A/N: So I'm guessing you might have noticed there was a gigantic gap between updates. And I could tell you that it was writer's block or that my life has been really busy lately (both of which are partially true), but I think you all know the real reason...

I've been sulking. Because canon is like an enormous black hole, consuming all the hope and love and happiness in the world, and replacing it with emotional torture, anguish and spite.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm putting down my deposit on that ten acre Unicorn ranch in Happyville... and then I'm never leaving.

Thanks to Beta!Jay and MagicMica for the assistance.

Brittany

"Oh look, it's Princess Bitch. Back for another fucking are we m'lady?"

"Ugh, you're still around? And here I was hoping you'd finally suffocated on your giant tits, Elvira."

"I might have... if I actually had to breathe... but I guess you're always too busy bouncing up and down on Mike's pogo stick and moaning like a banshee to notice that vampires don't require oxygen to survive."

Quinn and Santana are fighting again. What a surprise.

Nothing provoked it. Quinn and Mike literally just walked into the backroom at Fangtasia as we were making our way out and they started. I'm beginning to wonder if the mere sight of each other is enough to set them off. It's become such a routine now that I'm not even that entertained by their clever little insults anymore. Instead, I settle for rolling my eyes and tuning them out as best I can. I'm pretty sure Mike has it under control anyways, so I lean back on the edge of the desk and let my mind drift.

In the weeks since Santana and I spent that night together at the lake, things have felt different. She's tried so hard and been so apologetic and genuine… it really surprised me that she was capable of that kinda stuff. Even though I'd caught glimpses of her softer side in the past, it wasn't quite enough to make up for all the parts of my world that felt sharp and unforgiving. But her remorse, and deliberate efforts to show how her trust in me since that night, have been a nice comfort. It's changing the way I feel about her. And I think it's even helping to dissolve some of that lingering resentment I have.

I don't know if I'll ever really be able to think back on how she turned me and be at peace with what happened. It still stings. And it still makes me wanna slap her and call her every bad name I can think of… But knowing that she's actually sad about the violent way she took my life and that now, she's more than willing to try and make it up to me however she can, means a lot.

"…blood-sucking, carpet-diving, demon whore!"

"Ha! At least I'm not just dinner and a show!"

Whatever.

I shake my head. I'm still not listening.

Anyways, I know it's strange but, I feel myself growing almost content with how my new life as turned out. Although there's still a lot of things that I don't understand, or know about, or even want to accept yet, I like being with Santana. She looks at me like I'm something special. She cares about me and always considers what I want and how I'm feeling. And when we do talk, whether it's a super serious conversation or not, she always does her best to understand… even when I forget to draw the line between my imagination and reality... or I voice a thought that everyone else might consider odd.

I don't think it's just due to the fact that her world, filled with vampires and demons and monsters, is already the stuff of fantasy. Because even amongst all that, debates about whether or not unicorns can grant wishes and discussions surrounding the social hierarchy of ducks are still pretty weird. But she never makes me feel crazy. Or looks at me like whatever random notion I'm entertaining at the time is strange at all. No. She actually seems to enjoy it, with an amused smile and an attentive ear. And then, when I start to get too lost, she somehow manages to keep me grounded. That way I don't end up giving myself a headache.

I think that's what I like the most about being with her – we're pretty much opposites. She lets me play those silly games when I need an escape from the confusing new world I'm in, and I let her debate and rationalize, and keep some kind of order when things start to get too crazy. But regardless of our differences, we sorta… work together.

I guess you could even say we're almost… friends?

Huh. Weird.

"…slaving away behind the counter at Walmart? Or have you just got inhumanly bad PMS again? You know, I thank the gods that Mike can't knock you up. With that fucking insane temperament, you'd have more chance of giving birth to a rattle snake!"

"Oh yeah? Well the first thing I'm gonna do with my poisonous snake-baby is sick it on your nasty, dead ass!"

I breathe out heavily. Who knows how much longer this is will go on. They seem pretty into it tonight.

The truth is, as much as we've been getting along lately, I don't know if I'll ever really, completely get Santana. She still surprises me with some of the things she says. But I guess that's to be expected with a two-hundred year old vampire. The age gap is kinda intense.

And old people do have a lot of layers… Not that I think of her as old exactly…

She does look damn good for her age…

But that's not the point.

It's just that… there's still so much about her that I don't know. She hasn't really told me anything about her past, or what her life was like before she became a vampire. Not that I can blame her. I haven't been all that forthcoming about my past either…

I don't have any issues talking to her about my feelings or asking her questions now. She's a pretty good listener, and she definitely helped me to reconcile my vampire needs with some of the human bits I wanna hang on to. I'm beginning to feel more in control of myself. Santana said that it'd get easier to manage my urges with time. And since I accepted it as just another part of who I am now, I'm certainly not as afraid of that dark side myself anymore.

But there are just some things that I'm not ready to share with her yet…

"Go suck some more dead frozen dick." Santana barks loudly, all venom. I sigh, deciding to give up and focus back in on their ongoing verbal battle.

"Watch it San! That's my dead frozen dick you're talking about!" I suppress a giggle at Mike's look of offense and disgust, and watch as he tightens his grip on Quinn's waist to prevent her from lunging forward at Santana.

"Why? Are you jealous? You wish I was tonguing that cold, vampire vag of yours instead because you're not getting any from vanilla puddin' over there?"

Santana growls when Quinn points in my direction. The sound draws a little tingle down my spine. "First of all – I'd rather fuck a chainsaw than have any part of you come anywhere near me. And secondly, fucking talk about Brittany like that again and I'll rip out your teeth one by one and wear them as coffee-stained, redneck jewellery."

"Oh you are so whipped!" Quinn laughs. "Look how riled up you get at the tiniest mention of her! Did I finally hit a nerve?" I watch Santana's fangs extend from the corner of my eye. "Just admit it Santana - you love to dish it out but you can't take it. You're Brittany's maker and yet you follow her around like a fucking lost puppy all the time! And you know what the saddest part is? From what I can tell, you aren't even getting the pussy to back it up!"

Mike cringes as he continues to hold Quinn back from Santana. He knows that jibe was one too far.

Astonishingly though, Santana doesn't blow up. She just grits her teeth and glares. "Mike, get her out of here."

"That's right, call in your brother to clean up your mess! As usual!"

"I've had enough of your childish bullshit for one night, Quinn. You're really beginning to test my patience." Santana snarls. "Say another word and I swear it will be your last."

The air tenses with the threat. I see Mike squeeze Quinn in warning and try to distract her from her intense staring contest with Santana. She refuses to budge.

Next time, I'm going to bring you a collar and leash so that Brittany can drag you along like the little bitch that you are.

Instead of being offended for her, I snicker at the image of Santana shuffling along behind me on her hands and knees like a dog, panting and barking, and whining adorably when she wants a pat on the head.

Suddenly, all eyes in the room turn towards me.

Oh fuck. Quinn didn't say that last one out loud.

And now they're all wondering what the hell I'm laughing about when nobody in the room was talking and the earlier conversation definitely didn't end in a funny place.

Shit…

2003 – Bunkie, Louisiana

"And does anyone know what it's called when plants convert the light from the sun into energy?"

Photosynthesis.

I stick my hand up quickly and grin when Miss Miller points at me. "Photosynthesis?"

"Very good Brittany." She smiles before looking back around the class. "And besides light, what else do plants need to live?"

Water.

I thrust my hand into the air again and sit up as straight as possible.

Miss Miller nods in my direction once more.

"Water."

"Excellent Brittany. I can tell you did all your reading homework this week." She raises a pleased eyebrow at me. "Now, who else did their reading and can tell me what makes the leaves on a plant green?"

Chlorophyll.

I resist the urge to volunteer again, even though I know the answer. I need to give someone else a turn now. It's only fair.

When I was younger, I used to think that I was super smart. Whenever a teacher asked a question in class, the answer would always pop straight into my head, like turning on a light switch. I never even noticed that the answer was in a voice different from my own.

It wasn't until I sat for my first test, taken in complete silence, that I realized just how silly I had been.

I knew nothing. It was my ability making me look clever. I was only tapping into my teachers' thoughts by accident and repeating what they had just told me in my head.

And on top of that, I couldn't even think about getting the answers from one of my classmates' minds if I'd wanted to. All of their thoughts got too loud when they were concentrating so hard. They clashed together and jumbled up... it was like wild animals tearing each other apart inside my skull. Even if I did manage to isolate one of the other "nerds" inner-voices, the effort it took gave me such an intense headache that I got a nosebleed and came close to passing out.

It was disappointing to say the least.

I mean, everyone thought I was some kind of genius. Even my parents, who knew about my powers, assumed I had this extraordinary natural intelligence and were so proud of me for being a "smart kid" in class. When I explained to them what was really happening, and brought home my very first test marked with a big red F, they weren't happy at all. They said it was wrong for me to listen in on what my teachers were thinking, that it was cheating and I would never learn anything if I kept using my gift to get good grades.

I never really meant to cheat. Well, not back then at least. I was still getting used to my ability and it wasn't the easiest thing for a kid to get control over. Sometimes things still slipped out in response to an unasked question from someone else's head. A lot of people thought I was weird because of the strange stuff I would say. Add my overactive imagination and widely perceived nerdiness to the mix and it's safe to say I wasn't exactly the most popular kid in class. In fact, I don't think I had a single person my age that I could call my friend.

Despite all that though – or maybe because of it - I always wanted to do well in school. And I wanted to do well because I'd worked hard for it. I wanted to make my parents proud the right way. So I did my very best to block out what my teachers were thinking. And when I couldn't do that, I didn't put my hand up at all.

But as time went on, and test after test came back marked with failing or close to failing grades, I realized that working hard just didn't cut it for me. Writing up assignments wasn't really an issue. I usually got through that kinda stuff without too much trouble, as long as I had the information in front of me to draw on. It's just that the details never seemed to stick. My brain refused to store all of the facts and formulas, regardless of how many hours I spent pouring over my books every night or how much help my mom and dad tried to give me.

So I did the only thing I could think of to avoid being held back – I started listening again. Because even if I didn't do well in my tests, my teachers could always chalk it up to me "not handling pressure well" or "not having good test-taking skills." Some enthusiastic participation in class and my just below average grades on assignments made up for it.

If my parents knew that I started "cheating" again, they didn't say anything. I guess after a few years of me barely scraping through and them having to hear the same "Brittany's grades are unsatisfactory" lecture at every parent-teacher meeting, it was beginning to get old. I'm sure they were glad for the problem to magically disappear.

Shifting my attention back to the lesson, I listen to Miss Miller rattle off another couple of questions to the class before the lunch bell rings and I grab my books to head out.

I make it halfway to the cafeteria, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, before someone steps into my path.

"Sorry." I mumble, already side-stepping to let them pass.

"Hey Dorky Pierce." It's Puck, the one and only, resident mohawked bully of Bunkie Elementary, feared by all nerds, geeks and outsiders alike.

"H-hi Puck." I don't make eye-contact with him. It's usually safer that way. I'm never sure what's going to make him mad.

"Thanks for making us look bad today in Science class." He sneers, poking me in the shoulder forcefully.

"Yeah!" Finn pipes up from besides him. He's lanky and awkward, and his whiny voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It's pretty funny actually. But Puck has his back, so nobody would ever dare say anything. "Way to be a teacher's pet."

"I...I'm sorry." I stammer. "I didn't mean to make you look bad."

"Yeah, well you did." Puck suddenly slaps the books from my hands and laughs when I immediately drop to my knees to gather them back up. "You know, if you weren't a girl Pierce, I would totally shove you into a locker and make you stay there for the rest of the day. That would teach you for being such a dweeb."

I don't reply. When I have all my books, I just get up and hurry away.

What a wimp.

Ew. She's such a freakazoid.

Nerd.

Weirdo.

Loser.

I try to ignore the barrage of unwelcome voices in my head as I practically run down the hallway.

Looks like I'll be spending another lunch period in the library.

At least there I know I can be alone.

I feel Santana following me with her eyes as I quickly excuse myself and stride out of the back room and into the club.

The memories sparked by my slip up with Quinn are making my stomach churn anxiously.

Even though I eventually made some friends in junior high, and was actually relatively popular by the time I got to senior year of high school (because of my looks and cheerleading, and in spite of my ongoing weirdness and general nerdy behavior in class), the memory of being an outcast because of my ability still hurts.

Back then, I felt like whether I was using it to get good grades or accidentally getting things mixed up in a conversation because there was just too much going on in my head, all my so-called "gift" ever did was make me feel isolated from everyone around me.

Even my parents.

When they weren't pointedly ignoring it, they seemed to be almost afraid of it. They didn't understand my power, or why I had it. All they did was try to suppress it as much as possible.

But at least they knew why I acted the way I did.

To everyone else, I was just strange.

I think most of them were thrown by the way my airy social behavior contrasted so much with my sharp, on-point answers in class. It was like I was two different people. And to be honest, neither of those people were completely me.

I'm starting to wonder if that's why I messed up with Quinn just then. Despite the occasional slip, I'd gotten pretty good at telling the difference between thoughts and actual speech in the last few years. This new life is getting too comfortable though. Hanging out with mostly vampires all the time, whose thoughts are unable to invade my mind, is too comfortable. It's been all too easy to forget myself.

Not only that, but I'd just been thinking about how Santana seems to have a strange knack for making me feel at ease. Maybe because of that, for the first time, I was starting to just be... without holding back and without worrying about putting on the right face or giving the right answers.

But now what is she going to think? Will I have to explain my ability to her?

I'm not sure I want to answer those sorta questions... not yet... and especially if it means spilling about my past.

She's already accepted so much about me that others found bizarre and unappealing. What if this is the tipping point on her weird-o-meter?

And I mean, even though we're vampires, and we live in a world where weird and supernatural shit is pretty much the norm, what if my kind of weird isn't accepted? What if my powers come from something that vampires hate? Or worse, if it's something that they fear?

"Brittany?" Santana says quietly, placing a hand at the small of my back to get my attention.

I hadn't even noticed her approach.

Things were going so well between us these past few weeks. What if this changes everything?

"Are you okay?" Santana's eyebrows are furrowed as she studies my face.

It's then I notice that I've been standing right in front of the door to the back room, unmoving and deep in thought.

"Um yeah. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" I shrug off her hand and walk until I'm in front of the bar. I take a seat, swivelling around to rest my elbows on the counter top, while she sits down beside me.

Maybe this doesn't have to be so bad. Maybe I could lie. Act like it was simply another "quirk" to go with the rest of my oddities.

Maybe she didn't even realize what happened. It was only a laugh. A random, totally-inappropriate-for-the-situation laugh but... it's not so bad, right? I could pretend I was remembering a joke. Or a funny cartoon. Or something.

"You look kinda freaked." Her hand comes to rest of my forearm. It's gentle and concerned. It instantly makes me feel bad for contemplating lying.

"I'm okay." I shrug again. "I think I'm just hungry."

Santana backs off a bit at that. "Oh. Well that's understandable." She smiles in that devious way of hers. "We should probably get you someone to eat then."

I can see her searching the crowd for a worthy mark in my peripheral vision. Her face lights up wickedly when she spots one.

"Those two." She nods casually in the direction of two, identical women who are dancing close – one with bleached blonde hair and one a natural light brown. It's clear that, although the twins seem to be enjoying their grinding, they're also trying to get the attention of a vampire.

The matching velvet chokers around their necks do nothing to hide the evidence of their previous vampiric indiscretions.

Despite still feeling a little on edge, I smirk at the sight. Maybe feeding will help me to figure it all out. I turn in my chair and catch the eye of the brunette twin.

"The bathroom?" I mumble distractedly.

"The alley." Santana replies.

And before I've even had a chance to be thankful for this perfect distraction, she's up off her stool and striding towards the pair, with me instinctively hot on her heels.

"Would you two like to join us outside for a cigarette?" Santana asks, smooth and silky like melted chocolate.

"We don't smoke." The blonde giggles.

"Neither do we." I quip.

And then they're smiling in understanding and we're leading them out the back door to the alley beside the bar.

My fangs slide out as soon as the four of us are alone, the darkness of a slim, crescent moon blanketing us from any unwanted onlookers. I can't help but stare when Santana grabs the blonde and slams her up against the brick wall, already viciously digging into her meal. It sends that now familiar pleasant ripple through my torso and spurs me on as I grab the brunette by her shoulders and push her into a similar position close by.

She starts clawing at my back in anticipation and even wraps a leg around my thigh when I open up her neck with my fangs. Her blood is sweet, and for some reason reminds me faintly of cinnamon. After a little while, I almost get lost in it, if not for Santana's pinky drifting over to lace with mine where my hand presses into the wall between us. She gives a grounding squeeze and I remember myself. The minutes pass far too quickly when I'm feeding.

I cease my zealous drinking and withdraw from the girl's neck, pulling a soft whimper from her. Out of courtesy, I prick my finger on my fang and rub the blood on her wounds to close them. I saw Mike doing it with Quinn once and I thought it seemed like the least you could do for someone who just allowed you to take your fill of bliss from their veins. Santana isn't one to bother with that nicety though.

She ushers the twins back inside while I lean up against the wall.

The rich satisfaction never fails to make my head swim.

"Feel better Britt?"

I hum and nod my head as she comes to rest beside me.

"You wanna talk about what was really upsetting you now?"

Fuck.

So I lied to her. Sue me.

Well, it wasn't a total lie. I told Santana that I wanted to see my family. Not go inside the house, or hug them, or sit down and explain where I've been all this time.

Just see them, through the window, from the anonymity of the front yard.

I said that I needed closure... that I wanted to see them one final time before I could let them go completely. She argued that it might make it even harder for me to detach. I swore I could handle it. And after some spirited back and forth, she eventually agreed.

It's not like I don't really feel that way – because I do – but it's also that I wanted to be near the only people who knew my secret. I wanted to remember what it was like to not have to hide that part of myself.

And mostly, I wanted to buy some time before I had to go through entering into that same realm again... this time with Santana. I wasn't at all looking forward to facing the risks which would come with opening that door to her.

I knew she wasn't gonna let it go. She's too perceptive. She probably already made the connection that whatever is up with me has something to do with what happened earlier with Quinn and Mike. And she definitely seems to have picked up on the fact that I'm going out of my way to avoid telling her the truth now. Even though she challenged me when I mentioned wanting to see my family, I could tell she still wasn't entirely convinced that was what was bothering me before.

I hated her for reading me so well. I hated her and I was fascinated by her.

Nobody had ever been able to decipher me like that. It's not like I was the most straight-forward person ever... but once again, Santana surprised me.

Even if she was aware that I was lying to her though, she didn't continue to push.

We ride the few hours back to my old town, my old house, in silence. I pull the bike up to the sidewalk about a block away in the hopes of keeping a low profile and we walk the rest of the way.

And then all too quickly, we're there. We're standing in front of the house I grew up in, the place I called my home for 18 years. That same stone path I sauntered up every day after school, the same rose bushes that my mom loved to pick at and preen on Sunday afternoons, and the same lush grass that I used to play soccer on with my little sister...

My eyes drift all over the yard before reaching the front porch, the one where I'd sit on the worn swinging chair and read while the sun set, and then finally flittering up to the white front door.

It would be so easy to go and knock on that door, to pretend that nothing had changed... but it had. So much had changed, and so fast. The people inside were no longer my family. I was no longer their sweet, if not a bit odd, teenage daughter.

It didn't stop my chest from aching for them though. They may have had their faults, but they were all I ever knew. I miss my mom's hugs and the way she'd sing constantly, even when it annoyed me so much I begged her to stop. I miss the way she'd take care of me when I was sick. I miss her lame jokes and the taste of her homemade lasagne. And my dad, as much as we were opposites and bickered more often than we should have, was so solid and dependable. He always made me feel safe. He always let me listen to my music loud and picked me up from parties without demanding to know whether or not I'd been drinking. He just gave me this little smirk and asked if I was okay.

It's easy to spot them both through the thin curtains of the living room window, sitting on the couch and watching the TV with blank expressions. I swallow thickly at the sight. But my eyes don't linger there for long. They drift to another curtain-obscured window at the front of the house, one that holds the small shadow of girl sitting on her bed and pouring over a notebook... her drawing pad.

Jamie. She'll be turning 11 soon. She was the only person that knew about my gift and never seemed to be afraid of it. Instead, she was overly curious. She used to bug me to guess what number she was thinking of and then always gasped when I would get it right. I think she wanted my power too. But she didn't understand all the sucky things that came with it. She just thought it was an awesome party trick.

I know Jamie looked up to me, despite my weirdness and the times when I would lose my patience with her. Like when she used to come into my room and jump on my bed while I was messing around on my laptop. I'd get mad and after ordering her to leave me alone several times, a ferocious tickle war would usually ensue. I even yelled at her once when I caught her drawing on my mirror with some of my lipstick. It wasn't like me, but I'd found out I was failing math that day because I'd screwed up so many of my tests. I'd always felt bad about it.

It hurts that we never got the chance to be close. She was still too young. Even though she was aware of my ability, and understood why it made me different, I knew I couldn't really confide her in the way I wanted to until she got older. When things were hard at school, or I felt frustrated about having to put on an act for my friends, I used to find comfort in the idea that someday, Jamie and I could be best friends... she could be the one person in the world who knew about my secret and didn't judge me or fear me because of it. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could fill that hole inside of me that craved complete acceptance. And finally, I wouldn't feel so alone.

But now things can never be like that.

Jamie is lost to me, along with my mom and dad... and all of my friends, no matter how shallow or simple those friendships were.

Everything about the girl I used to be is gone.

I feel hot, red tears sliding down my cheeks.

Do they miss me too? Have they been wondering where I went? Are they looking for me?

My face screws up when that ache in my chest becomes unbearable and I swallow hard over a sob.

I really did die. I may not be lying in a coffin in the ground but everything else is the same. The loss is just as big.

Then Santana slips her fingers into mine and tugs on my hand a bit so that I turn to face her.

"I'm sorry Brittany."

I sniffle pathetically and give her a pained smile and a one-shouldered shrug.

She untangles her fingers from mine so she can reach up with both hands and swipe at the bloody tears running down my cheeks.

I wonder for a moment if maybe I should be mad at her again. She's the reason that I'm standing here right now. She's the reason I can never return to my old life.

Instead, I feel a sort of grim concession. The feeling of her thumbs brushing at my skin gently grounds me again in my new reality. My past is in the past. My family and friends from my human life seem more and more like a hazy dream.

Things certainly weren't perfect when I was alive... nor are things going to be anywhere near perfect now that I'm dead. But I'm not alone. Not really.

As if I'm being taken over by some primal force, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around Santana, suddenly wanting desperately to have her near. She's the closest thing I'll ever have to family again. And whether or not I ever totally forgive her, whether or not I ever even completely like her, I know that I need her. On some level, I think I'm even hoping she might be the one who can seal that empty space within me now it's painfully clear that Jamie can't.

I pull back a little to wipe at my own tears. Our cheeks are pressed together lightly and I feel her lips graze against my ear when she speaks.

"This was a bad idea." She whispers, softly stroking my hair with her fingers.

I shake my head. "No. I'm okay. It's good."

"Brittany..." She retreats further to meet my eyes but her hand remains at the back of my head.

"No really. It's helping I think."

She half-smiles at my lame, false bravery. It makes me grin back through my tears. Her dark eyes are sparkling with what looks almost like adoration and for a split second, I actually wonder if she might lean forward across the short space that separates us to join our lips together.

But then she clumsily averts her gaze and removes her hands from body to brush some of her own hair behind her ear.

I frown, despite myself. I shouldn't be disappointed that she didn't kiss me, especially with the heavy tide of conflicting thoughts and emotions passing through me. But I am. The telling drop in my stomach leaves no room for doubt.

I take her hand back into mine on impulse. "Can we... can we go somewhere? There's something I wanna tell you."

Her eyebrows crease in thought but she doesn't question me.

"Okay."

"Okay." I repeat quietly after a beat and nod to myself. "I'll drive. I know a place nearby."

Santana throws me a curious look once I've shut the bike off and we're standing on the road, eyeing our surroundings.

I offer a reserved smile by way of explanation. "This way."

Turning and making a few strides towards the modest, Bunkie High football stadium, I can feel her following close at my back. It's just the same as it's always been. I cast a nostalgic eye at the old stand that bore witness to dozens of games and afterschool practices. And when I take in the shadows of the towering white goalposts at each end of the field, I feel a rush of familiarity.

It isn't until we're jumping clear over the high wire fences that bracket the stadium that an uneasy quiver chills my stomach. This football field may not have changed, but I'm certainly not the same naive cheerleader that last set foot on its pristine, manicured grass. I'm reminded - not for the first time that night - just how far removed this world now is from my own.

I gnaw at my bottom lip and attempt to contain my nerves as I lead Santana to the middle of the field, sitting down cross-legged on instinct. I notice my knees are shaking slightly, so I straighten my legs out in front of me while Santana raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think there's a game tonight Britt." She quips, breaking the silence.

I make a face at her and roll my eyes. "Ya think?"

She chuckles. "What are we doing here? I mean, I know you're technically still a teenager but we really don't need to sneak into the football stadium at night if you wanna smoke pot... I know a vamp who knows a vamp."

She smirks at me playfully and I can't contain a brief giggle before grabbing her by the wrist to pull her down next to me. "Shut up." I shoot her the best scolding expression I can muster. But I'm actually really glad for her teasing in that moment. It's soothing. It makes the tension in my muscles let up a bit.

Santana goes to ground without much resistance and begins getting comfortable on the grass the second I release her arm. She mirrors me with her legs straight out in front of her, before leaning back on her elbows and staring up at the night sky.

"So what's on your mind then, B?"

I sigh and slump down onto my own elbows beside her. I don't even know where to start. My nose scrunches in thought as I search for an opener that might make this conversation seem less ridiculous than it feels, but I can't come up with anything. Eventually, I give up and just say it. "I can hear people's thoughts." I rush out under my breath.

Santana gives me an amused look. "You can what?"

"I can hear thoughts... read minds... listen in on the stuff that people only say in their heads... I'm telepathetic or whatever."

"Telepathic?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I've been able to do it ever since I can remember."

Santana narrows her eyes warily in the silence that follows. It makes me squirm in place. I don't know if it's because she thinks I'm messing with her or because she doesn't like the implications behind what I've just revealed. Either way, it's not good.

Suddenly though, she lets out a sharp laugh. "You're kidding right?"

I frown. "No."

"What am I thinking then, Britt? Right now. Tell me what's going on in my head."

I want to glare at her for being obnoxious and for reacting exactly like I always imagined someone would react when I told them my secret. But then it occurs to me that I can't even prove myself. Not here, not with her. Embarrassed, I worry my bottom lip between my teeth once more and stare down at the grass cushioning my elbow. "I... I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. For some reason, I can't hear any vampires' thoughts."

Santana raises an eyebrow at me, seemingly relieved, but then laughs again. "How convenient."

It sparks an unexpected surge of frustration in me. "Stop it." I warn through clenched teeth. "I'm not crazy."

Santana seems caught off guard by my tone. "Britt..." She leans closer to touch my arm but I flinch away.

"I'm serious. Everyone always thought I was crazy. I don't need that from you too." My throat feels thick and tight. This isn't how I wanted this to go.

"I'm sorry I-"

"Do you have any idea what it was like to grow up this way? To have to pause every single time someone spoke and ask myself whether I was supposed to reply or not? Do you have any idea how confused and alone I felt? I had a bunch of strangers' thoughts swarming my brain, attacking my every waking moment..." I realize then that it's all pouring out at once and there's literally nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not even sure if I want to. "Nobody understood. Some people even picked on me... or laughed when I made a mistake and replied to something I'd only heard in my head."

The expression on Santana's face is much more solemn now. I'm still not sure if she believes me or not, but at least she seems to have gathered from my outburst that I'm not playing around.

"You can really read minds?"

"Yeah."

"Why? How?" Santana presses.

"I'm not sure. The only explanation my parents gave me when they found out about it was that it's just something that happens to certain people in our family... they said my gran could do it too." I run a hand through my hair dejectedly. "But other than that..." I sigh. "I... I have no idea why I'm like this... or what I am."

I glance up to see Santana's eyes have widened, like she seems to be figuring something out...

Could she know what I am?

"That's why I freaked out earlier. I laughed because Quinn thought something really funny... and then I noticed that everyone was looking at me and I was scared that..." I cross my legs and turn my body to face her properly. "Santana... am I... do you think I'm a freak?"

Her brown eyes study my face. "No. You're not a freak."

"So you know what I am then? Some kinda supernatural thingy? Like a vampire, only not?" I ask, hopeful.

"Britt, if you actually do have this power... then I gotta be honest... I have no fucking clue what that means." Even though she's speaking to me, Santana's attention seems to be elsewhere. She's deep in thought.

I kind of wish I could hear what she's thinking so hard about. The quiet of her mind used to be peaceful, a break from the constant chatter of the human world... but now that quiet is deafening. Is she afraid? Shocked? Curious? It's impossible to tell.

There are long minutes of silence while Santana continues to brood. As I watch the pensive crinkle of her brow, I feel a mixture of relief from finally telling her the truth and a sense of dread brought on by her unusual, and totally unreadable, reaction.

Eventually though, she shakes her head and our eyes meet again.

"The sun will be up soon. We should start heading back."

And with that we're both up, exiting the stadium and climbing back onto the bike to begin our ride home.

When we get back to Fangtasia, most of the night's crowd is already scattering and making their way out. We cross the club and enter the back room, only to find Mike in Pam's chair, with Quinn sitting sideways on his lap and playing with his short, dark hair.

"I like it when it's all spikey." She muses in a sugary sweet tone, obviously unaware of our presence.

I don't even need to look over. I can practically feel the way Santana rolls her eyes in annoyance.

Mike spots us straight away though, smirking and nodding in our direction so that Quinn will stop fussing over him. She glares childishly when she catches sight of us.

"How was your evening, ladies?" Mike enquires.

"It was fine." I shrug.

"Get up to anything fun?"

"Not particularly." Santana folds her arms over her chest.

Aww, what's wrong? Aren't you a happy puppy Santana? Did Brittany not take you for a walk in the park like you wanted? Growing dogs do need their exercise after all.

When I hear Quinn revisit her canine imagery from earlier, I grin to myself. This is the perfect opportunity to show Santana that I wasn't fooling around. Then, regardless of whether her reaction is good or bad, at least it won't be one of doubt anymore. And I might actually get a proper glimpse of how she feels about my ability.

"Are you into bestiality or something Quinn?"

Quinn's eyes bug out at the unexpected question. "W-what? Why the hell would you ask me that?"

"Well you keep thinking about Santana being my dog. I was starting to wonder if you had some kind of fetish to be honest." I reply, keeping my tone nonchalant.

"I...I..." Quinn sputters. "How did you even...?" As she trails off, her mouth hanging open in disbelief, I feel Santana's equally wide eyes burning a hole in the side of my face.

I turn to her, smirk slyly and wink. Her parted lips and wrinkled eyebrows become even more pronounced as understanding sinks in.

How the fuck is she doing that? She couldn't possibly be able to hear my what I'm thinking... could she?

"Yes Quinn. I can." I give her a proud smile.

Just by the perfectly shocked and horrified expression on Quinn's face, I know Santana will be convinced after this little display.

"What the fuck are you guys talking about? Did I miss something?" Mike suddenly pipes up from next to Quinn. He couldn't look any more bewildered if he tried.

"It's nothing." I shrug with one shoulder and flip my hair a bit before turning my attention back to Santana. "Come on. Let's go downstairs. I'm tired."

I walk over to the basement door and throw it open without checking to see if she's following me. The sound of her footsteps on the stairs behind me is enough of an indication.

"Did you just...?" She asks as soon as we're standing in front of her coffin.

"Yep."

"You could seriously hear her thoughts?"

I laugh. "Yeah, I could."

"Shit..." She murmurs, still looking pretty stunned. Then her eyes dart up to lock with mine seriously. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

"It's okay." I shake my head dismissively, gesturing for her to lie down first. She complies and I slip in behind her to spoon her back. "It's not like I would have reacted any differently if I were you." I sigh, realizing that it's the truth.

"But I shouldn't have been such a dick about it. I mean-"

"Santana?" I interrupt. I can tell she's about to start up on a full blown explanation as to why she was acting so strange earlier... and as much as I'm dying to hear it, I notice that I'm just far too sleepy to take any of it in. My head is getting that super weird fuzzy feeling, almost prickly and kind of throbbing in my ears. I know that it's because the sun just rose over the horizon. We'll probably get the bleeds soon if we don't rest. Or at least that's what Santana told me. "Can we talk about this tomorrow night?"

"Oh." Judging by her tone, she must be feeling it too. "Yeah. Sorry. Of course we can, Britt." She shuffles back into me slightly, tugs the coffin lid closed and then takes my arm so she can pull it over her body. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I smile through the dark.

I'll have my answers tomorrow. That I know for sure. But for now, I'm just going to enjoy the feeling of calm that's settled in my chest.

Santana knows my secret. I was brave enough to not only tell her, but to also show her exactly what I can do. I took that incredibly terrifying step and let her in. And while she might seem a bit wary and possibly even confused by it, she still somehow feels comfortable enough to want my arms around her while we sleep.

As far as I'm concerned, that's a win.

A/N:

* Elvira - A horror movie hostess/character. If you don't know her, google image will give you plenty of lovely, cleavage-y results.

* The Bleeds – To quote the True Blood wiki, "If a vampire abstains from drinking blood, they will experience the "bleeds", during which the vampire will begin to bleed from their ears and nose (in addition, vampires experience the bleeds if they do not sleep during the day). The bleeds stop when the vampire feeds (or sleeps). If a vampire experiences the bleeds long enough, they will perish."

Finally, I'm going to apologize in advance for the fact that there will be another delay in updates. In a few days, I'm leaving for a 6-week vacation. So unfortunately I won't be writing again until I get back.

Huge thanks to everyone who is sticking with this story. I appreciate your patience more than you know =)

Long live Brittana.