A/N: Sorry for dragging out this flashback but I really just thought it'd be better to get it all out of the way, I think the pacing of it all would get messed up if I continued this same flashback randomly throughout the story. Also if you hadn't noticed, name change to 'Safe Is Anywhere With You'!

Thank you so so much for the responses! Also I'd like to say big thank you to my beta alexwilliamson101 who is totally awesome :)

Chapter 7

Two Months Before the Runaway

Santana couldn't quite pinpoint the feeling that had slithered its way stealthily into her conscience. For some reason, it just didn't sit quite right.

One moment she was perfectly fine - calm almost - and then the next she was tensed, the hair on the back of her neck prickling and her blood felt as though it was turning into ice. Suddenly she was afraid, but of what, she had no idea. It nagged at her, it made her stomach squirm uneasily and it felt like her skin was crawling as her heart started to pick up pace. She fidgeted nervously in her seat, not paying attention to the teacher at the front of the class.

What the fuck, she thought. She was panicking. Santana began to recognise this gut wrenching feeling that started to sound like alarm bells in her head as some sort of sixth sense telling her that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

She breathed out a sigh of relief as the end of the day bell rang but it was short lived, the uncomfortable feeling still very there in her gut. Moving without much thought, her legs started to carry her quickly out of the doors and into the parking lot, hoping that seeing Brittany there waiting for her next to her car, just like always, would calm her down.

Except Brittany wasn't there.

"Okay," She breathed to herself, this wasn't something to panic over; she needed to calm the fuck down. Maybe Brittany was held up in class, maybe she forgot something in her locker - this was no reason to freak out anymore than what she already was. But she couldn't quite let herself believe that, like some invisible rope tied this feeling and this fact together.

She drummed her nails nervously against the binder she gripped tightly against her chest, her eyes flickering across the school parking lot. Every glimmer of blonde hair caught her eye, but it wasn't her blonde and as the lot slowly began to empty, her nerves ate her sanity away. She fished for her phone in her pocket, her hands shaking as she sent Brittany a text:

Britt Britt, where are you? X

She didn't wait for a reply, her body moving of its own accord, she started walking back towards the school. Every step she took echoed along with the sound of the beat of her own heart.

And that's when she heard the scream. Brittany - Brittany screaming her name.

And then Santana was running. The binder slipping from her hands, as her legs pounded against the pavement, feeling like they weighed a tonne.

Brittany never liked Shannon, and she almost always loved everyone.

Shannon was slightly bigger than the other girls; more bulky in build, especially around the shoulders, but still feminine; an ex-gymnast. Not the best dancer, but her tumbling skills were enough to land her a place in the prestigious Cheerio Squad. She was the typical cheerleading stereotype; blonde, bitchy, beautiful.

But ever since that time after Cheerios practice where she had heard Shannon bitching about two ninth grade girls, calling them ugly dyke bitches in the change rooms, Brittany learned enough to know to stay away. She didn't like the way Shannon would spit out the word 'dyke' in such a horrible, cruel way as if the word was so disgusting and putrid that she couldn't wait to be rid of the taste of it in her mouth.

And then word started getting around about Santana and her, and Shannon started using the word dyke to her face.

She never used it around Santana – no, Shannon was smarter than that; she had a bit of self-preservation. She'd hold back awhile, wait for the few fleeting seconds until Brittany was alone at her locker, before hissing the word and shoving Brittany into her locker with her shoulder. Then there were the others; Shannon's little minions, three girls that followed Shannon around in a way that reminded Brittany of baby ducklings following their mother duck, but Brittany didn't find it cute at all. These girls would join in occasionally on the taunts, seeking for Shannon's eye of approval.

Brittany never said anything to Santana about this; she forced herself to be strong; brave.

And that was why Brittany hated gym class; she shared it with Shannon and her friends, and not with Santana. She kept her head down and her eyes averted for the entire class until the bell rang, breathing a sigh of relief as it went. She picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder and left the gym building – running smack bang into Shannon and her friends.

"Oh my god! Get off me, dyke!" Shannon spat shoving Brittany away, the girls behind her snickered.

Brittany didn't respond, instead ducking her head trying to move past the other girls, but Shannon side stepped her, cutting Brittany off.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," Brittany mumbled.

"Home?" Shannon mocked fake surprise, "what with like parents?"

"Yes?" Brittany said, looking at the girl in confusion.

"I didn't think lesbians had parents who wanted to keep them."

Brittany tried to hide the hurt on her face, but it felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Of course her parents wanted to keep her, why wouldn't they?

"If I was a lesbian, my mother would have killed me, I would have killed myself to be honest. How can your mother love such an abomination? I'm pretty sure she couldn't."

"Leave me alone," Brittany said in a low voice, she brought her eyes up to look directly at Shannon who looked almost taken aback at the contact.

"No, you should leave us alone." Shannon sneered, collecting herself, "Lesbians don't belong here."

"It's so feral," another girl piped up and Shannon hummed in agreement.

"What do you want?" Brittany almost whined.

"For you to leave our fucking school, you and your lesbian slut," Shannon said, inching ever so slightly closer to Brittany, closing in on her.

Every word felt like a separate slushy to the face, only colder, harder and a thousand times more brutal. Brittany could feel her face getting hot, the pressure in the air felt suddenly denser and she could hear the unsteady thrumming of her heart in her ears, feel it in her throat.

"Don't talk about Santana like that." Brittany hissed. The words made Brittany tear up with rage as something red hot seemed to build in her stomach. She clenched her fist trying to relieve the surmounting anger inside of her; she'd never felt so close to losing control.

"Like what?"

"L-like she's nothing," Brittany stammered, "you can't do that."

"But she is nothing, just like you." Shannon was moving closer to Brittany, but Brittany didn't back away, standing her ground. She'd do this for Santana, she'd stand up for herself - she had to.

"She is not nothing," Brittany growled as wet tears finally slipped down her cheeks and shoved the other blonde away.

Shannon looked as if she had been electrocuted, "Don't you dare touch me, fucking disgusting dyke!" The girl's fist connected with Brittany who doubled over in pain, terrified and shocked.

The world felt like somebody had hit the slow motion button, slowing down time and every noise seemed to have been muted; like when you duck your head under water and everything goes quiet as if you put plugs in your ears. Santana felt like she was outside of her body, watching everything take place as if she was just a bystander and for a moment she was completely frozen, paralysed in horror.

Brittany was on the ground alone, an unmoving crumpled heap on the pavement and for a second Santana had feared the worst. Her whole body felt numb.

"Brittany?" Santana croaked, she couldn't find her voice, she couldn't find her body; she thought she was going to collapse.

The blonde heap stirred, a shudder ripping through her body and Santana was by her side in an instant crouched beside her and lifting her tenderly in her lap. Santana hadn't realised she was crying until her body shook with quiet sobs as she brushed the blonde hair away from her girlfriend's face. Brittany's eyes were lidded, her cheeks and nose, wet with tears and she was pale, so pale.

"Fuck, Brittany!" Santana said trying to gently move the girl into consciousness.

The blonde's eyes fluttered open and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, she looked wildly around and Santana gasped as Brittany jumped out of her arms and backed up against the wall, curling into her body; protecting herself. She was shaking so violently.

"Brittany it's me! It's me!" Santana tried to assure her, moving closer to the blonde.

"San-Santana?" Santana cringed, Brittany's voice was so quiet and weak it felt like someone had slit her heart open.

"It's me, baby it's Santana." Santana said and crawled to kneel in front of Brittany and brought her hands to cup Brittany's face. The blonde stiffened at the contact and didn't look up as she tried to move away but Santana held her face firmly in place. "Please don't be scared of me, it's me, baby I'm here."

"It's me," Santana repeated before Brittany finally collapsed into her arms, sobbing into her as the Latina wrapped her arms around Brittany who buried her face against her neck. Brittany could feel the sharp pang of pain in her ribs and it made her cry harder. She couldn't stop her body from shaking, she couldn't control it; there was this crippling fear that seized her body, taking control. She just kept having flashes of the memory of Shannon standing over her and she couldn't blink them away like the tears that fell down her face.

"Who hurt you?" Santana whispered, running her fingers soothingly against Brittany's scalp.

"Sh-Shannon," Brittany whimpered, she knew she had to tell Santana; she couldn't hide it anymore, she didn't want to, and she felt so weak, afraid and embarrassed. She tried to hold her own, tried to stand up for them and she failed, she was beaten down, it was humiliating. She felt Santana's arms tense around her and then slowly slip away, Santana was going to run for Shannon, Brittany knew it. "Please," Brittany murmured, she needed Santana, "don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Santana said and squeezed Brittany gently. Brittany gasped.

"Ow, my ribs hurt." She hissed quietly. She didn't mean to say it, she didn't want to worry Santana.

"Oh my god Britt, I'm so sorry," Santana cried and loosened her grip, "I fucking let this happen, I'm so sorry, I should have been here."

"Stop." Brittany mumbled into her chest; she was too tired, too weak.

The Night Before The Runaway

Looking back at the past two months, Santana couldn't believe how fucked up their lives had been

How they had survived the past two months, Santana couldn't figure out, and how Shannon was still alive and breathing in the halls of McKinley, was a total mystery.

Brittany didn't want to tell anyone about Shannon, and of course Santana listened. Brittany lied and told her mother she'd taken a bad fall during Cheerio practice and Sheryl let her daughter stay home as her cracked ribs healed. Brittany forced Santana to go to school and the first day Santana slammed her tiny fists into Shannon's face, earning her a three day suspension. Shannon stayed away from her then, going out of her way to avoid the Latina at all costs.

When Brittany had returned to school, it made everything more bearable, Shannon and her minions had left the two of them alone, mainly out of fear of Santana. But that didn't stop the slushies, the low whispers behind her back, the judgmental looks and suddenly they were being frozen out by the entire cheerleading squad. They were alone; nobody wanted anything to do with them.

People were just too afraid, they thought that by even associating themselves with the two girls could jeopardize their entire reputation and their reputation was more suddenly important than their moral code. These people didn't even have a shred of decency in their pathetic souls.

What Santana hated the most was that Brittany was seeing it all, she finally was seeing how truly twisted and cruel the world could be and she was disappointed. Santana hated that, she hated that she couldn't shield Brittany's perfect vision of the world, she hated knowing that the world let Brittany down. Santana had spent her whole time envying the way Brittany perceived the world, she loved how the blonde could find the most insignificant things beautiful, it made those piercing blue eyes glimmer with the subtlest of lights. But now, that light dimmed and Santana was furious at the world for letting it happen.

And of course there was the guilt. It was like a cloak that covered Santana that she couldn't shake off, reminding her to not let herself be happy because she was the one who caused it all. She was the one to blame here. It was her fault and she hated herself so, so much for that. She never breathed a word if that fact to Brittany, though.

"At least," Brittany said that day during lunch in school, "we don't have to hide anymore." Santana forced a soft smile as Brittany laced their fingers together, "at least I can hold your hand in public now."

Santana nodded and Brittany continued, "I like not having to hide from my parents either. Have you told your dad yet?"

"No, I haven't," Santana sighed and Brittany squeezed her hand.

"I wish you would," Brittany murmured, "I like your dad, he deserves to know."

"But you don't know how he is Britt," Santana said, staring down at her untouched plate of food, "you can't know how he would react to us."

"Are you ashamed of us?" Brittany asked, sounding almost hurt.

"What? No, of course not," it was Santana's turn to squeeze the hand in hers, "I-I'm just, you know, nervous about it all."

"Mm," Brittany hummed, unconvinced.

Santana sighed heavily in defeat, "I'm going to tell him tonight."

Santana tried not to notice the way Brittany's eyes lit up brightly, "Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," Santana tried to smother the nervous tension in her gut, but she was terrified. She had no idea how her father would react, he was religious in some senses but Santana had always been his little girl and besides Brittany, he was the one person who made her feel safe and protected. She looked up to her father, adored him and she never wanted to disappoint him. So naturally, she was nervous.

"You don't have to do it for me," Brittany said gently, sensing Santana's hesitation.

"No," Santana shook her head, "I'm doing this for me, and for us. I don't like hiding us anymore than you ever did."

"Okay," Brittany smiled warmly before gingerly wrapping her arms around Santana and hugging her.

"Okay." Santana repeated quietly, more to herself than Brittany, as if she was trying to convince herself that it was all going to be okay.

"Are you sure you don't want me there? I can come right over if you want." Brittany said, and Santana could hear Brittany's anxiety through the phone.

"No, it's alright Britt, I can handle this," Santana reassured, even though it was a lie. She didn't think she could handle this, and she desperately wanted Brittany by her side. She gave her courage and strength and a warmth that made her feel invincible; Brittany was exactly what Santana needed at that moment but Santana couldn't let her come.

She needed to do this alone, and to be frank, she was afraid of what might happen if Brittany was there. What if her father reacted badly, tried to insult Brittany? Santana could never let that happen. And maybe, it'd be a bit easier for Carlos to take it all in if he didn't have the two of them there together, waving their conjoined hands in his face.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Britt. I'll be okay."

"Okay, well...good luck. Lord Tubbington and I will be thinking of you. We're so proud of you."

"Thanks babe."

"Oh, and Santana?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, Britt." Santana smiled to herself before hanging up the phone and let out a sigh for what felt like the hundredth time that day, collapsing onto her bed.

The sound of the garage door opening made Santana's stomach do anxious flip-flops and her heart started to pick up pace again. She lied flat on her back on her bed and closed her eyes, listening to the muted conversations between her mami and papi down below. She inhaled two deep breaths before sitting up and off the bed.

"Santana! La cena esta lista!" Marie called.

"I'm coming!" Santana called back and looked at her own reflection briefly in her mirror. "C'mon Lopez, you've got this," she told herself, trying to squeeze some confidence desperately from her mind but she was still a quivering, nervous wreck. She wriggled her shoulders, loosening up her body as would an athlete before a game, before swinging the door open and descending the staircase.

Carlos Lopez stood by the kitchen bench, reading the paper that sat upon it, he turned when Santana entered and gave her a warm smile.

"Mija, how was your day?" he said.

"It was fine," Santana said not meeting his eyes, and started setting up the dining table; placing the knife and forks down, doing anything she could to distract herself from the nervous twisting in her stomach that felt like a billion bugs were crawling inside of her. After she was done she went to grab a glass of water, which was a stupid idea because her hands were shaking and made the water slosh around noisily.

She was thankful that Marie had finished cooking and set the plates down full of food, and Santana took a seat across from her father at the dining table. She picked up her knife and fork but couldn't bring herself to do anything else. The nerves had gotten to her and she froze up, as if it was squeezing every muscle in her body so tight that she couldn't move. She just sat there staring at her plate, trying to find a hold on her breathing that had become shorter and quicker with panic.

"Santana, why aren't you eating?" Her mother asked, her fork hovering over her meal. She looked at Santana in mild concern, Carlos mirroring the expression. Santana didn't move, didn't lift her eyes from the plate and took several gulps of air trying to swallow this fear that had encapsulated her.

"What's wrong?" Her father said.

Santana opened her mouth and finally spoke, "Papa, I have to tell you something."

She tried to ignore the way her mother's face drained of colour and how her knife and fork clattered clumsily around as she tried to busy herself with food. Carlos looked at his wife curiously before turning back to Santana.

"What is it honey?"

"I..." Santana trailed off.

"You can tell us anything, mija. Go on," he nodded her on.

"You know how I got suspended for getting into that fight with that girl, Shannon?" Santana began slowly.

"Yes," Carlos frowned, "because she was teasing you wasn't she?"

"Uh, not exactly," Santana paused and inhaled, "I hit her, because she hurt Brittany."

"Why did she hurt Brittany? Brittany is such a lovely girl!" Carlos asked, confused.

"Because sh-she knows something... about Brittany and I, that she didn't like," Santana tried to hint, hoping, but afraid at the same time, that he'd piece together what she was saying before she actually had to say it, but still he looked at her in confusion.

"What is it?"

"Papi, I care for Brittany," Santana said clearly, talking about Brittany seemed to draw out this hidden confidence from within her, a passion that made it easier for her to think, "I love Brittany... and not just in the friend way." Her father's face froze, his eyes glazed over, frozen with this dazed expression but Santana continued, "and she loves me too. What I'm trying to say is, Brittany and I, we're more than best friends... she's my girlfriend papi, and I love her more than I ever thought was possible. She is everything I could have ever wanted, and she makes me feel like... like I can be anything, anyone I want to be. She's the love of my life."

She almost let herself smile at that, thinking of Brittany and saying that out loud felt better than she could possibly imagine. Finally she understood why Brittany had pushed her to come out to her father; it felt so good not to hide, not to lie, and to someone as important as her father. It felt good to know that she let him in; it was more than just an obligation, after everything he had done for her he deserved to know the truth, know his daughter in every possible way and sharing that with him felt like she was standing a hundred feet above everyone else.

"You- You're not gay, Santana."

Santana whipped her head up, her mouth fell open, "w-what?"

"You're not gay, Santana." Carlos repeated firmly, his eyes boring into her own, "my daughter is not a lesbian."

"Papi, I am, I-"

"No, I raised you right," Carlos shook his head and Santana's stomach dropped, and he spoke more gently, "this - what you're going through, it's a phase sweetheart, you don't know how you feel."

"Of course I know how I feel!" Santana shouted in outrage, and she felt confused and hurt and betrayed all at once and the tears began to pool in her eyes. The way he spoke to her, condescended her, like she was nothing but a silly child, hurt more than she would have ever expected. Being told that what she and Brittany had wasn't real? It infuriated her and it pained her.

"Don't raise your voice, Santana -"

"This is not just some phase. Brittany is not just some phase." Santana said, "I am in love with her, papi, she is the first thing I've ever been sure of."

Carlos eyes wavered and to Santana's shock, they glistened with tears and Santana felt like she had been ripped apart.

"What did I do to deserve this?" He said shaking his head, "where did I go wrong? How could I have done this – let this happen? Marie, am I a bad father? I must be."

Marie didn't answer, she seemed paralysed in her own little world, her mouth gaping and looking at no one in particular. Santana felt like she had been crushed, as if she was just a bug under the tire of a truck, as if someone had drained every shred of light, happiness and hope from her body. And she started to feel guilty. She had hurt her father, she betrayed him.

"Papi, no! You didn't do anything wrong, I love you, you didn't do anything!"

"Then how is my daughter a fucking lesbian?" He roared and Santana and Marie both jumped in their seats, their eyes wide at the sudden outburst. This wasn't like Carlos; calm Carlos, gentle, loving and kind Carlos, no. This man that sat red in his chair, screaming and with a look of pure disgust in his eyes – this wasn't the father Santana had known.

"Carlos!" Marie shouted.

"Did you know Marie? You knew about this didn't you?" He spat rising from his chair and towering above the dining table, Santana felt so small in her chair, her heart sinking and her vision spinning in her head.

"Papi -" Santana pleaded, her silent tears turned into sobs that tightened her throat and made it hard for her to breath.

"Don't you dare call me your father, you are not my daughter. I didn't raise this –you."

She felt like someone had shot her, kicked her and it was worse than any feeling she had ever felt, almost as bad as when she had found Brittany lying broken on the floor. But now she felt broken. It was if someone had tied her to a stake and lit her body on fire, then let a mob of people stone her to death. She felt beaten, battered.

"Carlos, stop!" Marie gasped.

"No, Santana get out of my house, I will not let someone who disgraced this family like you have, live under the same roof as mine. Leave now, pack your bags and get out."

"But, dad -"

"Go. I don't want to look at you."

She was blinded by her tears as she shot up from her seat and flew up the stairs, her sobs tearing through her body and ached at her chest. She could faintly hear her mother shouting her name from down below and then the raised voices of a heated argument between her parents, but she heard it as if she was on the other side of a glass wall.

She couldn't believe this was happening, every thought in her brain seemed to be screaming and she couldn't think properly, her head was pounding and all she could barely think was get out. Go.

Santana dived through her closet, her hands shaking violently as if she was stuck in her own little earthquake, and pulled out two suitcases and began stuffing all of her clothes and shoes into them. This was it, she'd fucked everything up, and the weight of the world came crashing down on her all at once. Every cell in her body screamed in protest, telling her to just give up, collapse, but she kept moving, moving seemed like the only thing she could do.

She zipped the bags and heaved it down the stairs and out the front door, not listening to the sound of her mother's pleas for her to stay. She kept on moving.

She had to keep on moving.

Did you like this chapter? Have any feedback? Please let me know and review!

PM me if you have any questions :)

Freddrick Lou-Zar: To answer your question, YES! I will be bringing in a few familiar faces, as for who they are...well, that's a surprise ;)