in his hands for a minute as he tried to figure out this mess of an evening. His head snapped up with a brilliant idea.

"What if we teamed up and sang in Glee about it?"

"Do I look like like Rachel freakin' short-ass Berry? Do I?" demanded Santana. "I am not singing about my fucking feelings and all that bullshit!" she yelled at the top of her voice. "You should have stuck with Berry if you wanted to sing about your fluffy feelings, oh no wait you can't because you're in love with Quinn."

"OK, OK," said Puck alarmed at the reaction he had elicited. "It was just a suggestion. I thought we could get our rock on. I was thinking "Rainbow, Since You've Been Gone'. C'mon, we've humiliated ourselves tonight why not go all the way and do it front of glee?"

Santana turned violent in a heartbeat at his persistence and started punching Puck in the head, shoulder and arm, anywhere she could reach him.

"I don't want your fucking help I want you to fuck off and leave me alone," she screeched at him.

"Quinn, Quinn!" shouted Puck, trying to deflect the flailing arms attacking him.

"What is it?" Asked Quinn appearing around the corner slightly out of breath from running towards the screams.

Santana was now slumped against the wall with tears coursing down her cheeks as she tried not to let anyone see she was crying and failing miserably. Quinn sat down next to the brunette and put her arm around her friend's shoulder, not saying anything just holding her as her body racked with sobs.

"Why hasn't your Mom come out and started yelling at us?" asked Puck curiously.

"She took some pills, she wont wake up 'til midday tomorrow."

"She asked me... She asked me..." Santana spoke from where her head was resting on Quinn's shoulder and then hiccuped. The other two waited for her to finish the sentence. Asked her to what?

"I said no," she whispered, not elaborating on what the original question was.

"For serious?" said Puck in disbelief. "The girl worships the ground you walk on, follows you around like a puppy dog. Snap your fingers and she'll come running back."

Quinn leaned over and slapped him, Santana escaping from the hug as she did so.

"What I meant to say then was," he hastily backtracked. "You should apologise and tell her the truth."

Another beer bottle hit the garage.

"So what your saying is," said Quinn with a frown. "This is your fault. You blew it and now you've hurt yourself, and Britt's... moved on."

Santana's sigh could have blown down a house. "Yeah." She took another swig of tequila. "I fucking hate tequila it tastes like shit."

"Well stop drinking it then," snapped Quinn.

"Fuck off."

"Tell her how you feel."

"I don't feel anything!" shouted Santana.

"Liar!" Quinn shouted back.

"You're right," said Santana calmly, too calmly. "I feel, I feel sick... of hearing all this bullshit. Why did you have to come along and stick your god damn bossy, pointy fucking nose in?"

"You are a fucking liar," hissed Quinn. The message got a hit through the alcohol because it was a highly rare occurrence for Quinn Fabray to swear. Puck sat up straighter, this might get even more interesting. "You can lie to me and Puck and Brit and everyone else in the whole fucking universe, but do yourself a favour because I certainly wont be doing one for you ever again. Don't lie to yourself."

There was silence for a couple of heartbeats and then.

"She knows," whispered Santana. "She knows I know. And she knows I know she knows."

"This is getting drunker by the second," sighed Puck.

"She makes my stomach do backflips," Santana admitted in a small voice.

Quinn rubbed her eyes with frustration. This would be so frickin' adorable if it wasn't so pathetic.

"S?"

All three heads whipped around to see Brittany standing there at the corner of the house, looking worriedly at Santana.

"The fuck?" asked Puck. Did the girl have magic powers, he'd always suspected there was more to Brittany than met the eye.

"I texted her," admitted Quinn, as the other two glared at her. "What, seriously? She's like the only one who can help."

"San, what's the matter?" Brittany asked softly.

Santana drew her knees up to her chest and lay her head on her arms fiercely ignoring her and wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole this very instant. "Go away," Santana was muttering into her knees. "Go away, go away, go away, go away."

Quinn moved from her place next to Santana and went to sit next to Puck. Brittany ignored her plea and sat down in the vacated place her body flush against Santana's. Santana could feel the warmth radiating along her right side. Honestly the girl had no sense of personal space and was totally inappropriate with her touchy feely-ness. But Santana wasn't going to tell her that.

Quinn wrapped her arm around Puck's as they waited tensely, on edge for Santana to do something stupid but she just kept her head on her knees and didn't look at anyone. Brittany rubbed comforting circles on her back as Santana hiccuped occasionally.

"What's happened here?" asked Brittany.

Puck nudged Santana who ignored him. "You look nice, Britt," he said. "Been on a date somewhere nice?" He asked deliberately baiting Santana.

"Breadstix," she said suspiciously. She looked from the back of Santana's head to Puck and then Quinn who were lost for words. Puck sighed.

"It must be tough," he spoke to the back of Santana's head. "What, with being an emotional retard and all."

"It is," came the muffled reply. "It's very draining."

"S, tomorrow, when you are sober, we are doing a duet so awesome Glee won't know what hit it. Come to think of it, It'll probably end up being our winning number at Nationals. Tomorrow Britt, all will be revealed."

As the sun rose a few hours later it found Santana asleep, her head on Brittany's shoulder and her arms wrapped around her waist. Brittany's head rested on top of Santana's. Quinn and Puck were also huddled in a similar position with each other.