Although Santana was majoring in business, she had always had a secret enjoyment for reading and writing, and she had taken on so many literature based classes as electives that she had ended up minoring in English as well. One evening as she went to attend her Women's Literature class, which focused on writings by women over history touching on women's issues and topics, Santana had not fully finished the reading assigned to her. She had read some poems by Marge Piercy and the short story "The Yellow Wallpaper" about some crazy woman locked up by her husband hallucinating a woman behind wallpaper- trippy. She had also read most of the stories in the book The Brewster Place, one in particular which she was interested in because it was about an interracial lesbian couple being harassed in their apartment complex. But with that magnitude of assigned reading, she hadn't quite finished the rest of the Brewster Place. She figured she would skim the last two chapters in class to get anything relevant in its end. Besides, she figured, she had read enough and related to enough of the works that she had plenty to contribute to the discussion without fully reading the ending.

So she thought. And then she got to class, and started hearing the other students talking about the book's ending- what a shock it was, how unfair, what it said about the time period that the lesbian would end up raped and a murderer and crazy, taken away from her lover. And that was when Santana had to flip frantically through the last two chapters, heart pounding, to see for herself what they were going on about.

They weren't wrong. That was exactly what had happened. And now they were going to spend three hours in class, talking about women driven crazy by what men did to them, women who deliberately tried to conform to societal expectations to be safer. Lesbian women who were raped as though in punishment for their very being and their choice to act on it.

Women who were like Santana.

If Santana had bothered to read the last part of the book, she would have skipped the class, damn the impact of her grade. But she was already there, already sitting with her papers and laptop and her bag messily spread around her. It would put far too much focus on her for her to get up, gather her things, and leave without explanation in the middle of class, something she had never done before. People would wonder, and maybe people would be able to see in her face what had happened to her, why it was she felt driven to go. Santana couldn't stand the thought of that, and so she sat, shaking and trying hard to disguise it, head down as she desperately tried to block out the class discussion, even as mental images of the circumstances of the character's rape flickered back and forth, flashing intertwined with her own memories of her own assault.

And then the conversation shifted again, only increasing Santana's discomfort. Her classmates and the professor began to discuss the works in light of the Me Too movement over the last few years, with several talking about celebrity allegations, recent news items, and their thoughts and comparisons to how modern rape cases and their handling compared to those in the literature from decades or centuries ago. This was bad enough, but when a few male classmates spoke up, sharing their thoughts about women saying things "for the money or fame" or "to get back at someone," and even saying they felt like men "were the real victims sometimes," Santana's nails dug into the material of her sweater until she knew she was bruising the skin beneath.

By the time the class was dismissed, Santana's hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped her belongings and couldn't zip up her bag. She almost ran through the school halls and down the stairs of the building's entrance, stumbling and skidding down the last few stone steps. She barely felt the stinging pain of her knees beginning to bleed when her jeans tore open, just picked herself up and kept running blindly towards where she was supposed to meet Brittany, more by autopilot than by intention. As she reached Brittany in the courtyard area where she always waited, she didn't take her hand or greet her like she normally would. Eyes darting, every muscle pulled taut, she spoke tightly and almost angrily, turning partly away from her as though to hide her expression.

"Come on, let's go. I want to get home."

New York already felt like home to Brittany as she slipped easily into place among the rest of New Yorkers, fitting back into the lives of Rachel, Kurt and, most importantly, Santana. Being back somewhere so familiar already felt like tour was all a dream, something Brittany had once lived but then had woken up back in her old life, as though nothing had changed. She knew of course, that was not the case as she was now living alone in an apartment instead of with Santana and she and Santana weren't actually together at all. It took everything in Brittany not to cave into Santana - she knew Santana wanted to be with her, something Brittany wanted just as badly, but Brittany knew they were still too far from shore for a relationship at that point.

A relationship would only complicate Santana's already complicated life, and Brittany wanted more than anything for Santana to recover and build her own self worth without having to rely on Brittany for that validation. Their lives were intertwined and always would be, but Brittany didn't want Santana to recover only because she had Brittany's emotional support. It was a hard line to draw, but one that Brittany knew she could one day cross.

Things had been good, the two of them slipping easily into routine, Brittany bringing Santana to the studio with her when she taught or meeting up with her before after her classes, spending time together at the loft and overall as much time together as possible, Santana beginning to open up more and more and Brittany quietly reminding her of her strength.

She'd left the studio with plenty of time to get to Santana's class building, hanging around the courtyard as always to wait for her. Picking Santana up for class had quickly become one of Brittany's favorite activities, never getting tired of the blatant joy that was on Santana's face whenever she saw Brittany. They always walked hand in hand and usually ended up cuddling back at the loft, gentle, intimate moments that helped wind Santana down after a long day and squeeze in more time together before they parted until the next day.

That day, similar to the very first day Brittany had surprised her there, Santana was moving so fast she was nearly running. Brittany grinned automatically, waiting for Santana to throw herself at her like she always did. She hesitated for a beat as Santana reached her, avoiding eye contact and not throwing her arms around Brittany.

"Hi Santana!" She chirped. Trying to ignore the disappointment that pooled in her stomach, Brittany reached for her, letting her eyes scan over her. She looked Santana up and down questioningly, her eyes almost skipping over the rips in Santana's jeans. She squinted, her hand wrapping around Santana's bicep, leaning to get a closer look at her knees.

"San, you're bleeding," Brittany observed incredulously, "Did you- did you fall? Are you okay?" She asked, straightening up her full height to look at her with a frown.

Santana ignores Brittany's chipper greeting. She barely hears it, honestly. Her chest is too tight, barely allowing her to squeeze in quick, shallow breaths, and she focuses her eyes on everything but Brittany. Right now she feels like raw, exposed nerve all over, and even Brittany feels like too much stimulation, with too much exposure likely to make her lose control, push her over the edge to a complete meltdown. And she is too close to the school, too much in the dark, too far from home for that.

When Brittany grasps her arm, Santana flinches sharply, trying to pull from her touch. She puts several feet between them, her heart stuttering as she tries to stay with anger, a far more comfortable emotion to show.

"I'm fine, I just want to go home! Stop hovering over me all the time, stop fussing over me, you hardly even let me breathe!"

It wasn't true, of course. Santana wanted Brittany to fuss over her 99.9% of the time that she did. She barely even knew what she was saying. The words just came out in a biting tone undermined only by her trembling frame.

Brittany flinched, snapped her hand back when Santana pulled away from her - scared, for a fleeting moment, that she'd somehow hurt her. Santana had never pulled away before, if anything, in recent weeks Santana had been the one reaching for Brittany when she needed comfort or extra touch and Brittany, of course, had been happy to oblige.

Now, however, Brittany's heart was pounding in the worst way and she wondered if Santana was somehow bruised without her realizing it or if she'd grabbed her arm too hard. "I'm sorry," She blurted, not sure of what else she was supposed to say, lowering her arms to her sides even though she wanted to reach out and touch her again - she always did.

At Santana's outburst, Brittany's brow furrowed, her words angry and biting, and not in her usual sarcastic way when she was joking with Rachel and Kurt but truly venomous, making Brittany swallow, blinking without of clue of how exactly she should respond. She felt a million things- she was angry at Santana for being so mean to her, but she was also so, so sad, her happy excitement about seeing Santana quickly dashed by her mood. Her throat had grown thick somewhere in between her noticing the blood on Santana's jeans and Santana wrenching her arm out of her grasp and she swallowed again, clearing her throat.

"Um, okay, lets go home then." Brittany couldn't decide if she wanted to give her attitude back or be sad about Santana's behavior, left in limbo of not exactly sure what to do next. She raised her hand with the intention of resting it on Santana's lower back but lowered it quickly biting her lip instead. She could see Santana was trembling and figured something had to have happened in class but knew Santana probably wouldn't discuss it with her there so instead she followed her closely as they made their way out to the sidewalk and fell into step towards home.

Santana walks beside Brittany but keeps space between them. She is limping but walks quickly, needing to put more distance between the class and her classmates, her memories and her thoughts but she can only leave behind two of the four. She doesn't speak, not even aware of the blood still sleeping through her jeans as she practically jogs home.

When they get to the door of the apartment she is grateful to see that Kurt and Rachel are in their curtained areas with the curtains drawn. She turns to Brittany, speaking in the same abrupt, distant tone that borders on anger.

"Good night, bye, see you tomorrow." She just wants to throw herself into the bathroom, bury her face in a towel, and scream without noise, get out some of the pent up emotions that want to spill forward without letting anyone else know she's doing it.

Although she was taller than Santana, Brittany found herself having to walk quicker than usual to match Santana's pace, a strange contrast to the way they usually walked home, nice and slow, hand in hand, unpacking how Santana's class and Brittany's time at the studio went. It was evident to Brittany that something was wrong with Santana, but she knew better than to ask while they were outside at night and Santana was so clearly bothered. Instead she just kept the distance between them even though she wondered if Santana would push her away if she wrapped her up in her arms or fall into them instead.

She sighed in relief when the loft came into view - surely, Santana would open up when they got there, back in the safety of home. She'd share with Brittany what went wrong and they'd lay on the couch for awhile until Santana had talked it out and Brittany was confident that she could sleep peacefully and without interruption. The loft had always been their safe space, where Santana had let down her barriers for Brittany a number of times and Brittany was sure she would this time too.

Stepping into the loft, her eyes automatically registered Rachel and Kurt's drawn curtains - a good sign. That meant they didn't have to dodge them to be alone and talk about things. Taking a step into the loft, her hand still on the door to pull it closed behind her, she stopped when Santana turned to face her abruptly, automatically thinking she was going to confess what was wrong, Brittany already prepared to comfort her.

Instead Santana was- making her leave. "What?" Brittany blurted before she even thought about it. Santana had caught her off guard when she was so standoffish outside of class but this was something else entirely - she wouldn't even talk to Brittany in private. Shocked, Brittany ignored her, taking a step forward into the loft. "I- I don't understand why you won't talk to me," She pointed out, glancing down at Santana's knees again, making up her mind on the spot. "But…. I'm not leaving until you let me clean your knees. Go to the bathroom and wait for me and I'll go get you pajamas." She nodded, her eyes locked with Santana's, daring her to challenge her.

Santana doesn't hear the hurt in Brittany's tone, and she isn't looking at her closely enough to see it in her face. She is hearing the young men from her class, clueless and self assured as they say that women with far less to lose and far more privilege in so ma y ways than Santana were making up their accusations of sexual abuse. Her thoughts are crammed full with new levels of fear that the same guys she thought she at least sort of new were no different than her rapist, that they could smile at her in class and pass her a paper and then call her a liar to her face…that they too could hurt her and find it right. Her skin felt like it was crawling with anxiety to the point that one more voice, one more touch felt to her like it would literally nearly kill her.

"I don't want to talk, I'm tired of talking, talking doesn't do a damn thing to change me or anyone else and it's anyone else part that really matters. Stop always trying to make me talk about everything, talking makes things worse no matter what you say, okay, so leave me alone, I'm not talking!"

She's actually talking faster and faster until the words are barely understandable. When Brittany stares her down, insisting on cleaning her knees, Santana almost buckles, certain she can't stand Brittany talking to her, let alone touching her without collapsing in a heap of limp limbs and tears. And after hours of putting all her energy into holding together, keeping from letting anyone in on the turmoil she was feeling, she's stuck. She can't seem to get past the instinctive mental block if keeping it up- even now. Even with Brittany.

Seeing that Brittany is serious about not leaving until she cleans her knees, she stalks into the bathroom, avoiding looking at her reflection as she wets a washcloth and scrubs her face with it fiercely. She sits on the closed toilet seat and buries her face in her hands, but jumps and whips her head up when Brittany entered the bathroom again, heart leaping to her throat.

Brittany pressed her lips together at Santana's outburst, pulling the door shut behind her. Instantly, she felt guilty, like she'd been pushing Santana too hard all this time or that she didn't accept Santana's limits and was always trying to challenge her and push the boundaries she knew only she was ever able to push. She immediately began to question if it was all too much and she needed to back off or if this was just Santana getting her anger out - maybe even a combination of both.

Although she'd been determined, she was shocked when Santana didn't fight her on cleaning off her bloody knees. She expected another entire rant about how Santana was an adult and could clean her own knees and take care of herself but to her surprise, Santana was silent, stomping off toward the bathroom. Even though she was taken aback at her behavior, Brittany was at least grateful that Santana would let her make sure she was cleaned up and hopefully Brittany would be able to talk to her, at least just a little.

Instead of following her to the bathroom, Brittany dug through Santana's drawers in her section of the loft, coming up with an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants that were loose and wouldn't bother her legs. She carried her armful to the bathroom, slipping in quietly, her eyes immediately falling on Santana where she was sitting, her face in her hands. Her position was short lived though - she snapped up so quickly it made Brittany jump where she stood.

"I didn't mean to scare you," She said softly, holding up the pajamas in her hands. "Take your pants off so I can clean your knees," Brittany instructed, using her quietest voice because Santana looked like she could easily fracture into shards.

She waited patiently while Santana did so, handing her the pajama bottoms and top while she knelt down and looked under the bathroom sink and in the drawers for the first aid kit, coming up with a first aid kit that was perfectly labeled and stocked with everything someone could need for any medical injury. Brittany was impressed and made a mental note to thank Rachel for it - there was no doubt in her mind that Rachel was the one who had meticulously labeled every item, even though first aid stuff was kind of obvious, in Britany's opinion.

When Santana sat back down, Brittany walked on her knees until she could kneel in front of her, gently rolling up both her pajama pant legs over her knees, reaching up to dampen a washcloth under the sink. "Do you want to tell me how this happened?" She asked as she cleaned one of her scrapes with a light, practiced hand, her other hand holding Santana's calf.

Santana is still breathing erratically despite the softness of Brittany's voice when she came to kneel down in front of her. She swallowed several times, trying to force down the lump in her throat that seems to be getting larger by the moment. Her hands are so shaky when she stands to take off her pants that she can't at first work the button above her zipper.

When she finally manages to get her jeans off and sit, she looks down and realizes for the first time how badly skinned and cut up her knees actually are, some gravel from the steps stuck in her left and blood drying down her shins. She bites her lip, hating the sight of her own blood, her memory flicking back to the night in the bar, blood on her inner legs. Feeling suddenly sick to the stomach and light headed, she closes her eyes, her face paling, lips pressing tight together.

When Brittany begins to clean her legs gently, obviously caring about hurting her even after the efforts Santana had gone to pushing her away, Santana's breath shudders out in a sob. She keeps her eyes closed, but the touch on her calf thaws her as Brittany's touch always can, and she starts to cry quietly, her body shaking with continued losing effort to hold it in.

"N-no. I c-cant. N-no. I don't, I don't want to t-talk. I'm sorry." She isn't even sure what she's sorry for, because she can't really remember what she's said, but she's sure it was bitchy and unwarranted.

Brittany could sense how tightly coiled Santana's body is as she gently cleaned the blood from around the cuts and wipes the dirt off of Santana's skin, being careful to not press to hard on her cuts as she worked the dried blood away. Glancing up at her when she hears the sob crack out of Santana's chest, Brittany didn't say anything, letting Santana have a minute to herself as Brittany worked, her eyes shut tight.

Automatically, Brittany's mind began to spin, fearing the worst despite her best efforts to stay calm. Did someone physically hurt her? Did they push her down, resulting in her bloodied knees? Everything wasn't adding up, but Brittany didn't push it, trying to stamp down her own urgency to know what happened and instead, finishing cleaning the cuts with delicate strokes, reaching up to put the wash cloth in the sink.

"It's okay, San," Brittany soothed, rubbing the side of her leg when Santana sputtered out an excuse and apology, barely able to string together a broken phrase. "We're home and you're fine." She promised, her voice low and grounding. "You're home now and we're going to finish cleaning you up and then go to bed and that's it." Brittany said, laying out the rest of their night, reminding Santana that she was home and the day was over and all that was left was the safety of her bed.

As Santana cried and sputtered, Brittany continued her work, squeezing a little drop of ointment onto each of Santana's knees to make sure they didn't get infected and to take away the stinging pain of the scrapes. "You're alright now, but I need you to tell me if someone hurt you. Did you fall? How did you get scraped?" Brittany asked, her voice steady but demanding, asking for only the facts of the situation. "Is anywhere else hurt?" She continued, glancing to Santana's elbows and her hands, making sure the heels of her hands weren't bleeding either.

Brittany's soft, soothing words only seem to break Santana further. She hides her face back in her hands again, not wanting Brittany to look at her, not wanting to see the concern and caring she has die her even as she feels it in the way she rubs her leg and hears it in her reassuring tone. Brittany is forgiving, showing only concern and comfort, and Santana sobbed harder, her hair tumbling down to partly obscure what little of her face isn't hidden in her hands.

She tries to draw in enough breath to answer Brittany but at first is only able to shake her head. "N-no…nowhere else," she stammers, snuffling behind her hands. "I f-fell. I just, I just fell." Despite her attempt at explaining that she wasn't badly hurt and no one had pushed or hurt her, just speaking at all and having Brittany give her so much focus, so much concern, provokes more tears. The dam has broke now from the past few hours and won't yet tamper off.

Her first reaction was to pull Santana into her lap on the bathroom floor and pull her hands away from her face but she hesitated, knowing she needs to finish cleaning her knees and put Santana to bed, not wanting to have the conversation on the bathroom floor. They'd already fallen asleep there once and, as nice as it had been to hold Santana, Brittany knew they were better off in Santana's bed. She'd already made the decision to stay somewhere between getting to the bathroom and that moment, not trusting Santana to be able to calm herself down enough to sleep peacefully next to Rachel that night and wanting to keep an eye on her regardless of that.

"Okay," Brittany nodded, even though Santana wasn't looking at her. "Well I'm almost done cleaning your knees, so they'll feel better in a minute."

Carefully, Brittany peeled the backs off a few Band-Aids and covered the cuts with them, paying extra attention not to get the sticky part on any areas that were bleeding and making sure to fully cover the cuts so no ointment or blood got on Santana's pajama bottoms. Satisfied with her work, she clicked the First Aid kit shut, throwing away the crumpled up bandage wrappers and gently unrolled Santana's pajama bottoms before sitting up on her knees, eye level with Santana, who was only growing more inconsolable.

"Hey," Brittany cooed, pushing Santana's hair off of her face, rubbing her arms through her sobs. "Let's go to bed, can you stand?" She asked, more concerned about Santana's strength at the moment than the cuts on her knees. "Come on," She cooed, trying to coax Santana's hands away from her face at least until they got to her bedroom.

Santana's hands stayed over her eyes, reluctant to pull down to let Brittany see her face. When Brittany rubs her arms, pulling at her hands lightly, Santana reluctantly lets her pull them down, her eyes streaming tears, shoulders quivering.

"I don't…Rachel, I don't…,"

She doesn't want to get in bed with Rachel while sobbing almost hysterically. But she can't quite find the words to say that. She fumbles for Brittany's hand instead, clutching onto it, and lets her gently help her to her feet.

Smiling when Santana stood, Brittany let her curl into her chest for a moment while she sobbed, rubbing her back in long, heavy strokes for a few minutes before guiding them out of the bathroom and flicking off the light. She gently guided Santana toward her bed, her hand on her back to navigate her when she felt Santana freeze, stumbling out a protest through her tears.

"You're not," Brittany soothed, squeezing Santana's hand a little when she grabbed onto it like a lifeline. "I'm going to stay with you tonight," She promised, realizing she hadn't vocalized her decision in front of Santana, hadn't told her that there was no way she could leave her like this. She almost asked it that was okay with Santana but instead, tugged Santana forward slipping into her own curtained off area and pulling Santana through it with her.

She guided Santana to sit on the bed, pushing her hair off her cheeks and tucking it behind her ears. "You're doing really good San - I need you to keep breathing okay?" Brittany hummed. "Do you want to lay with me?" She asked, knowing that was what was coming next but wanting to give Santana the control, the option to say yes and sleep next to Brittany.

Making sure Santana wasn't actively hyperventilating, Brittany stood, peeling off her clothes and kicking them to the floor before she pulled on some of Santana's pajamas. Climbing onto Santana's bed, Brittany sat next to her, her arm around her shoulders, her other hand resting on one of Santana's legs. "Come on, lay with me," She hummed, "I want you to talk to me about why you're so sad," Brittany whispered, Santana feeling so small in her arms.

Santana let her body fall into Brittany briefly, not quite hugging her back but clutching a handful of Brittany's shirt in her fist. She let Brittany pat her and then guide her towards her area of the loft, literally stumbling blind between the dark and her tears, not letting go of Brittany's hand. She feels only dim relief that Brittany understands and isn't going to pass her off to Rachel, that she is staying with her, because when Santana feels so unsafe and frightened and lost in the past as she does now, she feels as though she genuinely might not survive the night. Like her own feelings or memories could somehow kill her.

Santana nodded wordlessly at Brittany's question about wanting her to stay with her. She wants to tell her again she's sorry, but the words feel stuck. Her eyes close again when Brittany tucks her hair, but when the blonde pulls away to put on pajamas herself, Santana's eyes fly open and she reaches out to her, feeling desperate and pathetic to have contact again. When Brittany reassures her, dressing quickly, sliding into bed beside her, and circling an arm around Santana's shoulders, coaxing her to lay down with her, Santana does, curling herself tight against Brittany's side, her forehead pressed into her chest.

When Brittany encourages her to tell her what's going on, why she's feeling sad, it's like breaking open a dam Santana hadn't even know was partly erected. She breaks out into heavier sobbing, her cries harsh, choking, her face hot with the force of her emotional storm even as she trembles in Brittany's arms. Her nose is running and she starts to cough, trying to answer Brittany when this subsides through somewhat nonsensical efforts to explain.

"Th-they w-were talking, the b-book, she was gay and it w-wasnt fair, and th-they said we m-make it up, and they, they would look at m-me, I couldn't go, and the b-blood, get away with it. Get away and n-no one believes, d-doesnt matter."

When Brittany took her hand away to put pajamas on and Santana reached forward again, her heart tugged, apologetic that she'd taken her hand off her, catching her hand in midair and pressing to her cheek gently before setting it back in Santana's lap, quietly whispering a stream of promises about how she's only just getting dressed in her pajamas and then she'll be back.

Pulling Santana as close to her body as possible, Brittany wrapped both her arms around her, as if she could hold her broken shards together from her love alone. Brittany felt Santana's body jerk as she sobbed, finally letting go of the emotions she'd tried so hard to keep hold of since she met up with Brittany outside of her class.

"Okay, okay, it's okay," Brittany hushed, pushing Santana's hair off her face as she dragged in shallow breaths, her face buried against Brittany's shirt, sputtering and surrendering to the emotions that wracked through her body.

She listened closely as Santana's excuse came out in fragmented, broken cries, trying to follow the story as best she could, rubbing Santana's back as she spoke, her words rushed and tripping over each other. Brittany wasn't following what exactly the story was but she kept quiet, her hands slow and soothing, mapping over Santana's body and pressing comfort into her bones, waiting patiently until she fell silent.

"Okay San," Brittany hummed, her hand on the back of Santana's head, skating through her hair. "Shhhhh, something happened in class?" She asked gently, trying to figure out the root of the problem. Still, Brittany felt a little calmer - it didn't seem like anything immediately harmful happened or that anyone had directly upset Santana. "Why did it make you upset? Were people saying bad things about being gay? Did it make you think of something scary?" She asked, whispering her questions in Santana's ear.

Santana's crying started to taper off a little as Brittany held her, humming soft reassurance and support and following the words with equally gentle touch. Hiccuping and sniffling, she tried to catch her breath when her words ran out, to more coherently explain what had happened. But even to herself there is no simple, straightforward explanation. What happened today and what happened months ago seem so entwined to her mind right now she can barely distinguish, and so what words she ultimately finds to explain, the answer both to what most upset her and what made her upset, are both related to what she read and what comments she had heard and also what had been said to her by her attacker that night. She whispers them into Brittany, releasing the words aloud for the first time just barely audible.

"Make me normal…a…a real woman. Show me…I'm n-nothing. Worse…worse than a whore. F-f-fuck…fuck the gay out of me."

She shivered, a few more tears slipping out, and waits, her stomach knotted with dread at Brittany's response. She isn't sure the girl can understand, or even if she wants her to.

Brittany held Santana close to her chest, her heart fracturing at her raw brokenness. She hated that Santana was so upset but she knew, at that point, the best thing she could do for her in that moment was hold her and provide as much physical touch as possible. She thought back to just a few minutes ago when Santana had gotten so upset when she'd let her go, even if just to put her pajamas on, an instant reaction to losing a source of comfort that she desperately needed.

She felt her body relax just a little against her, still sniffling and hiccupping against Brittany's shirt, expelling the emotions that had coiled up inside her. "I've got you," She hummed, smoothing Santana's hair away from her face at the hairline, comforting and familiar. She knew Santana was too upset for her to say much else, knowing if she spoke a lot and tried to provide to much information and details that it would only stress Santana out even more and so she stayed silent for the most part, gently trying to soothe her with her touches.

Realizing Santana was coughing to clear her throat, Brittany paused with her hands against Santana's back, patiently waiting for her to catch her breath to speak. She didn't pick her head up from Brittany's chest, instead, speaking into her shirt, disgusting, vile things that shocked Brittany when she pieced together the words - a real woman, worse than a whore, fuck the gay out of me. Brittany felt her head spin, clamping her eyes shut as Santana spoke, feeling a fearful shiver roll through Santana's body, her muscles tensing after her admission.

"Is that -" Brittany swallowed hard, realizing a lump had formed in her throat. Her mind was reeling - could someone from Santana's class have said that to her? It didn't seem like something that could ever be brought up in a classroom setting, but Brittany knew there was only one other location where anyone could've ever - would've ever said such horrible, degrading things to Santana. She didn't understand how Santana's class related back to her admission but she didn't care, she was certain there were details that she was missing and at that moment, the only thing that she was concerned about was the present, the Santana in front of her, crying and broken and needing her.

"Hey, hey, Santana," Brittany hushed, wrapping both arms around her tightly, pulling her even closer so that Santana's torso was nearly on top of Brittany's. "Those are horrible, awful things." She whispered, keeping her words simple, aware that Santana was still incredibly upset. "None of those things are true about you," She hushed, whispering into Santana's hair. She pulled the blankets up higher around them, slipping her hands down and up the back of Santana's shirt to rest them on her bare back, feeling her ribcage heave and expand as she struggled to breathe. "Shhhhh, those are awful."

Having managed to say a key piece if what has stuck with her so vividly, words that feels to Santana like they are slowly rotting away at her insides the longer she holds them in, Santana feels a tiny bit better, almost like having vomited when sick. She fists her hands in Brittany's shirt, her breathing still out of normal timing, but beginning to sound slightly less ragged and desperate. She lays quietly with Brittany, slowly coming down from the extreme distress she had vented, feeling so physically and emotionally wrung out that when her eyes shut now, it is due to weariness rather than feeling the need to hide.

"S-some people think it's true," she mumbled without specifying. "A lot of people."

That's what it feels like to her. Why else would it happen to so many women? Why would books have been written about it decades before she was even born, with little changing? Why would people in her class, educated people, seem to think so?

"I just want to sleep," she whispered, letting out a other shuddering sigh. "But I'm scared to. I'm so scared to sleep."

Everything she tries to push away and avoid in the day catches up with her in sleep. She cant control it and she can't escape it.

They lapped into a comfortable silence, Brittany continuing to map her hands across Santana's back, the two of them snuggled under the blankets creating a safe little oasis for the two of them. In the silence, she listened to Santana's breathing as she calmed herself from her hysterics, slowly quieting until her cries are noticeably more gentle. Brittany can tell from the way it feels that the fabric of her shirt is wet from Santana's tears.

"No they don't," Brittany countered easily, gently scratching Santana's back with her nails to calm her. "A lot of people don't think that. Just a few terrible people." She murmured soothingly, trying to prevent winding Santana back up. "Besides, I don't think that," She promised evenly. "I think you're the most beautiful, important person and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than right here with you," Brittany whispered, reminding Santana that she'd rather be here than tour or with anyone else.

"Just try, San." Brittany made sure the blankets were all tucked in around them as she spoke into the dark. "I'm going to sleep too, right here, just like this and I'll be right here still when you wake up." Brittany promised, her heart hurting at Santana's admission that she was scared to even sleep. Brittany felt awful for her - she couldn't find peace awake or asleep and all Brittany wanted was for her to be able to sleep easily and feel well rested and calm, so far from the brokenness they were both up against right then. "Do you want to talk about anything else that happened or do you just want me to hold you?" Brittany wondered.

Santana listened to Brittany, trying to find calm in her countering words and continued gentle touch. She nodded wearily in wordless response to Brittany asking her to try to sleep and reassuring her that she would sleep with her. Still she is worried about keeping Brittany up, about accidentally hurting her in the grip of a dream.

"I don't want you not to sleep," she mumbled. "I don't want to hit you or kick you. Not fair to you." Or Rachel, either, but somehow doing it to Brittany feels even worse.

She shakes her head against Brittany when Brittany asked her about wanting to talk, clarifying in a murmur after a few seconds, "Just…hold. Please?"

"You know I'm a heavy sleeper," Brittany grinned a little, patting Santana's back. It was true- especially when they were in the same bed, both of them comforted by the other's presence that they slept peacefully and heavily, adjusting their positions without having to even wake up, reaching for each other if they ever rolled away.

She hated that Santana felt bad about her nightmares, knowing she had no control over them and was a victim to their power, unable to control her own body. "It's okay," She promised. "Maybe you won't have any nightmares tonight. But even if you do, we'll just wake up, calm down and then try to go back to sleep," Brittany assured her, knowing it was actually much more complicated than that but wanting Santana to stay calm and heavy against her, trying to lull her enough that she'd fall asleep in her arms.

"Just try to close your eyes," Brittany hummed when Santana requested she simply hold her. Brittany could do that, silently hoping Santana would drift off to sleep in her hold and that they'd spend the whole night wrapped up like this in calm. Brittany's own mind was racing, replaying the words Santana had said to her, revealing a little more of what Brittany assumed had been said to her by her attacker. It was shocking and upset Brittany to think about, but she tried to not let her body tense, trying to stay calm and safe for Santana, closing her own eyes as well, letting them drift into a sleepy state of semi-calmness.

It was true, Brittany was a heavy sleeper. Usually. But someone would have to be unconscious or maybe dead to sleep through Santana sometimes. But maybe Brittany was right. Maybe Santana would be able to sleep like she had always slept with Brittany before, feeling warm and comfortable and safe. Maybe that wouldn't change, even now.

Santana closed her hot, heavy-feeling eyes as Brittany continued to speak softly and gently, rubbing her back. Santana has nothing else to say, can barely even form thoughts anymore, and after about twenty minutes her body gradually relaxes into sleep. Not very long after that she starts to snore lightly from her still stuffy breathing, her mouth open slightly.

She gets perhaps an hour's rest before the dream hits. She is back at the bar, back in the bathroom, but she is alone, her rapist nowhere to be seen, and somehow at first she thinks it's okay. She has managed to rewrite history, to erase it from happening, and she even starts to smile. Maybe she's finally won. Maybe it never happened, and everything before was just a long, terrible dream.

But then she sees the first drops of blood on the floor, slow trickles at first, and then becoming steadier, faster in the flow. Santana looks down at herself, startled, uncomprehending, to realize that the blood is coming from herself, that she is suddenly naked and bleeding between the legs. Once she realizes this, the bright lighting of the bathroom flickers, and when it comes back in full, she can see that the blood is now pouring out of her, making a near river of bright red at her feet and rapidly spread across the tile floors.

In the dream Santana gasps, instinctively grabbing at herself to try to stop the blood, but blood spurts between her fingers, painting her skin red up to the wrists. She tries to grab for the paper towels in the dispenser behind her, but they are soaked through in minutes. She feels no pain, and yet she knows she cannot continue to bleed like this without getting help, without being treated, or she will die.

And then she realizes that the blood on the floor is moving. Not just spreading out wider as more is added to its pool, but actually moving on its own, beginning to take on a shape, a definitely solid mass. Santana stares, horrified, as the mass becomes more clearly the shape of a human, a girl, forming legs and arms and even sticky strands of blood soaked hair. She realizes a split second before the features form that the girl is Brittany, lying bloodied and naked on the floor in what had been Santana's blood, blue eyes open wide and lifeless.

Santana begins to scream, trying to lunge forward to help Brittany, to cradle her and clean her and somehow bring her back to life, but she finds she cannot move at all. She is rooted in place, screaming and crying out Brittany's name in high, broken sobbing as she knows that somehow, she has hurt Brittany- no, she's killed Brittany. Somehow, this is her fault.

In the dream, Santana is paralyzed, but in bed with Brittany she is a frenzy of writhing, lashing elbows and kicking feet, fighting for her life and for Brittany's too. She screams Brittany's name in time with her dream self's outcries, her throat raw with the force of it.

Brittany held Santana there, solid and calming against her chest while she listened to her breathing slowly regulate, her inhales and exhales turning deep and long as she fell asleep, snoring a little through her still-stuffy nose. Santana fell asleep before her, Brittany staying awake a little longer to try and calm her thoughts, soothing herself with the notion that Santana was sleeping calmly against her. She replayed everything that had just happened, trying to sort it all out in her mind while knowing she didn't have all the information at all, replaying the words Santana whispered again and again and aga-

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she found herself gasping awake, Santana's once still body thrashing and kicking, screaming and, Brittany realized as she was jolted out of unconsciousness - screaming her name. Disheveled and shocked with how abruptly she was pulled from sleep, Brittany shoved her hair off her face, fumbling to sit up, kicking the blankets off her as Santana's leg collided with her hip.

"Santana!" Brittany reached for her, trying to get her in her hold although she was thrashing wildly. She saw the lights go on, squinting in their brightness a second before she heard the curtain being yanked back, Kurt and Rachel appearing, looking as disturbed and shocked as Brittany felt.

"Santana," She repeated, grabbing her with her hands around both of her upper arms, heaving her into a sitting position, ignoring the way her body twisted and pushed against her trying to get free. "Santana it's okay, I'm right here," Brittany soothed, her voice lullaby soft, keeping her hold on Santana for fear that Santana will hurt either Brittany or herself with her kicking and throwing her arms wildly, one of her hands colliding roughly with Brittany's chest.

"Come on San, it was just a nightmare." Brittany tried again, trying to bring her into consciousness, to wake her up gently. But she was failing, Santana was still shrieking in fear, trying to kick off any advances from Brittany or anyone else.

"Brittany it's no use," She heard Rachel's voice from behind her. "Kurt and I have both tried to calm her down when she's like this and she usually has to come out of it on her own - She's broken things before and as I told you she once gave me a black eye because I tried to comfort her. It's really aggressive and while I do feel awfully for her there's really no use in trying to wake her because we've tried everyth-"

"HEY!" Brittany raised her voice, loud and sharp over Santana's wailing, shaking Santana once by the shoulders, trying to snap her out of her nightmare.

"Brittany, watch out!" Kurt gasped as Brittany persisted on attempting to gain firm hold of Santana, to keep her from lashing out at herself or Brittany. "Brittany, seriously!"

It wasn't clear whether he was asking for Brittany to watch out for herself or whether he thought she might accidentally hurt Santana, or both. Rachel too stood back a fair distance from them both, wide-eyed and a little pale, but clearly not too tired to keep from her continued "helpful" advice.

"This is a really bad one, it's been a while since it's been so bad. I really had hoped that she had gotten through the stage of such terrible sleeping, I mean of course I knew she was still having nightmares but at this level, no, and so I did hope perhaps-"

When Brittany barks over Santana's shouts, giving her a hard shake, Rachel immediately cuts herself off, and both she and Kurt gawk at Brittany, never having seen this side of her before. "Oh my god, she's about to die," Kurt murmured to Rachel, assumedly referring to Brittany at Santana's hands. "We're about to witness a murder."

But despite their predictions otherwise, Brittany's change up in her approach of Santana didn't further push her over the edge, violence-wise. Instead, Santana's eyes flew open, her calling of Brittany's name cutting off into a stammer, and she stopped kicking and hitting out, her body going entirely rigid as though shocked out of its instinctive fighting. Her dark eyes were bright, petrified, and utterly bewildered, not seeming to recognize Brittany. She shook so hard under hands that her teeth chattered, staring as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Santana...?" Rachel ventured behind Brittany, sounding utterly confused and a little frightened herself. "Is she still asleep?"

Santana hears dimly but is still not quite present in the moment. Her eyes blink slowly, staring at Brittany, not seeming to understand what she is seeing.

Brittany watched Santana's face closely, watching the emotions flicker across as she slowly tries to get her bearings and take in her surroundings. Her eyes look dazed, like maybe she's not really looking at Brittany at all, but her eyes focused on something else entirely. "You're awake," Brittany added, giving her arms a gentle squeeze as Santana blinked, slowly, lazily, as if she was stuck between consciousness and sleep.

She held still as Santana raised her hand, flinching only briefly as Santana reached for her face, stumbling across her cheek. Brittany heard her own heart thundering in her ears along with Santana's mumbles - blood? In front of her, Santana seemed relieved, in disbelief that there wasn't blood anywhere, on Brittany, from what it sounded like. Neither of them responded to Rachel when she spoke, Brittany was terrified to look away, as if breaking the eye contact would snap Santana out of her daze and she'd go back to kicking and fighting her. She heard the tears in Rachel's voice and felt the familiar prickle in own throat but didn't dare to look away, letting Santana's fingertips rub against her cheekbone, feeling the planes and divots in Brittany's face.

"Right here," Brittany cooed, letting go of one of Santana's arms to press her hand over Santana's, flattening Santana's trembling hand against her cheek. Brittany felt like they were walking on a tightrope, she was afraid to make one wrong move, scared for Kurt or Rachel to step closer, scared that something would scare Santana again.

But, just like that, Santana moved, lunging forward to climb into Brittany's lap, her hands gripping for purchase, bunching up fistfuls of her pajama shirt. "There you are," Brittany sighed in relief, catching Santana in her arms as she straddled Brittany's lap, gripping onto her. One of Brittany's hands came to rest on the back of her head, the other securely on Santana's back as she rocked them both back and forth gently. "You're awake, San," She repeated, "It was just a bad dream, it's okay."

Brittany glanced to Kurt and Rachel, both of them standing dumbfounded, watching the scene play out. Brittany blinked away the wetness in her own eyes as she looked at their questioning glances, mouthing "I don't know," as she held tightly to Santana.

Brittany heard them trying to warn her, paying no mind to their words. She was stronger than Santana, she knew, even if Santana's limbs were kicking faster, Brittany reflexes were quick and she was able to avoid most of Santana's limbs, save for a few kicks and punches. Her mind was trying to catch up with what was happening, being jostled out of sleep so quickly and abruptly, trying to figure out what to do next, what came next when none of them were getting through to Santana.

She was trying not to panic and get upset herself, trying to think clearly, thinking about how Santana reacted to things, how Santana reacted to her that she could use, but she kept coming up blank, everything moving too fast. And then, she just yelled, catching herself and Kurt and Rachel off guard, her face inches from Santana, her hands holding her arms so tight, trying to pull her out of her own mind.

For a second, everything was silent, still, all four of them absolutely frozen where they were. She heard Kurt murmur to Rachel - we're about to witness a murder. She didn't move, waiting for Santana to start thrashing harder, waiting for her to swing, scream, shove her, so something. But she didn't. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at Brittany, her body tight and rigid, the muscles in her arms tight where Brittany held them. She didn't speak, both of their chests heaving as they sat on the bed, frozen in shock.

She heard Rachel's voice a little closer, behind her now, sounding smaller and more wobbly than she'd heard Rachel's voice in a long time. Brittany wanted to glance at Kurt and Rachel, knowing they'd be equally in disbelief, but she kept her gaze on Santana the entire time, not speaking to Rachel, not answering. Brittany watched Santana blink, not sure if what was about to happen was another kicking fight or how Santana would react.

"Santana," Brittany's voice was loud, clear, demanding, as if she was trying to speak to someone who was hard of hearing. "You're okay. We're in the loft. You're safe. You had a nightmare. It's just me." Her voice was slow, telling Santana each fact, her words simple, watching Santana take in her surroundings like she'd just been pulled from another world - she had, Brittany knew. "Look at me, Santana."

Safe.

Santana hears the words said to her dimly through the pounding of her pulse in her temples, her own loud, ragged breathing. She sees Brittany's lips moving, slowly and exaggeratedly with her loud, clear words, and she struggles to take this in and comprehend as well as hear. Everything feels so cloudy and strange, so very unreal, and she can't figure out at first if she's awake or not. A hand comes up, shaking so badly she can't control its course entirely, and touches, jabs really, at Brittany's face, trying to reassure herself that Brittany's words are correct, that this version of Brittany is correct rather than the bloody, dead one so vivid still in her mind.

"There isn't blood," she whispers, her ice cold finger tips brushing at Brittany's cheek. "No blood."

Behind them Kurt breathes in a little unsteadily, sympathetic and horrified, and Rachel sounds worried and near tears as she ventures again, "Santana...do you hear her? Can you hear Brittany? Are you all right? Brittany, are you all right?"

Santana's heart rivals a hummingbird's, and she swallows thickly as she lets herself be rocked, still nearly mute with her fear. She is too frozen to even cry, clinging onto Brittany and letting her rock her without speaking back. As Brittany reassures her that she's awake, that she's okay, that it was just a dream, she tries to let the words sink in and become her new reality. She doesn't hear or feel Kurt or Rachel behind her, even when Rachel mock-whispers in a still emotional voice.

"Santana? I don't want to scare you...and I truly do not want to be punched...but I really want to hug you now. Can you pretend that I hugged you from across the room and when during the day time when advance notice is given and your permission granted, I will then hug you in person?"

Kurt slipped an arm around Rachel and gave her a quick but sincere hug instead. "I'll accept it for her. I think we probably all need one."

Still blocking them out, Santana buried her face in Brittany's chest. When she speaks, it is in a mumble to herself more than to Brittany; she wasn't even sure she was speaking aloud at all.

"I want it all to stop. It never stops. I just want to stop. I don't even care sometimes if it hurts or if people are hurt, I just want to stop, I want it to stop. I want to stop..."

Brittany gave Rachel and Kurt a sad smile, her heart expanding at Rachel's words. "I promise I'll remind her in the morning that she owes you a hug," Brittany nodded. She knew both Rachel and Kurt still had questions - questions that she didn't have answers for, but Brittany also knew her main focus in that moment was Santana and calming her down.

"Y-You guys can go back to sleep," Brittany nodded, stroking Santana's hair where she had her face buried. "I'm sorry we woke you. I think I'm just going to try to get her to fall back to sleep but I promise I'll wake you up again if I need anything." She swore, not really lying. She was going to try and get Santana to go back to sleep but she also knew she needed to have her much calmer than she was right then.

She gave them both another comforting smile as they pulled the curtain and headed back to their respective areas turning her attention to Santana, realizing she was mumbling something from where she'd buried her face. i want it to stop. Brittany sighed, her hand slipping through Santana's hair to rest on the back of her neck, her thumb pressing soothing circles into Santana's skin.

"I know, San," Brittany whispered, "This won't be forever. We're going to work on it together and one day you wont have nightmares at all." She promised, "Even just now, you came out of it quick," Brittany pointed out, trying to calm Santana about the situation, ignoring the fact that Santana only came out of it quick because Brittany basically fully snapped her right out of it. "We'll stop it together one day."

Rachel and Kurt retreated to their beds, both softly telling the women good night. Santana remained huddled into Brittany, her trembling slowing until she is breathing almost normally. She still feels cold to the touch and in a state of bone tiredness, lightheaded and not fully connected with herself or even Brittany. Brittany has helped wake her and calm her, but she feels bleak and numb and hopeless, and she shakes her head slowly at Brittany's promise, not looking up.

"You don't know that. You can't know. It might never stop. I can't stand it if it never stops. I don't want to have to. There's only one way to know it will stop forever."

Brittany lost track of how long they sat together like that, lulled by each other's breathing. For a little while, she thought that maybe Santana had fallen asleep against her chest, her body thoroughly exhausted by her own outburst. That would've been the best case scenario, but, Brittany already knew, Santana's mind was probably too scary a place at the moment for her to sleep peacefully.

When she spoke again, Brittany felt a low tendril of dread unfurl in the pit of her stomach, cold and sharp. She couldn't be sure if Santana was speaking just to vocalize her darkest thought and see how it sounded, see how Brittany reacted, or if it was something she may have really meant.

"Yes I do, Santana. There are all types of things we can do to help you." She insisted, although she had limited knowledge of them, she knew for a fact they'd existed - she'd seen enough commercials and lessons in health class and things like that. She almost pointed out that this happens to a lot of people, but danced around it, knowing that she didn't need to remind Santana of that. "People recover every day, there are tons of people who are recovering from things all the time." She promised.

She ran her hands over Santana's body in slow, lulling strokes, hoping that she could comfort her mind the way she could easily comfort Santana's body. "You need to be more patient with yourself," Brittany spoke softly. "All of this, it happened so recently, I know you'll get better and that one day you'll be able to sleep all the way through the night but you have to give yourself time, San. Think of how much better you've gotten in the past few weeks." She pointed out, referring to the progress they'd made while Brittany was there.

Santana was silent as Brittany countered her words. She had thoughts, but she knew that Brittany would not agree with them, would not accept them as true, and she can't conjure enough energy to attempt to entertain other thoughts, let alone make effort to try different actions. She breathes against Brittany, eyes open now, but still stuck in her own dark headspace.

This isn't the first time she's thought that she was beyond help, beyond feeling better. It wasn't the first time she's thought her life was too difficult to bother continuing through or that she wasn't worth the effort of helping. It is the first time she's started to say it out loud, and it is the first time she's let Brittany hear.

Brittany said she was getting better, that she was recovering. It might feel that way to Brittany, but in moments like this, Santana couldn't see or feel that at all. It almost felt like it would be easier for Brittany and everyone else if they didn't have to bother with her and be disrupted by her. Wouldn't their life be better without having to do so much for her? What did she even add to people's lives like this?

Santana disagreed, but she didn't say so. Instead she murmured back to Brittany, "Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up." She doesn't think sleep is a thing that will happen tonight, or that she even wants it to be, but that doesn't mean Brittany should go without.

Letting the silence wash over them, a cool stillness in the night that had been so chaotic and active moments before, Brittany listened to Santana's heavy breaths against her, leveling out now, her limbs still and heavy, no one to fight.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Brittany dismissed Santana's apology honestly. She would've rather been woken up to be able to take care of Santana, who she knew would respond best to her over anyone, and she told Santana so. "I'm happy I woke up so I could take of you." She promised, "I wouldn't have wanted to sleep through that while you were upset." Brittany knew there was no way any of them could've slept through that but felt a pang of guilt - how many nightmares had she missed? How many times could she have calmed Santana's wails if she'd been there.

"You too," She patted Santana's lower back. "Let's just lay for a little bit okay?" Brittany knew she'd fight sleep until she was sure Santana had drifted off first, regardless of how tired she was. It would be impossible to sleep knowing Santana was still awake beside her, trapped in the darkness of her own mind. "I'm going to turn the light off now, okay?" Brittany asked, gently shifting Santana off her lap but not separating them just let. "I'll get back in bed in a second," She assured her, quickly darting out to flick off the light at the curtain's edge, plunging them back into the darkness they'd faced when Brittany had first woken up, before Kurt and Rachel had thrown the light on. Climbing back onto the bed, she reached for Santana again, drawing her against her body, settling them both and smoothing the blankets that were now in a tangled heap from their struggle.

Santana made a wordless murmur of protest when Brittany shifted her off her lap, starting to lift her head and an arm to stop her. Brittany reassures her that she's coming back and quickly does as she promised, settling back down. Santana's eyes stay open for another thirty minutes as she clings in silence to Brittany in the dark, and when she finally drifts off, her sleep is light, restless, and though she doesn't exactly have further dreams, she wakes up so often that she can't really deeply rest.