Title: Inside Out
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 13.4k
Summary: Santana's back from Indiana for Senior year. She lived her five years ago, but there's something different about the place.
Warning: G!P
Notes: Apologies for the lack of update. Enjoy!
/
The Pierce household is dark when they get there.
Brittany's breath hitches audibly, her hand grasping the door handle and face pressed against the window. Santana flicks off the engine and lets the silence settle between them, noting the dark sedan now in the driveway that she guesses belongs to Rick Pierce. Only the small light in the porch is on, and she doesn't like the eeriness that Brittany's about to walk into.
"Do you want me to come in with you?"
The blonde turns her head, not meeting brown eyes, but enough that they can trace over the girls beautiful side profile. "Would you?"
"Of course," Santana blurts out, unable to believe the girl would think otherwise. "Is that… okay, though?"
Brittany drops her head down, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to walk in on them fighting or something," she explains, and Santana clenches her jaw against the pang in her chest caused by the girls sadness. If she could rip it away from her and suffer herself, she would. "They won't do it you're there."
It's not quite why she offered, but she did, and she won't take it back, especially not with watery eyes looking her way. Santana flashes a small smile and climbs out the car, following up on her promise and rounds the SUV, opening Brittany's door and taking her hand as she puts it out. Affection rises in her chest at the motion, one she hopes will repeat for years to come, and she grabs both duffel bags out, fumbling with her own set of truck keys in her jeans pocket.
She throws the bags over her shoulder and links her pinky through the other girls, knowing it's a sign of their friendship because that's what's needed right now.
"Let's go," she whispers and begins heading down the drive until they reach the front door, where Brittany shakes nervously as she slides the key into the lock and opens it, only greeted with silence and darkness.
They both move inside, Santana listening out for any signs of life but there isn't and it's confusing. Surely after a rumour like that, there should be an argument – as Brittany assumed there'd be – but instead there's the light sound of snoring flowing down the huge staircase in front of them and she shifts, tightening her grip on the straps of the duffels uncomfortable with the silence.
"Are they asleep?" She asks, knowing the answer but really asking what the fuck is going on.
Brittany bites her bottom lip and turns around. "I don't know," she responds and it's only a second later before there's the sound of footsteps padding along the hallway upstairs and a light flicking on too.
"Hello?"
It's a male voice, and Santana freezes. Shit. It's Brittany's dad.
The man appears at the top of the hallway, tying the navy robe tie around his waist and he rubs his eyes as he descends towards them. "Brittany?"
The blonde's completely still, her eyebrows pulled together and Santana can read the many questions on her face, mostly because there's thousands inside her own mind and she can't ask a single one of them. Why is he here? Why was he asleep? Why is everything so fucking normal when there's been a media highlight of him and some young political intern at his work?
"Santana," Brittany says and brown eyes flash to her. "Could you leave us alone please?"
There's a hardness in her tone that wasn't there before, and Santana's got to admit, seeing the girl a little pissed is kind of hot. Brittany's fists are clenched where they sit by her hips, arms straight and her jaw is tight, cheekbones highlighted by her expression. But there's something deeper, something really angry, in a way that can only be formed from hurt, and Santana knows this isn't something for her eyes or ears. This is a family matter, and she nods her head, dropping the other girls duffel to her feet as she spins around quickly.
"I'll see you at school tomorrow," she mutters, because it's already too early in the morning to face school if the birds are already chirping in a way they do in the morning, and there's no way she's going to school, and she doubts Brittany will either.
The door shuts behind her, and she fights the urge to sprint back in with everything she has.
/
Texts from Quinn, Rachel and even Puck invade her phone for most of the next morning.
Santana had been trying to sleep, but the concern for Brittany was running too strong and keeping her mind awake. Everything in her body was screaming to rest, but she just couldn't and so she shot back an informative text that the blondes dad was back in Lima and they'd got back super early this morning, so she needed to catch up on some rest. They hadn't exactly rested at the motel – the complete opposite – and she'd been driving for hours on end.
The explanation was enough, and Santana was left to her thoughts, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. When her phone buzzes, she nearly rolls off the damn thing shooting to grab it off the nightstand beside her.
Heard you're back home. Yay! – D xxxxxxx
Guilt pings like a guitar string inside her chest and she groans, knowing she can't keep up being normal with her girlfriend. She like, really doesn't want to face it. If anything was possible, she'd get the fuck out of Lima with Brittany and run away from the consequences. A complete cowards way out, but one she's seriously debating as she quickly types out a reply.
Yeah, babe. Gonna sleep though, super tired from driving. Will text you later – S xxxx
It's not as many kisses, but enough that hopefully she can get some shut eye before having to explain the torture inside her head. With that in mind, she drops her phone to her chest and lets her eyes shut, sleep soon taking over her.
/
Eighteen hours.
Santana sleeps for eighteen hours.
It's the late evening by the time her dad's hammering on the door, wondering where she is and she's groggy as hell as she clambers from her bed to greet him at the door. She must look a complete state, because Diego is bellowing out a deep chortle when his eyes fall on her appearance.
"You look like you've been asleep for years," he manages to get out, hands pressed to his grease-covered overalls as he laughs.
Santana rubs at her face, feeling the indentations of her pillow there. "It was a long night," she replies. "Did you get dinner?"
Her stomach rumbles as if to prove her words, and Diego winks at her and scrunches his nose having heard the sound.
"Chinese is on the kitchen table," he grins and pokes her in the stomach. "Tidy yourself up and I'll get it ready."
Santana rolls her eyes, but yeah, she could demolish about five dishes from their local Chinese – it's the best in the state – and does as she's told.
/
There are about ten different boxes of Chinese food on the table.
She grabs the first one that contains noodles and begins shovelling them in her mouth, a prawn toast following it. She can't get enough of Chinese, and she hasn't eaten anything that wasn't from a vending machine in the past day or so, and the Orange Chicken is eying her up from across the counter. It's the next one she piles into her mouth, and she only becomes aware that her dad is staring at her with shock and awe when she gestures to the plum sauce in front of him and he doesn't hand it to her.
"It's not going anywhere, mija," he laughs his words and picks up a spring roll, biting off the end. "Why you so hungry?"
Santana swallows her mouthful and takes a long sip of her drink. "Got halfway to Washington last night because Brittany's dad was there and there was some rumour about him cheating," she explains, eyes never leaving the food.
"Ah, Senator Pierce," her dad replies and begins chowing down on the noodles left. "Wondered what gone to DC with B meant," he quotes the brief text Santana had shot him last night and she flashes an apologetic smile.
"Sorry," she gets out around a sweet and sour chicken ball. "It was really last minute, and she needed to see him."
Diego narrows his eyes. "What would that have done?"
Santana chews her food with thought. "Think she just wanted an answer," she shrugs and lowers the box of food to the counter. "So, I took her."
Her dad ponders as he swallows his mouthful, chopsticks in hand. The cogs in his mind are turning, and Santana knows he wants to ask something. He's never been good at hiding his wants, or emotions, and he's like her best friend – she can read him like a book. Arching her brow, she sighs loudly and pushes aside the cartons, crossing her arms over her chest because he keeps giving her this look whenever Brittany arises in topic, and she wants to know what it's about.
"What is it?" She drones, eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Just say it, dad."
Diego smiles but looks away, sliding off the stool with a carton of chow mein in hand. "I don't know many people that would do that for their friends," he says, dropping a kiss to her forehead and reaching for the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping off the cap, foot kicking the door shut. "You sure there's still nothing I need to know?"
He's next to her, hip cocked on the side and he's staring down like he wants to pull the answers from Santana's mouth. She knows now, she knows that there probably is something he should know, but she doesn't want her dad to cast judgment on her. What happened between her and Brittany wasn't the kindest thing, considering her relationship status, and her dad warned her before. All she did was do what he told her not to and is now stuck in a situation where she needs to feel the way she feels, but knows if she does, she'll hurt Dani in the process.
"Something happened with Brittany," Santana settles for the truth. She needs to talk it out with someone who won't flick her in the ear – Quinn – and someone who loves her unconditionally. "And I don't know what to do."
Diego exhales loudly. "Of course," he says and drinks his beer. "Have you broken up with Dani?"
Santana shakes her head, suddenly ashamed for admitting her betrayal. "No," she responds. "I will, I just– I don't want to hurt her."
"Pain is inevitable, Santana," her father puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. He's not judging her, which shouldn't be a surprise, but she's sure there should be some sort of disappointment, and it makes her want to cry. "But it's how you handle that pain, that matters."
It's true. Diego has had enough pain in his life to last for a lifetime when Santana's mom left. He cried for weeks, before falling into a pit of depression where he showered once a week and ate Cheetos for dinner for a month straight. Being young, it wasn't something that Santana should've seen, but she's almost thankful for it now because she knows how not to treat someone, how not to make them hurt more. Had her mom been honest, instead of just up and leaving one day, maybe her dad wouldn't have hurt so much. Maybe he would've got closure.
Although, maybe there was a more sinister reasoning behind her mom leaving, and maybe the truth would've hurt him more. There was a suspicion of another man but it was never confirmed. Her mom wasn't around to do that.
"I know," Santana squeezes her eyes against the heat prickling at them. "But I can't tell her about Britt – not without destroying their friendship and creating this fucking drama."
A tear falls from brown eyes, but Diego's right there, gripping both her arms, his beer now on the countertop and he's staring at her straight in the eye. "You have to be real to yourself, mija," he explains and holds the eye contact. "You're too young for regrets, just don't cause unnecessary harm and maybe talk with Brittany first about what you're both to do."
It's the right suggestion. As much as Santana wants to just break it off with Dani and finally come to terms with the truth of her relationship with the blonde, she knows that there's ways of going around it and the last thing she wants to do is tread on Brittany's toe's by fessing up to everything and not consider the least destructive way they can explain everything.
After all, there's a lot to explain. It's not like Dani hasn't already caught wind of the weird connection between the two, even if she hasn't been hovering over it recently.
"You're not dumb, kiddo," Diego continues and Santana sniffs, wiping the tear away with her sleeve. "You'll find the right way to handle it, you're a good girl."
Diego drops another kiss to the crown of her head and jutting his chin toward the living room. "Let's go eat on the couch," he offers with a smile. "Watch a movie or something."
Needing the distraction, Santana obliges and only takes her drink with her, having suddenly lost her appetite at the thought of the next couple days at school.
Everything's about to change.
/
Hey… How is everything? Hope you're okay xx
Santana's been hovering over the message for ten minutes. She's biting the nail on her thumb nervously, wondering if the text to Brittany is too much because she hasn't sent it yet and it's making her feel all sorts of indecisive. She hasn't heard anything, and she knows there's a lot of family issues to discuss, but the least the blonde could do is update her, or at least let her know she's okay. After all, they did like, mess around in a strangely passionate way and blur the lines of a very questionable friendship to start with, but they're still friends at the foundations and she just wants to hear from Brittany.
Fuck it. She presses the little arrow on the screen and tosses her phone on the bed.
Seconds later, there's a buzz and she trips over the edge of her carpet as she throws herself at the thing. Her fingers scramble at the bed and she types in her lock code and flicks open the notification, eyes wide as she reads it.
Yeah, sorry… Been a weird time. Think it was all a misunderstanding and the press made it worse... See you at school tomorrow? xx
The tightness in her chest loosens, and she rolls on to her back, clutching the cell to her chest. She's so damn relieved it was nothing major, or so it seems, and that hopefully the press paid some pathological liar a few hundred bucks for a load of bullshit stories. That'll teach them to publish without verification. It's one of those things that happens whilst in a while; some bullshit showing up on TMZ, and it seems like this is just one of them.
Okay, awesome. See you tomorrow. Goodnight, Britt xx
Goodnight, San xxx
She lets her head fall back and lets out a long breath, her chest deflating massively. Okay, that's one thing off her chest, one less thing to worry about and now she has a whole new concern as she's going to school tomorrow and seeing Brittany. And Dani.
Who, shit, she hasn't messaged.
Hey babe. Sorry I've been super tired and slept a lot. See you tomorrow? xxxxx
It's pathetic. It's almost so pathetic that it might have been better if Santana had not text her at all, but when she gets an instant reply and skims the screen to see an understanding response that says no problem, babe and love you, it makes the guilt inside her triple, There's something good about Dani. There's something genuinely golden about the girl and it's not fair that Santana's put her through this, because if she's honest, it's been since the beginning.
Brittany waltzed into her life and made everything else pale in comparison. She put colours into Santana's world that she'd never even dreamed of, opened up the curtains to the dark room and illuminated it when Santana was content with Dani in the blackness, not knowing of how bright her life could be if she just peaked behind that damn thing and discovered Brittany.
Because she knew it all along. She knew it when she nearly ran Brittany over in town, the first time she met her. She knew when she watched Brittany walk away down the street, clutching that fucking cat after she'd just risked her own life trying to save it. Santana even knew it when she took a tumble down the bleachers and the blonde caught her, the nice trip, not as nice as those legs serving as a memory that makes her smile every time, because it had just been different. Each meeting had contained something that none of her other ones with anyone else ever had even come close to.
Not even Dani.
Which is painful. It's not easy knowing she's going to have to hurt a girl that's not really done any wrong – bar the whole truth and dare fiasco at that party once – but that doesn't serve as any reason to do what she's going to. Not only because she's going to pluck this out of nowhere as far as Dani's concerned, but also because the cause of it's going to be Brittany, one of Dani's best friends. That's a huge no in girl code, hooking up with the girlfriend's best friend, and it's so cliché, but Santana can't help how her and Brittany have connected. She can't help that they just have this thing between them.
And telling Dani would be the right thing to do. It wouldn't be fair to just continue leading her on, and after what happened the other night, Santana knows she wouldn't be able to put herself through it.
But it really doesn't make it easier.
She sends two heart emojis and a few kisses and puts her phone on the nightstand, trying to forget the life-changing talk she's going to have to have tomorrow.
/
The parking lot is empty when Santana arrives in the morning.
Dani text her early this morning and told her she might be later to first period because she had a dentist appointment, and it was a relief because Santana wasn't sure if she could spend the morning with her like she usually does, sitting around and talking about future dates and relationship shit. It's not something that's in the plans, not something she could force herself to do knowing that they were empty promises.
She doesn't know how she's going to do it at all either. Not whilst in the middle of school or like, at lunch, but she guesses she'll take Dani somewhere to talk to her after school or something.
She swings her back over her shoulder, opting for the one-trap look and trails into school, heading towards the canteen to grab a couple pieces of fruit for the day. Only the kitchen ladies are there, the large woman flashing a smile and offering out a bowl of apples to her. She takes one gladly, pocketing an orange or two for later in the day as well, and begins heading to the library where Quinn usually is this time of morning.
Since the whole tutoring Puck thing came out, they've been studying less together as it seems the jock has taken some of Quinn's teachings on board and passed a few exams. Santana's not sure what the deal there is completely; she knows they're not like dating or anything because the blonde would've told her, but she's seen the looks they share in the hallways and the way Quinn blushes whenever someone mentions his name.
It's kind of revolting but Puck's not been dumpster dunking anyone, or shoving anyone into lockers, and has received a couple scholarship offers from colleges for football, which much to Father Puckerman's disappointment was prioritising over the Air Force plans. They actually make quite a sweet couple, or couple of not-just-friends thing going on – whatever they are – and as long as Quinn keeps smiling the way she is, Santana's content.
However, when she comes across the blonde the library, slumped over three textbooks, a deep scowl covering her face, Santana second guesses her assumption on Quinn being happy, and prays it won't be because of Puck or she'll be going to jail for killing that dick.
"What's wrong with you?" She spits, as delicately as usual and throws her backpack on the tabletop, earning a narrowed glare from her friend.
"Nothing," Quinn hisses, obviously lying. Santana just raises an eyebrow at her. She doesn't have time to pester her friend, nor does she have the will or patience and waits for a continuation. "It's Puckerman."
Anger flares in her arms and her instant reaction is to search the area for the jackass. She's ready to pop some Puckerman balls. "What'd he do now?"
Quinn's face softens a little, the upset now beaming through, and it makes Santana angrier. "I was closing up at the café last night," she begins. "And Puck came to meet me for like… a first date," she admits, the blush that Santana's become accustomed to flaring over pale cheeks. "But Azimio and Karofsky walked by and he like, freaked out on me."
Santana sinks down on to the chair, momentarily forgetting her plan to castrate Puck because of the concern building within her. "That was shitty," she replies, chewing on the inside of her mouth, eying her friend. "Want me to hurt him?"
"He'd tear you apart."
"He was the one with the split lip from the Carmel High kidnapping incident," Santana quips. She's entirely offended and if her friend had seen her that night, she'd think totally different. She was a bad ass.
Hazel eyes narrow. "He punched you in the eye, you had a bruise for like a week."
"It was barely there, bitch," Santana rolls her eyes and leans back in the chair, arms crossing over her chest. "He looked worse than I did."
"That's because you were wearing concealer, bitch."
Quinn's smiling now and Santana chuckles lightly. The blonde is totally overexaggerating. No-one even noticed she had a partially black eye because of the scheme her and the jock conjured up together, and she didn't even wear concealer for like, the first day or so. Just when it went that weird green colour that made her skin tone darken and look she was going to vomit every five minutes. But she'll let her friend have this one. It seems like she needs it.
"Did you call him out on it?"
She decides to return to the conversation. Sometimes Quinn just needs to talk it out, and after their weird bonding, Santana doesn't think the guy is all that bad. Brittany might have been right there.
"I told him not to talk to me and so he hasn't," the blonde replies, dropping her gaze down to the textbooks, her pen twiddling nervously in her fingers. "Which I didn't realise would make me so nervous I'm reading about advanced chemistry, which I don't even do," she groans and slams the boots shut, one by one. "You got math first?"
Santana mentally flicks through her schedule for the day, bobbing her head. "Yeah, let's go."
She swings her backpack over her shoulder once more, her friend following suit after packing away the textbooks and they both begin to walk out the library.
But when they reach the library doors, the unthinkable happens, and Santana's knees quiver at the loud bang that echoes throughout the school halls. It's close – too close – and having lived in Lima heights for a large portion of her life, she knows the sound without doubt.
It's a fucking gun shot, and instinctively, she latches on to Quinn, yanking her away from the doors and in to the first row of bookshelves on the left, backs pressing against the spines of the books. Her heart's beating erratically, fear pulsing through her veins and everything's sort of blurring in front of her. She covers her friends mouth when screams follow the single bang and pleads with her to stay silent with a single look as the students begin running through the halls, doors banging open as they search for a hiding place.
The last thing they need is someone coming in here with a gun, and because Santana has no idea who it could be, she doesn't want to get a confirmation with the person responsible coming in here and emptying a clip on them.
Fucking terrified doesn't even begin to touch on the feeling pounding within Santana's chest, and she leans forward slightly, seeing the library door fly open, a few students falling in and disappearing through the shelves towards the back of the library. She instantly recognises Puck when he follows, slamming the door shut and calling a few of the other people over to carry the large wooden table in the centre of the room, a relieved smile tugging at his lips when he notices Quinn in the room.
The table is fucking massive, and therefore heavy, and Santana tells her friend to wait there as she goes over to help, digging her feet into the ground to put her weight behind the push she gives the table. Puck looks over to her from the other side, silently thanking her as they move it along with a few other kids, and it's propped up against the doors before she knows it. As long as it stays there, and they stay away from the doors, they're mostly safe – bullets do penetrate wood quite easily – but at least the gunman or whoever the fuck is out there can't get in.
But then it strikes her, fear cold and heavy in her chest and brown eyes flick to the clock above the doors, reading 0830.
The same fucking time Brittany usually gets to school.
Santana rips open her bag, digging until she finds her phone and quickly shoots the other blonde a message, asking her where she is because if she's out there, that means Santana's going out there. Dani isn't at school yet, and Quinn is with her. The Glee club had an early morning meeting which means Rachel will be in there with Jake and Mr Schuster, and she weirdly trusts those guys with her friend. After Jake and Kitty broke up, and Jake saw Rachel at that house party, they'd been inseparable – much to Kitty's dismay – and had even began dating exclusively.
Anyway, the reply comes quicker than expected, and it's definitely not the fucking answer she was looking for because the message reads I'm in the girls bathroom, I'm scared, San, and Santana stops fucking breathing.
It's not secure there. The stall locks barely fucking work, let alone the actual door, and it's hardly decent cover with a good three inch gap below the door, and an open section above it. Anyone could look over the top and Santana doesn't even want to consider what would happen if the blonde was found, and she's not going to fucking let it happen because without a second thought, she'd dragging the table away from the door and Puck's grabbing her forearm, his eyes hard as they meet hers.
"The fuck you think you're doing, Lopez?"
Santana bares her teeth. "Brittany's out there," she spits and hauls with all her might until the tables back far enough that she could just about squeeze through the gap.
But Puck's not letting her, tugging harshly on her elbow, her phone dropping from her grasp. "You can't go out there, S," he spits, the nickname unusual from his mouth. "Fucking JIB shot Principal Figgins."
For the second time in under a minute, Santana's heart stops. Fucking Jacob Ben Israel? The Jew with the camera? How the fuck could he do something like this? The kid actually lets the jocks throw him in the dumpsters and reports the daily tally on his YouTube channel, although maybe that was the calm before the storm and now he's shooting up the place. There was always something deeply unsettling about him, and unfortunately, now it's pretty clear what that discomfort due to – the kid's a certified psycho.
"Wasn't he expelled?"
It's not the right thing to question, because it's fucking irrelevant if Jewfro was kicked out of school. Doesn't change the fact this is actually fucking happening.
Puck confirms it anyway but doesn't let go of her arm. "You're not going out there, though."
The realisation that Puck cares about her will hit her later, but right now she shakes her head and searches his eyes because how is he going to prevent her?
"You'd be the first person out the door if Quinn was out there," Santana spits and looks to her blonde friend, crouched on the floor, hazel eyes filled with fear. "But she's here, and Britany's not, so fucking let me go."
Puck clenches his jaw but drops his grip. It seems to be the sweet spot, and she wants to be smug that she knows his kryptonite, but she guesses it's only because she knows her own and they share the feeling of the need to protect the girls.
"Be quick and tap twice on the door when you come back," he says, no longer arguing.
Santana nods sternly, her lips pressing into a straight line as she ducks out the gap into the silent hallway.
/
The only sound is of her sneakers squeaking against the cheap linoleum floor.
There are textbooks and backpacks littered around her, a trail of panic evident as she quietly moves around the school, silently cursing that Brittany's in the girls bathroom which is a good few minutes away. There's a damn toilet opposite Brittany's first period, but she knows if the blonde wakes up later than her alarm, she forgets to pee and has to rush to the closest toilet which is closer to the parking lot than anywhere else.
It's so fucking quiet. She's never seen the place this cold and eery and it's itching at Santana's skull.
Her palms slide along the locker as she steps sideways, making as little noise as possible. Her back is pressed to the cool metal, and she manages to get down several hallways, not coming across a single soul before there's a creak of the door and her feet still, breath hitching in her throat. She sucks it back down, squeezing her eyes shut. This is so not the way she was planning on going. No-one ever really plans how they go, but she's sure this wasn't one of them. She at least wanted to reach 21, legal age and all and not die at the hands of a pre-pubescent turd.
The door stops moving almost instantly, and Santana panics. What if she made a noise? What if Jewfro is sitting behind the fucking door waiting for someone to just pop out into the hallway? It's no fucking good to Brittany if she's on the ground surrounded by a pool of her own blood, tomorrow's next headline next to fucking Figgins.
Fuck.
She waits a good forty seconds before she continues, dropping into a crouch as if that'll make her movements any quieter. She needs to get past this room, but the door just opened, and it wasn't Casper the fucking ghost that opened it and she's praying that if it were Jacob, he would've come out after hearing a noise. There isn't a fucking sound in the school, and hedging her bets that it isn't him, she darts across the partially opened door.
However, it seems luck isn't on her side, because the second she does it the door is swinging open and there are a pair of eyes burning into the back of her head.
"Lezpez?" A voice whispers and Santana frowns, freezing once again. The nickname is usually used by Puck, not so much lately, but there's only a few other people that call her it too and it isn't any of her friends. "It's me, Azimio."
Santana's eyes flit to the ceiling. If there's a God, he can go fuck himself.
"Shut up," she hushes and makes a quick decision to step back and slide into the class where the jock is, quietly closing the door behind her before her attention goes to him. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Azimio, despite being built like a brick shit house and almost the same weight as one, looks genuinely scared, his big eyes glazed over but he forces a too-cool shrug that doesn't pass. "I heard the shot, and everyone ran but I hide in here. You seen anyone else?"
"The library," she replies, knowing if he can get there, he can annoy someone else. "But shut the fuck up when you get in there."
The jock nods and Santana gestures towards the door, one finger coming up to her mouth. "It's Jewfro," she adds, in case the guy comes across him. "You see him, you run, got it?"
She doesn't quite know why she's giving orders like this is a situation she's totally familiar with, but her favourite film is Die Hard and Bruce Willis had some serious stealth game. She's going to do him proud regardless of her actual ability to face a gunman. Azimio nods anyway, not protesting– which is a first, he's as defiant as they come – and she opens the door, wincing at the volume of the creak and pokes her head out, whipping it left to right before telling the guy it's clear and to stay low and quiet.
Although she's clearly done something to upset the high heavens – potentially her and Brittany's motel visit – because Azimio slips on a sheet of paper in the hallway, fumbling and clanging his hand loudly against the locker to catch himself. The sound rings, echoes for what seems like hours down the hallway and Santana's mouth drops open, her eyes darting everywhere when she hears a gasp follow it.
If she gets out of this alive, she's adding that fucker to her to be castrated list.
"Shut the fuck up," Santana hushes, a little louder but she can't help it. She's pissed.
She narrows her eyes, throwing the guy a fuck you and get out of here look that she thinks he registers perfectly, because he's shooting an apologetic smile and moving double time round the corner until he's out of sight. Santana groans, clenching her jaw because hello, she's a sitting duck now, and throws every ounce of energy she has when blonde flashes across her brain. Brittany. She needs to get to Brittany. That's the only reason she's risking her life.
Breathing out through a pursed lip, Santana braces herself and continues her search.
She'd better be known as the school hero after this.
/
Brittany's not in the toilet.
Brittany's not in the fucking toilet and Santana's chest seizes, vision wavers as she peeks under the last stall and comes up empty. This is the worst scenario, because in her panic, she didn't fucking bring her phone because Puck tried to stop her, and now she has no idea where the other girl is and there's still a crazed Jewish gunman on the lose somewhere in the building.
Yeah, sure, it's a huge building, but she's going to take a wild guess and assume the kid has some sort of plan so he won't just be wandering around willy nilly. Not many student shoots do it on a whim, and if he just got excluded for being a total perv, and now Principal Figgins is dead – or at least shot to fuck – she's going to assume that was just the first part of his McKinley High takeover.
Not the mention the complete lack of SWAT teams or even a solo cop storming the place pointing her in that direction. The risk of fatalities amongst hostages must be too high for the authorities to just barge in the place.
Santana takes a moment to breathe, her hands bracing herself on the sink. She makes eye contact with her reflection, seeing the scared little girl staring back at her and she knows she needs to step up here. She wouldn't know what to do with herself if something happened to Brittany. To anyone, bar the Principal, but especially Brittany. Not after everything that's happened, it can't end like that. She didn't fight to get here, just to have it ripped away, so she needs to keep fighting.
She's back in the hallway in a second, returning to her previous lowered stance to reduce noise. If she doesn't continue powering through and searching for the girl, she's going to grasp the reality of the situation she's in and probably panic like she should've been doing already, and that's not going to help anyone, so she puts on her thinking cap and glances left and right, flicking through the layout of the school in her mind.
Where would Brittany be?
The girl's smart. Street smart. Academically, she's actually a fucking genius too, but she's got the other side to her which contributes to the many reasons why she's a rarity. Santana knows that if she's not in the girls toilets, she would've found someone else, and there's this itch at the back of skull that's calling for her to head left. Following that itch, she makes her way down the few hallways until she comes to the one place she didn't mean to: the principal's office.
Her hand flies over her mouth to smother the shocked squeak that comes from her, and she squeezes her eyes shut against the image when she rounds the corner, knowing it's going to the star of her nightmares in nights to come. The vision of Principal Figgins, blood spread around him with a single gunshot to the centre of his chest, isn't something she's ever going to forget. It's so clear, repeating itself on the inside of her eyelids as she tries to blink it away – the depth of the wound, the way his torso had a gigantic hole blasted through the middle of it – and she doesn't know anything about guns, but judging by the damage, she's going to assume it's not a pistol.
It could be a rifle. Or a shotgun. Something heavy, for sure.
She gulps at the thought, tears rushing to her eyes because that's a single shot wipe-out and she lets a droplet escape, wiping it off quickly with the sleeve of her shirt. This isn't something that any teenager should go through, and she's smack bang in the middle of it. What the fuck is she even doing? The stench of blood, and what she can only imagine is burnt flesh invades her nostrils and she gags, the panic beginning to surge through her chest.
But as she fights the urge to sprint as fast as she can back to the library, she registers a sound that could be a sob, and holds her shaky breath, zoning in on it. It's coming from inside the principals office, and she kicks back into action, tip-toeing over the deceased body beneath her carefully, ignoring the way the back of her sneaker slips in the warm, red liquid on the floor and slowly rounds the corner, relief flooding her when she spots a pair of familiar blue eyes staring at her from across the desk in the back room.
It takes a second, but Santana damn near trips over herself as she scrambles into the room, not considering the volume of her movement and rounds the desk as fast as physically possible as she falls to the floor and snatches the person into a tight embrace. The scent of strawberry shampoo replaces the vile odour from before, and Santana can't hold back the sob that wracks through, cool relief washing over her as she sinks into the blonde, not even feeling the pain of how tight she's being hugged or the burns she's going to have on her knees from the carpet slide to the girl.
Because she found her.
She found Brittany and now this shitty day is slightly less shitty.
Santana doesn't think she's ever been this relieved before.
Hands are pushing her back though, and she's confused until they're on her face, grabbing her cheeks and turning as blue eyes scan over her features. Brittany's searching for something, and it dawns on Santana after a few moments of searching the girls face that she's being inspected for any harm, warmth bubbling in her chest at the gesture. There's a gunman on the lose and the girl's making sure she's okay. Could she be any more perfect?
(Santana thinks she could fall in love with this girl.)
"Are you hurt?" Brittany whispers, but there's an urgency in her tone.
Santana can't help the smile that pulls at her lips, and she wraps her fingers around the wrists near her face, voice breathy. "No, are you?"
The blonde shakes her head instantly. She was expecting the question. "No, I came in here because the shooter wouldn't come back after…" Her words trail off, but the place her eyes land finishes the sentence for her. After Figgins was shot.
Jaw clenching, Santana tips their foreheads together and indulges in this moment, momentarily blocking out the body only a few feet away from them. If they don't manage to get out of this situation alive, Santana knows she would've died happy. She found her. She got Brittany and it doesn't matter where Jacob is, because she's going to protect her. There's this deep tugging inside her chest that knows she'd throw herself in front of a bullet for the girl, should the situation arise, and she knows she'll do everything in her power to get Brittany out of here.
Girls like Brittany deserve to live the fullest, happiest lives.
And when she finally opens her eyes to see some staring back at her, she knows without a hesitation that this is right. That Brittany can feel it too, and somehow everything momentarily pales away. All the panic, the fear, the need to find safety just disappears, and Santana can't help what she does, because it feels like this may be their last chance and Santana's thrown away too many of them not to take this one, as it may be a final one.
She surges forward, her mouth crashing against Brittany's but she's surprised when the girl stands strong, her hands gripping at her face like she not only knew she was going to kiss her, but that she wanted too, as well. Affection swirls in Santana's chest, her own hands falling to the blondes hips and she pulls her closer, flicking her tongue against the roof of Brittany's mouth and memorising every shudder the girl makes in reaction. If this is the last thing she ever does, she'll be happy to die.
Brittany's kissing her in a way that seeps into her skin, wraps around her inside and hugs them. In a way that her lips are brushing so softly over Santana's between long, open-mouthed tongue strokes are making Santana's knees weak, and she never wants to stop kissing her. With all of this stinking, hatred in the world, the blonde brings something totally opposite – something a little like love.
But the moment is over too quickly, the sound of a gasp similar to her own a few moments ago echoing through the hall. Santana pulls her lips away but stays impossibly close to the girls face as they both turn their heads, eying the hallway because reality is back and that could be Jacob Ben Israel with a fucking 12 gauge coming for them and they were just fucking making out.
But then the second wave of relief hits her when her eyes all upon Rachel, who has Jake in tow, partially hidden behind her. Rachel's five times paler than usual, with make-up streaming down her cheeks and Santana steps towards her, willing her to be quiet with one look but her friend narrows her eyes and fuck, did she just see them kiss? And is she okay? She's not sure which question to ask first.
"Rachel," Brittany whispers and beckons them forward. "Get in here."
Santana gulps, another type of panic flashing through her chest because as far as Rachel – or anyone – knows, her and Dani are still together and Brittany's still Dani's best friend. Still, Jake and Rachel creep towards them, and they all duck behind the desk in case the shooter comes along. With Berry and her fat mouth, no doubt the kid would see and go trigger happy.
"Where were you guys?" The blonde asks, voice hushed.
Right, yeah, the situation at hand is far more important than Santana's internal monologue about Berry and her big mouth.
Jake frowns, eying Rachel who's most definitely seen the kiss if the burning eyes are anything to go by, because where she looked scared shitless a minute ago, she's now glaring with intent. How the fuck is Santana going to talk her way out of this one?
"We were in Glee club, but most of the kids ran when the shot went off," the jock explains.
Santana guesses that's why they've been spotted together everywhere. Maybe Quinn's magic of turning the toad into a princess actually worked and Berry got her man, and now they sing repulsive duets to each other every Thursday. Maybe the rumours are true and Rachel actually got her boy. She takes a mental note to congratulate her for scoring a fine ass man like Jake. Kid can sing, dance, and gave up his man-whore lifestyle apparently. The guy even cheated on Kitty – despite her complete lack of acceptance from several reliable sources.
(Jake had a thing for Cheerios.)
(Which is why Rachel bagging him is considerably more admirable.)
Santana shakes the thoughts off. Again, not the time. "We need to get to the library, there's a few of us there and we had the door barricaded." It's surreal to be saying what she is. Maybe she'll consider a career in law enforcement when she finishes school – she'd make a great cop. "Anyone seen Jewfro?"
"Jacob?" Rachel squeaks and Santana clicks her tongue at the girl because it's too loud.
"Inside voice, Berry," she spits, eyes searching the small amount of hallway in eye shot. "He's the shooter, so has anyone seen him?"
There's no response. No news is good news, she guesses. Everyone's blank expressions confirm it and she knows it's time to move. They can't just fucking sit here discussing the shock that Jewfro went fucking crazy. There's going to be plenty of time after they get the fuck out of here.
"Okay, good. We gotta move low, quick and quiet, okay?"
The group nod simultaneously and Santana decides to take the lead, moving first to the door in a slow crouch but flinching at the dead body. As a sign of respect, she grabs the lone coat dangling from the coatrack and drapes it over Figgins, silently sending a prayer to his family. He wasn't a good principal – he would've made a better janitor – but he didn't deserve to be killed by some wacko with a gun. He didn't deserve to be lying dead outside his office in this shit hole of a school.
There's a palm on her lower back, calming her immediately and the motion kickstarts Santana's back into the task at hand when she realises it's Brittany. She needs to get everyone to safety. Especially the blonde.
So, she sucks in a deep breath, eyes flittering amongst the group and mouths lets go, ignoring the flutter in her chest when Brittany holds on to her the whole way.
/
Somehow, they make it back to the library.
Santana knocks twice on the barricaded door, as agreed and there's a long few seconds of quiet banging, scrapes against the floor and then the door is opening a slither and Puck's eye is there, widening when they land on the sight of them.
Probably because they're alive.
He rips the door open enough for them to slide in, and a few other people aid him in replacing the barrage of tables and chairs to block the only exit once more.
She collapses heavily against the far bookshelf, fatigue seeping into her bones. She feels fucking exhausted, her chest heaving rapidly, and she knows it's the potent cocktail of fear and adrenaline that's worn her out. Her head falls into her hands, and she takes a moment to calm, steadying her shaking body as the rush wears off and she's only aware of the conversation in the room as the buzz fades from her ears.
There was clearly a conversation happening prior to them getting back, and as her eyes land on the group, she's suddenly aware of the fucking tension on the room, and how there's two jocks about to go all WWE in the middle of the library.
Azimio and Puck are stood together, and the last thing they fucking need is for the guys to be squaring up against each other with a fucking shooter roaming around, yet somehow, they are, and Santana makes a note to remove their testicles with a rusty spoon after all of this. How did it go from them getting back to fucking Fight Club in under three seconds? Or maybe a minute, she got lost for a bit there.
Still, after being a leader type in this situation, she knows it's up to her to handle it and struggles to her feet, approaching the small circle that's now formed. Quinn's got involved and she's all up in Azimio's face, telling him to back off and Puck's trying to hold her back but it's not working.
It only manages to piss Santana off. They're in a terrifying situation and they're going to fucking argue? The anger propels her towards them faster and the cool, level-headed approach she was planning on taking flies out the window when she hears the next few words, her feet slowing to a stop as she processes them coming from Azimio's mouth.
"Why you protecting the bitch when she was only a dare in the first place?"
Because Quinn's face drops, all fight draining from her body and the words fly through the air, stilling everyone in the library. Santana always knew there was a fucking reason. She always knew there was some sick reasoning behind Puck randomly approaching her friend and asking to tutor her and this is the only time she's ever never wanted to feel smug for being right. As expected, Puck's living up to his poor reputation and fulfilling expectation of hurting people again.
So much for not wanting to be that guy anymore.
Quinn shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes filling with tears and Puck's mouth pops open and closed like he's trying to find words to make this situation better, and Santana's now pissed off for a whole other reason but there's nothing that can take back the truth in Azimio's words. It triples the anger inside and she's flying across the room at him, shoving him roughly with hands against his chest and he stumbles backwards, his face filling with guilt and regret, but she won't be fooled again. She won't let him convince her different this time and she swears that if Jewfro doesn't get his hands on him, she'll kill Puck herself.
She reels back her wrist, ready to launch at the jock but then there's a pair of arms winding around her waist and she's fighting but the grip is too strong. Lips are at her ear and Brittany's whispering her to calm down, catching the action before it happens, and Santana hates the way the girl can read her. It's not fair, especially if she can't return such a favour.
"Not the time," the blonde hushes and Santana's temporarily distracted by the breath covering the side of her face. "You can get him later, but right now we need to be quiet, and we need to look after Quinn."
The satisfaction of knowing even Brittany's on her side with knocking Puck the fuck out makes her anger sizzles out, and she acknowledges the request with a single nod, the blonde trusting her not to fire off again. Which, usually Santana would do it anyway, but something about the confidence Brittany holds for her makes her obey and she snarls at Puck, telling him they're not finished before she's heading off into the corner to Quinn who's burying her face into Rachel's hideous sweater to conceal the hysterical sobs.
/
"Have some water," Brittany uncaps the bottle and hands it over.
Santana, leaning against the bookshelf once again, hasn't taken her eyes off Puck for a solid fifteen minutes. Prior to today, she would've felt some empathy towards the jock, because it looks like someone just burned his house down and stole his car. He looks absolutely gutted, sitting alone over the other side by the barricaded door, but now Santana knows that he had a plan to somehow screw with Brittany and Quinn, and her in turn, all she can think about is reaching down his throat and yanking his balls out from in the inside.
Quinn's still sobbing into Rachel beside her, and it's a constant reminder that todays changed for so many reasons. Everything is just so fucking overwhelming, and she's not sure how the argument ensued and why Azimio felt the need to announce something like that in the middle of a school shooting, but it's fucking happened and further fucked everything up.
Like Jacob Ben Israel wasn't doing that already.
She takes a long sip, swirling it around her mouth before swallowing. She didn't realise how dry her mouth was.
"Thank you," she follows and rolls her head to the side. She can't stare at Puck any longer. He hasn't met her stare in a few minutes, and it's only winding her up more. In a completely over-emotional situation anyway, she needs to not add to it. Nothing like losing her shit again and making more noise to alert the shooter. It's lucky it didn't do it the first time.
Brittany's biting her bottom lip in a way she does when she's nervous. Her thumbs are flicking at each other, and she's been tapping her foot lightly against the floor for the past thirty seconds. Santana exhales, eyes falling to the hand she's reaching out to still the movement, earning blue eyes flicking to her.
It's a stupid question, but she means apart from the fucked-up situation they're in. "You okay?"
"No," the blonde replies, honestly. "But it's gonna be fine."
Santana doesn't know if she's convincing her or convincing herself. "It will be," she whispers, and she turns to look at Quinn and Rachel.
Rachel's staring at her though, through narrowed eyes and her hand on Brittany's foot suddenly feels too hot. She moves it away quickly, hoping Brittany doesn't take offense but it seems she's noticed the glare, because the blonde is sucking in both her lips and looking all sorts of guilty. They don't need to verbalise, because Brittany must have seen Rachel see them if the glare is anything to go by, and it's just a whole bunch of shit they've got to deal with when they get out of here.
"Think she'll tell Dani?"
Santana shakes her head, knowing the other girl enough to know Rachel wouldn't. She's not a bitch like that – she wouldn't have anything to gain for herself. There's a lot of things that girl would do – including sending the poor new rival for lead in Glee to a crack house just to make sure she wouldn't even join Glee club – but hurting someone on purpose by being a loud mouth isn't her style.
"No," Santana gulps. "But she's going to give me hell for it."
Brittany's smile faulters. "I'm sorry."
If it wasn't for the eyes burning into Santana's head, she'd pull the girls hand up and kiss the back of it to reassure that she's not sorry and Brittany doesn't need to be, because it's going to be worth it. She knew even before this situation, but something about a life-and-death scenario gives some additional clarity to everything in the world like how irrelevant this will seem when they're living their truth and just being together, and that maybe Dani will be accepting because she'd already been suspicious of it.
Or Santana's trying to convince herself that'll be the outcome to stay even the slightest bit positive.
It's probably that.
Brittany seems to see it, smiling knowingly and taking back the bottle of water.
They'll get through this. Santana's sure of it.
/
It's a little while later, and a few of them piled up the tables left over to reach the small windows that sit just below the ceiling.
Police surround the school, a red barricade covering most of the parking lot and Santana wonders why they haven't sent in a SWAT team as it's only one fucking kid, but she supposes there's too many hostages to risk someone else getting hurt still. She winces at the thought, but she's glad it's not one of her school friends that's bitten the bullet. She's such an asshole.
Puck still hasn't moved, but Azimio was surprisingly helpful with the balancing of all the furniture – which didn't quell the need to pummel his face in for blurting out something he must've known would hurt Quinn – and she managed to scan the area and get a minor update. Quinn's stopped sobbing as much, instead fuelling the hurt into a glare that replaced the one Santana was giving the jock, and Puck's avoided her eyes too. Probably why he hasn't moved, that bitch can glare the inability to move into anyone.
Brittany's hovering below her, arms stretched like she's ready to catch Santana who's wobbling slightly, but she manages climb down enough to jump into the other girls arms and pretending like she totally didn't swoon over the movement as she's lowered to the ground. Brittany smirks a little, knowing it made her do the same and it's another moment to add to Santana's favourites so far.
Rachel coughs loudly, and it's with the purpose to break apart their bubble and Santana would kick her if she didn't have a point. "What's going on?"
"Police are here," Santana replies and folds her arms over her chest. "They're not in but I guess that's right."
"Right?" Azimio interrupts loudly, spinning around with an incredulous expression. "Damn cops should be shooting up the place, it's only Jewfro."
"He could have a hostage," Rachel's face twists with discomfort at the words. "We don't know what's going on."
"He got Figgins, what else he want?" The large jock retorts and everyone winces in unison when he breaks out in laughter.
Santana wants to punch him for the second time today. Double the usual. "Shut the fuck up," she hisses and steps between him and Rachel.
Not only is he successfully pissing everyone off, but he's being really fucking loud and no-one knows what's going on outside those barricaded doors. Jacob could be fucking standing behind them for all she knows, waiting to hear just a smidgen of sound before unloading his gun into the entrance.
"Just shut the fuck up, douchebag Baymax. Everyone is fucking scared and you're not making it any fucking better."
Azimio's eyebrows shoot up and he raises his hands defensively. Good thing, too; Santana's glaring at him like she could explode lasers out her eyes and cut his head clean off, and as much she'd like to release the burning wrath in her chest, it's not the appropriate time and it would only make everything worse. A hand wraps around her shaking fist, and it seems Quinn sees the thought process before it can completely, the motion making her stop in her track. The girl was crying her eyes out a second ago, now she's sliding between Santana and Azimio.
"Sit down," the blonde says, towering over the jock despite the fact she's shorter, and her eyes are hard and hurt but entirely terrifying. Santana's face drops with shock, but she knows the girl has a psycho inside her, she's just not used to seeing it. Quinn's teeth grind together, her eyes flitting around the room. "Sit the fuck down, and stop making noise because if–"
A sound interrupts her words and drops like a bomb in the library.
It's not something Santana wanted to hear again, and just like before, she snatches her friend and drops to the floor, eyes searching for Brittany behind her who's already pressed to the linoleum, her eyes wide and scared as the gunshot comes to an end. A fucking pin could drop, and it'd sound like a church bell in the countryside, and the knowledge that there's just been a second shot – fucking closer – than the first, rings through her, ricocheting against her ribcage and releasing adrenaline inside her body.
Because fuck, they've been found.
She scrambles across the floor, moving as quickly and quietly as possible because the sound of a gun cocking follows and she knows there's going to be a third, and it all happens too fast. One second, she's lurching for Brittany then the next there's wood splinters darting across the room as another shot is fired, but this time through the fucking barricaded door and Quinn's jerking out of Santana's grip backwards to avoid them.
Everyone screams this time, the silence swiftly disappearing, and Santana collides with the floor, skidding slightly and creating a small burn on her elbow she ignores but her eyes are trained on Quinn who's falling away from her, her foot catching on the rug covering the floor. The movement happens in slow motion, because at the very same time, there's another shot, this time, flying through the wood and a few of the pieces of furniture begin tumbling away from the door, effectively removing the blockage.
And it hits Santana that Jacob is about to break through the wood. Without another thought, she's finding Brittany as quickly as possible, cowering against the bookshelf and pressing her back over her, covering the girls body. Just like she promised, she would take a bullet for the girl, and if there's a fifth shot, the gunman is going to burst through the door and open fire and then they're all fucked.
Brittany will get out of this alive.
True to suspicion, there's a cocking of a gun and then the fifth shot is fired, blasting through the remains of the blockage and then Jacob's kicking his way through the door, one shot still loaded in his smoking shotgun.
Santana's not glad she guessed the type of gun.
"Found you," Jacob cackles in a way that only Disney villains do, and Santana fills her lungs and holds her breath, awaiting the next shot because she can see it in his eyes. They're twinkling with insanity, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and manic, and it's something that'll join the image of Figgins in her nightmares that will undoubtedly come as he licks his lips and eyes the entire room.
But then Puck's tackling the gunman, using his football training to floor the guy and Santana doesn't know when she got up, but the next thing she's aware of she's sprinting in a way that makes her lungs burn instantly and taking advantage of the jock and the shooter on the floor, diving for the gun that slides across linoleum. It's too late though, because somewhere in her journey, Jacob elbowed Puck in the face, and pulled a pistol out from the back of his jeans, his boot pressing against the shotgun, pinning it to the floor as her hand scrambles for it.
Fuck.
Santana should've expected another gun.
He brought two of them with him at least – there could be explosives somewhere too as this was most likely a fucking planned school shooting – and that would explain why the police haven't rescued the day yet. She closes her eyes, knowing she should've seen that coming, especially because Jacob's now pointing the back of the gun into her hair, sliding the shotgun away from her.
"Santana Lopez," Jacob drawls, but it's not that scary because he still sounds like a fucking nerd.
Santana laughs mirthlessly and puts her hands behind her head, showing she didn't manage to grab the gun. Only a second longer, she would've had it.
"What do you want, Jewfro?" Probably not the best idea to insult him, but the name rolls of her tongue and she moves to her knees, knowing she has to face him. "What's do you want from this? What's the fucking point?"
Jacob's hand is shaking where he's holding the pistol in her face. She won't lie, she's fucking shitting it right now as her eyes stare down the barrel that's merely inches away from her, but she can't show fear because he's so obviously unstable and nervous, that he could fire if she mirrors his emotions. She holds his eyes strong, clenching her jaw against the question she's just asked.
"All of you people," the shooter gets out, tears falling from his eyes but they're not from sadness, they're from anger and frustration. In any other situation, Santana would feel sorry for him, but he's holding a fucking pistol to her head and it removes all empathy from inside. "Do what you want and don't get any punishment for it." He sucks in a shaky breath. "I post a video and my education and prospects get taken away from me. It's not fair."
"Not fair?" Santana can't help but spit at him, squinting her eyes like it'll make her see his explanation clearer. "You filmed girls without their consent, you fucking perv," she continues, and Jacob's eyes harden further, his hand tightening on the grip of his gun. It doesn't scare her though; all this anger is now bubbling inside of her and it's so fucking stupid that that's the reason for killing Figgins and possible fatalities that may occur in the next few moments, that she actually finds it amusing. "You got what was coming to you."
It doesn't sit well. Of course, it doesn't sit well because the next thing she feels is the butt of Jacob's gun coming down hard on her head, and she's losing her breath as pain surges down her neck and spine. She recoils, falling to the floor instantly and mentally notes to be grateful he didn't just shoot her instead, but fuck, the guy just went all King Kong on her with a fucking gun and now her eyes are going blurry.
"Stop it!" Someone screams, and then there's a body next to her as Santana rolls on to her back, choking against the pounding in her skull. "Just fucking stop it Jacob!"
It's Quinn, and Santana manages to lift her head to see Rachel clutching at Brittany who's pushing at the girl to get away from her. Another mental note to thank Rachel for doing it. She can't exactly protect Brittany whilst she's half-conscious on the floor and she's doing a fucking good job at restraining the girl. Brittany's got strength from years of Cheerio training but Rachel did ju-jitsu as a kid and well, girl's got strength too clearly.
"Get out the way," Jacob's voice follows, and hands are grabbing at Santana's arms, a body shielding her own. "You don't need to do this."
"I don't want to do this," he spits, and brown eyes fall back to the guy, blinking slowly as Santana adjusts to the throbbing in her head and noting the blood trickling down from her eyebrow – he must have burst it open with the hit. She can't see properly still, but she can see the outline of him and how he's pointing his pistol back down and she blindly wipes the blood away, eying the rest of the students surrounding her who are just fucking frozen in fear.
And there's more than enough people in this room to take the guy out. Azimio is here somewhere, Jake too, and they're both on the football team. They take other, bigger guys down for fucking fun and Santana doesn't quite know why no-one is intervening. Puck was the only person to, and he's clutching at his probably broken nose, blood pouring from his cupped hands.
"I don't want to kill you people but you people made me do it," Jacob continues and his finger is tightening on the trigger. "All your taunting, and humiliation… It made me do this."
He's wrong, but he's not in the right mindset to argue and Santana squeezes her eyes shut again, ignoring the pain surging through her face and breathes in for what might be the final time, but then Quinn's standing up beside her and putting some distance between the two. She manages to look up at her friend, the words Quinn stop pouring from her lips but they're slurred and she knows she's got a fucking concussion from the blow because there's two of her friend and she's in need of some fucking morphine.
"And I'm sorry for that," the blonde replies, her hands coming up in front of her like she's offering out the apology. "But that doesn't mean you can kill people for it. You can't take back what you've done, but you can stop now," she breathes, and Santana can make out the concern on her face. If anyone can talk Jacob down, it would be Quinn. She's got the right mix of bitch and serious. "You don't need to do this."
Jacob stills, and it seems like he's taking in the information because for a solid twenty seconds, he doesn't look like he's going to do anything. Quinn lowers her hands, outstretched in front of her, and begins to nod her head, her eyes trained on the gun. The realisation that she's going to try and grab it flashes through Santana's mind, her mouth dropping open because no, Jacob will end up shooting someone and with the gun pointed in the direction it is, its either one of them, but it's too late.
Quinn's hand touches Jacob's, wrapped around the gun and she shouldn't have done it, because it's being electrocuted and the Jewish guy jerks from the touch, the gun flailing around as he snaps out of the frozen state he was in and then it's pointed at Quinn.
And Santana doesn't even get to protest as he lets off one more shot.
All she can do is stare.
/
Everything moves so slowly when the sixth shot goes off.
Santana's eyes are wide and scared, watching as Quinn's mouth drops open, realising she's about to get shot. Brittany's stopped struggling out of Rachel's grip, both girls watching the Jewish guy as he fires once again. Jake and Azimio are fucking cowering in the corner – real manly of them, especially for Azimio as he's usually so aggressive but she guesses that's just a front – and everyone else gasps simultaneously, but unusually, Santana's mind doesn't focus on the end, just the past friendship between her and the girl.
She thinks about her and Quinn, playing in the Fabray back yard in the massive play castle that was there during their summers when they were eight years old. They spent hours and hours pretending to be a princess and a prince and making pretend tea for their invisible guests. She remembers meeting Rachel with the girl and incorporating her so they were this weird little trio. She remembers the look on Quinn's face when she found out her dad had cheated on her mom when she was a young teenager, and how she spent the following three weeks calling her every night and waiting until she'd stopped crying to hang up the phone.
And somehow, all the memories surging through her, clear her brain. There's nothing but the sound of the spiralling bullet flying through the air and she forces her legs to shift, eyes trained on Jacob, and then she's moving into a broken stand. She stumbles the first step, the head injury still affecting her stability and it's only then, when her hand clutches the back of the chair that she registers the body coming towards her and the air whooshing past her shoulder, the body colliding heavily with Quinn as the bullet disappears into a letterman jacket.
Puck.
For what feels like the thousandth time that night, Santana's mouth drops open and she bolts into action, tearing her gaze away from the way Puck's draped over Quinn, blood seeping through the back of his jacket and later, she'll realise that Puck just threw himself in front of a bullet for Quinn. Later, she'll thank him and everything will be okay, but right now, the only thing going through her mind is taking Jacob down, and with that, she darts towards the kid, using her full force to ram her shoulder into his gut, ripping the breath straight from her chest and his – she hopes.
Jacob slams into the floor, but as he does another gunshot goes off as the gun flies from his hand and Santana flinches after a second, her entire body thrown off to the side as the stray bullet pierces through her shoulder.
Pain pulses through her, and she hadn't even really considered how much it would hurt to get fucking shot, but this is way more than she could ever anticipate and her opposite hand flies up to wound, cupping the blood as it pours out from the hole. Her skin is hot, and there's warm liquid fucking everywhere, and she presses the back of her head into the linoleum floor as she looks to the ceiling, unable to breathe properly as the agony tears through her.
Somewhere in the distance, she hears her name being called, but there's a low sound of blood rushing through her ears that renders her unable to identify who it is, but the fleeting thought makes her believe it's Brittany.
Brittany.
Who's still here, with Jacob, and she has no idea where he is now. The last thing she managed to register was him falling backwards from her tackle, and she puts every ounce of energy she has left into her body into finding him, clenching her teeth together at the ache that's pinching at her, and drags herself into a half-seated position against the table that was once blocking the door, but doesn't need to find him, instead she finds the discarded pistol right beside her.
It's just lying there, barely a couple inches away from her and she knows what she has to do.
And she's never fired a gun.
Maybe a pellet gun at like, a carnival or something, but never a real-life gun, and she reaches for it, grasping it like she knows what she's doing and points it towards Jacob, who's scrambling backwards on his ass, eyes wide and terrified. Good. The tables have turned, and despite the need to pass out from the pain passing through her, Santana knows she needs to end this and fires a single bullet, watching as it strikes Jacob in the chest and his limp body falls heavily on to the floor behind him.
It's the last thing she remembers before blackness takes over.
/