Hello! I haven't been writing much and have never written for Glee, but I was watching 3x11 (Michael) and I can't believe how overlooked this scene is! I've never written a fic using dialogue from the show, but I was surprised how quickly Santana backed down and needed to fill in the blanks...
My original plan was to keep it relatively simple and true to the plot, but I just can't stop myself from building the angst.
Anyways, here we go...
Santana wasn't 100% sure how she ended up sitting around the Lima Bean with Berry, Wheels, Lady Face, and Hair Gel... or that's what she would tell anyone that asked. More and more, she was starting to genuinely enjoy spending time with her team members. Sure, she was still a bitch, but a bitch that loved hard and protected those she cared about.
As they sat around discussing their respect and admiration for Michael Jackson, Rachel jumped in.
"I have to be honest, I never really got him."
Looks of shock, disappointment, and confusion flashed across the other's faces as they gawked at her innocently unaware face.
"And we are no longer on speaking terms," Artie groaned, rolling his eyes.
Santana leaned forward and spoke sharply. "I'd throw this mocha in your face, but it's not nearly scalding enough."
Rachel held her hands up in defeat, finally agreeing.
No sooner had she agreed with the idea of doing a Michael number at regionals did Sebastian swoop in, a smug smirk across his face.
"If it isn't The New Directions," he said, somehow making such a simple sentence seem like a taunt.
He went on, telling them that Blaine had already spilled the beans on their Michael plans, and that they would be stealing that and going first.
Santana just stared at his stupid, smug face, wanting nothing more than to smack the smirk off of it. She wasn't even sure exactly what he was saying, but she knew he was quickly pissing her off just by his tone and, to be honest, general presence.
Santana would be the first to admit that she had a bad habit of talking first and thinking later, but it wasn't her fault that this happened when she was pissed off. She had been this way when she was a kid, really.
Her father both taught her to never back down, to never show weakness, and then cruelly taught her the consequences of not backing down from the right people. He tried to teach her with violence, tried to break her down - all that resulted in was him being in prison, and her vowing to only ever harm people with her words.
And that she could do in her sleep.
But she knew people like Sebastian, and she knew what could happen to people like her when they reacted how she wanted to right now. Her tío, currently serving a stint in prison after what started as a minor road rage incident with a white man in a Range Rover, could attest to this.
So for once, Santana actually didn't say any of the expletives that were going through her mind. She focused on breathing and reminded herself that this stupid glee club competition was not worth the consequences of her unleashing at some rich white prep school kid in a public coffee shop.
That is, until Sebastian dared to insult her friend.
"Oh my god, hey Kurt," Sebastian said smugly. "I didn't recognize you - you're wearing boy clothes for once."
Santana is many things, but she is a hard core friend above all else. Before she knew it, she was on her feet as she stepped closer to the smug Warbler.
"Alright twink, I think it's time that I show you a little Lima Heights hospitality," she said as threateningly as possible, stepping closer in an attempt to make herself look bigger than she was.
Sure, her family had moved to a decent house and neighborhood in Lima Heights Adjacent when she was nine years old, but he didn't have to know that.
Santana had hoped to wipe that smug smirk off the boy's face. She may be small, but her presence was anything but that, and rich kids like Sebastian were usually at least somewhat thrown off by her threats of Lima Heights.
Instead, Sebastian smiled even more as he looked right at her. Santana kept her glare, only becoming angrier at his lack of fear.
"Unless you want to join your relatives in prison, that's probably not the best idea," he started.
Santana immediately saw red and was one millisecond away from going all Lima Heights on his ass, until he said one of the only things that could really make her pause.
"You see, my dad is sort of what you'd call a state's attorney. But, if you had a pinata you wanted delivered, I bet he would. make sure that got to them."
If she was seeing red before, she wouldn't have a name to do justice for the color she was seeing now. She tried with everything in her to pause, take a breath, talk to herself rationally, but her blood was pounding in her ears and her hands started to shake.
But he was right, and that's what made it so much worse. It would not just be not the best idea - it would be a horrible idea. Santana knew how these things end for her, for her family and others like her. There was no way she would get out of this if she lost it, but for the love of god she wanted to punch him in the face.
Santana didn't even feel the hand on her shoulder at first, not until she felt a firm squeeze and another hand on her back. Thankfully, Blaine knew her well enough to know she was on the verge of exploding.
And she tried. She really, truly tried, but he was still smiling.
"Listen, you racist prick," she started, trying to take another step forward until she felt the grip on her shoulder tighten and pull her back.
"Santana!" Blaine insisted, knowing how the situation could unfold.
"I know you people are feisty," Sebastian taunted, eyes gleaming with entertainment as he could clearly see his comments getting to her. "My dad might be a state's attorney, but I'm sure he could recommend a good immigration lawyer," he continued, looking satisfied with himself.
Was there a color that was more than the color that was more red than red? Because that's what Santana was seeing now. She hadn't even said a word or made a move when the hand on her shoulder became arms wrapping around her waist and physically pulling her away.
"I DON'T CARE WHO YOUR FATHER IS!" she started, trying to pull away from Blaine despite him tightening his hold. She kept trying to break forward, wanting, needing to break her rule against physical violence.
Santana wasn't sure what she was yelling at this point, until next thing she knew her feet were off the ground as she was being dragged outside.
"Come on, Santana, just breathe," a soft voice encouraged, a gentle hand on her shoulder a contrast to the arms still wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her in place like she was going to bolt.
Santana focused on Rachel Berry, of all people, being so warm and undeterred by the anger radiating off of her. She met Rachel's concerned but slightly fearful eyes as she tried to take this advice.
"He's not worth it, San," Kurt suddenly appeared, followed by Artie who repeated Kurt's sentiment.
Santana looked up at the three concerned friends in front of her, as Blaine apparently decided it was safe enough to let her out of his vice grip, however remained behind her resting his hands on her shoulders like a precautionary measure.
"I'm sorry," she finally felt herself able to catch a breath without needing to rip someone's head off, still shaking slightly with clenched fists, but feeling in more control of her body.
"That was messed up, what he said to you in there," Artie said, stating the obvious, but Santana still appreciated the acknowledgement.
"It's such bullshit," Santana said sharply. "People like him get to walk around saying whatever they want to whoever they want. And nothing happens. Nothing ever happens to people like him," she trailed off, her anger falling to heavy hurt and sadness as she tightly crossed her arms across her chest.
None of her friends said anything, most likely not knowing how to respond. In a very un-Santana, vulnerable way, she continued.
"The worst part is that he was right, though. I do have family in prison." Santana wasn't sure what came over her. She never felt the need to explain herself - it wasn't anyone's business - but all of a sudden she wanted to explain, wanted her friends to understand.
"And if you had beat the crap out of him like you might have if Blaine hadn't pulled you away, we could have had family in prison," Rachel said bluntly.
Santana rolled her eyes. She knew they were trying to be supportive, but they just wouldn't get it.
"I know we can't quite understand what you're feeling, but we're here for you."
Santana spun around to look at Blaine, briefly meeting his eyes before throwing herself into his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around him. She felt his arms circle her tightly, making her feel more safe and protected than she had in some time. That was all she needed, was to know that people had her back.
"So, if we can't do Michael, should we revisit Barbara Streisand?" Rachel proposed, and Santana couldn't really tell if she was trying to lighten the mood or had, in a Rachel-like move, already moved back to planning for Glee Club.
And it was so normal and needed that Santana didn't make a single comment.
Because despite everything, she knew they had her back, and she could let Rachel have this one opportunity.