Hey reader :) I hope you like this fic, it's a rewrite of my first fic (Bash, but everything goes too far) because it reached a dead end since I didn't plan it and wanted to change things halfway through. I'm not gonna lie, I'm not completely happy with the fic but I can assure you it's 10x better than anything you can find on Wattpad. Also I think there's probably plot holes and errors, I'm not the best proof reader and I'm lazy (I say after rewriter a fic) but we've all seen glee so nothing we're not used to.

Go check out J W Melmoth's fics, I got stole a massive idea from their fic "Aftermath" so massive thanks to them.

Triggers for this story: violence, murder, hospitals, mention of abuse

Also this chapter is very similar to my other fic, I promise I change things up a bit more a fter this

They sat there speechless and irritated.

"I don't know why we bother," Santana said once Rachel was out of earshot.

"I just don't understand why she would drop out over one role," Kurt replied, "She's going to regret it." Santana and Kurt had become quite close whilst Rachel was busy with work, school, and her Funny Girl rehearsals, they were also beginning to regain a shared hatred for her, feeling as if they were 15 again. "Let's go," Kurt suggested, "I'm not hungry anymore." Santana agreed grabbing her things and paying for the drinks.

"Rachel's paying me back for these," she snapped, "Tasted shit for the price." The bartender glanced over, appalled by her remark. Kurt looked down to hide his smirk; as much as he hated to admit it, he admired Santana's humorous confidence.

Leaving the restaurant, Santana instantly began complaining about the cold. "Take my coat," Kurt said taking it off and handing it to her. Looking at him in disgust, she took it anyway.

"It's probably a girl's coat anyway," she commented.

"It's actually-"

"Didn't ask," Santana cut him off.

As they were walking down the street, loud shouts caught their attention. "The fuck is that?" Santana asked, although Kurt didn't answer, looking around panicking. They walked faster down the street, the calls only getting louder until they reached an alley. Standing at the entrance, they saw a large man, at least 6 foot beating a much smaller guy who was just yelling helplessly. Santana looked over at Kurt who just stood there, almost frozen. To her surprise Kurt began to run over shouting, his voice much deeper than usual. Santana just stood there, knowing what to do, she had always given people the impression she was tough and could fight anyone but deep down she knew she was petrified. She wanted to help, she really did, but there was part of her which was just holding her back. All she could do was watch as Kurt tried to defend the boy from this beast who was shouting homophobic slurs towards them.

The boy ran off, all the attention on Kurt who had lost the battle and was on the cold concrete, no longer able to fight back. Santana forced herself to run over as the bastard reached for a brick. Kurt was motionless and completely unconscious beneath the guy. Her heart racing, Santana ripped the brick out his hands and threw it towards him. Her eyes widened as he fell to the ground, however he picked himself up, a bit taken back, unsure what to do. He couldn't hit girl, he thought. About to take another fist towards Kurt, Santana pulled out a knife, impaling it into his throat. Breathing heavily, she stood back, both horrified and amazed by what she had done. Thankfully, it was freezing out and quite late, so it was very quiet for New York. No one witnessed a thing.

10 minutes passed and Santana had spent them her head in her hands sat against the wall. Blood seemed to be everywhere, including herself.

"Uhhh, fuck," she heard Kurt moan regaining consciousness. He'd been shoved into lockers many times junior year, but that pain was nothing compared to this. His head aching and throbbing, he sat himself up against the opposite wall to his friend. His vision still slightly blurred he widened his eyes at the sight before him. Looking down he noticed his bloody jumper and stained hands.

"What the fuck happened?" he attempted to yell, his voice weak, "Is he dead?".

"I couldn't help myself," Santana replied quietly.

"What are we going to do, you have just murdered someone on the streets of New York. We are covered in blood; we can't catch the subway looking like this. I can barely move for god's sake!"

"I have it figured out," she replied a little too calmly for Kurt's liking. "Knowing you, you are wearing something underneath that jumper," Kurt nodded, "You take it off and go to the dollar store on the high street round the corner, they are open 24 hours. I have plenty of make-up wipes in my bag."

"As well as a knife!" Kurt interrupted still shook to his core Santana was carrying one in the first place.

"As well as a knife," she repeated casually, "I'll help you wipe the blood off you with the wipes. You can go into the store buy us some clothes. Anyone asks, the women's clothes are for your girlfriend, although I wouldn't be surprised if they just thought they were for you. Bring them back here and we'll change, putting our bloody clothes in the shopping bag. We'll go home as normal and you can hide the clothes in your room, we both know how nosy Berry is. Got it?"

Kurt sighed, sceptical of the plan. "Okay," he said, "Help me up." Santana grabbed his hand lifting him to his feet. Getting his phone out his pocket, Kurt took a first look at himself in the reflection. "My face," he said looking at Santana, "I can't go around looking like this, I look too suspicious."

"You would look like that whether I had just killed someone or not, just make something up. Maybe Blaine is secretly abusing you?" Blaine. What on earth was Kurt going to tell him. He decided not to think about it and just got ready to go, reluctantly taking his blood-stained jumper off. Santana wiped him down, inspecting him making sure there was no blood showing. He took a deep breath and Santana patted him on the back.

"You can do this," she said optimistically as Kurt walked out the alley, looking back every few seconds unsurely. As soon as he could no longer see her, she collapsed down in tears. Her life was over she told herself, they live in New York for fucks sake, someone is bound to find the body and trace it back to her. She began breathing heavily trying to pull herself together, Kurt couldn't see her like this. She closed her eyes, but she only had two visions: her murder, her crime repeating over and Brittany finding out she can't spend the rest of her life with Santana. Conflicted on her future, she rose to her feet and began wiping herself down, trying to remove every reminder of what she had done off her body. Minutes later, Kurt returned with a bag full of clothes.

"You didn't tell me my trousers were covered in blood," he snapped, "I didn't notice in the dark, but it looked clear as day in the store."

"That's just your period," Santana replied softly with a grin, "Some girls get it later than others, it's completely normal and nothing to worry about." Kurt shot her a dirty look as he put the bag down, presenting Santana with her outfit. Quickly, she whipped off her clothes, her only privacy being the walls of the alley. Kurt, who was shocked at how willingly Santana took her clothes off in public, followed, rather pleased with his outfit considering how cheap it was.

"Let's go," Santana said in a hurry, picking their things off the floor.

"Do I look okay," Kurt asked, "Like am I completely clean?"

"Yeah," she replied, "Am I good too?". Kurt nodded as they walked out the alley, the streets thankfully still bare. "Tell Blaine you got into a fight and that I helped you defend yourself." It was a long shot, but Kurt had no other option, his face now quite swollen.

"And if you get caught, I'll defend you," Kurt reassured her, putting his arm round her.