"Oh my god, oh my god, no, no, no," Kurt was gasping from the corner, eyes wide and unblinking, even as tears streamed down his cheeks. He rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands tightly gripping his elbows in a self-embrace as he sobbed aloud, seemingly unable to look away. "No, no, no…"
"Oh my god, help him, somebody help him, SOMEONE HELP HIM!" Rachel was screeching over Puck's yells, but she herself made no move to do so, standing as though frozen near the doorway, both hands pressed hard over her mouth as though she were trying to force back nausea rising in her throat. She was crying too, her eyes every bit as large as Kurt's in her face, and she said again helplessly, "Someone help him, please, please…"
Quinn had already disappeared into the bathroom, almost as soon as she saw what was happening, but no one knew what she was doing, as she had not informed them. She could have been locking herself alone inside, or maybe she was looking for a way to escape. Meanwhile, as Brittany continued to bite Puck, slow, deliberate, and repeated, all over his neck and throat, Santana, almost as stunned as the others, pulled at her shoulders with all her strength, nevertheless finding it completely ineffective to pull her off.
"Brittany…Brittany, no, stop…Brittany! Oh god no, stop, stop, stop…"
Brittany didn't turn to bite her, didn't even look at her, and of course, she didn't speak. Instead she flung one arm out, catching Santana directly in the solar plexus, and shoved her back with considerable strength, sending Santana crumpling into a heap several feet away from her. As Santana's face drained of color and she struggled to regain breath, attempting with great clumsiness to crawl back towards her, and Puck's screaming began to die down into wet, gurgling gasps from his torn throat, his body twitching in terrible jerking spasms as he began to lose muscular control, Quinn emerged from the bathroom, with what looked like the metal toilet paper holder, ripped directly off the bathroom wall, in her hands. Her face nearly as pale as Kurt's and Rachel's, but her chin lifted, her lips pressed into a firm line, she dove towards Brittany and swung the object in her hand with all her strength towards Brittany's head.
As the toilet paper holder hit its mark, connecting with Brittany's skull with a sickeningly loud cracking noise, Brittany's hold of Puck loosened, and she either pulled back or fell away from Puck's inert form, a low, growling noise emerging from deep within her throat. The back of her head appeared to be cut from the sharp edge of the holder's base, blood beginning to seep from her skull and showing up clearly in her blonde hair, but she didn't move a hand to touch it or acknowledge in any way that she was hurt. Although she was moving more slowly than she had been before, her movements slightly unsteady, she nevertheless did not stop, starting to move towards Quinn, even as Quinn, backing up a few steps, eyes narrowed and intense, swung out at her again.
Behind them all Puck gasped out one final, choking breath, and then drew in no more. His twitching limbs stilled, and although his eyes were still open, he didn't blink, and this gaze began to take on a distinctly lifeless sheen. Only Kurt noticed from his corner, and his sobbing began to increase in intensity and volume. Her back to the doorway where the infected people outside still continued to push and pull at it determinedly, Rachel took in everything happening around her with nearly shellshocked expression, her eyes huge and barely blinking, hands still pressed tightly over her mouth as small whimpering gasps emerged.
"No, no, no," she cried, "stop her, someone, please…"
It was unclear whether she was talking to Quinn, telling her not to hurt Brittany, or to Brittany, to tell her not to hurt Quinn. Neither girl was listening to her, regardless. Brittany, still moving slowly but determinedly, single-minded in focus, snatched out at Quinn, gradually backing her towards the wall near the vending machine, and Quinn, breathing audibly, swung her holder out at her again, catching Brittany this time in the side of the ear.
"STOP IT, QUINN! STOP IT, DON'T HURT HER!" Santana nearly shrieked, and she managed then to get to her feet, throwing herself towards Quinn and managing to overbalance her to the floor. As Quinn dropped the toilet paper holder on impact of hitting the ground, Santana wrapped her arms around her, half straddling her as she fought to keep her from getting up, hitting herself or Brittany, or being able to reach the holder again.
Quinn struggled beneath her, trying to hit or elbow or push out at her to detach her from her, but although Santana was of a smaller frame than she was, she was also much more passionately invested in the situation, her emotions giving her a strength that she normally didn't have and that was challenging to Quinn to surpass. As Quinn yelled for her to stop, to get up and let her go, Brittany, meanwhile, appeared to have shifted her focus. Her head turned from the grappling girls before her towards the corner, where Kurt remained curled within himself, eyes now tightly shut, head lowered towards his knees as he hugged them tightly to his chest, rocking slightly back and forth. Eyes still fixated on Kurt, she began to move towards him slowly, one foot in front of the other, almost as though she were preparing to walk a balance beam.
Seeing this, another high-pitched whimper escapes Rachel, and without seeming to think twice about it, she turns abruptly on her heels and begins to move aside the chairs and table that had been blocking the doorway out into the hallway of the school, intent on escape. She seemed not to remember in that brief moment of panic that there were others like Brittany outside, that there were likely more of them, that there was no way to know whether or not they were armed or would be faster or more efficient at kills than Brittany currently was. Or maybe she was thinking very clearly indeed; maybe she had made a calculated decision that she would have a chance, at least, to outrun others, whereas trapped in one room, she would not. Perhaps it had crossed her thoughts that if she were to die, she would rather it be at the hands of a stranger than of someone who had once been her friend. Whatever she was thinking, whatever her intentions, Rachel turned, opened the door, and slammed it shut behind herself, leaving the other four still within the room.
By the time Santana and Quinn, still struggling with each other on the ground, realized that Rachel had gone, and had started to pull apart from each other, hurriedly getting to their feet as they intended to split forces- one going after Rachel, the other moving to help protect Kurt, to stop Brittany- it was already too late. They could hear the sounds of Rachel's screams outside the doorway, of Kurt's breathless pleas and broken sobbing against the wall, and Santana didn't bother to so much as open the door to look down the hallway to what was happening to Rachel. She knew; she didn't have to see. All she could do then was to re-stack the chairs and table back in front of the door as rapidly as possible before turning to see what was happening with the others, even as Quinn's shouts arose again, as Kurt's screams pierced her ears.
Some time when the other girls had been distracted, Brittany had managed to find and take hold of a kitchen knife, either having taken it from one of the drawers by the sinks and cabinets, or else someone had carelessly and foolishly left it out for her to see. It was with this knife now that she held Kurt captive, and even as Quinn grabbed up the dropped toilet paper holder and hit her between the shoulder blades, then in the back of the head, screaming out her name, Brittany didn't drop the knife, or even turn to face her. Instead, she plunged the knife directly into Kurt's throat, burying it to its hilt.
Kurt didn't scream; it was possible he was not able to. He made no movement, either towards Brittany or towards himself. Instead, as Brittany pulled the knife from him, beginning to stab him with imprecise thrusts in his stomach, his chest, even his cheek, he closed his eyes tightly, making no effort to fight her off. And when Brittany turned at last, responding to Santana's screaming her name, or perhaps just to Quinn repeatedly trying, around Santana's efforts to restrain her, to keep hitting her with the metal holder, she still showed little signs of feeling the pain of Quinn's blows, even as blood continued to slowly trickle down the wound at the back of her head. In fact, when Quinn hit her again, Brittany reacted faster than either had expected.
Her hand snatching out, she seized hold of the holder and managed to rip it out of Quinn's grasp. With one harsh swing she struck Quinn upside the head with it, sending the girl staggering back against Santana and almost knocking her over to the ground. Holder in one hand, knife in the other, Brittany stepped forward, hitting Quinn again until the smaller girl did fall to the ground. She hit her again, then again, until Quinn was bleeding from the mouth, until she was spitting out blood and teeth, until Santana had attached herself to Brittany's back and was pulling at her arms and shoulders, screaming, sobbing, struggling to get her back from her. And then, for a few moments, Brittany appeared to listen.
She dropped the holder beside Quinn, looking down at the girl's gasping form impassively, and as Santana gulped and wept audibly behind her, draped over her almost in an embrace, Brittany didn't acknowledge her. And then, with one decisive movement, her knife flicked across Quinn's throat, cutting deep.
There were no last words from Quinn, only that terrible flash of understanding of her fate that crossed her eyes just before all thoughts and livelihood left them entirely. There was nothing, nothing but Santana's shuddering sobs against Brittany's back, her heavy tears dampening the girl's shoulder blade as she kept her arms locked tightly around her, refusing to let her go.
Brittany didn't move for some time, didn't react to the weight against her back, to the last living presence so near her. And when she finally shrugged Santana off of her, it was almost gently, as though even in her current state, she could somehow sense that this person, this circumstance was different than the ones before. As Brittany slowly stood, Santana stood with her, her legs shaking, tears still streaking so heavily down her cheeks that her vision blurred, and she could barely make out Brittany's features at all. Nevertheless she stood, facing her, seeing Brittany's chest rise and fall evenly, seeing the blood streaking her lips and chin and arms, and even then, she loved her; even then, she knew more than she knew any other truth left in the world that she always would. Even then.
"I won't do it," she whispered, her voice cracking badly, as more tears spilled over. "I won't hurt you, Brittany…I can't."
She watched as Brittany's even breathing slowly began to stagger, as the girl blinked, as a sheen of what looked to Santana like reflecting tears came into her gaze. Brittany did not speak, did not step towards her, did not offer any sort of apology or regret; she could not have done so, but still, there was that trace of what Santana took to be tears, and it was enough for her to hope and dream and wish upon with all her might.
Brittany was in there, she was sure of it. Somewhere, somehow, some piece of Brittany was still in there, and it was this that she responded to, for this that Santana stepped forward, taking Brittany into her arms.
Within the ever familiar, always comforting presence of her best friend and ex-girlfriend's embrace, Santana wept, hiding her face in the hollow of Brittany's throat, and felt the girl's arms slowly close around her shoulders. She could feel the sticky heat of other's blood seeping into her clothing, Brittany's hot, staggered breaths against her hair, her heart racing against her own, and Brittany's hand was on her hair, not stroking, but there, its weight somehow steadying in spite of it all.
She knew that likely within moments, whatever respite from her infection Brittany was experiencing now would come to a close. She knew that this moment would not last, that Brittany's embrace would become a capture, that the breath against her hair would move down lower towards her throat, that Brittany's mouth would open wide to bite through her skin. She knew this, and she braced herself for it, and did not try to stop it or move away. It was inevitable now; there was nowhere to go, no other way to be, and so Santana closed her eyes and concentrated on the beating of Brittany's heart against hers, the warmth of her skin.
If this were her fate, if this were her end….then it was best, it was fitting, that she would die within the embrace of Brittany's arms, no matter how her death might come about. It was right, and so she waited, even as Brittany's mouth moved ever closer to her pulse point, open too wide for a kiss.
The end
