Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!
chapter five
Cheerios morning practices were always held at an insanely early hour; the girls on the squad all agreed that Coach Sue was some kind of inhuman creature who never slept, never ate, and never, ever stopped thinking of new ways to torture their bodies and shackle their spirits.
(They had absolutely no idea how close to the truth they were.)
Still, it worked to Santana's advantage whenever she planned to confront someone first thing in the morning. She never failed to thrill at the deer-in-headlights look fear and surprise that would animate a formerly sleepy face when she would suddenly appear at her unfortunate victim's locker, her teeth bared in a pleasant, yet predatory smile, to step boldly into that person's personal space and get right into it with them before they could even fully register what was happening. It was a way better pick-me-up than coffee, as far as she was concerned.
And so it is now as Santana lies in wait for Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray to saunter up to the so-called diva's locker. The two lovebirds always stopped there first. Their morning ritual, she knew, would go exactly like this: Rachel will come in bouncing on the balls of her feet with barely contained enthusiasm for the school day with Quinn at her side, holding her hand and gliding through the hallways she once owned as Head Cheerio with the maddeningly calm, cool, flickering glance that took in everyone and everything around her and found it wanting.
Well, everyone except Rachel, of course, Santana says to herself, glaring at the still unvisited Berry locker.
Rachel would then stop chattering away only long enough to open her locker and gather the books she needs for her morning classes, while Quinn just nods and smiles that annoyingly adoring smile at her pint-sized girlfriend. Then they'll gaze lovingly into each other's eyes for a few seconds before sharing a gentle kiss, causing everyone around them to go aww, drawing a beaming grin from Rachel and an intimidating glower from Quinn, who doesn't really like the attention, but puts up with it because Rachel loves it. At that point, they'll continue on to Quinn's locker, where the pink-haired ex-Cheerio will grab her own supplies before they finally separate to go to their respective homerooms with whispered I love yous and several more cringe-inducing kisses.
It's enough to make a single girl slightly bitter. Especially a single girl who's single because a hobbit stole her girlfriend.
The sound of Rachel's voice precedes her arrival, as it usually does. When she enters Santana's line of sight, she's wearing that horrible unicorn sweater that Quinn inexplicably seems to love, and another one of those shorter-than-a-Cheerio's skirts, which honestly shouldn't even be legal. How the hell does such a tiny girl have such ridiculously long legs?
Not that Santana's noticed or anything. No, not at all.
And then Quinn appears, icy mask firmly in place, tiny gold nose ring glinting in the overhead ceiling lights. She's so freaking beautiful, even with that ludicrous pink hair, that it makes Santana's breath catch and her heart stop for a second. She watches Quinn smile radiantly at Rachel, and it's like watching the sunrise stretch slowly across the sky. Her heart melts a little at the sight. Then Santana remembers how Quinn used to smile at her like that, and her heart and her resolve harden instantly.
"Sup, bitches?" she asks as she steps right in between them. "Don't answer that. I don't really want to know."
Rachel's mouth opens, but Santana cuts her off before she can reply. "Shut it, hobbit. Here's what I do wants to know: what the hell did you guys do to Brittany? She called me up crying way too late last night, and it took forever for me to calm her down and get her to sleep. Now you know that I take a very dim view of anyone or anything that upsets my Britt-Britt, so you'd best get to spilling before I kick both your asses."
"Back off, Santana," Quinn growls. "We didn't do anything to her. Did she actually tell you that? I seriously doubt it."
"Oh, you do?" Santana hisses, not wanting the crowd she knows is gathering around them to overhear. "Well, that's interesting, considering that she was so scared that she could barely breathe long enough to choke out a complete sentence or two – but when she could talk, she clearly and distinctly mentioned both your names."
"Listen, Santana," Rachel whispers sharply. "Whatever she told you – the fact is, we helped her, okay? I'm truly sorry that she was upset, but the situation was such that some distress was unavoidable."
"We don't owe you an explanation, San," Quinn interjects. Her narrowed hazel eyes flash with anger. "This is none of your business. What happened is strictly between us and Brittany. This doesn't involve you. So please, stay out of this."
Santana barks an incredulous laugh. "None of my business? Bullshit. Now, you bitches listen to me, and listen well. If it involves Britts, it involves me. You understand? Either you tell me exactly what happened – and I mean everything, down to the last detail – or Berry gets reported to the police for animal cruelty. I've watched enough episodes of Animal Cops to know that they don't particularly like people who kill defenseless birds."
Rachel's eyes widen. Santana knows she's got her. She grins in victory.
Then Rachel actually laughs in her face, loud and hard, and Santana steps away in shock. It's like a slushie in the face, a punch to the gut, and suddenly she's reeling.
"You have no idea what you're talking about, Santana. In fact, you couldn't possibly understand any of this. You think you can threaten me? Scare me? Believe me, I've dealt with far worse than you. Things you couldn't even imagine. You're about as intimidating as a puppy - which is actually a good thing for you, because I would never harm an animal."
Quinn's eyes are daggers. Her voice is pure Arctic ice when speaks next, her voice low and dangerous, and Santana steps back again. She's heard Quinn angry before, but never like this, and she shivers in spite of herself, even as she tries and fails to match the pink-haired girl's steely glare.
"Stay. Out. Of. This. For your own good, Santana. I mean it."
And with that, Rachel slams her locker shut, causing Santana to jump, which draws a thin, tight and decidedly unpleasant smile from Quinn.
When the hell did those two become so fierce? Santana wonders, barely hearing Rachel say, "Come on, Quinn. We don't want to be late," hardly registering the pair striding off past her down the hallway, over the pounding of her own heartbeat. There had been something wild, barely restrained, alive in the tiny girl's face, her entire body, something that Santana had never imagined could exist in that small frame. She felt a crackling electricity all over her skin, a strange force that had been coming off Rachel in waves.
The memory that Brittany had unknowingly shared with her comes rushing back into her mind: Quinn, wielding lightning, blasting death from the sky. Rachel, plunging sharpened, glowing wood down, over and over again, into the breast of a thing that looked like a bird, but was not. The creature's beady eyes, glowing with malice even as they glazed over, catching and holding Brittany's in the instant before its demise.
It takes the rest of the day for Santana to decide whether to attend the afternoon's Glee Club meeting. She wants to talk to Rachel and Quinn again, acknowledging that her initial approach wasn't the best one to take; obviously a more conciliatory tone would be needed if she were to have any hope of getting them to let her help in protecting Brittany. The truth was, what she had learned from Brittany had deeply frightened her, and when Santana is scared, she lashes out. It's an unfortunate defense mechanism, and it's also the reason why Brittany, who's always just let Santana be herself, without being bothered by or taking offense to anything she says, is now her only real friend. Deep down, Santana longs to have more real friends, but she's always scared people away with her mercurial moods and hot temper. She's tried to convince herself that Rachel was the reason for her break-up with and subsequent estrangement from Quinn, but in those moments when she's being honest with herself, she knows that she drove the ex-Cheerio away. Maybe this could be a way for her to re-establish her broken friendship with Quinn. Maybe, also, she can finally admit to herself that Rachel isn't her enemy, and never has been.
When she enters the choir room, she notices there's a haunted look in Quinn's eyes, a tired slump to Rachel's shoulders. The two are talking quietly, drowned out by the louder banter of the rest of the New Directions seated around them, but Santana can see that the conversation they're having is pretty intense. Something is clearly up with them. The chairs next to Quinn are empty; that's where Brittany and Tina usually sit. It's a stark reminder of what she knows about yesterday's incident, and how much she doesn't know. How much she desperately wants to know.
She steels herself, taking a deep breath, and takes the seat next to Quinn, causing both Rachel and Quinn to end their conversation and turn their attention to her.
"Look," Santana begins. "I don't say this often – or ever, really – but...I'm sorry, okay? For coming at you guys the way I did this morning. Brittany - what she said? It really freaked me out. I'm worried for her. About her. She's my best friend. My only real friend, actually. If – if anything ever happened to her...I don't know what I'd do." She fights back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, not wanting to show any weakness. "I need to keep her safe. I know you two are protecting her, and Tina too, but I – I can't just sit by and watch things affect her like that without at least trying to do something about it."
"Quinn," Rachel says softly. There's a question in the word. Quinn's weary nod is her only answer, and suddenly Santana feels an odd shift in the atmosphere around them. The others in the room continue to chatter on, oblivious to what's happening in their midst.
"No one can hear us now. Mr Schuester will be here in about five minutes, though, so this will have to be quick. Give me your right hand, Santana. Palm up," Rachel commands.
"Wait, what? Why do you need my -"
"Just do it," Quinn rasps. Santana recognizes this voice: it's the one Quinn has after she's been crying. "We don't have much time. You really want to know what happened? Then prove that we can trust you. Give her your fucking hand. Now."
Wordlessly, Santana acquiesces. Rachel begins to hum, a low, melodious murmur, a chant of slurred words in a language Santana can't understand, yet oddly thinks she should know. Her head spins. She feels woozy, as though the air is being sucked out of the room.
Then Quinn grasps her wrist in an iron grip, and in a movement so fast it cannot be seen, Rachel slashes a single fingernail, somehow as sharp as a razor, across her palm. Instantly, blood wells up from the cut. The scent of copper fills the air between them.
Now Santana cries out in pain, bewildered. "What the fuck, Rachel? That hurt!"
"Quiet!" Rachel admonishes. "Look. Watch. And see. Blood calls to blood. Will it answer?"
Santana does as she is told, watches in horror and amazement as the blood in her palm begins to swirl and dance in a strange, hypnotic pattern.
Blood answers.
"I knew it." Rachel beams her brightest show smile, obviously very pleased with herself.
Santana feels consciousness slipping away, a strange, half-lit darkness rushing up and around her. Quinn is still holding her wrist. "I'm sorry, San," she hears Quinn say. "We had to know. And now we do."
And then Quinn lets go, and she's falling, falling - Rachel's voice following her as she spirals ever downward, three words loudly echoing in the expanding cavern of her mind:
You're a Witch.