A/N: This chapter is beyond late. Sorry, guys. It gets a little cray over here from time to time and the result is always fail.
Let's get down to business. You've waited long enough.
Recap: so last chapter, Ben told Santana all about the McKinley project and how Artie is a douche. Tina came over and Brittany got jealous. Ziggles's head and body were reunited. Brittany and Santana got their sweet lady kisses on and Santana broke the couch. Samcedes returned from the hospital. Quinn and Bryan Ryan showed up. Santana had a hunch. Bryan Ryan got murked by some straight-up bustas. Mr. Finntastic magically appeared and "saved the day." Santana learned to fly. Everybody loves Finn. No one got a Freezie Chug.
And that's what you missed on Fucking Super!
Song in this chapter:
-"Pac-Man Fever" by Buckner & Garcia, straight from Santana and Brittany's Infinite Playlist XD
Disclaimer: Fox/RIB owns Glee. Songs are owned by their artists/writers/owners.
Chapter 11: Nightmares and Knightmares
Christopher Finnegan Hudson. Son of Christopher and Carol Hudson. 27 years old.
Two-hundred and ninety seven.
Lima, Ohio native. Former football superstar. Prom King.
Two-hundred and ninety eight.
Ohio State alumnus. Lima Police Academy graduate, Class of 2010. Valedictorian.
Two-hundred and ninety nine.
Scum of the earth. Dirty, rotten liar. Fucking fraud.
Three hundred.
I reset my push-up position, glaring at the picture on the glowing screen of my phone. It was from the front page of the Sunday evening edition of the Lima Times. Fraud Hudson with his arms around Brittany and Quinn.
It made me want to hurl.
One more. Come on, Lopez.
Dripping in sweat, I lowered my body to the gravel, making sure to keep eye contact with Mr. Fraudtastic the entire time.
"Fuck you," I whispered to the picture.
3.
I launched my body upward, forcing energy out of my hands and feet in controlled streams until I was hovering three feet in the air. I was a human table with energy beam legs.
Hold it.
It took a tremendous amount of effort, but I forced myself to hold the position until I was completely stable. Then, with a long exhale, I slowly lowered myself to the ground like a landing hovercraft.
Three hundred and one. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Hudson.
I collapsed in a heap, completely and utterly exhausted. It had only been a few days since Finntastic had popped out of the darkness of a Lima Heights alley and launched me into the Milky Way, but I spent every second of those days preparing.
I gathered every piece of information I could find on Finn, every news story, every video clip, every image. I may have even trolled a message board dedicated to him, posting under the username finnhudsonwetsthebed123, but that could have been anyone.
Every night after Mercedes left for Ladies Night, I went to the top of the tallest building in Lima and did 1000 Speed Laps around the roof, 300 Hover-Ups, 25 Flying Laps around Lima, and the Thing With the Skittles.
I was preparing for something. I just didn't know what yet.
How do you convince people that you're better than someone else?
I shook the thought out of my head. I was too tired for another unsuccessful round of revenge planning. I could worry about the specifics later.
Alright, no time for slacking. Flight laps. Go.
I wiped my sweaty face on my shirt, giving myself a few seconds to breathe. Satisfied that I wasn't going to pass out and die mid-flight, I briskly jogged across the roof, hopped onto the ledge, and jumped off of a seventy-five story building into the waiting night sky.
Every area of Lima had one thing in common, whether you lived in Beaumont (a neighborhood that made Beverly Hills look like Lima Heights) or in the West End (a neighborhood that made Lima Heights look like Beverly Hills).
In every single neighborhood, the freaks came out at night.
Take, for example, the elderly couple in Beaumont who liked to strip down to their birthday suits and moonbathe on their deck. I was almost positive that they were both women, but there was too much deceptive skin sag going on for me to tell.
And downtown, there were two assholes who got down and dirty in the rooftop pool at the Hilton every night. I considered leaving an anonymous note at the front desk about the semen-tainted pool water, but then I just decided to never, ever stay at that hotel and my conscience was satisfied.
My favorite stop on my people-watching tour was a penthouse condo in Rockmore where a prominent Lima banker enjoyed being spanked by his mistress on the balcony with a riding crop. I was on my way to see what kinky hijinks they were getting up to that evening when a flash of light caught my eye. I slowed down, searching the skies for the source of the flash. I saw it again, a brief blink of green light, followed almost immediately by a flash of yellow and a flash of red. The nosy part of me was intrigued.
Rooftop rave? This is new. I guess Madame Seductra and her pet are gonna have to take a rain check.
I swooped lower to get a better look. As I got closer, it became very apparent that it wasn't a rooftop rave at all. The circular lights were coming from the roof of another condo, jittering back and forth as the light wielder moved. For one crazy second, I thought there might be another weirdo like me out there, practicing their freakish skills for a showdown with a robot policeman.
The sound of rubber repeatedly bouncing off of hard plastic reached my ears, perfectly timed with the flashing lights. When I realized what I was looking at, I almost burst out laughing.
Someone was playing paddle ball down there.
It was almost 2AM and someone was on their roof, playing paddle ball. With three light-up paddles. At once.
The only thing that could make this better is nudity.
"I got all the patterns down up until the ninth key…"
Faintly, above the wind and the popping of the paddle balls, I could hear someone singing. It only took a few bars for me to figure out who the mysterious night-time paddler was.
"I got Speedy on my tail and I know it's either him or me…"
Brittany? No fucking way.
"So I'm heading out the back door and in the other side…"
I've heard Brittany sing before, but this wasn't the slurry, slightly tipsy singing she did on particularly "festive" nights at the bar. This was bluesy and soulful. It was honky-tonk with a double dash of sass.
"Gonna eat the cherries up and take 'em all for a ride!" she sang, throwing her head from side to side as she skillfully handled the three paddles. The green and yellow paddles were in her hands, her wrists flicking them back and forth furiously. I lowered my gaze slightly and my mouth dropped open.
Holy Mother Goose.
The red paddle was attached to Brittany's waist with some special paddle ball belt. It wasn't going as fast as the other two paddles, just lazily keeping the beat of the song that was blaring out of her headphones.
Do you know how you play paddle ball when the paddle is attached to your waist?
You hump the air. That's how.
"I've got Pac-Man fever! It's driving me crazy!"
My eyes locked onto the waist paddle, mesmerized by the flashing red light and the smooth undulation of Brittany's hips. I circled overhead like a drunk, pervy vulture. I didn't know if I should fly away to some dark corner and berate myself for watching her or land on the roof and ask her to start the song over.
This is obscene and explicit and I need it to happen on my face.
"I've got Pac-Man fever! I'm going out of my mind!"
I was so spellbound by the flick of the paddle and her powerful, rolling thrusts that I didn't realize I was flying too low. By the time I did, it was too late.
"I've got Pac-Man fever! I'm going-"
The rooftop stairwell was directly behind Brittany and I smashed into it headfirst. The metal door bent and popped open under the force of the impact and I fell inside with a crash. Brittany's singing abruptly stopped and seconds later, the music cut off. Her feet shuffled against the gravel as I pulled myself up onto all fours with a groan.
"W-who's there?" Brittany called out.
I froze for a second, wondering what I should do.
Stop being so friggin' nosy, for starters.
"Who's there?" she called again, louder this time. "I have mace! And a mace! I have a mace!"
I didn't want to just run off. It would probably freak her out and she would be stuck on the roof all night, waiting for some creepy psycho to pop out of the stairwell and stab her. I had to reveal myself.
Fuck. How am I going to explain this?
I stood up slowly, putting my hands up in front of me to appear as non-threatening as possible.
"It's me, Santana!" I stepped out onto the roof and she took a step back, squinting to see if I really was who I said I was.
I was.
"Oh my god," she said, putting her hand over her heart and closing her eyes. "You scared the crap out of me."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to." I walked closer to her, leaving my hands up.
She kept her eyes closed, trying to calm her shallow breathing. My dirty, filthy eyes dropped down to her waist paddle, but her hips were now still.
"What are you doing up here?" I asked.
She opened her eyes and looked at me like I was on crack.
"I live here," she said. She followed my gaze and when she realized what I was staring at, she yanked the paddle out of its weird waist holder and shoved it into her waistband. "What are you doing here?"
Yeah, what are you doing here?
"I wanted to come by and check on you," I said. It wasn't exactly a lie. I had wanted to check on her for days, but ignored phone calls are usually a pretty good indication that you shouldn't drop in for a visit. "Nobody answered the door so I thought I'd try up here."
"Why did you think that I'd be on the roof?" she asked.
Deflect.
"Why are you on the roof?"
Nicely done!
"Why aren't you wearing any shoes?"
Oh, she's got you there.
"I, uh, left in a rush," I said. "You haven't been returning my calls and I was worried."
She sighed. "I should've called you back. I really wanted to see you, honestly. It's just… there's a lot going on right now."
"Let's go inside so we can talk," I suggested. "It's freezing."
She shook her head furiously. "Nope, I'm staying out here."
"Britt, it's 2AM. Do you really have to play paddle ball right now?" I asked.
After a moment's hesitation, she answered. "I'm trying to stay awake."
"Awake?"
"Awake," she said. She tucked the yellow paddle into her waistband next to the red one and began to play with the green one, flicking her wrist and starting a new game. "I can paddle all night if I have to."
I closed the distance between us and grabbed her wrist gently, stopping the incessant thwacking of the rubber ball. "Why would you want to paddle all night?"
She locked eyes with me momentarily before dropping my gaze.
"Because if I stay awake, I won't have any nightmares," she said quietly.
"You mean you do this every night?" I asked in disbelief.
"Not this, but something."
"And when's the last time you got some real sleep?"
She looked off to the side, lips pressed together tightly.
"Britt-" I started.
"Don't," she said, putting up her hand. "I don't want to hear it from you, too."
"If you're having trouble sleeping, maybe a doctor can prescribe something for you," I said, ignoring her.
"I don't want sleeping pills," she said.
"And your nightmares… maybe a psychiatrist-"
"San. It's fine," she insisted.
"No, it's not," I said. "Not sleeping is not fine. That's what you said to me, anyway."
She tugged her wrist back gently, but instead of pulling it out of my grip like I expected, she wrapped her other hand around mine. It looked like we were both going to help her play paddle ball.
She gave me a pointed look. "I know what I said."
"So don't tell me you're fine if you're not fine," I replied.
"I could say the same thing to you," she shot back.
"My situation is different."
"How?"
I can't sleep because I've been dipped in hazardous chemicals. I tell you I'm fine because it's the only thing I can tell you.
"…it just is."
She rolled her eyes. "Santana, you can't tell me I need to sleep if you don't sleep and you can't tell me to go to a doctor if you won't even go yourself."
This time she did pull her wrist out of my hand. She took a few steps away, clearly feeling agitated. The green paddle ball started up again, beating out a rhythm of pure frustration.
"I know I need to sleep," she said. "I get it. But right now, that's just not gonna happen. Not the way it's supposed to. Half the time, sleeping's even worse that being exhausted! I don't need everyone getting on my case about it."
Clearly, I had pushed a button that had already been pushed one too many times.
I reached out to her, but she was pacing. "I'm s-"
"Do you know Quinn told me that she thinks I have PTSD? Quinn!" she said, snorting indignantly. "Quinn, who can't leave Finn's side. Quinn, who's already worked fifty hours this week and it's only Wednesday. But I'm the one with the problem? Okay."
"Hey," I said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to help."
She nodded in acknowledgement of my apology, but continued to pace and paddle. After a few minutes, her shoulders relaxed a little and she stopped moving. She waited until she caught my eye before speaking.
"The paddling is helping. It makes me tired and I can pass out for a while without thinking too much about having a nightmare. So this is what I'm going to do. Okay?"
She wasn't asking for my permission. She was asking me to respect her decision. I could do that. I nodded and she closed her eyes, letting a deep breath leave her lungs and a small smile cross her face. Before she could open her eyes again, I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my head on her shoulder.
"If it works for you, then it works for me," I said. "But no more ignoring my phone calls. Don't shut me out."
"I won't," she said. "I've just been feeling overwhelmed and I didn't want to end up taking it out on you."
"You can take it out on me if you need to. I can take it."
May I suggest a spanking with a plastic paddle, Mistress Pierce? I don't care what you do with the rubber ball, but I do have some suggestions.
"I'm sure you can," she said. "You're pretty strong."
I froze in her arms and an ice cold wave of terror washed down my back.
"S-strong? I, uh… what?"
Please don't be talking about what I think you're talking about.
"You're strong," she said, speaking directly into my ear. "A lot of people couldn't have handled what you went through."
"Oh," I breathed out, relieved.
My relief was short-lived.
"You're strong in other ways, too. That stairwell has a steel door and I always lock it when I come up here. You busted it open like nothing."
She hadn't actually seen me do that, but the door was hanging wildly from one hinge and had a huge crack in it. My breathing picked up and I was starting to sweat.
"And you destroyed your couch," she added. "That's a tough thing to do and I know you were… excited, but still. You're really strong, San."
I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell her she was crazy, but with all the chaos that was going on in her head, I couldn't bring myself to add to it.
"It's kind of a new thing," I whispered "I didn't want anyone to know."
She pulled her head back, giving me an odd smile. "Why not?"
I pressed my face against her shoulder, unable to look at her. "Because I could hurt someone. It's really hard to control, so sometimes I have accidents. Like the couch thing."
She let out a quick exhale, shaking her head. "I'm sure I wasn't helping. I shouldn't have bit you."
I shrugged. "You didn't know that I would spaz out like that. Hell, I didn't even know. I just have to be extra careful. If I hurt you, I don't think I would be able to forgive myself."
"Don't worry," she whispered. "I can help you. 'Careful' is my middle name."
"I guess the 'S' is silent?" I laughed softly.
"It's a Dutch thing."
I smiled, holding her tightly as the wind whipped around us. She was taking this news really, really well. Better than I expected.
"So you're really not freaked out about this?" I asked, just to make sure. "You don't think it's weird or scary?"
"I was a little bit freaked out at first," she admitted, "but now I just wish I was that strong. Maybe I could protect myself a little better."
I kissed her gently below her ear. "I'm gonna protect you. Nobody's gonna hurt you ever again, okay?"
"Okay," she said, smiling against my cheek. She released me from our embrace, reaching down to grab my hand. "Come on, I think I've had enough of the roof for tonight. It's cold up here when I'm not paddling."
I squeezed her hand, grinning back at her. "Lead the way."
She led me to the stairwell, through the cracked and battered door, and into the building.
Rockmore was a swanky neighborhood by definition, but the condo that Brittany, Rachel, and Hateful Bitch lived in could only be described as "baller."
I followed Brittany through the dark living room, which was full of expensive furniture. The TV was larger than my entire apartment and the carpet was so plush, it felt like quicksand.
"Nice place," I said, looking around at everything.
"It looks even better with the lights on," she said in a hushed voice. She pointed at a door on the other side of the room. "Quinn and Finn are still up. We have to be quiet. I don't think she'd be happy if she found out you were here."
"Why are they awake?" I asked.
My question was immediately answered as a loud moan echoed through the living room. If I had to put a name to the sound, it would either be "Slow and Painful Zombie Death" or "Moose Abuse." This low, rumbling, auditory horror was followed by some of the fakest female arousal noises I've ever heard in my life. That's quite an accomplishment because I've worked closely with strippers and watched a lot of poorly-acted lesbian porn.
"Oh dear god," I muttered, shaking my head. "Don't they have to be quiet, too?"
"It's been like this every night," Brittany huffed. "Rachel refuses to be in the house when Finn sleeps over, which is like, every night. She said she's going to leave them a strongly-worded letter about… what did she call it? 'The inconsiderate volume of their sexual congress.'"
"She should write it on a sticky note," I suggested. "That always gets my attention."
We turned down a dark hallway, walking away from Quinn's theatrical whines. Pointing to the different doors, Brittany explained what each one was.
"That's the guest bathroom. That Rachel's bedroom, she gets the master." She pointed to the door next to her. "And this is my room."
She opened the door and stepped back, giving me space to enter.
It was bright inside. All of the lights were on, including the lights from the walk-in closet and the bathroom. In the brightness, I could finally see Brittany clearly. Her pajama pants were about two inches too short and her t-shirt said "B104.7's Annual Charity Chili Cook-Off" on the front. Her socks were pink with black stripes. She was the definition of cuteness.
The bright lights also showed me the large bags under her eyes. I frowned, realizing how tired she must be. I didn't realize I was staring until she cleared her throat.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, attempting to distract from my awkwardness.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"I'm gonna get a glass of water," she said, walking back toward the hall. "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."
I watched her walk out into the hall before giving myself a brief standing tour of the room. Brittany's walls were painted the same pale green as her ducky pants, except for her largest wall which was covered entirely in photographs. They were all different shapes and sizes. Some were black and white, some were in color, others had that weird sepia effect. I walked over to the photo wall, carefully inspecting the pictures there.
Brittany was incapable of taking a bad picture. Every picture was beautifully done and each one told its own little story. Whenever I looked at her work, I always felt like she was sharing something special with me and only me, even if it was on the front page of the newspaper for all of Lima to see.
Brittany came back and closed the door behind her. She walked over and stood next to me, watching as I admired a picture of a bald man playing paddle ball with both hands and having the time of his life. There appeared to be no pelvic activity going on and for this, I was grateful.
"This is incredible, B," I said, pointing at the pictures.
"Thanks," she said, looking a little embarrassed. "I don't put them up to show off or anything like that. I just like to look at them and remember good times. Sometimes, I forget they're even here until I want to put up a new one."
"How often do you do that?" I asked, spying a particularly well-done picture of Quinn and Rachel. Rachel was leaning against a trash can, seconds away from vomiting. Quinn was nearby, sitting on a bench with her face in her hands. In the background, a giant rollercoaster loomed over them, clearly the cause of their misery. The picture was epic and I wanted to blow it up and frame it.
"Whenever I take a new picture that I really like," she said with a shrug. "This is the newest one."
She pointed at the large, glossy print and I frowned. It was Finntastic in his shiny robot suit. He was smiling down at Brittany's camera, flashing his pearly whites and looking exactly how the hero of Lima should look. Like Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark.
Who are you supposed to be? Peter Parker?
"Finn's really cool," she said as I resisted the urge to vaporize the picture with my eyes. "He's always here, watching out for us. He even takes us to and from work, so always we're safe."
3.
I clenched my teeth together and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the wave of burning hatred and anger that was washing over me.
While she was blowing you off, he's been over here doing photoshoots.
"Santana?" Brittany put her hand on my shoulder, waiting for me to open my eyes.
"Yes?" I asked through clenched teeth.
"You're mad." It wasn't a question.
"I'm not mad."
She didn't answer. She just set her water glass on her desk and slid her cool hand up my neck, cupping my jaw and making small circles on my cheek with her thumb until I relaxed my muscles. She left her hand there, stroking my face softly.
"Better?"
I nodded, even though it wasn't better and wouldn't be better until that moaning metal moose got what was coming to him.
Stop making this about you. Brittany needs you, now be there for her.
I powered down and opened my eyes.
"It's nothing," I lied. "I just get cranky at this time of night."
She patted my cheek and let her hand fall to my shoulder. "Happens to the best of us."
I breathed deeply, ready to break the unnecessary tension that I caused. "So what do you normally do when you come inside from the roof?"
She shrugged. "We could watch whatever's on my DVR. I've been trying to clean it out, but I just can't stop recording things. I'm a TV hoarder."
"Whatcha got?"
"Well, Spiderman was on a few nights ago. My sister didn't want to watch it, so I recorded it for later. Do you want watch that?"
I smiled, laughing a little to myself.
Score one for Peter Fucking Parker.
Despite her best efforts to stay awake, Brittany fell asleep during the opening credits, snuggled into my side and snoring gently. The poor girl looked exhausted. Part of me was secretly thrilled that she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep because I was there, watching over her. Other parts of me were more skeptical.
Don't get a big head, Lopez. She's running on fumes. She's going to pass out from time to time.
I shook off the annoying voice, leaning over to kiss Brittany's forehead. The corner of her mouth quirked up the slightest bit and she relaxed further against me, sleepily mumbling something about green sheep. As gently as possible, I trailed my fingertips up and down the soft skin of her forearm, drawing arbitrary patterns as I went.
"You're safe," I whispered into her hair. "You're safe right here with me. I've got you."
She let out a contented sigh and burrowed further into my side.
Shortly after Peter Parker killed that sleazy guy with the bad dye job, an extremely loud commercial came on and I had to quickly turn the TV down so that Brittany wouldn't wake up. The hard, unyielding face of Vice President Sue Sylvester appeared, filling up the entire screen.
My feelings on the Vice President were mixed. I didn't agree with her on a lot of issues, but I found her stage presence absolutely fascinating. In a poll taken shortly after the election, Sue Sylvester was voted "Scariest Vice President in the History of the United States." That's pretty impressive considering the fact that Aaron Burr fucking murdered a guy and Dick Cheney "accidently" shot someone in the face. I'm pretty sure Vice President Sylvester and President Howell were elected based on fear alone.
She was wearing what could only be called a "formal tracksuit."
"Will Schuester wants to be the next president of the United States of America," she began in that no-nonsense tone that could make grown men weep. "He wants to do for America what he's done for his city, Lima, Ohio. So what has the so-called 'Billionaire Mayor' been up to lately? What policies have been enacted under his watch? What about city services? Has Mayor Schuster done anything in Lima?"
A picture of Mayor Schuester suddenly appeared on the screen. Dollar bills were raining down on his head while his computer-animated body did the Macarena. For some reason, footage of a nuclear weapon being detonated was playing in the background.
"He's been spending your tax dollars on lavish vacations for his cronies and large quantities of napalm to exterminate the homeless Ewoks who've taken refuge in his hair."
My eyes narrowed as the picture changed from the dancing mayor to Finn's ugly mug. He was wearing his robot suit and grinning like a moron.
"Mayor Schuester recently purchased this half-human, half-toaster oven, Mr. Finntastic, to protect the streets of his fair city. This monstrosity is rumored to be a direct descendent of the motorized butter churn that claimed the life of a young and careless Martha Washington."
I snorted into my hand.
I hope he can hear this through the wall.
"America, is this really the man you want in the White House? A vote for Will Schuester is a vote for wasteful government spending and a future where toaster ovens rise up against the human race in rebellion."
Sue Sylvester ended the commercial in front of a large American flag and a picture of President Carl Howell and his bush baby wife, Emma Pillsbury-Howell.
"I'm Vice President Sue Sylvester, all human, and I urge you to re-elect President Carl Howell, a man who, to my knowledge, has never harmed an Ewok."
Across the bottom of the screen the words "This ad is paid for by Mudslingers for President Howell" scrolled by in white, blocky text.
The commercial ended and cut back to the movie, but it had already gotten the wheels turning in my head.
How do you convince people that you're better than someone else?
It seemed that what I needed was a platform.
The TV was still on when I woke up.
Barely breaking the cusp of consciousness, I tightened my arms around the warm, soft mass that was huddled against me.
Brittany yawned and giggled softly. "You're like a dryer sheet when you wake up."
"Sorry," I muttered, making no move to untangle myself. I couldn't help it. If there was a body in bed with me, I had to snuggle it. I buried my face into what turned out to be Brittany's back, luckily. The mood wasn't quite right for an early morning booby nuzzle.
"It's okay." She stretched, causing her long, lean body to slide against me.
1.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked as I tried to ignore the feeling of her muscles tightening and releasing.
She made a satisfied post-stretch noise that somehow managed to sound more sexual than any of Quinn's moans. She turned in my arms to look at me.
"Best sleep ever," she whispered. She turned her head and kissed me on the tip of my nose. "Thank you."
2.
The dopiest of all dopey grins stretched across my face and I didn't even know what to do with myself.
Someone banged on the door with the force of a thousand sledgehammers. Brittany leapt out of my arms and off of the bed, falling to the floor in a heap of sheets. I jumped up, running over to the other side of the bed to help her up. The door swung open and Judy Fabray appeared in the doorway, holding a basket of muffins.
"Brittany! Wake up, it's-" She stopped, looking back and forth from me to the disheveled Brittany. "Is everything alright, dear?"
"Yup!" Brittany said way too loudly, popping up from the floor and stumbling to the side.
Judy gave her a strange look before turning to me and smiling. "Well, I didn't know we were having guests this morning! I would have made more muffins. It's Santana, correct?"
I nodded, unable to produce words that would fit this particular situation.
"Let's get a move on, ladies," Judy said chipperly. "We don't want breakfast to get cold!"
She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Brittany collapsed on the bed, face first.
"Are you okay?" I asked, gently poking her shoulder blade.
"I think I'm having a heart attack," she said into the comforter.
I prodded her shoulder until she rolled over onto her back. "It's a good thing you fell, er, jumped off the bed when you did."
She closed her eyes, still trying to catch her breath. "They keep showing up unannounced. I never know when-"
The door swung open and Judy's head popped back in.
"Santana, I forgot to ask: are you a vegan?"
The way she said it, you would've thought she was asking if I drank out of the toilet.
"No, ma'am," I replied, shaking my head for emphasis. "I love meat."
The International Council of Super Lesbians is going to revoke my membership if they ever find out about this.
"Ok, great!" She smiled and slipped out of the door, closing it again.
Brittany sighed. "See what I mean? They just pop up all the time and I love that they care, but they're driving me nuts."
She sat up on the bed and ran her hand through her hair. "Come on. We have to get down there before Quinn eats all the bacon. I'd hate to keep you from your meat."
"Britt, I really should get going," I said. I didn't work on Thursdays and Fridays, but that didn't mean I wanted to break bread with Fabrays.
"It's too late, Judy saw you. She's going to hound you to death until you come to the table."
"But I-"
"Please don't leave me alone with them," she pleaded. "They're driving me nuts. You don't have to stay for long. One pancake, that's all I'm asking. Just don't leave yet."
I opened my mouth to decline again, but she turned her adora-pout on me and all of my freewill disappeared into the ether.
There were entirely too many people in the kitchen.
Judy Fabray was sitting at the table, watching Good Morning America on a fancy kitchen TV. Two blonde cheerleaders with high ponytails were sitting next to her. One was scarfing down muffins while the other nibbled at celery sticks dipped in peanut butter and chatted on the phone. A bald man was standing by the stove, making his oven mitt puppet sing into a grease-covered spatula. He was wearing an apron that said "Spank the Cook."
As we entered the room, he gasped audibly.
"Is that who I think it is?" he asked, letting the wet spatula smack him right over his heart. His voice sounded incredibly familiar, like I'd heard it a billion times before.
"Daddy," Brittany said, "this is Santana-"
"Santana Lopez! As I live and breathe!" he cried. He walked over to me and wrapped me up in a big bear hug, lifting me clear off the ground.
Brittany tapped her father on the shoulder. "Daddy, I think Santana-"
"As I die and suffocate!"
"Dad, I don't-"
"As I resurrect and-"
"Dad!" Brittany shouted, stopping her father's rambling. "No squeezing!"
"Oh right! Where are my manners?" He put me on the ground and brushed invisible dirt off of my arms. Judy sighed loudly from across the room.
"We talked about squeezing friends, remember?" Brittany whispered, irritated. He pouted at her and it was probably the most adorable thing I've ever seen a grown man do.
She must have gotten that from him.
Brittany wasn't fazed. She mouthed the word "stop" at him and turned back to me, obviously flustered.
"Dad, this is my friend, Santana," she said slowly and carefully, as if trying to undo the last 30 seconds of our interaction. "Santana, this is my dad."
YOU'RE MEETING HER DAD.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Pierce," I squeaked out, still struggling to re-inflate my lungs with air. I stuck my hand out to shake his, suppressing the very loud voice in my head that was trying to goad me into freaking out.
He snorted. "Mr. Pierce is my father. Please, call me Mo."
Realization slowly dawned on me. "Hey! You're 'Mo in the Morning!'"
"Actually, I'm Mo all the time," he grinned.
Judy just rolled her eyes. "That joke never gets old, Morris."
Mo shot her a defiant look and turned back to me.
"I can't tell you how wonderful it is to meet you, Santana," he said, smiling warmly. "I'm so glad that you're home and doing well. We were pulling for you. If we could've gotten those lazy cops moving, you probably would've been back twice as fast!"
Judy looked scandalized. "Morris! Why do you always have to bring up the most unpleasant things?"
"What?" he shrugged. "The truth is the truth."
"Well, one of those 'lazy cops' saved Brittany and Quinn!" she countered. "Who knows what could have happened had he not been there?"
"Now who's bringing up unpleasant things?" Mo said, eyebrow raised.
The fact that Mo and Judy were arguing like an old married couple wasn't lost on me.
Please don't let Brittany be related to the Fabrays. If she is, I'll never be able to get rid of Quinn.
Judy threw up her hands. "Let's stop all of this nonsense and eat! The food is getting cold and the girls are already late for school. Morris, wash that spatula! It probably has cat hair on it now."
She beckoned us to the table and we sat down across from the two teenaged girls. Celery Stick ignored us for the most part, totally engrossed in her phone conversation. The other girl was stuffing her face like it was her last meal on Death Row. They were both wearing Carmel High cheerleading uniforms and the tightest ponytails I've ever seen.
"We're already missing practice, we might as well just skip the whole day," Celery Stick said. The person on the phone must have made a comment because she said, "Oh, shut up. You're just jealous. I hope you ran some extra laps for me. It'll totally help with your cellulite."
"We should skip tomorrow too, family is super important," the other blond chimed in, dipping a hunk of muffin into her milk. She picked up a plate of bacon and offered it to Brittany. "Here, Britt. Baquinn already left for work so we don't have judge her while she eats an entire pig by herself."
"I'm judging you right now," Celery Stick scoffed. "You're going to have to do a lap around the entire planet just to burn this meal off." To her phone buddy, she said, "Mojo is eating like, a whole bakery… I know, right? So inconsiderate… What are you crying about? I'm right under her in the pyramid! She's gonna break my back!"
"Screw you, I'm carbo loading." She popped another chunk of muffin in her mouth and chewed as obnoxiously as she could.
Brittany snatched the bacon plate away, frowning. "Can you please chew with your mouth closed? I can see your food digesting."
She looked at me apologetically. It was pretty cute how embarrassed she was of these people. I thought they were funny.
"My sister was raised in a barn," she muttered. "By wolves."
"Girls, don't be rude," Judy chided, bringing a platter of pancakes over to the table. "Introduce yourselves."
"Frannie Fabray," the girl formerly known as Celery Stick said, giving me a small nod. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "No, I'm not talking to you…. my sister's friend stayed over… Because I wasn't talking to you! Why would I be telling you my name, genius?"
The other one grabbed a pancake, wrapped a few slices of bacon in it, and started eating it like a burrito.
Judy narrowed her eyes. "Young lady, do not test me."
"What? You're supposed to eat it like this!" Under Judy's intense and disapproving stare, she rolled her eyes and gave me a forced smile. "I'm Mojo. Nice to meet you, I guess."
Mojo went back to demolishing her food and Brittany slid a pancake onto my plate. I took a small bite, just to make sure there was no sugar-free weirdness going on. I also slid a few pieces of bacon on my plate before Mojo could inhale them.
Mo sat down with his own plate, which was loaded with unrecognizable fried items.
"How did you sleep last night, Britt-Britt?" he asked, cutting his fried things into bite-sized pieces.
With me.
Brittany's cheeks turned pink and I knew we were thinking the same thing.
"Great!" Brittany squeaked. "Just great!"
"I'm sure it helped that Santana was here," Mo said.
Brittany's eyes widened as her dad picked up the one thing she didn't want him to mention. Mo popped a bite of food into his mouth, not noticing the subtle freak-out his daughter was having.
This girl is about as stealthy as a beached whale.
"No, I don't think that was it," she said. "It must be those new CDs that I got. 'Sounds of Nature.' I bought them online."
"You did?"
She totally didn't.
"Yup, put me right to sleep," Brittany said, beaming proudly at her quick thinking.
Judy leaned forward, folding her hands in front of her on the table. "Sounds of Nature?
That sounds quite relaxing. I'm going to the spa tomorrow and I need something soothing to listen to while I exfoliate. When you get a free moment, can you make some copies?"
"No!" Brittany blurted out.
Judy looked affronted. "Why not?"
"Because… because… Santana scratched them."
"I did what now?" I asked, except I said it with a mouthful of pancake so it sounded like "Ahduhwhanah?"
"You scratched them, remember?" She stared at me meaningfully. "And they don't work anymore so I can't let Judy borrow them. Because they're scratched."
After what must have been the slowest reaction time in the history of spontaneous group lies, I nodded. "…that's right. I scratched them. They're trash now. No good."
"How do scratch a whole set of CDs?" Mojo asked skeptically.
"I have razor sharp nails. It's a curse." To demonstrate and to destroy any shred of dignity I had left, I made a claw with my hand and scratched at the air like a kitty cat.
Brittany didn't even have the decency to keep a straight face. She put her napkin over her mouth and cough-laughed into it while I made an ass of myself for her sake.
"Oh well then," Judy said with a sigh. "We'll have to get you another set so you can sleep."
I decided to steer the conversation into safer territory.
"I love your show, Mo," I said. "I listen to it all the time at work."
Mo smiled. "Really? What do you do?"
MOTHER EFF. This is safer territory?
I blinked at him, stalling for time. "What do I…what?"
"What do you do?" he repeated. "For work? What's your trade? Warrior? Mage? Blacksmith? Whitesmith?"
"What the hell's a whitesmith?" Mojo wondered aloud.
Brittany's ears perked up. She'd been trying to find out about my super-secret day job for months.
"Oh you know," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I do a little bit of this and that."
Mo nodded. "I know what you mean. Before I got mixed up in the crazy world of radio, I used to do this, that, and the other. All legal, if anyone asks."
"You should be on the radio right now," Brittany pointed out. "You can't keep ditching work to come here."
"No worries, Britt-Britt," he said. "Randy's got it under control. I can take time off to be with my daughter in her time of need."
"What about me?" Mojo whined. "I have needs!"
"What you need is a muzzle," Frannie said. To the phone, "Oh my god, I'm not freaking talking to you! What? Wait, what?"
She listened for a minute and looked over at me. "Santana, Natalie says your mom's looking for you, but she doesn't have your new phone number."
"Natalie?" I asked. "My Natalie?"
Frannie listened again. "She said she's not your Natalie and how many Natalies do you share a mom with?"
"One too many," I muttered. "How does she even know I'm here?"
"She can hear your big mouth. Her words, not mine." Frannie waited as Natalie sent another oh-so-important message, but I didn't want my family business laid out on the breakfast table.
"Okay, thanks, Nat," I said, attempting to end the conversation. "I'll call you later."
"She said she didn't know that you knew Brittany," Frannatalie continued, ignoring me.
"Yup, I know everybody. I'm the phonebook. Bye, Natalie."
"She asked if-" Frannie stopped short. "Gross, Nat! It's not like they're lezzies or something!"
Oh fuck. Here it comes. Three, two, one.
Right on cue, Frannie's mouth dropped open and she simply said, "Oh."
I couldn't really blame Natalie for thinking it was okay to say whatever she said. It had been a long time since she had seen me be anything but "out and proud." Ninety nine percent of the time, I wouldn't have cared about her mentioning to someone that I was a lesbian.
This is the one percent. Occupy Kitchen Table.
Brittany's face turned fire engine red and her fork clattered against her plate. Frannie had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
"Sorry! She asked if like- if you guys- and I thought- but she was serious," Frannie said in a rush. "I didn't mean to call you gross."
Mojo stopped stuffing her face. "Wait, you're a lesbian?"
I sat up straighter in my chair, suddenly feeling defensive. "Yes, I am."
Judy looked like she was frozen in time. Her fork was hanging in the air, on its way to deliver a perfect pancake triangle to her waiting mouth. The only things that moved were her eyes, darting back and forth between me and Brittany. Seeing things that she probably hadn't seen before.
"That can be our Fun Fact for Santana!" Mo shouted, slapping his forehead. "We always do a Fun Fact when we bring a new guest to the table. I can't believe we forgot! So that can be your Fun Fact. How does that sound?"
I nodded stiffly at Mo and he smiled, taking another bite of his food. He seemed to be oblivious to the current conversation and what was being implied.
"So if you're a lesbian, how does that work with your razor sharp nails?" Mojo asked.
Judy exploded.
"Maureen Josephine Pierce!" she shouted, slamming her hand down on the table. "That is inappropriate conversation for the breakfast table!"
Frannie sighed into the phone. "I'll call you back later, my mom's self-destructing. Have fun at school, loser."
I could tell the woman was teetering on the edge of something unpleasant and I didn't want to watch her have a meltdown.
I abruptly stood up from the table. "Look at the time! I gotta gay. Go! I gotta go!"
Strike me with lightning, oh merciful Sky Being.
Judy gave me a withering look. I waited for Brittany to say something, but she was still sitting there, frozen.
"It was nice meeting you all," I continued, stepping away from the table and pushing my chair in. "Breakfast was lovely."
"Razor sharp nails," Mojo whispered in awestruck horror.
Frannie shuddered. "It really is a curse."
"It was a pleasure to have you in our home," Mo smiled, blissfully ignorant. "Actually, Brittany's home. Hiram and Leroy's home, if you want to get technical."
Judy didn't say anything. She just stood and started clearing plates from the table, jerking mechanically as she moved. The sudden movement caused Brittany to reanimate.
"I'll walk you out," she said quietly, standing to her feet.
As we walked out of the kitchen, Mojo shouted at us from the table.
"Don't be a stranger!"
"Is it too late to pretend that I don't know those people?" Brittany sighed, shuffling her feet down the carpeted hallway.
"A little."
"I'm so sorry about them," she said. "My family is really weird."
"The Fabrays, they're your family, too?" I asked.
Please say no, please say no, please-
She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course they are. They're not related by blood, but they're still my family."
We reached the elevator bank and I pressed the down button.
"My sister's got a big mouth," I said, looking down at the ground. "I hope I didn't get you into any trouble."
Brittany sighed. "I don't really know what I'm going to do about that. Judy's not happy at all."
"Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean they're going to think you are, too," I said hopefully.
"Well, good because I'm not." She met my eyes briefly and looked away. "I mean, I still like guys so… I don't really need to make a big deal out of this other thing."
"This other thing"? Ouch.
"Sometimes, I think it would be better to just forget about-" She looked around and lowered her voice. "-to forget about girls. To go back to pretending."
My heart felt like it was slowly sinking into the pit of my stomach.
"Don't say that, Britt." I put my hand on her shoulder.
"Why? It's true." She laughed bitterly. "It's not like I don't have enough to deal with already. Why would I put myself through this, too? So family meals can be like that? So my family can hate me?"
"No," I said gently. "You could do it because you know that pretending doesn't make you happy."
"It doesn't," she agreed. She smiled softly. "Waking up like I did this morning makes me happy. But that's not the real world. That's our little secret bubble, and you saw how fast Judy popped it. My dad and Mojo and the Fabrays? That's what's real for me right now. I can't lose that."
Something desperate clawed at the inside of my chest.
"You can have both," I said. I felt like I was pleading.
Her shoulders drooped. "I don't think I can, Santana. I don't know how to bring all of it together without breaking everything."
"You won't break me. I'm pretty durable." I slid my hand down to hers and squeezed it firmly. "Britt, I'm not asking you to jump onto the kitchen table and tell your whole family that we're… about us, but you should at least be honest with yourself. You don't have to pretend with yourself and you don't have to pretend with me."
She smirked. "I couldn't pretend with you even if I wanted to."
The elevator dinged and opened, revealing an older woman and her yappy Pomeranian. Brittany's hand immediately slid out of mine. The old lady totally wasn't paying attention to us, but I knew Brittany wasn't seeing what I was seeing. I remember being in the closet. Sometimes it feels like you have a big, neon rainbow flashing above your head and everybody just knows.
"Hello, Mrs. Wells," Brittany chirped brightly. "Hi, Sasha."
The old lady waved politely and the dog did a little jittery dance at the mention of its name.
I stepped into the elevator next to the jittery dog. "Call me tonight if your nature sounds CD is skipping."
She grinned. "You owe me seventy five bucks, by the way. Plus shipping and handling. Those CDs weren't cheap."
"Send me an invoice," I told her. "I'll make sure it gets to the proper trash can."
The West End of Lima was exactly what it sounded like. It was the westernmost boundary of the city, the last frontier. It was also a fucking cesspool.
It wasn't always that way. In fact, in the late 60s, the people of the West End formed one of the largest community service programs in the city. The group was called "The Knights of West Lima" and back then, pretty much everyone was a Knight at one point or another. Mercedes's parents met at a KOWL bake sale when they were in high school. According to my abuela, my mom was pretty active with the program back in the day. It was the "it" thing to do at the time.
But like most good things, somebody had to come along and fuck it up for everybody else. And like most unspeakable events in world history, it happened in the 80s. The breakdown started with a few bad seeds who decided to break off and turn their affiliation with the Knights into something it wasn't meant to be. Before anyone knew what was happening, the Knightmares were a full-blown gang of their own.
As it turns out, Lima cops couldn't tell the difference between similarly named groups and soon, being affiliated with the Knights became more trouble than it was worth. Being affiliated with the Knightmares, however, proved to be quite the lucrative endeavor. The gang blew up and quickly gained a reputation as the most infamous gang in Allen County. If you saw a Knightmare coming, you didn't cross the street. You went inside the nearest building and locked the door.
Unless you're me, of course.
I was looking for trouble, which was never hard to find in Lima Heights. This was especially true on Thursday nights. Protection money was due and the Knightmare collection crew would be making their rounds to the local business and getting their money, one way or another.
Even though it was getting dark, it was still unseasonably warm outside. The outfit I was wearing made everything ten times worse. I had on Puck's black sweatsuit and a black bandana covering my nose and mouth. It was pretty cheap looking, but I was on a budget.
I still hadn't solved the shoe situation. I was wearing my only other pair of black sneakers, so after one flight, I was going to be screwed. I had extra pairs of black socks in the pockets of my hoody. It was going to have to be good enough.
Everything inside the store looked exactly the way I expected. Zippy Mart was a good-sized convenience store. There were five long aisles that spanned the entire length of the room and a freezer section that lined two whole walls. Each aisle had a gap in the middle, effectively separating the store into two halves.
At the front of the store, Uncle Zippy was slumped over the counter, asleep with his shotgun cradled in his arms. A teenage girl stood next to him, gripping the counter with white knuckles. She jumped about five feet in the air when the bell above the door dinged. We stared at each other as she breathed heavily.
"You're not… you're not a Knightmare," she said.
"No, I'm not," I said, walking towards her.
She took a step back and glared at me.
"Why do you sound like that? Who are you? I'm not geting robbed twice in one night!"
I put up my hands in what I hoped was non-threatening gesture. "It's okay, I'm not here to rob you. I'm here to help."
She looked at me skeptically, but even if I was lying, there was nothing she could do.
"I'm going to hide and when the Knightmares come, I'm going to kick their asses. I need you to not let anyone know that I'm here, okay?"
I felt bad for her. When I was an employee at Zippy Mart, my abuela refused to let me work Thursdays for this specific reason. I'd never experienced a Knightmare visit and I didn't envy this girl.
The girl just nodded her head and turned around, pretending to straighten the cigarette cases on the wall behind her.
"You're not here," she said.
I walked down to the aisle furthest from the door, the one next to the freezer wall. I crouched down, peering around the edge of the aisle so that I could see the street through the storefront window. As I waited for the Knightmares to make their appearance, I charged up more, sending energy to the surface of my skin and letting it settle there.
I didn't have to wait long.
An old, dark blue Cadillac pulled up in front of the store and parked in the middle of the street. Four guys hopped out while one remained in the running car. The guys were probably in their late teens and early twenties. They were of varying heights, weights, and ethnicities. The Knightmares were an equal opportunity employer. All of them were wearing blue baseball caps and blue jackets. I recognized the first guy because there were probably only five redheads in West Lima and only one of them had a gelled-up pompadour going on in the front of his head and a flowy, Patrick Swayze mullet in the back. That obnoxious asshole was the one and only Rick "The Stick" Nelson.
Rick was a pretty prominent member of the Knightmares. He was known for carrying a hockey stick around with him and using it as a "method of persuasion." He didn't have it with him that night.
It didn't matter either way to me. I was ready to whoop that ass.
The bell tinkled cheerfully as they entered and I waddled backwards so that they wouldn't see me. Two of them immediately walked behind the counter while the other two lounged against it, shoving lighters and packs of gum into their pockets.
Rick turned to the girl and pointed at the register. "Open this."
They weren't far away from me, maybe about fifteen feet tops. I considered running over at super speed and kicking everyone's ass, but there was no way I could take those guys down without hurting Uncle Zippy and the girl in the process. They were standing too close together. The Knightmares opened up a duffle bag and started filling it with money.
I eyed the closest one.
Turn on your super speed and you can shoot all four of them before they know what hit them.
The plan was perfect. There was only one problem with it: super speed and accuracy aren't exactly best friends. Accuracy's not such a big deal when you're pulling a kid under a speeding truck. All you have to do is hit the ground. But when you're trying to make four non-lethal energy beam shots within milliseconds of each other, it becomes a little problematic.
I leaned carefully around the edge of the shelf, aimed at the leg of one of Knightmares, and fired. He screamed and grabbed the edge of the counter, but I was already moving toward the next one. The Knightmares turned in slow motion, looking around to see what had hit their friend. I aimed as well as I could, but I was moving too fast. I missed the next guy's leg by a mile and my energy beam hit the counter next to him, ripping into the metal and wood. They were turning towards me now, eyes narrowing in anger. I had one more shot before I had to move. I swung my hand back to the right and missed again. My energy beam hit the gumball machine, shattering the glass and sending large round candy balls flying all over the place.
Super speed shooting was impossible. I jumped back behind the shelf as the Knightmares drew their weapons.
"What the fuck?"
"Somebody's back there!"
"Shoot him!"
Abort! Time for a new plan!
I ran. Bullets pierced the freezer cases behind me as the Knightmares shot at my head, shattering the glass and causing alcoholic liquid to spray all over the place.
I darted through the gap in the middle of the aisle and ran across the store, narrowly avoiding bullets as the Knightmares shot at me from the counter. I turned down the fourth aisle and dropped back into my crouch, holding my gunhand steady in case someone came at me. Feet shuffled across other aisles, following me to the back half of the store.
Then, there was silence.
Perfect. Just what I wanted today. A standoff.
Slowly, I rose to my full height, peeking over the bags of potato chips that lined the top shelf. Shots rang out and I dropped back down as the bags exploded in a hail of gunfire. Cheetos and Doritos rained down upon me from the heavens, covering my hoody in a fine dusting of unnaturally orange cheese powder.
I crept across the floor on my knees, reaching up and grabbing a two-liter of Coke from the shelf above my head. When I reached the gap in the aisle, instead of poking my head out, I held the two-liter by the neck of the bottle and slowly inched it out into the gap. Almost instantly, a bullet ripped through the bottle, causing it to explode all over me.
This is absolutely disgusting. I feel like a gamer's snack tray.
I sat back on my haunches and thought about my options.
"Bring your ass out here!" Rick yelled.
"Come on, chicken shit! We're gonna kick your ass!"
No thank you.
Knowing what Ben said about taking bullets made me less afraid to get shot, but that didn't mean I was going to voluntarily run in front of a gun if there was a better way.
Can I throw an energy ball over the aisles?
These guys probably weren't as dumb as Joey from the alley muggings. They weren't gonna catch the shiny mystery ball falling from the heavens. I'd have to hit them directly without looking and I highly doubted that was going to happen.
A bright pink gumball rolled into my path, stopping as it hit my sneaker.
Maybe… maybe I should try that new thing.
There was a little trick I'd been practicing on the roof of my building with Skittles. I was inspired by Ben's unique and selfish way of making popcorn while we were in Canada. He'd put a few kernels in his hand, charge up, and pop them with heat from his palm. Everyone would get pissed because he never popped a whole bag to share with everyone like a normal person would.
I picked up the large gumball, which was now covered in Coke, and eyed it thoughtfully.
It's way bigger than a Skittle… I hope that doesn't matter. Let's give it a shot.
The principle here was pretty much the same. The first step in the process was to transfer energy to another medium through direct contact. Or in layman's terms, charge up the gumballs.
I scooped up large handfuls of wet gumballs and started stuffing them in my pockets. When I'd gathered all the gumballs I could reach, I took a few out and focused energy into my palm. Flashes of light flickered in the spaces between my fingers as I squeezed my fist, pumping energy into the candy. When I felt the gumballs vibrating against each other in my hand, I stopped.
On the count of three. One… two… three!
I tossed the gumballs through the gap in the aisle, making sure to give them enough momentum so that they rolled far, far away from me. The gumballs rolled nosily across the tile, skipping across bumps in the floor and darting off in random directions.
"What the fuck are those?"
"Are we supposed to trip and fall on these? This ain't a cartoon, asshole."
The second step in the process was to let the medium forcefully discharge the energy.
Or in layman's terms, watch the gumballs explode.
The candies detonated with loud bangs, propelling themselves off of the floor and launching into nearby items with incredible force. When I heard screams, I rolled out into the open and ran through the middle of the store, charging gumballs as I moved. One Knightmare was curled up in the fetal position, being pelted with flying candy. I ran up and kicked him in the head, mercifully putting him out of his misery.
I should get a humanitarian award for this.
Another Knightmare was clinging to the shelves, holding a leg that was bleeding through his jeans. I fired a gumball at him and it exploded on contact, hitting him in his good leg and causing him to fall back into the minefield of exploding gumballs. His head hit the ground with a sickening thud. Dazed, he tried to drag himself away from the deadly candy.
The two other guys never moved from behind the counter. Rick raised his gun and popped off two rounds, hitting me right between the eyes with both shots. My head jerked back from the impact, but I'd charged up the way Ben told me, so they didn't even break the skin.
Son of a bitch that hurts!
The bullets crumpled like paper and fell to the ground. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and looked up at Rick, who was staring back at me in horror. He raised his gun again and started firing rapidly at me. The other Knightmare behind the counter pulled out his weapon and joined in, too. As they fired at my chest and head, I slowly approached the front counter, taking each bullet without letting them see how painful it was to do so. They visibly paled, finally realizing that there wasn't anything wrong with their guns. There was something wrong with me.
As a last ditch effort, Rick wrestled Zippy's gun away from his sleeping body and leveled it at me. At point-blank range, I took a shotgun blast to the chest.
The impact sent me flying backward. I hit the ground hard.
"Dumb motherfucker," he snorted. "Get the rest of the cash so we can get the hell out of here."
My head spun as I laid there. If I had to rank my Top Ten Most Physically Painful Experiences, a shotgun blast from two feet away would easily be in the top 5. I didn't think I was ever going to be able to get up again.
Suck it up, Lopez. If you don't finish this, Finntastic wins.
The picture of Finntastic hanging on Brittany's wall flashed in my head.
"Leave those idiots here," Rick said. "They can walk back."
I waited with my eyes closed. When the first one stepped over me, I grabbed his ankles and yanked his legs out from underneath him. He fell, slamming his head into the counter on the way down. I aimed my other hand at Rick's crotch and shot him right in the Stick. He fell to his knees, screaming every swear word that's ever been invented. Jumping up unsteadily from the ground, I grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back up into a standing position.
"Listen up, dickless," I said. "We're going for a little ride. If you give me any trouble, I'll cut whatever's left of your balls off with a dull razor. Got it?"
He made a squeaky whining noise that I took as consent.
Zippy snorted and snuffled, slowly rejoining the land of the living. He saw me and jumped off of his stool, reaching for his shotgun.
"Who are you?" he yelled in the heavy accent that I could never place. "Thief! Hoodlum!"
"Grandpa, stop!" the girl said, shaking his shoulder. "This guy stopped the Knightmares! They didn't rob the store!"
"What?" Zippy asked, eyeing his granddaughter suspiciously.
I grabbed the duffle bag of money and dropped it on the counter.
"You don't have to worry about them coming back, Zipples," I said. "They aren't going to be bothering you anymore."
Rick smartly didn't protest this statement.
Uncle Zippy rummaged through the bag in disbelief. Zippy Mart's money wasn't the only money in there, but there was no way to figure out where it came from.
He was beyond shocked. "How did… what… why?"
"Call some of the neighbors to take out this trash, Zippy. I have some errands to run."
And with that, I left the store, dragging Rick behind me. Hopefully with the extra money, Zippy could clean up the mess I made.
I opened the backdoor of the Cadillac and tossed the whimpering mess that was Rick in the backseat.
Before I could even say anything to the driver, the car immediately took off. I pulled hard on the door handle with superhuman strength, managing only to rip the door off of the frame.
"Son of a bitch!"
I wasn't about to run around chasing another car. I kicked my shoes off, quickly knotted the laces together, and slung them around my neck. The car was turning a corner, but it wasn't going to get away. I gave myself a running start, then blasted into the air, leaving a mini-crater in the street behind me.
I shot up above the buildings, scanning the surrounding streets for the Cadillac. It almost looked like it had disappeared into thin air, but I realized I was looking in the wrong direction. They weren't headed back to the West End. They were going east.
Perfect.
I rocketed off after them, lowering myself to the height of the street lamps. I didn't care if people saw me today. That was kind of the point.
Once I got directly above the car, I killed my jets and slammed down onto the hood.
"He's on the roof!"
"He's a fucking alien!"
The driver swerved hard, straight into oncoming traffic. We were in Lima Heights Adjacent and the evening rush hour was just ending, but there were still a good number of cars on the street.
Two cars were headed toward us, but he kept on driving straight toward them. I guess he thought an impromptu game of Chicken would scare me off the roof.
I'm not afraid of Chicken, dumbass. Didn't you hear? I love meat.
I slammed my fists down, shattering the windshield and giving myself something to hold onto. The car lifted up as I took off, blasting energy through my feet. The front wheels lost contact with the ground as I dragged the car back into the correct lane, Now that I was steering the ship, we could go where we needed to be. We were running out of time.
By the time we got to downtown, I was exhausted. I'm not Puck, so dragging a car behind me wasn't an easy task. Flying by itself was physically intense. We were only a few blocks away from The Lima Times. Victory was within my reach.
"I hope you guys like prison food," I called to my passengers. "I have a feeling you're going to be eating a lot of it soon."
"Fuck that shit! I'm not going back to jail!" the driver yelled.
A bullet ripped through the roof, narrowly missing my body. I cut the power to my feet and we slammed back into the ground. I bounced off the roof and almost rolled off the side of the car, catching myself just in time. The driver hit the gas and the car lurched forward.
He swerved recklessly in and out of cars and with the constant changing of direction, it was all I could do to hold on. The Lima Times was just one stop light away.
That stop light was red.
Cars were coming through intersection and there was no way we could stop in time.
I did the only thing I could think of. With every bit of strength left in me, I hugged myself tightly to the roof, digging my hands into the metal frame, and blasted upwards. The entire car left the ground and rose 10, 20, 30 feet in the air, enough to clear the intersection. My body was screaming for me to drop the stupid thing. With a mighty roar, I gave the car a single, hard shake, wrenching the roof from the frame and letting the car fall to the earth. I swooped down as it fell, grabbing the two gang members by their collars and yanking them out of the airborne Caddy.
The car had quite a lot of momentum, way more than I had expected. It flew down the street, crashed into the front of a building, and finally came to rest on the sidewalk.
Then it exploded.
When I saw the name of the store it hit, I gulped.
ABC Liquor. Oh dear.
The good part about starting a raging inferno in the middle of downtown is that it gets people's attention, which was exactly what I wanted. Within minutes, a very large crowd gathered around the burning building to watch the freak with the glowing eyes and the two banged-up gangbangers. I calmly took my sneakers from around my neck and slipped my feet into them as traffic came to a screeching halt in both directions. Some idiot parked right in front of the liquor store and got out to get a better look at the fire.
Perfect.
I jumped on top of the hood of the parked car, dragging the Knightmares with me as I made my way to the car's roof. The car's owner opened his mouth to protest, but when I turned my glowing gaze on him, he thought better of it.
It didn't take long for the Lima Times employees to make their way outside and check out the ruckus. They were journalists after all, and where there's smoke, there must be news. Brittany and Quinn were near the middle of the pack with Finntastic looming over them, ready to escort them home from work. He immediately recognized me and his face got very, very pale. He knew I was the hooded stranger from alley. When I was satisfied with the number of people in the crowd, I cleared my throat, channeled my inner Sue Sylvester, and prepared to give the speech that I'd been practicing in my head all day.
"Citizens of Lima," I announced. "You deserve better."
The sound of my voice caused many of the onlookers to gasp and recoil in fear. Like true journalists, the Lima Times reporters pulled out the various tools of their trade, notepads, cameras, tape recorders, etc.
"You deserve to be able to walk the streets of the city at night, assured of the safety that Mr. Finntastic hasn't been able to provide."
Mixed emotions flashed across Finntastic's face, the most prevalent one being confusion.
"Sure, he's stopped some bank robberies, raided some drug dens, shut down a small counterfeiting ring. But what does that mean to you? You're not worried about drug dens. You're worried about getting robbed on a dark street corner at night."
People in the crowd murmured to each other. Some of them cast doubtful looks in Finntastic's direction.
"Mr. Finntastic can stop that, too, if he's there. Well, what if he's not? What happens then? How is Lima safer when Mr. Finntastic has done nothing to stop the worst criminal element in the city?"
I looked over at Brittany, wanting to see her reaction to my speech, but her face was hidden behind her camera. For the first time ever, she was taking my picture.
"You want to feel safe? You want to be protected? Cut the cancer out of Lima, starting with a problem that should've been dealt with a long time ago, the Knightmares. Someone needs to stand up and say 'we're mad as hell and we're not gonna take it anymore!'"
Some of the people in the crowd made sounds of agreement and a few people even cheered. Fire trucks were fast approaching. It was time to wrap it up.
"If Mr. Finntastic isn't willing to get his hands dirty and do what he needs to do to keep Lima truly safe, then maybe it's time Lima got another option. That's why I'm here. I pledge to clean up these streets, one Knightmare at a time, so that you all can sleep soundly."
It was corny and not even clever, but I said it for Brittany and I hoped that she got my meaning. Cameras flashed rapidly as two fire trucks and several cop cars pulled up beside the crowd. The cops hopped out and immediately started trying to part the crowd so that the fire trucks could get to the liquor store. It was officially time to fly the coop.
"What's your name?" a reporter shouted over the noise.
My real name slid to the edge of my tongue and I bit down so hard on it that I tasted blood. I hadn't really thought about what people should call me. Forethought wasn't really my strong suit.
"I'm just a concerned citizen," I said after a moment of hesitation. "That's all you need to know."
"You, on top of the car! Freeze!" a policeman cried, pulling his weapon.
I took one last look at Brittany, who was still snapping picture after picture. I dropped Rick the Stick and his driver to the asphalt where their injured and exhausted bodies landed with a thud. And because setting a liquor store on fire isn't dramatic enough for me, I blasted off with more force than necessary, demolishing the car's roof and leaving blinding trails of white light behind me. My exit drew an audible collective gasp from the crowd. Even Quinn was awestruck by my amazingness.
Finn Dudson, however, was livid.
Brittany wasn't on her roof that night. She wasn't in her room, either. Rachel was home, singing dramatically into a hairbrush while a Barbara Streisand movie played in the background. Quinn's lights were off, but I didn't look too closely into her windows for fear that I might catch a glimpse of Finn Hudson's pasty, sweaty ass in the moonlight.
I was confused about where Brittany could be until I flew downtown. Every single light at the Lima Times was on. They were burning the midnight oil, presumably writing about the circus I'd put on that afternoon. It was simultaneously thrilling and frightening.
I finished my training exercises and collapsed onto my bed at 4AM. When I woke up at 7, the first thing I wanted to do was get my hands on a copy of the Lima Times.
I threw on some clothes and walked the few blocks down the street to Zippy Mart. Even though Zippy Mart had pretty much become an omen for bad things, nothing could kill my excitement.
The store was still a hot mess. Everything had been straightened up and cleaned as much as humanly possible, but the glass was still missing from the freezer cases and there were giant chunks of linoleum missing because of the gumball bombs. The bullet holes in the counter were more than a little bit noticeable. Zippy sat on his usual stool behind the counter, looking surprisingly upbeat for someone whose store was turned upside-down.
I'm sure he dried his tears with that huge sack of money I left here.
"Santana Lopez!" he called out. "It's too early for you to be awake, no?"
I walked over to the counter and grabbed a copy of the Lima Times off of the small wire rack, slapping it on the counter with a loud thwack.
"You know what they say, Zipples. The early bird gets the worm, and all that jazz."
He chuckled, nodding his head. "I know what they say."
As I fished my money out of my pocket, Zippy leaned over the counter, flashing a toothy grin.
"And I know what you say."
I paused, raising an eyebrow at him as he grinned manically.
"Even you can't break my stride today, you crazy bastard," I said, tossing a few bills on the counter. "I want a Mega Freezie Chug, too. Yes, it's 7AM and no, I do not care. Red dye number 6 and high fructose corn syrup, drizzled lovingly over a cup of ice shavings. Breakfast of champions."
He rang me up at the counter and I snatched up the newspaper. I walked over to the Freezie Chug machine, grabbing the largest cup and sitting it under the Mango Madness nozzle. With one hand, I flipped the paper around so that I could see the front page.
I knew right away that the picture was one of Brittany's. What I couldn't tell was who the person in the picture was. It was me, of course, but at the same time, it wasn't me at all. She must have taken the picture when I looked at her, right before I blasted off. I was standing on top of the car, towering over the crowd with a semi-conscious Knightmare hanging from each hand. My face was hidden in shadow with only the glowing light from eyes showing from inside my hood. Fire and smoke poured out of the liquor store behind me. I looked like some otherworldly Hell creature, coming to Earth to do some serious shit like reap souls or something.
It was a disturbing image and it was making me feel everything Brittany wanted her audience to feel. Uncomfortable. Anxious. Scared. It was everything she must have been feeling about me.
The rest of the page was taken up by the headline. It summed up the photo in a single word, printed above Quinn's byline in bold black letters.
MENACE.
A/N:
So Santana makes a stellar first impression. NOT. Never fear, folks. All is not lost.
I always picture Brittany's dad as Stanley Tucci (thank you, tumblr gifs). We'll learn more about the Fierce Family later.
My goal is to get another chapter out this month, and now that I've said it, we know it won't happen XD
Hasta la pasta,
-LateInLifeTiburón