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Chapter Twelve

"When adults say, 'Teenagers think they are invincible' with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."
John Green, Looking for Alaska

"Rachel?" Quinn repeated. "What are you doing down here?"

Santana pulled away from Rachel quickly, running her hand through her hair. "God-fucking-damnit, Fabray," she cursed.

Quinn surveyed Rachel, her gaze sweeping over her lantern and her coat. Her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you going somewhere?"

She reached the bottom of the stairs, resting her hands on her hips as she stared at Rachel expectantly. Santana scowled and crossed her arms, glaring at her. Quinn gave no indication that she saw the dead girl.

Santana wondered whether or not Quinn would fall over if she pushed her. It was a really tempting idea and she ignored it by glancing over at Rachel, her back still pressed against the door. "Well, answer the girl," she said. "She's gonna get premature wrinkles if she keeps looking at you like that."

"I - uh, well that is to say," Rachel stuttered, shaking her head slightly. "I wasn't going anywhere," she finished lamely.

Quinn sighed heavily. "Right," she said. "You just decided to put your jacket on and take a midnight stroll through the house with a lantern."

"Would you believe me if I said 'yes'?" Rachel tried, trying not to glare in Santana's direction when she snorted.

Quinn eyed Rachel for a moment, looking at her cheeks, which were pink from the cold (and what had almost happened with Santana) and her windblown hair. Her lantern was still on. "You already went, didn't you?" she asked knowingly. Rachel looked at her guiltily and she sighed. "Rachel, we could have gone to the cemetery tomorrow when we took you home. What were you thinking?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "I couldn't wait that long," she said simply.

"You couldn't -? Seriously?" Quinn asked incredulously. She scoffed. "This is ridiculous. Do you not understand how messed up that is?"

Rachel frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. Quinn had no idea what was really happening and Rachel was quickly growing tired of her interference. She had too many other things to worry about. "I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter."

"Well, that's too bad because you're getting it," Quinn responded, her voice rising. "I think losing one friend in a back alley in the middle of the night gives me the right to have an opinion. I'm not going to just stand here and watch you run yourself into the ground."

Rachel opened her mouth to say something, but Santana interrupted her. "She's wound up really tight," she said, her gaze sweeping over Quinn's face and down her body. "Like, really tight."

Santana had an uncharacteristic look of concern on her face and it softened Rachel. "I'm sorry," she told Quinn. "It was never my intention to worry you, Quinn."

Quinn's arms fell limp at her sides and her anger seemed to dissipate. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and held up a hand. "Look, just," she exhaled heavily. "Just try to be a little more careful, okay?"

Santana was still looking at Quinn, staring at her intently. "You should tell her that she needs to trim her hair. It's starting to look a little 'middle-aged soccer mom,'" she said, tilting her head a bit. It looked like there was something else she wanted to say, but she kept quiet.

Rachel focused her attention on Quinn. "I will," she said honestly. "Try to be more careful, that is," she added. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Come on, let's go to bed," Quinn smiled.

"I always knew Fabray wanted you," Santana smirked.

Rachel pointedly ignored her and started following Quinn upstairs. Santana trailed along behind them. "Wait," she said. "I really want to have a shower."

Rachel glanced behind her. "They'll hear it," she muttered as quietly as she could, looking at Quinn's back to make sure she didn't hear anything.

"Well, shit, tell her that you want to take a shower," Santana replied. "Sit on the sink or something. Bring a freaking book. Because I don't think you really grasp the full reality of the situation," she said firmly. "I have been outside for weeks. I'm getting a shower."

"Actually, Quinn," Rachel said quietly. They reached the second floor and Quinn turned around to face her. "I'd like to have a shower, if that's okay."

Quinn's brows furrowed. "Right now?" Rachel simply nodded. "Okay, well, help yourself," she said, shrugging. "Towels are under the sink," she threw over her shoulder, slipping quietly into Brittany's bedroom.

Rachel followed Santana into the bathroom, quickly turning around when Santana started undressing. If she only turned her head slightly to the left, she would probably be able to see - Rachel cleared her throat, quickly suppressing that urge before it could take hold of her.

"It's okay if you want to sneak a peek," Santana said knowingly. "I'm totally hot."

Rachel rolled her eyes and waited until she heard the sound of running water and the swish of a closing shower curtain before she turned around. She heard Santana fiddling with bottles in the shower and water splashing loudly on to the plastic of the bathtub.

"Oh my god," Santana groaned. "You have no idea how good this feels."

"I've taken my fair share of showers, you know," Rachel hissed, trying to stay quiet lest someone assume she was talking to herself. Accusations of auditory hallucinations were probably the last thing she needed. She was flirting with a dangerous line, the one between her actual life and whatever mess she was caught in with Santana, and she was sure that the line was probably going to vanish entirely at some point.

"Ugh, not like this," Santana said, groaning. "This is the best shower I've ever had."

"As lovely as that is, would you please be so kind as to inform me of the events that led to you getting out of the cemetery?" Rachel asked. She put her palms flat on the sink and pulled herself up to sit there.

"That guy came to see me," Santana answered. Rachel heard the sound of a mostly empty bottle being squeezed and the scent of artificial apricot filled the room. "He was pretty much just a useless asshole, though."

"What did he say?"

"A whole lot of bullshit," Santana said, her voice rising. "He's totally a fucking –"

Rachel shushed Santana immediately, swinging her legs out in front of her. "Do you have to be so loud?" she whispered.

"What? They can't hear me," Santana shot back. Rachel could practically see her eyes rolling. She heard a scoff came from the shower.

"You know, you're being incredibly cavalier about all of this," Rachel said. She didn't understand the sudden wave of nonchalance Santana was sporting; it was hard to be around something so calm when she felt so completely wound up on edge.

Bottles stopped clanking for a moment and silence filled the small bathroom, swirling around with the steam and clinging to Rachel's skin. It stuck there and she wiped at her forehead, waiting for an answer, something reassuring perhaps or at the very least, slightly less blasé.

"I just want to take a shower, okay?" she heard Santana say. Her voice was quieter now, but it did little to calm Rachel's insides. "We're screwed, Rachel. Like, literally. At least let me clean up before tall, dark, and fucked-in-the-head tries to bend me over and make me take it."

"You're…also being incredibly vulgar about all of this," Rachel said simply.

"Tell me I'm wrong, though," Santana replied. Water splashed against the tiles of the shower wall and the acrylic resin of the bathtub, echoing throughout the room and inside Rachel's head. She was suddenly very aware that Santana was naked on the other side of the shower curtain and she felt even less calm than before.

"I saw you, by the way," Santana continued. "But you were a kid and you were totally dead. You tried to get me to stay in the cemetery and then when I wouldn't come back in, you tried to climb through the gate. On my list of traumatizing life events, it's probably right up there with being murdered."

Rachel's eyes widened and she felt her heart drop down into her stomach. "You saw her, too?"

"Wait, you saw her, too?" Santana responded. She pulled the shower curtain back and stuck her head out. "When did you see her?"

Rachel gulped and tried not pay attention to the way that Santana's hair clung to her, settling around her cheekbones and down her neck. Almost kissing Santana had an odd effect on her, she concluded. "A few days ago, in the cemetery."

"Well, shit," is all Santana says.

Silence filled the room again, heavy and oppressive like everything else in Rachel's life. It was big and meaningful and full of events that weighed her down and haunted her steps, quite literally in some cases, most of them involving Santana and the ominous man playing with their lives. All Rachel had anymore were moments of silence and dead people (or maybe he was alive; she had no way of knowing.)

"Do you remember going camping?" Santana eventually asked.

Rachel bit her lip. Camping? They had gone –? Yes, that was right. She had almost forgotten that she was supposed to remember something. Her mind was full of old memories and thoughts and confusion and she caught herself wishing for simpler days, when all she had to worry about were song selections and dance moves. Sectionals were coming up, after all, and she should start –

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

Santana stuck her hand through the space between the shower curtain and the wall. "Will you hand me a towel?"

She hopped off of the sink, opening one of the doors beneath. Rachel quickly grabbed the first towel she found, a bright red one. Water was dripping off of Santana's outstretched fingers and Rachel could trace its path down her arm, droplets slipping down her shoulder and bicep, catching in the crook of her elbow before reaching her wrist.

Santana snapped her fingers. "C'mon, Berry," she scoffed. "It's not that hard."

Rachel blushed, handing Santana the towel before quickly turning away. Now, there had been something she was supposed to remember. The towel? No, she had already remembered that. A song selection? Rachel never thought she would see the day when the big answer to everything wasn't a song, but that didn't seem right, either.

"Go get me some clothes," Santana half-ordered. "Check the bottom drawer of Britt's dresser."

"I didn't hear a 'please.'"

"Please," Santana drawled.

Rachel nodded and crept quietly into Brittany's room, carefully sidestepping the two girls who were sleeping on the floor. Quinn's short hair was sticking up at odd angles around her face and one of her legs was sticking out from underneath her blanket. Brittany was nestled up next to her, her own hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her head was resting against Quinn's shoulder and she was gripping the other girl's arm. It was all very sweet and lovely and Rachel wondered where these girls had been for the last three years of high school.

She pulled out the bottom drawer as instructed. It was empty. A thin layer of dust clung to the bottom of the drawer and Rachel frowned. Brittany had probably been forced to put Santana's clothes away, stuffed into a box somewhere with the pictures from her wall and other trinkets that were associated with the dead girl.

Sliding the drawer shut, Rachel was suddenly overcome with the feeling that it wasn't fair. She tried to push it down but it came to her anyway. They should have had trinkets and pictures and memorabilia from their friendship.

"I got you something," Rachel says, smiling brightly. She holds out a small purple box.

"What is it?" Santana asks. She reluctantly digs her heels into the dirt, slowly stopping the swing she's sitting on. She had almost reached the perfect jumping height, too.

Rachel rolled her eyes playfully. "You have to open it, Santana," she starts, still holding out the purple box until friend takes it. "I have one, too. And we can wear them at the same time and then we'll match."

Santana pulls the lid off of the box, digging down through a few thin pieces of tissue until her fingers brush against something. She pulls it out and smiles when she sees a bracelet. It's made out of different colored threads that have been tied and looped together. It's all reds and oranges and golds and it makes Santana think of fire.

"Do you like it?" Rachel asks nervously, biting her lip and twisting her fingers through the links of the chains holding her swing up. "My daddy taught me how to make it last weekend." She holds her arm out again, tugging her sleeve up and showing off her own bracelet. It's made of blues and purples and pinks and Santana thinks of a lake at sunset, water catching the colors on the horizon. "I have one, too. See?" Rachel says.

Santana nods. "They're awesome," she grins, sticking her hand out next to Rachel's. "Put it on me."

Rachel slides her fingers across Santana's palm, tying the two loose ends of the bracelet together on Santana's right wrist. Her own bracelet is on her left wrist and when Santana grabs her hand and pulls her away from the swings, their hands stay clasped in front of her. They run across the playground and all Rachel can see are the colors dancing between them.

Rachel eventually ended up grabbing a pair of pants and a simple shirt from a different drawer in Brittany's dresser. "The bottom drawer was empty," she said when she entered the bathroom and handed the clothes to Santana.

Santana shut off the blow dryer she had been using and set it on the sink. "She got rid of my clothes?" she said, adjusting the towel that was wrapped around her body. Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned away from Rachel, facing the mirror.

"I think it was her mom," Rachel answered. "She made Brittany remove most of her pictures of you from the bedroom wall because they were too upsetting."

Santana glared at the sink, picking at an edge with her fingernails. "Funny how people can cram your entire life into a box and throw it in the closet, huh?" she said. Her voice was quiet and hollow and a little bit sad all at once and it hit Rachel in the chest and settled in her heart.

"You know it's not like that," she replied. "Brittany is grieving and she's trying to learn how to live without her best friend."

And that was the difference, Rachel realized. Up until a couple of days ago, she hadn't understood the depth of her connection to Santana; Brittany on the other hand had her entire life to understand exactly how Santana fit with her.

"Yeah, I know," Santana sighed. "But she doesn't have to learn because I'm gonna come back," she nodded to herself. "I'm going to come back and it'll be like I never left."

"Right," Rachel said. "Like you never left."

And that was the other difference. It wasn't just that Brittany knew Santana's place in her life; it was that Santana had a place in her life for Brittany and it had been comfortably occupied for seventeen years. Rachel's place was more confusing and more dangerous and more complicated and when all was said and done, Rachel didn't know where she would end up.

"Well, not totally," Santana told her, looking up and finding Rachel's eyes in the mirror. "Like, shit means something. I told you that already," she said, sending Rachel a small smile. "Now turn around because I wanna put clothes on."

Rachel smirked. "I thought you said that it was perfectly acceptable for me to 'sneak a peek.'"

"Yeah, a peek, Berry," Santana shot back. "But no one gets the whole show for free."

Rachel blushed again – what were they even doing? – and stared at the tile on the wall as she heard the sound of fabric behind her, the brush of a towel across a thigh maybe or a cotton shirt being pulled down over a stomach. It was all a little too much and suddenly she was inundated with thoughts that she definitely shouldn't have been having. Almost kissing Santana really had done something to her.

"Okay, you can turn around now," Santana said after a few moments. Brittany's pants were a little long on her and she tugged on them uncomfortably for a moment.

"You look much better," Rachel told her. "You're not nearly as pale as you were before. How do you feel?"

Santana backed away from her, leaning against the wall and sliding down it. She pulled her knees up to her chest and motioned for Rachel to sit down. "Better," she muttered. "Cleaner."

Rachel settled down near her, leaning against the bathtub. "Good," she smiled.

"You never answered me before," Santana said. At Rachel's look of confusion, she frowned. "The camping trip? Do you remember?"

Rachel paused. Yes, right, the camping trip. That was the thing she was trying to remember. There were s'mores and ghost stories, trees and forest for what felt like hours. And then there was grass and the stars and flowers and her best friend. How did she keep forgetting these things?

"The guy was there, right? He totally showed up," Santana continued.

"Did he?" she wondered to herself. She frowned. She remembered stars, what seemed like thousands of stars hovering over them. Rachel remembered stars and wishes. And then there was the man, coming into their little area and bringing with him everything that was wrong with their lives.

"That's right," Rachel said eventually. "He showed up. I wanted to leave but you wouldn't come with me. And then – and," she stuttered a bit. A memory retreated through her mind and she tried to catch it. "There – I can't. I can't remember."

Santana shrugged when Rachel glanced over at her. "I can't, either. Sometimes I remember shit and then it just goes away, you know?"

Rachel nodded. "I – I think we did something we shouldn't have," she said quietly, bowing her head.

"It wasn't good, that's for sure," Santana replied. "I mean, look where it got us."

Rachel exhaled heavily, releasing a deep breathe she didn't know she was holding in. She ran a hand across her face. "I'm so tired," she murmured.

There was a soft knock at the door and it opened slightly. Quinn stuck her head in, her eyes half-closed. "Rachel? Are you okay? You've been in here for a long time," she muttered. She absent-mindedly started to smooth her hair down.

Santana scowled. "Fabray is the nosiest bitch, I fucking swear."

"I'm fine, Quinn," Rachel answered.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Oh, um, I was just thinking and I got carried away," Rachel said quickly.

Quinn nodded, stepping into the room. She dropped down on the ground next to Rachel. "What –" she yawned, "what were you thinking about?"

"Nothing in particular," Rachel answered. Quinn's action was contagious and Rachel wasn't able to stop herself from yawning.

They all sat there in silence for a moment, Rachel catching Santana's eyes. Santana just shrugged at her. Quinn's eyes were closed as she slid down slightly to rest her head against the bathtub.

"I'm not going to try and sneak out through the bathroom window, if that's what you're worried about," Rachel said to Quinn. "I am definitely in for the night."

"Yeah, that's what I thought earlier. I'm not taking my chances with you, Berry," she responded. "I know how sneaky you can be."

Santana snorted. "She's got you there."

Rachel eyed the blonde next to her, remembering what Santana had said earlier. There were dark circles under Quinn's eyes and she looked a little paler than normal. Exhaustion was a permanent fixture in Rachel's life and she recognized it easily. "Quinn, you know that it's not your job to take care of us. Not that I'm not grateful for your concern, of course," she said gently. "But you don't need to look after everyone all the time."

"Don't I?" Quinn muttered. "Did you know that Tina's been working on 'Trouty Mouth'? She wants us to perform it at a competition, with a whole verse in Spanish," she started. "Finn and Puck spent most of yesterday moping about how they both lost their virginity to the same lesbian. I've got you sneaking out at all hours of the night to go to the cemetery. And don't even get me started on Brittany. It's a mess, Rachel," Quinn ended.

"You don't have to tell us that," Santana frowned.

"It's okay that things are a mess, sometimes," Rachel said, casually nudging Santana with her foot. "Everyone grieves differently. And it's perfectly alright for you to be a mess with us, Quinn."

Quinn sighed.

The bathroom door opened again and Brittany shuffled in, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Mm," she drew out for a long moment. "What are we doing in here?"

"We were just talking," Rachel answered. She glanced over at Santana. She was staring at Brittany, tracing the curves and lines of her body with a look on her face that Rachel had only seen her wear a handful of times. She looked like she was about to cry and Rachel didn't know how to decipher half of the other emotions flitting across her face.

Brittany slid down against the bathtub, laying her head on Quinn's shoulder. "What are we talking about?"

"How much everything sucks," Quinn said.

Brittany nodded. "Mm-hmm."

Her eyes on the two blondes next to her, Rachel slid her hand across the ground next to her, brushing her fingers against Santana's wrist. She felt Santana's eyes dart towards her and after a moment, Santana took her hand. She squeezed it.

"Can we go talk about how much everything sucks in my room?" Brittany asked after a pause. "It's more comfortable in there."

"I think that's a good idea, Brittany," Quinn smiled. "Let's all go back to bed," she added, looking at Rachel pointedly.

Brittany was back on her feet immediately, pulling Quinn up with her. She grabbed Rachel next, smiling as she helped her up. Santana stood up slowly on her own, following after the other girls as Brittany led them back towards her bedroom.

Santana stopped as the other three reached their collection of blankets and pillows on the floor. She smiled fondly as Brittany settled right in the middle. Quinn crawled under her blanket on Brittany's right and Rachel took her place on Brittany's left. She quickly gestured for Santana to join them, holding up the blanket under the guise of adjusting herself.

Brittany sniffled for a second, releasing a soft yawn. "G'night, you guys," she whispered.

"Night," Quinn muttered, pulling her blanket up over her head.

"Good night," Rachel said. The blankets surrounding her were soft and the bodies next to her were warm and Rachel felt sleep tugging at her consciousness. She hadn't properly slept in days and she felt herself start to drift off as soon as she was comfortable.

"You know I could start screaming right now and you would be the only one who would hear it," Santana told her after a few minutes. "Those two would sleep right through it."

Rachel's eyes shot opened and she glared at the other girl. She frowned.

Santana rolled on to her side, facing Rachel. "That used to be my spot, you know," she whispered. "Brittany slept in the middle, Quinn slept on the right, and I slept on the left."

Rachel's glare softened and her frown lessened. A smile played at her lips as she pictured three small girls huddled together in a double bed, one little blonde girl staking her claim in the center of everything.

"Sometimes, Britt would make Lucy sleep in the middle, if she was really sad," Santana continued softly. "Brittany said sleeping in the middle made people happy because you got to have your friends all around you. And Lucy was kind of a downer, you know? Just like, really sad and shit."

Rachel turned to face Santana fully, glancing behind her at Brittany and Quinn to make sure they were asleep. "Did you ever sleep in the middle?" she asked as quietly as she could.

Santana shrugged. "Sometimes," she said honestly. "They're my best friends."

Rachel had to look away then. There it was again, the mention of that long history that Santana had with Brittany and Quinn. They had more years together, most sleepovers and shopping trips and games of pretend and make-believe and –

"You're like, kind of my friend," Santana added.

"Do you ever think about how different things might have been? Maybe you wouldn't hate me," Rachel sighed, more to herself than anything. She was suddenly very tired again.

"I don't hate you," Santana said immediately. Rachel looked at her in disbelief and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, sometimes I hate you," she muttered. "But I hate everybody."

"Is that supposed to –"

"I like you," Santana interrupted. "That's why I called you that night. Brittany said that I should just tell you, so there it is," she said. "I kind of like you. You're not that bad when you're not pissing me off."

"Thank you?" Rachel asked unsurely. She flushed.

Santana nodded firmly, smirking. It was the closest thing to an admission of fondness that Rachel would probably get from Santana. She took it greedily, wrapping it up in her other happy memories of Santana and saving it for a sad and rainy day. She figured that it might be all she was left with when everything was over.

Rachel stood up suddenly, stepping over the other girl's legs. She gestured for Santana to move into her place next to Brittany. Santana hesitated for a moment, so Rachel nudged her side sharply with her foot.

"Ow," Santana cried, swatting Rachel's leg as she moved closer to Brittany. She came to rest on her back, pulling Rachel's blanket over herself and holding it up, waiting for Rachel to lie beside her. "I take it back," she mumbled.

Rachel slid underneath the blanket and settled next to Santana, facing her. The legs brushed and Rachel closed her eyes, letting warmth linger in the space between their limbs and guide her back towards sleep. "Liar," she whispered good-naturedly.

She felt Santana shift for a moment and soft lips pressed against hers suddenly. They lingered for just a moment and then they were gone and Rachel wasn't sure they had ever been there in the first place.

"Thanks for trading spots with me," she heard Santana say quietly. "And for the other stuff, too."

Rachel shifted closer to Santana, finding her hand in the darkness. "You're welcome," she said.

Sleep found Rachel then and she welcomed it.

The grass sways around them gently. The man stays on the ground, watching the two small girls stare down at him. "So, what do you say?"

"What kind of wishes can you make come true?" Santana asks.

He smiles and they can see his teeth, bright and white and large. "The ones you want the most," he says. "Those are the ones I can make come true."

"How?" Santana wonders instantly.

His grin widens.

"Santana, can we go, please?" Rachel asks, tugging on her arm. The man makes her skin crawl and her limbs shake and she doesn't like the way her body feels. She feels cold, even though it's summer and the night is warm. "I want to go back now."

The other girl shakes her head slightly, not even glancing at her. "Just wait a minute, Rachel. Let's just – let's just hear him out," Santana says.

There's a look on Santana's face, something desperate and determined and it makes Rachel uncomfortable. She remembered the tugging in her stomach that led her to this place and she wonders if it's reached her friend now.

He regards them with only casual interest as they speak. "Yes, Rachel," he says calmly. "At least hear me out. It will be worth it."

The tugging in her middle is different now and it's trying to lead her away from this strange man and what he's saying. She wants to be back in their tent, lying next to Santana and listening to the crickets outside. They never should have left in the first place.

"I don't know about this," she says.

Santana finally looks at her, twisting around to face her. "Let's just hear what he has to say. Our wish might come true and that would be awesome because then we could be together forever," she smiles, grabbing Rachel's hand. "Trust me?"

And Rachel's a goner because she can never say no to those eyes and that smile and the warmth that flows through her arm when Santana takes her hand. She nods.

The man stands up. "Excellent."