A/N: Santana comes out to her parents! Since I had a lot of feedback from people telling me to write more, I did. This one has some Spanish in it, but since I only ever took one Spanish course about 6 years ago, I had to rely on Google Translate. Thus, I put my original wording in brackets afterward so you get what I was trying to say. I might write a bit more after; maybe some interaction with other characters and more Brittana. Let me know if you want me to continue or not! Hope you like it...

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When Santana got home that night, her parents were waiting for her. She had texted them earlier saying she had something important to talk about. She had no choice but to tell them. She knew it would be worse if they saw it on TV or heard from some gossip around town. Her hand was forced and she was pretty sure it was slowly killing her.

For awhile, Santana had considered asking Brittany to do this with her, but her first instinct was to protect the girl and she wasn't sure this was going to go well. She didn't want Britt stuck in the middle of her parents yelling, or worse, hitting her.

She looked at their worried expressions. It was obvious they were entirely on-edge.

"Mami, Papi," she greeted them, trying to will any sort of courage to the surface.

It wasn't until she turned to take a seat across from them that she noticed her abuela was present. She almost lost her breath, suddenly feeling lightheaded and incredibly nauseous. She wasn't ready for this.

In her gut, she felt such an intense manifestation of panic that she was sure it would swallow her up, literally consuming her like a black hole tearing up space. The cold, empty, sick feeling extended up through her chest and throat, and she felt herself trembling.

Santana sat down, wiping her sweaty palms on the dress she had not yet changed out of from her earlier performance.

They sat in silence, waiting for the young girl to speak. She couldn't seem to formulate words and the hole in her stomach told her this might be the last time they ever loved her.

What was only a matter of seconds dragged on as if it were hours, thoughts and fears coursing through her mind so rampantly she couldn't keep up.

She studied her parents' faces, as if she was making sure to commit them to memory, and took another deep breath.

"So, I have something to tell you..." she said as loudly as she could manage, which wasn't very loudly at all. "Please don't hate me."

"Te dije que ella está embarazada (I told you she was pregnant)," her abuela remarked, glaring accusingly at her parents.

"No, no," she said quickly. "I'm not pregnant! I'm..." she swallowed. Pregnant sounded a lot better to her right now, even if she had no desire to be another Quinn, nor to raise a tiny screeching baby any time in the near future. "I'm," she choked, "gay."

Silence returned. She tried to gauge the reactions of her parents but their expressions were too hard to discern. She couldn't tell if they were more shocked, angry, or disappointed. She had always hoped deep down maybe they knew, but it was evident now that they hadn't even entertained it as a possibility.

Sure that this was not a good sign, Santana began making a mental list of things she would need to move into the Pierce's guest bedroom. Brittany had offered it to her before dropping she had dropped her off and she knew B's parents had always considered her a member of the family. She hoped that would continue even after they found out she was dating their daughter. She worked not to think about her own parents' reactions, because if she did, she would cry, and she knew better than to do that.

Clothing. She would need that, of course. She kept some extra shirts and jeans at Brittany's house already, but not enough. Plus, she would need pajamas, since no matter how much they liked her, no one wanted a houseguest sleeping naked. Especially not with Britt's little sister, Joyce, around. Her makeup was already in her backpack from her performance earlier, so that was taken care of. Her stereo system and flat screen TV were boss, but there was no way she could take them. Those and most other pieces of her room would have to be left behind. The only other things she could come up with were her journal (which was mostly filled with songs), her favorite books, and the rainbow stuffed unicorn Brittany had won for her at a carnival when they were twelve. She almost smiled remembering that, but the enormity of her current situation still weighted too heavily upon her.

Just as she was struggling to remember where they kept the suitcases - since her mami kept changing her mind about their proper storage - her fathers voice broke the silence.

"Santana, esto no es gracioso. (Santana, this is not funny.)"

Dumbfounded, Santana replied, "It's not a joke."

"¡Esto no puede estar pasando! (This cannot be happening!)" her mother wailed.

The desperation in her voice was almost enough to crack Santana's already wavering confidence. She doubted it was possible to have a worse day than this.

Santana watched as her parents turned to each other.

"¿Sabes lo que esto significa? (Do you know what this means?)" her mami exclaimed. "Ella va al infierno. ¿Qué hicimos mal? (She's going to Hell. What did we do wrong?)"

The young girl winced as her father glared over at her with anger clearly burning in his deep brown eyes. "¡Usted no es gay! ¡No hija mía alguna vez ser lesbiana! (You are not gay! No daughter of mine will be a lesbian!)"

"Daddy, please," she begged him. "Que es lo que soy. I no se puede cambiar. ¡Por favor entiendan! (This is who I am. I cannot change. Please understand!) If I could change, I would," she cried. "I'm sorry."

"Puede cambiar y usted, o usted ya no es una parte de esta familia! Eres una desgracia. Nunca me imaginé que podría traicionarnos así. (You can change and you will, or you are no longer part of this family. You are a disgrace. I never thought you could betray us like this.)" he exclaimed. "Nosotros no criar a nuestros hijos a ir al infierno. ¡Usted está enfermo! ¡Usted está enfermo y que son un asco y hay que cambiar y arrepentirse! ¡Ahora! ¡Te ordeno! (We did not raise our child to go to Hell. You are sick. You are sick and disgusting and need to change and repent. Now! I order you!)"

"Papi, I wish I could change, but I can't," she repeated, blinking back her tears. "I'm gay. Eso es lo que soy. (That's just who I am.)"

"¡Ni siquiera se reconoce más! (I don't even recognize you anymore.) You are not my daughter anymore!" he spat.

Unable to hold them back any longer, tears burned her eyes, able to be denied. "¿Mami?" she pleaded, but her mom simply shook her head, unable to make eye contact with her daughter.

Her father crossed the room, moving toward her. He towered over her, his arm moving back, and she flinched, preparing herself for the hit.

"¡Maria! ¡Carlos! Cálmate. (Maria! Carlos! Calm.)" Her abuela's angry voice cut through the tension, interrupting the impending hit. All eyes turned toward her.

Santana's gaped at her grandmother. The white-haired woman was looking at them as if they were the ones in trouble, instead of Santana. What was going on here?

"¡Basta ya! ¿Ve usted lo asustada que está? Esto se debe a usted. Ella es mi nieta y yo criamos a ser fuerte. No le diga que ella sea algo diferente. Que le gusta no importa, porque la vida es demasiado corta para ser infeliz. ¿Es eso lo que quiere para su hija? Miseria? He perdido mi amor, y no robarle a mi nieta de su oportunidad de amar. ¿Usted quisiera que ella fuera tan miserable como yo? Ella no está tratando de hacerte daño. Usted debería avergonzarse de sí mismos. (Enough! Do you see how scared she is? This is because of you. She is my granddaughter and I raised her to be strong. You will not tell her to be anything different. Who she loves does not matter, because life is too short to be miserable. Is that what you want for your daughter? Misery? I have lost my love, and you will not rob my granddaughter of her chance to love. Do you want her to be as miserable as I am? She is not trying to hurt you. You should be ashamed of yourselves.)" the old woman scolded.

Santana hadn't expected this. If anything, she thought her grandmother would have the worst reaction out of all of them. But here she was-defending her?

Carlos silently retreated back to his spot next to his wife.

"Abuela, I..." Santana trailed off, unable to articulate her thoughts. She was grateful to her grandmother for stepping in - confusing though it may be - but she knew it didn't change how her parents felt about her.

"No. ¡Usted se callara hasta que aprenda a crecer la columna vertebral! Dejar de llorar. Levanté la que mejor que esto. (No. You will not speak until you grow a backbone! Stop crying. I raised you better than this.)"

Santana simply nodded, unable to make eye contact with anyone.

"No importa si te gusta los niños o niñas (It doesn't matter if you like boys or girls)," her abuela told her, "Sólo nos deshonra si pretender ser alguien porque no son lo suficientemente valientes como para ser tú mismo. (You are only a disgrace if you are not brave enough to be yourself.)" She paused to look at her son and daughter-in-law before turning back to Santana. "Ahora enjugará las lágrimas. López mujeres no lloran. (Now wipe away those tears. Lopez women do not cry.)"

Santana quickly wiped her face dry and did her best to sit up straight, like she was taught. She had already been rejected by her parents, and she didn't know if she could handle losing her grandmother, too - especially over something she actually could control. She composed herself as best she could on the outside, but on the inside, she was still a wreck. Although she tried, she still couldn't quite wrap her head around what was happening. From the brief glances she had stolen at her parents, it seemed they could hardly fathom it either.

"Ahora ve a tu habitación frente a la basura. Tengo que hablar con tus padres. (Now go to your room, garbage face. I have to talk to your parents.)" Her abuela pointed toward the stairs with a look in her eye that said, 'I will take care of them.'

Santana did as she was instructed, practically sprinting to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. She flopped onto her bed, but she knew she was not going to sleep any time soon. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest and fear-induced adrenaline coursed through her veins. Downstairs, she could hear voices beginning to rise, but they were still too low to hear properly. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear them, anyway. She didn't know if she could take any more. A part of her already wanted to crawl in a corner and cry herself to sleep, wishing she would fall into a coma, or maybe that she would just die.

Santana stared up at the ceiling, reminding herself she couldn't die and leave Brittany behind. She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she thought she had rid herself of in her first year of middle school. The panic in her gut had faded slightly but was still very much alive. Her mind seemed simultaneously empty and chaotic - unable to properly focus on anything, but still unwilling to turn itself off.

She knew she couldn't just lay there, but her body refused movement if any kind, and really, nothing seemed appealing as a viable source of distraction, anyway.

She thought about calling Brittany, but she didn't want to subject her girlfriend to her crying any more than she already had that day. She had already dragged her through enough of her drama. She was afraid it would soon become too much, and she didn't want to seem needy. Still, knowing she would be worried, she picked up her phone and wrote a simple text.

Hey Britt-Britt! Told my parents. Didn't go well but I'm ok. Talk to you tomorrow! 3 love you! -S

Although her phone lit up with a new message only moments later, Santana couldn't bring herself to read the reply. She stayed staring at the ceiling until she found the energy to drag herself up and change into pajamas.

She took off her makeup and brushed her teeth, but the intense anxiety she had felt since seeing the ad still hadn't disappeared. She swallowed hard, realizing her family didn't know about the ad yet, not knowing whether they would be angrier about her sexuality or the fact that the whole world would probably know they had raised a lesbian.

She felt disgusted with herself. Although her grandmother's defense had worked to relieve her a little, her parents had confirmed her fear. She was a disgrace - not just to her family, but to the world; to herself. Being with Brittany felt so right, but she would be deluding herself if she truly thought she was best for her. Britt still had a chance for a normal life, and Santana would've forced her to take it if she could stand to face those sorrowful blue eyes. Plus, she had come to discover that she couldn't live without the blond in her life, and Brittany swore the same was true for her. She couldn't hurt her girlfriend; but she also couldn't drag her down. That left one option: she had to be better for her.

She just didn't know how.

Santana sauntered back into her room from the adjoining bathroom she had been readying herself in. She dropped onto her bed and muttered a hushed prayer for strength. Part of her wondered of God could even hear her over the shouting emanating from the floor beneath her.

Since meditation wouldn't work with all the noise and the mental beating she was giving herself, Santana ruled that out as a means of tiring herself out. She thought about dancing or singing, but the idea of making any noise which might bring attention to the fact that she still existed to her family seemed utterly horrifying. She couldn't focus on a book or a movie; even if Imagine Me & You almost always put her in a good mood. She was fairly certain it's magic wouldn't work for her this time.

Much to her surprise, Santana found herself perched at her desk, flipping open a notebook. In front of her was a calculus textbook. She hated math because, though she wasn't failing, it was far from being her best subject. Plus, it was the only class on her schedule which didn't match up with Brittany's. But there was something about struggling with the math problems that drew attention away from her own issues enough to calm her nerves somewhat. She read through the questions and took her time formulating answers, easing her tension as she fell into a world of numbers she normally despised.

It was 1:36 AM when she had finished and corrected each of her problems. It was 2:49 AM when she finished tomorrow's homework. It was 4:23 AM when she finished Thursday's work and it was 5:07 AM when she finally felt tired enough to sleep without worrying about her thoughts attacking her.

Thankful cheer practice was in the afternoon on Wednesdays, she allowed herself to drift off into a dreamless sleep, cuddled up with Brittany's unicorn, only a faint ringing in her head reminding her the whole school knew and the life she once knew was over.

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Reviews are love.