Shelter
Part One
Chapter Two: There's No Escape From Reality

Ships: Brittana with Sam/Brittany, Santofsky, Puck/Brittany, Quinntana friendships. Very minor Quick.
Summary: The only thing worse than being reaped is volunteering for someone you love. Because then they have something to use against you. Brittany and Santana learn that the hard way.
Other: This is a Hunger Games AU. Every chapter will be named after a line from a Glee song with contextual or sometimes more literal relevance to the chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.

"Help me,"

There was a trickling path of blood from her blonde head down to her chin. Her eyes, previously as blue as the ocean, were now dark and almost beady. She was lying on the ground, with one of her arms bent at an angle that just wasn't natural.

"Santana, help me,"

But she couldn't. She couldn't move one inch. It was like an invisible force had grabbed onto her ankles and held them down because no matter how much she willed her body, she was immobilized. She opened her mouth to soothe the blonde's current pain, but she couldn't speak either. She tried screaming but nothing sounded.

There was a howling noise from nearby. Her eyes began to fill with tears of fear and desperation. She waved her arms relentlessly, trying to release the invisible hold on her. She heard pounding footsteps coming closer and closer and ferocious growls filling the air.

And then all she could hear was a piercing scream.

District Four
Victor's Village
Six hours before the Reaping

Santana sat up quickly, tossing her thick duvet off of her. Her entire body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. She lifted her shaking hands to her face and wiped at her eyes. She bent her knees and rested her forehead on them, letting out a deep breath. She massaged her right shoulder, cringing at the feeling of the fragility of it years after the damage was done.

"What the fuck…" she muttered.

She stood up from her queen-sized bed and stripped her tank top and panties off, tossing them in a pile between her door and a wall. Stark naked, she walked across her large room to the door leading to the hallway. She pushed the door open and jumped in shock when she saw a large figure leaning against the parallel wall, with his arms crossed.

"Fuck, Dave," she rested her left hand on her chest, trying to get her heart beat down to a regular pace. "Knock much?"

"I did," he smirked and pushed off of the wall. He lifted his right hand in front of his eyes, trying to respect her privacy.

"If I don't answer the fucking door at," she leaned back into her room, and catches a glimpse of her large clock, "Eight in the morning, go back to your house, which is literally ten feet away. Don't fucking break it."

"Whatever," he laughed at her usual morning crankiness. "Mags told me to make sure that you were awake. She didn't want you sleeping in until an hour before the reaping like usual."

"I'll be there, all right?" She snapped at Dave, dismissing his words and leaned against the door frame, obviously not caring about him seeing her naked. "Aren't I always?"

"Yeah, you are," Dave put his hand back to his side and quickly looked at her naked body. "You're all sweaty."

"Thanks, I didn't know that," she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Bad dreams again?" He asked and she avoided his searching gaze.

"It's nothing," She shrugged and dismissed him. He stared into her dark brown eyes, not believing a word she said.

"Look I have to get ready. I'm taking a shower so I'll see you later," She called over her shoulder and walked down the hallway toward her bathroom.

She entered the room and closed and locked the door. She retrieved two folded towels from an overhead shelf and threw them on the edge of her bathtub. Then she pulled the glass door to her shower open and turned the shower on. She stood, half in her shower, half out, adjusting the heat of the water to her preference. Once she was satisfied, she stepped into the stream of water. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with steam filled air. She pushed her thick black hair out of her face and let the hot water run over her body.

She shut her eyes and tried to avoid thinking about her nightmares. They happened regularly, the horrible images of the terrors she had faced in the arena ripping apart that beautiful, beautiful girl and her watching, but not able to prevent it. The nightmares certainly frightened her, but yet every day she found herself anticipating them. It was an odd thing. She couldn't bear to see the girl be murdered every night. It was hurt her heart. But yet, she spent every day waiting for the next time she would have a nightmare, if only to see her beautiful blue eyes once again.

She hadn't deluded herself into thinking that it was healthy, on any level. She knew how wrong it was. And from the disturbingly concerned tone that Dave had put on earlier, she guessed that Dave and Mags were catching on, too. Fuck. The last thing that she needed was someone else watching her, let alone the only two people that she interacted with for the past few years.

She let the hot water run over her body for a bit longer and found herself sighing in content at the feeling, however fleeting she knew it would be. She quickly lathered her hair and body with copious amounts of soap and then ran her entire body through the water again before turning the shower off and opening the door, releasing puffs of steam into the cool bathroom. She reached for one of the towels on the edge of her tub and wrapped it around her tanned, lithe body.

She walked toward the large mirror and wiped the condensation away with her hand. She stared at herself in the mirror and at the ever-noticeable bags under her eyes. Her eyes travelled downward from beneath her eyes to the large scar running across her right shoulder. At the sight, she quickly turned around and picked up the other towel, starting to dry her hair and ignoring her reflection.

Four hours before the Reaping.

Santana stepped outside from her back door and breathed in the salty ocean air that she loved so much. It smelled like home. The same home she had always known. But everything was different. She immediately found herself on the first steps of the light wooden dock. She loved being so close to the ocean. It was her favourite part about living in Victor's Village. She walked barefoot down the dock until she reached the very edge. She sat down on the edge, letting her feet hang below and dip into the warm water.

Her eyes rested on two blonde teenagers floating, face-up, in the water not far from her. Although she could hardly see them, she found herself staring at the girl's tall frame that looked only like a dark silhouette from the distance. She imagined her long, silky blonde locks and tangling her fingers in them. She imagined her freckles on her smooth skin that remained pale despite endless hours spent in the sun. She imagined her soft pink lips and-

"Hey," she heard Mags' voice from behind her.

"Hi, Mags," she offered a small smile at the woman who had become a mother figure to her. Santana scooted over and tapped the place on the dock next to her so the woman could sit down.

"How are you doing today?" Mags asked.

"Okay," Santana replied, looking at the older woman. "I'm holding it in."

"You have bags under your eyes," Mags said, calmly. "Again. They're worse than usual."

"It's nothing," Santana shook her head and looked down at her thighs, avoiding Mags' wise stare.

"You should see someone. They have good doctors in the Capitol. They can he-"

"I'm not letting any fuckers from the Capitol touch me," Santana spat bitterly.

"I know," Mags replied, knowing how to deal with Santana's fits. "I shouldn't have suggested it. I'm sorry."

Santana shrugged it off, like it was nothing, when really it shook her to her core. She felt her burning hate for the Capitol spark inside of her stomach like a lit match dropping onto a pool of gasoline. She knew Mags meant well, but she also knew that Mags was fully aware of how she felt for the Capitol. She looked up and saw the beautiful girl, swimming. She smiled, in spite of her inner turmoil.

"You should talk to her," Mags smiled. "That girl. I see you leering at her all the time."

"She wouldn't want to talk to me," Santana shrugged.

"And why not?" Mags demanded. "You're a beautiful and smart-"

"Killer," Santana finished. She kicked her feet in the water, making small splashes appear in the air before dropping back into the deep ocean.

"You did what you had to do," the woman defended Santana, and in turn, herself. "And you came out alive."

"Besides," Santana gazed into the bright horizon, squinting her thick lashes in front of dark eyes. "She doesn't need someone like me in her life."

"You're a good person, Santana. Remember that." Mags looked at the sad, broken girl in front of her. She didn't know what else to say to her. She was broken beyond repair; anyone could see that. So instead, she placed a tender hand on her injured shoulder before standing up shakily and walking to her house, two doors down from Santana's.

When Santana looked back to the spot where the blonds had been swimming, they were gone.

Three hours before the Reaping.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Don't be such a smart ass," Dave sat down on the empty space next to Santana, previously occupied by Mags.

Santana had been sitting out on the dock, with her feet in the water, for at least three hours. Her feet were cold and her ass was getting to the point where she couldn't feel it, but she didn't move. Looking out at the horizon and the clear blue sky, she felt content for a rare moment in her life. She had almost forgotten about the stocky boy next to her when he cleared his throat. She rolled her eyes and made a point of looking at him, over-attentively.

"Yes, David," she fluttered her eyelashes, mocking him.

"Why do you always sit out here? I mean, it's a nice view and all but you're out here for hours," Dave asked, brushing the side of her olive-toned hand with his thumb. He had been reluctant to ask the question, not because he didn't feel comfortable around her, because he did, but because he knew her well enough to know that Santana wasn't big on sharing.

"I don't know. I guess because it hasn't changed," Santana shrugged as she looked out into the sky again.

"What do you mean?" Dave asked, tilting his head slightly to the side, like a dog.

"Do you know what my dad did?" Santana responded with a question.

"A fisherman," Dave nodded, a little bit proud that he recalled one of the few details of her life before the Games that Santana had shared with him and Mags.

"He used to take me out on his boat every Sunday. We'd spend the whole day out there. Just talking and stuff while he caught fish. Like an escape," Santana reminisced. "It wasn't much, but it was all I had."

"No," Dave said quickly, not wanting Santana to change the subject. "I get it."

"I see the ocean crashing against the itself and I hear the birds over my head and smell the salt coming off from the water and it almost," Santana's breath caught briefly at her memories. "It almost feels like home."

"Huh," Dave said. "I didn't really expect… Well, I just thought you'd say some sarcastic comment."

"Well, you're just about to hit your daily question limit of three so if you have anything else…" she trailed off in typical Santana fashion, with a cheeky grin replacing the thoughtfulness on her face.

"Actually, there is one more thing," Dave started off, clearly more nervous this time around. "Do you ever regret it?"

"It?" Santana asked, although she clearly knew what he was talking about.

"Yeah, you know," Dave let the end of his sentence open, scared to even say the words. He hadn't been on the end of a Santana fit before, but he'd seen her in the Games and even more he trained her and he knew how strong and scary she could be.

"These past few years have been hard on me, emotionally, physically, mentally and everything in between. You of all people should know that. I regret a lot of things I've done and choices I've made," Santana spoke slowly and softly. "But, no. I've never regretted that."

"Not for a second?" Dave clarified.

"No." Santana affirmed, so sure of herself. "Not for one second."

The loud crashing of waves against the shore was the only thing that sounded. Dave felt a little bit awkward and misplaced, because Santana wasn't talking, merely looking back out at the ocean with a cloudy look in her eyes. He shifted around and cracked a few of his knuckles, a nervous habit he had since he was a boy.

"It's funny," Santana whispered. "Today would be my last Reaping, you know?"

"Yeah. I forget you're still a kid sometimes," Dave sighed.

"Seventeen," Santana smiled, bitterly. "And I feel like it could end any minute. What else is there for us?"

"I don't know," Dave hesitated.

"Today we're going to meet two more kids," Santana stated, with little emotion. "And in a few months, they'll both be dead."

"You don't know that. They could live," Dave disputed, although he knew it was probably true.

"You don't know that," Santana mocked.

Dave nodded and scoffed at the truth in her words. Then tired of her pessimism, he stood from the dock and started to walk the path towards his house. He was halfway back to his house beside Santana's, when he turned around and started walking backwards.

"Hey!" he shouted. Santana whipped her head to the side, looking at Dave from over her shoulder.

"What?" she called back at him.

"Try not to be so morbid this year," Dave grinned. "One of them might surprise you."

The Reaping

Santana was backstage with Dave and Mags, sprawled on a comfortable leather chair. Both Dave and Mags were both getting touch-ups from the makeup crew sent straight from the Capitol but they all knew not to lay a finger on Santana. Chances are, it would end up broken. She watched as the tall, good-looking people stroked the skin of Dave and Mags' faces with their soft makeup brushes and quickly look away, lips snarled in disgust. Dave caught her eye and fought a wide grin at her growing frustration. In an attempt to raise her spirits, he stuck his tongue out at her and she rolled her eyes with a slight smile.

"Miss Lopez?" Santana snapped her attention to a tall, thin red-haired woman holding a makeup brush expectantly. Santana stood up and looked down at the brush in disturbance and looked back to the woman's thin, ghastly visage.

"Is there a problem?" Santana asked, looking around.

"No, madam," the red-haired woman smiled falsely, "But you could use a touch up."

Santana stared at the woman blankly. She must be knew to the job. One of the makeup artists that looked familiar to the brunette rushed over to the red-head's side and whispered something inaudible. But Santana didn't need to hear to know what he was saying. She resumed her previous position, lounging on the couch. After a few minutes spent swinging one of her legs back and forth, the makeup team dispersed and she was left alone with her fellow Victors. She watched as Figgins, an old brown man from the Capitol, walked by with a tight-lipped smile. He nodded in their direction and the Victors smiled back, congenially.

"Victors," he greeted in an accent that Santana didn't recognize, "When I call each of your names, just come up on stage and smile and wave. Then take a seat to the immediate left of the Reaping ball. Any questions?"

"No," Santana drawled robotically, "We only do this every year, but thanks for the reminder."

"Right," Figgins nodded, looking at Santana cautiously. "Well, I'm off to start off the ceremonies."

He shuffled off onto the stage and Santana heard the crowd go quiet. She rose from her chair and stood beside a small curtained hallway leading to the main stage. She heard the usual beginning greetings and suddenly, Mags hobbled onto the front stage, but not before placing a warm hand on Santana's shoulder and clapping Dave's bicep in a brief moment of affection. As Mags disappeared onto the stage, she suddenly felt very nervous, as she did all those years ago. Dave tried to smile comfortingly but she shrugged off his advances and instead began to play with a single loose thread on her signature tight dress. Then, she heard Dave's name being called out from the loud speakers and Dave followed Mags' path to the stage.

"And now say hello to District Four's youngest ever Victor, Santana of the 58th Games."

With those words, she threw on her widest and fakest smile and stood tall. She moved the curtain aside and strutted out in front of the crowd. She let her hips sway easily as she searched the crowd for those brilliant blue eyes. Then, she stopped in front of the last empty chair and slowly sat on it, careful not to wrinkle her dress. As Figgins droned on in his monotone voice, Santana had finally found those blue eyes that she had been searching for.

She was in the middle of the crowd (or so it seemed to Santana) and she was surrounded by a young boy, an old grey-haired man and a kind-eyed woman. It was then that Santana realized that this would be her very last year. Another five minutes or so, and Santana would never have to worry about the beautiful girl being killed by the Careers or ripped apart by a muttation. Santana was leering at the girl, at her body (what she could see), and at Santana's favourite feature, her beautiful blue eyes. She didn't even realize when the crowd went dead silent and by the time she did, she knew why.

She saw a tall, muscular and dark boy with his hair shaved into a short Mohawk walk up the stairs toward Figgins. He seemed vaguely familiar to her and when he turned to give a short nod to the Victors, Santana knew why. Noah Puckerman's father was the fisherman who anchored his boat a few dozen feet away from her father. Or he used to until he ran out of the district chasing some pipe dream about District 13. Santana remembered playing with Noah when both of their fathers took them out on the water with them. She remembered that even from that age, he was really strong and even though he wasn't the brightest, he always seemed to know what he was doing. With age, it seemed that his strength had grown, and Santana noticed that he looked a whole lot wiser than he did at age fourteen.

"Maybe , he's the one," she heard Dave whisper at her side and she could only nod. There was no disputing the fact that Noah Puckerman had what it took to be a Victor.

"And now I will reap District Four's female tribute,"

There was a deafening silence that resonated in Santana's mind. Her heart rate started to rise slowly and she could feel the heat rushing to her olive cheeks. She let her eyelids flutter to a close and tried to calm her breathing. After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, Figgins finally announced the tribute.

"District Four's female tribute for the 61st Hunger Games is Stacey Evans."

Stacey Evans. She knew Stacey Evans. She looked in the crowd and saw everyone turn towards a family of bleach blonds. Stacey Evans. The younger sister of Sam Evans, her former classmate.

She did the math in her head. It was Stacey's first Reaping. She couldn't imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Evans were feeling right now. But truthfully, she didn't want to. She didn't want to empathize with the people who basically lost their baby girl. She could feel something that she couldn't quite place rushing through her veins. She was relieved. She let herself revel and linger in the slight euphoria that the relief had brought on. She wasn't paying attention to any of her surroundings.

She didn't notice the tall, pale blonde girl running up to the stage before little Stacey Evans could break off of her parents. She didn't notice when she stumbled up the stairs and she didn't notice when the girl stepped in the center of the stage. She, however, would never forget the feeling of her heart dropping when she heard the words to come out of the blonde's mouth.

"I would like to volunteer myself in place of Stacey Evans,"

Santana's head snapped to the middle of the stage at the sound of the familiar voice. She felt her heart sink into the deepest part of her stomach and it felt like a hundred pound weight was pressing down on her lungs, cutting off her air supply. She experienced tunnel vision; all she could see was the tall beautiful blonde girl. It was then that Santana Lopez felt like her whole world was about to implode.

So there's chapter two :3 Review and let me know what you think!