Warning: Language
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

Alone in the Dark

Class was over and Santana was no where in sight. Even with the crowded halls, Brittany was tall enough to get a good glimpse of nearly every head. It just happened that none of those heads belonged to her best friend.

Brittany liked to believe that she was an independent person. It wasn't that she didn't need anyone, she had just always had a strong desire to do as much as possible on her own. The only problem with that was that she often A: forgot what she was doing or B: failed miserably at said task. In some cases, both.

She honestly put in as much effort as she could physically muster into just about everything she did, but sometimes, things just didn't go as planned. But that's where Santana stepped in. Her best friend was always there to assist her with even the seemingly smallest of tasks. She wasn't controlling, though. Brittany was always given a chance to try for herself first and foremost. It was then that if she failed, Santana would be right there, willing and able to help. Brittany greatly appreciated the Latina's understanding of her incompetence and willingly accepted whatever Santana was able to offer. Even if Santana did ridicule her sometimes, it was all out fun and love. She would never seriously talk down to the blonde, especially when it came to her logic or impotence. That was a soft spot and a big no-no, and if anyone ever spoke of it to Brittany, Santana would smack them down like the hand of God.

Without any sign of Santana, Brittany immediately began to feel an overwhelming amount of fear engulf her senses. Instantly, she was hit with a wave of isolation and loneliness that only led to a bout of confusion. Santana had told her she'd be there, had she not?

It wasn't that she was necessarily dependent on Santana, but more that without her, she sort of felt...well, lost. Brittany had to come know the world as an often confusing and dark place. But Santana had always been the light at the end of the tunnel, guiding her to safety with a strong protective hand. For that very reason, the typical relationship of "best friend" had been redefined.

Feeling overwhelmed by her sudden solitude, she began to pace the hall. If Santana wasn't there, she would have to find a way to continue her day on her own. There was just one issue with that, though. She had no idea where her next class was. After years of being escorted to class, it wasn't something that she payed much attention to. Randomly picking a direction, she began to slowly maneuver the hall, her confidence lacking as she pouted and walked with her head down.

Rounding the first corner she arrived at, she took a few steps and then came to a slow stop in the middle of the hall. A few people, not noticing the change in pace, walked straight into the blonde, but she didn't seem to take much notice. The rest, rather, parted around her like the red sea.

Glancing around the unfamiliar building, she couldn't help but feel scared. It all felt so foreign and awkward. "I'm so lost..." she mumbled.

Just as Brittany was about to continue her quest, yet another person ran into her from behind. Although this time, the collision was forceful enough to push her over and send her tumbling to the ground.

"OOF!" She sputtered as she threw her hands out before her to break the fall. Luckily, as a dancer, the blonde was able to do so fairly gracefully and without much discomfort. Even so, however, she was left splayed across the floor feeling slightly more confused than she usually was.

"Watch where you're going, retard!"

She turned to find an annoyed looking Azimio glaring down at her from behind his one man posse consisting of Dave Karofsky. Peering up at him, her expression was a heartbreaking combination of misery and disorientation.

"That's not very nice," she whispered just loud enough for the two boys to hear.

"Oh yeah? Well it's not very nice for you to be in my way!" Azimio countered.

"I'm sorry about that," she mumbled, scratching her head, "but you really shouldn't say that."

"And why not?" Karofsky chimed in.

"Because some people find it offensive."

"She would know!" Azimio said, turning to his entourage, the both of them bursting into fits of laughter.

"Are you saying I'm a retard?" Brittany asked.

"I don't know, dumb ass. You tell me." Azimio continued to laugh at the poor blonde half lying, half sitting on the floor.

"I'm not dumb," she replied in a murmur. "You guys are just too big of jerks to understand. And I'm smarter than both of you jockstraps, anyways."

"Oh, excuse me?" Karofsky bellowed, accentuating the words as he pushed past Azimio. "You really must be brain-dead to have just said that to me." He took a step closer to Brittany so that his tall frame was just inches from the heap of the blonde on the floor. "Nobody, and I mean nobody talks down to me. Or in this case, up." He spat venom with his words.

Only seconds after that remark was made, Azimio put a hand on Karofsky's shoulder. "Dude, what the hell are you doing? You're not going to hit her are you? You can't hit a girl!" He hissed.

Leaning in close to lessen the space between them, Karofksy whispered, "No, but she doesn't know that. She just needs a few words of encouragement. That'll put her back in her place; teach her not mess with the Karofskinator!"

Turning to face Brittany, he extended a foot and used it to push the lanky blonde backwards towards the lockers. It wasn't so much the force of the nudge that did so, rather Brittany's wide-eyed fear of Dave and his merciless reputation. Crawling backwards with her hands, she kept her eyes pinned to Karofsky and Azimio who slowly inched towards her with each movement she made until her back was pressed against the cold metal of the lockers.

"I'm—I'm—I'm sorry," she stuttered. "Please don't hurt me." She pulled her legs together against her chest and angled her body towards the lockers to defend herself.

"You know, Azimio, by herself, she's pretty pathetic." Karofsky let out a cold laugh.

"I see what you mean, dude." Azimio chimed in.

"Without Santana, you're pretty much nothing. I mean, if you didn't have her, you'd probably be just another face in the crowd. No popularity, no Cheerios, no nothing." Karofsky sneered. "You'd be so screwed. What would little Brittany do without her babysitter?" The two laughed again.

"Don't talk about Santana like that. And she's not my babysitter," Brittany replied, her voice timid and shaky.

"Hey, don't you tell me what I can and cannot do, retard!" Karofsky seethed. He took a step forward, faking a lunge at the terrified girl.

Quickly covering her eyes with her hands, she tensed her body to prepare for the blow. But when it did not come, she slowly placed her hands back down to hug her chest and opened her eyes slowly to reveal big, sad puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry! I'm just so lost!" She cried. And with that, she gathered her body and tossed herself to the floor. She lied hunched over on her side on the floor, her arms encircling her clenched legs that were bent at the knees. She couldn't help but tremble and writhe against sobs that were beginning to wrack her body.

It wasn't just Karofsky and Azimio that had done this to her, though. It was everything. She felt alone and terrified, lost in a place that she knew she should be familiar with. The feeling of absolute helplessness tore tears from her eyes as they began to slide down her pink cheeks.

"What the fuck?" Karofsky whispered, albeit loudly, to his wingman.

"Dude, I think you went a little far there. I mean, look at her."

"How was I supposed to know that she was going to have a mental breakdown like a fucking moron?" He raised his voice defensively.

"Excuse me? What did you just call her?" The jocks simultaneously turned to follow a loud voice near the end of the hallway.

Standing there, hands balled up into fists, eyes ablaze with rage and fury, stood a very, very infuriated Santana, who looked like she wanted nothing more than the blood of two oversized jocks on her hands.

A/N: So I apologize if this chapter was no good. I had a hard time being mean to Brittany. I feel awful. But on a much happier note, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. It fills me with so much happiness and is an awesome reward to wake up to after writing until three in the morning the previous night. Not to mention, they're quite inspiring. I enjoy hearing your predictions!

And, just thought you all would enjoy this little tidbit, I was watching the "Dolphins are just gay sharks" scene from Hell-O, multiple times, (because apparently I'm an obsessed creeper) and if you watch Santana's glass, the lemon inside her drink continually appears and then reappears. Yes, this is my life. I am aware of how pathetic it can be.