A/N: Guess who finally got her computer back. . .this girl! And you know what that means. . .updates will become frequent once again! My goal is to finish this story by the Super Bowl, when I will have to accept that Puck/Quinn are not besties, and Blaine/Santana don't have a super weird relationship, and Finn/Blaine have never met, and Mike Chang doesn't glow.

Anyway, as you can tell, this chap is a little out of style for me, a bit choppier than usual, but I just really wanted to bang something out for y'all. Enjoy!

Santana bit her lip, and tried not to cry. It wasn't really her thing, crying in front of people, but then again, she wasn't used to her best friend bleeding in front of her. She leaned down and put a hand against Brittany's forehead. It was burning hot.

"Get in the car, Finn," Blaine hissed, shoving the taller boy backward.

"I want to stay and help," Finn said stubbornly. "I helped you the first time. I can help again."

"I know you can," Blaine said. "But think about it, Finn. Brittany just relapsed. Sam and Mike have suspiciously similar nosebleeds. Tina's head is about to burst apart. What if everyone is getting sick again?"

"Even more reason for me to stay here," Finn said. "Look, dude, I know you're trying to be tough about the no arm thing, but what are you going to do if everyone gets sick?"

"What's going to happen if Quinn gets sick?" Blaine asked. Finn shrugged.

"Puck can drive."

"And what if Puck gets sick?"

"Rachel can drive."

"And what if Rachel gets sick?"

"Dude, I get the point," Finn said, throwing his hands up in the air. "But who's to say I don't get sick?"

"You didn't get sick the first time," Santana said. "The hobbit's hoping that means you won't get sick a second."

"Just go, Finn," Kurt said wearily, as he entered the room as well, one of Mike's arms slung around his shoulder. Santana looked at him critically. She really couldn't handle any more patients – three was more than enough, between Sam, Brit, and Mike – but she was a little worried that Kurt would be joining their ranks, soon. He was pale and exhausted looking. Even more telling, he hadn't done his hair, or changed his clothes from the previous day. Lurching a little, he lowered Mike into the other open bed in the room.

"Thanks," Mike said. He coughed, rasping into his fist. Santana saw the drops of blood that came away, though Mike tried to hide his hand under the pillow. He turned to glare at Finn. "I blame you, by the way. If you didn't snore so loud, maybe I would have gotten enough sleep and wouldn't be sick."

Finn ignored him, and looked back at Blaine. "Fine," he said. "I'll go. But I'll be back soon. With help."

Blaine put his hand on the other boys shoulder, and smiled. "That's what we're counting on."

And then everyone was gone. Santana frowned down at Brit. The pink glow that had surrounded her friend was subdued, quiet. She brushed a hand through blonde bangs, and Brit whimpered a little.

"What should I do?" Kurt asked. Santana shrugged. This was all way beyond her. But Blaine and Kurt were looking at her expectantly, and Brit's nose was still bleeding, and Mike was still hacking up blood, and she was absolutely not going to snap. Santana Lopez did not snap under pressure. She held the base of the pyramid, got all the hot guys, and still kept a 4.0 average. So she wasn't going to break.

"Go get Sam," she said. "Bring him in here. It will be easier to take care of them all if they're together."

That made sense. Kurt pranced off, and Blaine muttered something about getting water. Santana ignored them. She pinched Brittany's nostrils. Maybe they should have had Quinn take a look. . .she could have stuck her pinkie up everyone's nose, and cauterized whatever was bleeding. It was totally unfair that Quinn got such a badass mutation, and she had to deal with seeing colors. Lame.

"I feel bad for you," Mike said abruptly. Santana glanced at him, surprised. She wasn't the one hacking up blood. . .she was pretty sure that she should be feeling sorry for him. She waited a moment, as Mike went through another coughing fit. If he hadn't been such a dick, she would have helped him sit up, opened the airway. As it was, she let him cough. Serve him right.

"I mean. . .if those were atomic bombs," Mike sighed, and snuggle ddeeper into the blankets. "I think I'd rather just die right now. Then wait for the atmosphere to get all f'ed up, and all the plants to die, and weird diseases to plague the land."

"Nobody's dying," Santana said. "unless you don't shut your trap. But trust me, it won't be radiation poisoning that kills you."

Mike didn't say anything else. He turned his face into the pillow and breathed in deeply. The worst was that he had a point. She knew he had a point – Mike was no dumby, they were in AP Chem together. But Coach Sylvester had always said that a defeatist attitude was the best way to lose ( also eating candy, getting boob jobs, using hair gel, and dressing in anything but the Cheerios uniform). And Santana didn't know what else to do.

She glanced at Brit's nose again, released the pressure. She waited a minute. No blood. So that was good. She held the back of her hand against her bestie's mouth, and felt intensely relieved at the soft brush of breath she felt. Losing Mercedes had been bad enough. She was pretty sure that losing Brittany would destroy her.

"Here's some water," Blaine said, returning to the room with a gallon of spring water. "They have a small kitchen out front. Not much, but. . ."

"Thanks." Santana grabbed two of the plastic glasses from the bathroom, and quickly filled up the two cups. She handed one to Blaine, and brought the other to Brittany. She dribbled the water against Brit's lips, not happy with how much splashed against skin. Brittany barely even swallowed.

Kurt returned a moment later, dragging Sam on the ground. He walked in backwards, the other boys' wrists clamped in his hand. Blaine jumped up immediately, and went to help, scooping up Sam's ankles. Together, the two boys deposited him on the bed next to Brittany.

"Thanks," Kurt said. "He was heavier than I thought."

Blaine frowned at the other boy. "No problem. . .are you feeling okay?" He shifted around the bed to stand next to Kurt. Santana watched as he lifted his hand, and brushed away the other boys' bangs. She saw what he saw doing, letting the back of his hand just flit against Kurt's forehead. Check for a fever. She bit her lip. They had to break the fever, somehow. . .cool Brittany down if she was going to have a chance.

Kurt flinched away from the contact. He raised his eyes defiantly, glaring at Blaine. "I'm fine," he said. "Just tired."

Santana pursed her lips. Hadn't Blaine said there was a kitchen. . .she glanced up at the two boys, and almost burst out laughing. Blaine looked completely befuddled and the look on Kurt's face. . .well, Santana had seen that look before, usually in the mirror. That was the "just fuck me already" look. She double-checked to make sure that Blaine was still wearing his pants.

"Is there a freezer in the kitchen?" she asked.

Both boys turned to look at her, and Kurt's face immediately morphed from "fuck me already" to "I'ma cutta bitch." Blaine, on the other hand, just looked relieved.

"Um. . .yeah. A walk-in," Blaine said. "Why?"

"Kurt, could you go grab some frozen stuff? Anything. . .peas, meat, whatever. We need to cool these guys down."

"Why me?" Kurt asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "Why not Blaine? You just want some more alone time with him?"

"He only has one arm, Streisand," Santana sneered. "He can't carry as much."

"I resent that," Blaine said mildly. "It's emasculating."

"It's true," Santana said. Kurt just rolled his eyes, and dramatically pushed his bangs out of his face.

"I'll get it," he said, and walked out of the room. Blaine, Santana noticed, watched him until he rounded the corner. He shook himself a little, and turned around. She must have been smirking because he frowned and asked what was going on in her twisted little mind.

"Nothing," she said. "I'll go get Tina. Try and get them to drink something."

Tina was right next door, curled up in a little ball on her bed. Santana stared down at her. They'd never been friends. In fact, she wasn't sure whether she'd ever said a word to the Asian girl in her life. Asian and Latina. . .they went together like oil and water. Still, Santana had to admit that it must suck to be sick. But Tina didn't. . .look. . .ill. She was still clothed in the same, almost angelic yellow light that had been there ever since she woke up. Santana looked closer. There wasn't the fuzziness that surrounded Mike, Brit, and Sam. She looked. . .fine.

"Tina?" she asked. "Asian? How you feeling?"

"Head hurts," Tina mumbled into her pillow, her eyes clenched tightly shut. "Make them stop."

"Stop what?" Santana looked around the room. They were completely alone.

"Stop talking. And singing. Just. . ."

Santana was pretty sure the other girl had started crying. That was awkward. She didn't really do sympathy. She was more the "suck it up or get out" type. Unless you were a guy, but she didn't think Tina wanted to be consoled in the same way that Puck did after a football loss. 95% sure, anyway. Because really, sexuality was a spectrum, and Santana, at least, was always up for experimentation. She just wasn't sure that Tina felt the same way.

"Well, hop up," Santana said. "We're going next door."

"Mkay."

Tina was surprisingly complacent, struggling to her feet. Sure, Santana had to slide an arm around her waist to help her walk, but they made it across to the other room. Santana gently deposited her in the bed.

"So," Blaine said, his tone conversational and pleasant. "Now what?"

Santana shrugged. "Where are Kurt and those peas?"

When Kurt didn't return in five minutes, Santana started getting annoyed, and Blaine appeared to be getting bored. When Kurt didn't return in ten minutes, Santana was getting pissed, and Blaine was clearly bored, flipping the window shades open and closed. When Kurt didn't return in fifteen minutes, Santana was downright irate.

"What is taking him so long? He just had to get some peas, not clean out the freezer!"

"Come on," Blaine said, taking her hand. "Let's just go see. Maybe he got lost."

The kitchen, it turned out, was just beyond the lobby. Santana was pretty sure that Kurt hadn't gotten lost. She was pretty sure even a moron wouldn't get lost. She didn't think even Finn would have gotten lost. And there wasn't much to distract between the entrance to the kitchen and the walk-in freezer, so really, what the hell was Hummel doing?

Blaine walked over to the freezer, and yanked hard on the door. He was immediately enveloped in a cloud, as the cold air inside met with the warmer air outside. Santana tapped her foot impatiently.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, taking a step forward, and then a moment later, more urgently, "Kurt!"

Both boys emerged, Kurt clutching a dozen packets of peas to his chest. His nose was bright pink, and his lips were. . .Santana frowned. . .his lips were a pale shade of blue. Blaine frantically grabbed the peas out of his arms, scattering several on the floor, and throwing the rest at Santana.

"I guess the freezer locks from the outside," Kurt said apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"Stop holding those!" Blaine said, swatting the last of the peas out of Kurt's hand. Santana was still staring at the boy strangely. His skin was all so pale, and he wouldn't stop shivering.

"Blaine, calm down," Kurt said. "Really, what's gotten into you?"

Blaine didn't answer, he just grabbed Kurt tightly and pulled him close to his chest. Santana raised an eyebrow. Was she about to get a show? Not that she was complaining, but someone should really be taking the frozen goods back to their friends.

"Kurt, you're shivering," Blaine whispered into the other boys' ear. "Your lips are freakin' blue, your nose is all red. . .aren't you freezing?"

"Oh." Kurt's face over Blaine's shoulder look contemplative, considering. "I can't really feel anything."

"You must be numb from the cold," Blaine said. "We have to get you warmed up. Come on."

Kurt made a funny little sound – kind of the weird meow cats made whenever Santana tried to stuff them into boxes – and wriggled his way free of Blaine's arm. "No," he said. "I'm not numb from the cold. I just can't feel anything."

One of Blaine's eyebrows lifted. Santana was pretty sure that happened, although the fuzzy caterpillars that rested above the boys eyes were sometimes a little hard to read. She settled herself back against the doorway. She kind of wished she had some popcorn, since she was pretty sure she was about to witness some epic gay porn.

"What do you mean, you can't feel anything?" Blaine reached out and grabbed Kurt's hand. He slowly massaged the fingers.

"I can feel pressure," Kurt said. "But that's it. No pain. No heat. No cold."

"Because of the. . ." Blaine's voice dropped away.

"I guess so."

Blaine looked up then, his eyes earnest. "Then you have to be careful, Kurt. Like, really careful. Your body won't give you all the warnings that you need to keep safe."

"Look, Blaine, it's not a big deal," Kurt said. "Let's just get the frozen stuff to Brit."

But Blaine wouldn't let him carry anything, standing guard over the peas on the floor until Santana came over and picked up whatever he couldn't. They walked back to the hotel room, Kurt still pouting and Blaine looking incredibly concerned.

Santana began packing the peas in around Brit, while Blaine ordered Kurt to sit next to the shower while he turned the heat on to maximum. And it wasn't that she was eavesdropping. . .it was just that the door was open, and since her love life was currently kaput (it seriously sucked that the hottest guy she could bang was hung up on an ex), she figured that she deserved it.

"Stop babying me, Blaine. I can take care of myself."

"I'm just worried about you."

"Well, don't. I'm an adult."

"It's just. . .this is serious, Kurt. It's not a joke."

"A lot of things aren't jokes. You losing an arm isn't a joke. Everybody being sick isn't a joke. Mercedes death isn't a joke. Trust me, I get it. I can't feel anything, Blaine, I get it. I can't feel the warmth of a hug, I can't feel when you hold my hand, I can't. . .I've kissed a girl, and been lip-raped by a Neanderthal. I'll never feel a real kiss. So yeah, Blaine, I get it, and I know it isn't a joke. I can't feel, and trust me, I get it."

A long pause then. Santana felt Brit's forehead – a little cooler, so the peas must be working. She edged her way over toward the bathroom door. Not that she was a voyeur, but it sounded like things were about to get a little kinky. And though it sucked that Puck would rather be flitting around the countryside with Quinn the Slut Extraordinaire, she thought that maybe a threesome with two smoking guys would make up for it. Besides, she and Blaine were friends, and she and Kurt were. . .well, she didn't want either of them to end up hurt, okay?

She needn't have worried, though, for before she even had time to peek around the door, a loud humming sound from above, and the distinct sound of something heavy hitting the roof grabbed everyone's attention.

"What's. . ." Mike couldn't even finish his sentence before dissolving into wretching, chesty coughs. Santana glanced up, as Blaine and Kurt dashed out of the bathroom.

"Ohmygod," Kurt whispered, clutching at the scarf tied around his neck. "Puck was right. It's the zombies."

"There's no such thing as zombies," Blaine and Santana said in perfect unison.

There was a crackling sound overhead, and then a voice, faint through the stories of the hotel. Santana moved to the window and opened it, despite Kurt's frantic admonishments.

"Please exit the building via the roof exit with your hands above your heads, and any weapons left behind. I am declaring marshal law, and am here to save your lazy behinds."

Santana's mouth dropped open, and she turned to face Kurt. "Is that. . .is it. . ." She felt intense relief flood her very being, because they were saved, finally, and someone else would come, and somebody was going to save them, and she could go back to being who she knew she was. Kurt, however, didn't look relieved. He looked shocked and pasty and confused. Blaine glanced back and forth between the two in confusion.

"What's going on?"

"What's taking so long? You think climbing stairs is hard? Try evacuating the entire McKinley High School during a nuclear attack, that's hard."
"Sue Sylvester," Santana said with a grin. "That's what's going on."

A/N: Yay, Sue Sylvester! What other favorites of ours have survived? Emma? Principal Figgins? Karofsky and Azimio? And what about that Glee Club from UCLA? Hmmm. .

Coming Soon: Where did Sue Sylvester come from? Will Santana ever get her man (or, you know, any man?) Plus. . .a double dose of tragedy, a Kurt/Rachel diva-swan dive, Finn to the rescue, and bonding over hair gel. Stay tuned!