Alright, here goes. I can't seem to stop updating.

I tried to tone down the angsty-ness (though my friend theangel1710 tells me I haven't succeeded one bit) for this chapter, in preparation for Chapter 5. Also, this is the last chapter that will be under a 'T' rating.

Tell me what you think.

Setting Rain on Fire

Chapter Four: Let Me Burn

"There's a side to you that I never knew."

Set Fire to the Rain, Adele

"Playing with fire, you know you're going to hurt somebody tonight."

Playing with Fire, Brandon Flowers

"It's been three months."

Quinn's voice is soft but firm. She's leaning forward between Kurt and Puck on the living room couch, her hands clasped under her chin. I'm sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall, staring up at the ceiling. Brittany is standing on one side of the room, toying with the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit. Neither of us says anything.

"Tell me you've at least gone into his room."

I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. I glance at Brittany as she directs her eyes to the floor, her hands trembling. I look at Quinn and meet her penetrating gaze before shaking my head.

Quinn sighs for a minute and leans back. Kurt looks at me for a long moment, before turning to Brittany. He stands up and moves towards her cautiously. I see her tense as he approaches. He notices this as well, and pauses halfway towards her before saying in a gentle tone, "Britt, you can't run away from this forever."

Brittany's countenance shifts at an incredible speed. First she looks broken, then angry, then scared, until her face finally smoothens out to an expressionless look. She takes a step away from Kurt and says in a low voice, "Excuse me. I've got to take a shower."

"Britt." Quinn whispers sadly. Brittany throws me an unfathomable glance over Kurt's shoulder, before turning around and darting for the stairs. Before she vanishes, we hear a broken sob burst from her lips. I feel the pieces of my broken heart breaking even more.

Kurt's shoulders sag and he turns around. He walks back to his spot beside Quinn on the couch and drops into it.

"How have you guys been?" Quinn asks me. "Honestly."

I shrug and look down before clearing my throat and replying, "I don't know. We don't really…" I pause for a short moment, "talk much."

I look up in time to catch Quinn and Puck exchange a look.

"This is bad." Puck murmurs. "What about other things? Do you still… you know… sleep in the same bed?"

I take the nearest object near me – a ball pen – and fling it his direction in disgust, just as Quinn smacks the back of his head with her palm. He catches the pen in midair and stammers, "Hey, hey, I didn't mean anything. I'm honestly asking here."

I ignore him and turn to Quinn, who shoots me an apologetic look.

"I think it's a valid question." Kurt interrupts.

I ignore him as well, before standing up to stretch my aching muscles. I move to the armchair by the couch and drop myself into it. I hesitate before whispering, "I think… maybe we should spend some time apart."

"What are you talking about?" Puck replies gruffly, frowning.

I sigh in exasperation. "Never mind."

"Santana." Kurt admonishes briskly.

"Ugh." I huff. "I think Brittany and I should spend some time apart."

An odd silence fills the room, and I look at anything but the three. I can tell they're having a silent conversation, and I don't want to see the looks they're giving each other.

"And why exactly do you think that?" Quinn wonders, her voice trembling.

A lump grows in my throat and my eyes blur.

"San?" Quinn asks timidly, reaching out to touch my hand. I flinch involuntarily, and she backs off. "Sorry." She whispers.

I shake my head, internally screaming, 'Fuck you Santana. Get a grip on yourself. Now.'

"I don't think she wants me around." I blurt out.

"How can you tell that? You just said you haven't spoken much." Puck points out.

"Isn't that part of the point?" I say coolly. Then I heave a sigh and say in the clearest voice I can muster, "Around a week ago, after she woke up after another nightmare, I asked if there was anything I could do to help her." I pause for a moment, my eyes watering at the memory.

"And?" Kurt prompted.

I swallow thickly and say in a broken voice, "She said, 'There's only one thing you can do.' When I asked what it was, she turned to me and said sadly, 'Set the rain on fire.'"

Puck breaks the uneasy silence with a confused, "What?"

Quinn turned to her husband and explained, "It was just Brittany's complicated way of saying there was nothing Santana could do."

I feel myself nod absentmindedly. I wasn't going to tell them, but that wasn't the only thing Brittany had told me that morning. Just as I was about to leave for work, she had looked at me with a very dead look and had said softly, 'Stop trying to save me. I'm not worth it.'

"Santana? Can you hear me?" My eyes snap up. The trio is looking at me with matching looks of worry.

"Spaced out." I whisper.

"I said, can I use your bathroom?" Puck asked.

I shrug and make an offhand gesture towards the stairs. "You know where to go."

Puck stands up and makes his way upstairs, while Kurt and Quinn exchange a glance.

A few minutes later, someone upstairs starts hysterically screaming, "NO! NO!"

The shower is uncomfortably hot.

I've been standing under the steaming water for the past twenty minutes or so, allowing the water to gush around me undisturbed. The temperature is too high, and I almost feel like I'm being cleansed.

But the minute the water is turned off and I step out to retrieve my towel and bathrobe, I feel unclean. I almost jump back into the shower, but the places on my skin where the normally soft material of the bathrobe makes contact scratch painfully. Although thoroughly appealing, I know it would be a bad idea to make the sensation even worse. I wonder briefly if this is what it feels like to be burned alive.

I walk out of the bathroom and into our room.

The wardrobe is already open, and I pull out underwear, a loose t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants. I don't even look as I don them on. Nowadays, appearances mean less than nothing to me.

Just as I finish dressing, I hear shuffling outside the bedroom door. I freeze for a moment, before softly making my way to the doorway and prying the door open as quietly as I could.

The sight before my eyes shoots my heart straight into my stomach.

The door to Nicholas's room is ajar, and someone had just walked through it. Without even bothering to think, I launch myself across the distance and grab the back of the person's shirt.

I don't even realize I'm screaming until I felt the soreness in my throat. The person who was in Nicholas's room – I realized it was Puck – was struggling furiously to pin my down. I thrashed as he grabbed my arms, even as I acknowledged in my head that it was pointless. I was severely out of shape, and Puck was a guy.

"Brittany." He muttered urgently, "Listen to me. You've got to stop fighting."

I manage to free a hand, and I pack as much power as I can into the punch that I throw into his face. Behind him, I hear Quinn gasp as blood begins to drip from Puck's split lip.

"Get off her!" I can hear a familiar voice yelling loudly. "Get the fuck off her!" Two arms grab both of Puck's biceps before pulling him upwards. He yelps in pain as he lets me go, and Santana shoves him out the door.

It's only when Puck stumbles over the doorsill that I realize with terror that I'm inside the room. I gasp as I struggle to my feet. Santana seems to realize the same minute as I do exactly where we are.

I want to run out of the room, but Puck, Quinn and Kurt are planted firmly at the doorway.

"You've got to stop fighting." Puck repeats, but in a softer tone.

The air is moving in and out so quickly that my lungs ache at the exertion. Every breath I take is pure torture – it smells exactly the way my son used to. I try to shut my eyes, but even behind the barrier of my eyelids I can practically see everything around me. Everything looks exactly the same as the way he used to keep it. But at the same time, I can also see the nightmares replaying over and over in my head, and before I know it I've curled myself into a tight ball on the floor, barely able to breathe.

I can hear Santana yelling, but her voice sounds so far away. "How could you do this? How the fuck could you do this? You don't understand, none of you fucking understand. You have no idea what we've been through. You have no idea what Brittany's been through. You think you do, but you don't. I can't believe you would plan something like this! I trusted you! She trusted you! We trusted you!"

I can make out Quinn's voice trying to calm Santana down. "We didn't…no concrete plan…just wanted to help…please help us understand…oh Santana, please, we're so sorry…"

"I can't believe you'd do something as cruel as this! I can't believe you'd interfere like this!. Stop trying to help! None of you understand! None of you can help!"

It's the last thing I hear before blacking out.